There seems to be an awful lot of luggage, but Julia pushes the fear of a long visit aside and takes her keys out of her handbag. ‘Good to see you, Barbara.’ She picks up one of the suitcases. ‘Come inside and I’ll put the kettle on.’
They follow Julia into the house and splay themselves around the kitchen table.
‘Oh, the flight was terrible.’ Barbara fans her face with a heavily ringed hand. ‘I sat next to this American lady who wouldn’t shut up talking the whole way. I was glad to be only going as far as Melbourne otherwise I think I would have seriously considered jumping out one of the windows.’
‘You can’t jump out of an airplane window,’ Oscar says. ‘They don’t open.’
‘Well, of course not, young man, but that’s what I was considering. And on the other side of me was this stuck-up business man. I tried to start up a conversation with him but he pretended to be absorbed with whatever was on his laptop computer thingy. Why he didn’t go into first class with the other lot, I don’t know.’ She points to one of her bags. ‘Pass me that one, Amber. No, the other one with the red circle on it. That’s it. Now …’ She takes a large breath and opens the plastic bag, ‘Who loves their grandma?’
The kids are almost bursting out of their skins with excitement. Oscar is jumping up and down on his toes. Barbara pulls her hand out of the bag, slowly, like a magician, and distributes the gifts. Two packets of airplane peanuts, two chocolate bars, a drawing book courtesy of the Commonwealth Bank to share between them and a box of pencils, also to share.
‘What do you say to Grandma?’
‘That’s not very much.’
‘Oscar!’
‘Thank you,’ he tries again, his voice grudging.
Barbara laughs as they fight over the pencils.
‘Take it in the front room, you two,’ Bryant says.
‘God, it’s so dry here. I feel as though all the moisture’s been sucked out of my bones.’ Barbara folds up her sunglasses and puts them in her handbag. ‘You know, when you told me the name of the place, I imagined a picturesque little town, somewhere near the sea. Lovely — it conjures up images of huge shady parks and green lawns and pretty old-fashioned houses and shops. I got a shock, I tell you, when we drove through the centre. I told the taxi driver he must have the wrong place. But he reckoned, “Nope, lady. There’s only one town called Lovely.”’
Bryant laughs. ‘It’s a joke, I think. Some old digger was being sarcastic.’
‘I haven’t made up a bed for you yet.’ Julia places coffee and macadamia shortbreads in front of her motherin-law. ‘We’ve only been here a few days and everything is still a bit of a mess. Sorry.’
‘You’re acting like I’m royalty. You don’t need to go to any fuss at all on my account, Julia. I’m family, remember? I’d be happy sleeping in a lean-to with the cows.’
Bryant regards his mother with melting adoration. He looks at Julia to be sure she is also appreciating his mother’s selfless behaviour. ‘There will be no lean-to for you, Mum. You can sleep in our bed. I’ll have the couch and Julia won’t mind sleeping in with the kids. We’ve got that camping mattress somewhere — I’ll check in the shed. It will be a treat for the kids to have Mummy in the room with them. It’ll be like a pyjama party.’
She lies awake on the floor and listens to her children breathe. Not that long ago they were flutters and kicks inside her, not substantial, except for the ultrasound scans that revealed a bent leg, a waving hand, a disproportionately large head. Although Julia’s body had felt ravaged by each pregnancy, especially in the first trimester, she came to trust that a deeper wisdom was at work. Some part of her had known instinctively what to do: hormones had been released and nutrients absorbed. Everything had been effortless, an exchange of life.
Now, they grow further away from her, but she feels proud of that. She measures their growth against the dusted store of memories; you were small enough to rest in one of Daddy’s hands, Oscar. Your foot was no bigger than my thumb, Amber. I held your tiny hands as you learned to walk and you trusted me to catch you. I would sing you both to sleep at night, while the rest of the world was busy and rushing around us. It was our secret little universe where big things didn’t enter.
She falls into dreams, nurtured by their existence, as though something good in her continues to live on through them.
Tom
We orbit each other, but never touch. I feel the constant pull of my parents as though my bones are made of iron and their hearts are magnets. That’s another lesson I remember from school; objects are constantly being drawn towards one another. Mr Pentecost, the science teacher, reckoned that even the sun and the earth were slowly moving closer. When I asked him how long it would take for them to crash, he had laughed. ‘Millions of years, Tom, millions of years. But one day …’
Mother is furious at Wilson and has been complaining about him all morning. ‘There’s no way I want him back here again. He was born with a massive chip on his shoulder, that kid. Thinks the world owes him something.’
‘We owe him, Virginia. And who else —?’ Dad coughs into a cupped hand; his shoulders bent forward, painfully. He has been forced to argue in sections because every time he tries to talk, he coughs, which gives Mother the chance to finish for him.
‘Who else could we get to work for us?’ She gives an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. ‘Well, any number of young men that wouldn’t give us half the trouble Wilson does.’
Dad takes a cautious breath, wheezing loud, the sound like wrapping paper inside his ribs. For an unguarded second I see a look of alarm on his face, which he quickly conceals with a smile.
Mother reaches into the cupboard over the stove and pulls down his tablets, talking still about how much she distrusts Wilson and what a pity it is that his poor mother has to worry about him being out of work now, especially as she needs the extra support …
She shakes the bottle.
My heart gallops as she tilts the bottle onto its side and frowns at the label. Has she noticed? Can she see inside the capsules? Before I touched them the powder was fine, like talc. It had been hell trying to wash it down the sink because it was sticky and wouldn’t dissolve in the water properly. Now the medicine is noticeably coarser.
‘How many of these did you have yesterday?’ she asks Dad.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure. Two?’
She frowns. ‘That’s what I thought.’
I lower my gaze until I can see my thighs. Mother pulls out a chair and sits down. I can feel her eyes on me. What can I do to distract myself? My cereal has begun to swell in the bowl, it looks horrible and my stomach does a watery cartwheel at the thought of letting it enter my mouth. But I have no choice.
As mother unscrews the cap on the bottle, I take the spoon and dip it into the mushy flakes. She tips the tablets out on the table. A few spare grains of sugar fall out too, which she sweeps distractedly onto the floor with her hand.
My breath is held as I put the spoon in my mouth.
She begins to count. Her lips move silently, One … two … three … four, her breath being sucked in with the numbers.
‘So is Wilson coming back to work here?’
She stops counting and looks at me. ‘Finish your mouthful.’ I swallow obediently. She sniffs. ‘I haven’t decided.’
And then she begins to count again.
‘So, if he did come back here, would we —’
Her eyes narrow. ‘Have you taken any of these?’ She points at the tablets.
‘Why?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Tom, what do you mean why? Why do you do anything you do? Really, I’d like to know, because I haven’t been able to figure out what was going on in that brain of yours since you were three years old.’
‘Steady on, pet,’ Dad says. ‘What would he want with those tablets? I probably took too many, accidentally. Or the manufacturer —’ He has another fit of coughing and this time his e
yes water as though he is crying. ‘Leave him be,’ he says, with obvious effort. ‘Tom’s suffered enough.’
Mother pushes two tablets across the table to Dad, taps her finger next to them. ‘And what about us?’
Dad obediently places the tablets on his tongue and washes them down with her bitter tea. He shakes his head.
Wilson returns two days later. His nose is twice the usual size and he sniffs all the time as though there is still blood pouring down the back of it. His left eye is encircled by a brown bruise.
I am invisible again. He walks out of his way to fetch the broom by my side, rather than ask me for it. He eats his peanut butter sandwiches in hunched angry silence and smokes with fury, leaning against the bales of hay, the smoke rising in front of him like an offering to the gods of hatred.
The doctor came to visit today and said that Dad must not, under any circumstances, get out of bed. Mother is the guardian of his bedroom and I haven’t been allowed to see him, although I have tried several times to get past her.
‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ She sweeps me into the hallway, towards the back door, the lounge room or the kitchen. Anywhere, but Dad’s bedroom.
I wait for the doctor outside, beside his car. ‘Dad seems awful sick for someone with a cold,’ I say.
‘Hmmm?’ His bushy eyebrows ascend.
‘Dad’s cold.’
‘Ah.’ The doctor looks over my head towards the house. His nostrils are packed with grey hairs and his ears have begun to sprout. I don’t remember him being so old and hairy last time he was here. ‘How are you feeling, Tom?’ He regards me with serious eyes. ‘Any memory lapses? Migraines?’
‘No, no, I’m healed now,’ I say impatiently. ‘Tell me about Dad’s cold.’
He gives me a nice smile then, the kind I remember as a kid that used to precede an injection or nasty medicine and was accompanied by a jelly bean and a pat on the hand. ‘It’s probably best to ask your mother about that, Tom.’
***
I wait until the middle of the night.
Their bedroom is dark, except for the luminous green numbers on their alarm clock, telling me it is three-oh-two in the morning. There is a softened quality to their room at night. It is warm and stuffy and smells of both of them. All of the air has been sucked into their lungs and recycled again, making it spongy and stale. I feel slightly dizzy.
Crouching down beside Dad, I stroke his arm. Softly. He cannot feel it, I’m sure. It would be like a moth’s wing, brushing against the back of his hand, nothing more. He grunts and in the green glow from the alarm clock I see him nod his head.
‘What are you dreaming about?’ My voice is a whisper.
Mother snores, a light fluttery sound, like a moth searching for light.
‘Do you remember the time you made me a billycart?’
I rest my head on Dad’s arm and try to copy his breathing. In for two counts, sucking, sucking, then out in a feeble wheeze. In for two counts again, making the air pull in my throat, then push it all out again as though the breath is heavy and can’t be held onto for long.
I get a sense of Dad’s struggle and, after a couple of minutes, my lungs are aching and my throat feels tight.
‘No wonder you feel so tired. You’re breathing all wrong.’ I abandon the effort and lay my head down again. ‘I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Dad,’ I say, forgetting to whisper.
Mother turns on her side and says, ‘Don’t put it there.’
I hold my breath and stare into the darkness, waiting for the bedside light to come on and blind me, but after a few seconds she resumes her snoring.
The alarm clock changes silently to three-oh-nine.
Once upon a time, so long ago I can barely remember it, I was balanced between these two people. They were young and strong and knew how to laugh. What made them dry up and grow brittle?
‘Something got lost,’ I whisper in Dad’s ear. ‘But I’m going to find it again.’
Julia
Julia intends to make an effort with Bryant’s mother today.
She wakes up an hour earlier to prepare something special for breakfast, while the household is quiet. But, as she’s filling the kettle with water, she sees her motherin-law through the kitchen window, bent over what used to be a garden bed inspecting weeds.
Julia takes two cups of coffee outside. ‘I think there might be some flowers buried under all that lot.’ When Barbara turns around, she hands her a cup. ‘I was going to make a start on it today.’
‘What a terrible mess this place is. Aren’t you embarrassed?’
‘Well, we’ve just moved in.’
Barbara points at one of the asbestos-clad sheds. ‘What’s in there?’
‘It’s where the laundry used to be. There’s an old wringer and copper tubs. And a family of redback spiders.’ Julia smiles. ‘We don’t want the kids going in there, just in case they try to talk you into it.’
‘Good … morning,’ Bryant sings, standing on the back step in his pyjamas, stretching to reveal his hairy stomach. ‘Smell this air, Mum. Isn’t it great?’
Barbara sniffs. ‘I’m used to sea breezes. This garden is a terrible mess.’
Bryant laughs. ‘We’ve only been here a week, give us a chance. And I’m setting up the yoga centre, remember? That’s kept me pretty busy.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She holds the cup between her palms and surveys the back garden. ‘But surely Julia could do something.’
‘I’m going to get a job soon.’ She surprises herself with the statement. Although as soon as the words are out, Julia realises it’s something she’s been contemplating for a while.
‘Do you mean return to the ballet?’ Bryant looks worried.
Julia’s heart skips at the thought; a mixture of elation and terror. Although there’s no way she could return now, even if she wanted to. That opportunity is long past. ‘No, just a regular job,’ she says. ‘Like a waitress or something.’
‘You know how I feel about working mothers,’ Bryant says.
‘I quite agree.’ Barbara’s face tightens. ‘A woman should care for her children. Or don’t have any at all. A block up from my unit, there’s a child care centre and I swear, the poor kiddies in that enclosure — it reminds me of a zoo, it really does — are left there from early morning until six or seven o’clock at night. I feel like going up to those mothers and saying, Why on earth did you have a child, dear? Wouldn’t a puppy be better suited to your lifestyle? Although, it would be a cruel life for a dog too. They all drive their fancy cars, of course, and that shows their priorities. But those poor little kids will end up calling the child care workers “Mummy”.’ She lifts her chest. ‘Do you know Julia, I never put Bryant in child care, not even for one solitary day. I was always at his beck and call.’
Julia is dying to say, Yes, and look what happened to him. But she smiles, determined to make this visit more pleasant than the last. And deep inside her, curled up tight, isn’t there a part of Julia that wishes she’d experienced the same kind of blind love Barbara shows for Bryant? ‘You know,’ she says, ‘some mothers don’t have a choice. Some of them don’t have partners, or they have a lot of debt. And pregnancies come along when you least expect them. These people are just trying to do what’s best for their children.’
Barbara and Bryant exchange a look.
‘Anyway,’ Barbara says. ‘I would hate to see my grandchildren so dreadfully neglected.’ She passes her cup to Bryant. ‘Be a pet and put a dash of milk in this for me?’
‘Sure.’ He peers inside the mug and frowns at Julia. ‘What are you trying to do? Kill her?’
Oscar appears on the back step. ‘Who’s trying to kill someone?’
‘Go back inside and put some shoes on,’ Julia tells him. ‘There’s glass out here.’
‘My cars.’ He rushes past, ignoring Julia, and begins to collect his toy cars.
Barbara raises her eyebrows.
Julia could insist, but she knows it will be usel
ess arguing with Oscar. And the last thing she wants is an all-out brawl in front of Barbara. She follows Bryant back inside and stands next to him at the counter until he’s finished with the kettle.
‘Do you have to make this stuff so strong? I swear, your insides must be shrivelled by now.’ He leans back against the counter. ‘The kids love having her here, don’t they? And she’ll be able to help you with the garden.’
‘I don’t want a garden. I’d be happy to concrete everything.’
‘You’re being silly.’
‘No, seriously. Concrete the front, back and sides. You can’t get more low maintenance than that.’
‘Come here, darling,’ he says, placing his cup on the counter and opening his arms for her.
Julia leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and sighs. He rubs slow circles over her back and massages her neck. He lifts her chin and he kisses her on the mouth, keeping his eyes open for a change, to look at her.
Then he draws back a little to ask, ‘Are you happy?’
‘Yes?’ Her chest is tight with concern. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Yes, yes. Sorry. I was just thinking.’ He wraps her tighter in his arms so her head is guided back to his shoulder, where she leans, wondering why he would ask if she was happy. By virtue of that question, doesn’t that mean he’s not happy?
Later, they eat breakfast together. Julia strains to be happy. She can’t get the fake smile off her face even though it’s killing her. As she places the spoon with cornflakes into her mouth and chews, she tries to forget that question. Are you happy? It is a crack of a question; it will start off barely noticeable, something to be wiped over but, once the attention is drawn there, it won’t allow itself to be dismissed and it will widen and gape until she’s forced to admit that no, she’s not very happy at all.
After breakfast, Julia clears away the cereal boxes, jars and milk, and washes up while the others sit around the table laughing about how naughty Bryant was when he was a child.
‘Tell us the story about when he broke the window with the football,’ Oscar says.
‘Tell us how he cuddled the rabbit to death,’ Amber says.
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