The Party Line

by Sue Orr

  The talk was it was going to be the hottest, longest summer in a decade, maybe longer. As December rolled on, every morning dawned as it had on Calf Club Day — azure skies, breathless, searingly suffocating by midday. Cicadas, confused by the heat, made an early-season dash for the ground’s surface. In the evenings, the barometer dropped just enough to permit restless sleep to the hypnotic shrill of crickets.

  It was haymaking season. Jack had given Ian the schedule. All the farmers wanted their hay in before Christmas — before their wives dragged them off on family holidays — so everyone pooled their equipment and their manpower and moved around the district as a gang, putting an entire farm’s hay away in two days.

  Every night, the farmers settled in front of their televisions, big brown bottles of beer sweating nearby. They were waiting for the news to finish and the weather forecast for the following day to begin. Night after night, they heard what they were hoping for: fine.

  Ian had scanned the haymaking list, looking for the Gilbert name. It was at the end. He didn’t know whether this was a good thing, or bad. What happened if the rain came on your dates? Did you lose your place and go to the end of the queue, or did everyone get shunted back a few days? What happened if Christmas arrived and the hay was still sitting in the paddocks? He couldn’t ask any of these questions, still fearful as he was of Jack Gilbert’s latent suspicion about his farming experience.

  Day after day, Ian presented himself at the front gate of a nearby farm. On the first day, he brought the tractor and Jack’s hay turner, but mid-morning the turner broke down in a cacophony of screeching metal. It had been held together by rust and while Ian made an attempt, for appearance’s sake, to weld the machinery back together, it was obvious to him and everyone else that it was a waste of time.

  After that, all he had to offer was his labour. In the burning, exhausting sun he walked behind the baler, straightening the bales into a uniform line on the ground, making it easy for the elevator to lift them and drop them on the back of the truck. There, it was the job of two other men to arrange the bales in a neat, compact pattern so as many as possible would fit.

  His was the only solitary job; all the others worked in pairs or threes. Ian noticed, at smoko, that the other men traded jobs from time to time, but no one proposed a change of scene for him. Generally, no one talked to him at all.

  Farmers and sharemilkers alike pitched in for haymaking, the exception being Jack, who came and went without explanation. By the time Ian came in for smoko, or lunch, Jack had disappeared again. No one asked Ian why Jack wasn’t there full-time. And Ian didn’t dare ask anyone either. He wondered whether it was to do with whatever had happened on Calf Club Day. As long as Jack kept his distance from Ian, and Bridie could be kept at bay, Ian thought he could live with the way things were.

  Two days before Christmas, the men turned up to make Jack Gilbert’s hay. Ian met them at the cowshed. No one had much to say to him. They waited for Jack to arrive, but by eight he hadn’t turned up. They set to work.

  Ian paced his lonely track up and down the paddocks, lining the tight green bales straight for pick-up. The sun beat hard against the back of his neck; he needed a better hat.

  He forced himself to think about Christmas. It would be their first since Bridie had died. If it weren’t for Gabrielle, he would deny the day. Get drunk, maybe, fall asleep with the intention of missing it altogether. But she’d arrived home from school a couple of days ago with an invitation for he and Gabrielle to have Christmas lunch with the Walkers. The message was, Gabrielle said, that Joy Walker insisted. She won’t take no for an answer.

  Ian looked across the paddock, picking out Eugene Walker on the back of the hay truck, arranging bales into regular stacks. Eugene hadn’t mentioned Christmas to him — Ian wondered whether he knew about the invitation. Jack was there now, too. The two men worked in fluid unison, like dancers on a well-worn stage.

  At noon, the trucks and tractors stopped and the men made their way to the gate. Jack Gilbert’s car bumped its way slowly along the race towards them — Audrey Gilbert, with lunch. Ian fell in with the other men, listening to the banter and bets about what would be on the menu. He had nothing to say.

  They gathered around one of the trucks that had just unloaded at the hayshed. The men leaned against the empty tray, which would serve as a table. Jack opened the boot of the car and lifted a crate of Lion Red out and onto the truck. Ian took the last of the bottles, making sure everyone else had one first. Whatever it was he’d done to put himself offside with these men would only be exacerbated if he took a beer that rightfully should go to someone else.

  The men gulped greedily at the icy bottles, breaking their drinking to chat about Christmas and holiday plans. Ian caught Eugene’s eye a couple of times and waited for Eugene to mention the invitation but nothing was said. The beer made Ian lightheaded and he nearly brought the matter up, but just as he went to say Thanks Eugene turned to one of the other men and started his own conversation.

  Audrey Gilbert was pulling cardboard boxes out of the back seat of the car and stacking them on the ground next to her. The breeze carried the smell of hot baking — cheese, another smell, something sweet — and Ian caught his breath. He and Gabrielle managed with their repertoire of basic meals, but neither of them had attempted to bake anything sweet since Bridie had died. The smell was the scent of a woman — an expression of her love — and it was as seductive and irresistible as any perfume in a bottle. Ian held his breath, waiting for the intense pulse of emotion to pass, willing the tears in his eyes to evaporate quickly in the glaring sun.

  No one offered to help Audrey; Ian thought this was rude, but he didn’t trust himself to approach her and carry the boxes to the tray in case the tears returned. Besides, there appeared to be a ritual, a routine, to this daily delivery of lunch to the gang by the wife of the farm owner. She looked after the food; the men ate, then went back to work while the wife loaded everything in the car and drove away again.

  They were leaning against the truck bed. Audrey turned towards them and put the first of the cartons down in front of them. Her right eye was black, so swollen it was barely open. Her bottom lip was fat, protruding grossly like a second chin.

  She was wearing a shapeless green dress with no sleeves. Ian looked at her arms. Both of them were bruised — not little dark marks but brutal streaks of black.

  She didn’t speak, but turned to the car for the second of the cartons.

  Ian shivered, in spite of the heat. He looked quickly across the faces of the other men. None of them had seemed to notice Audrey’s appearance. They kept chatting to each other, digging into the boxes, tucking into the lunch. Ian felt bile rise in his throat. His thoughts flicked back to the secretive drama between Gabrielle and Jack on Calf Club Day. Then to the phone call she’d received a few nights later.

  He picked up the empty beer crate and cardboard boxes and started towards the car. Behind him, footsteps crunched on the sharp cut grass. Audrey, with her damaged arms full of empty Thermoses.

  Ian wanted to hear her voice. He turned around. Up close, he could see that Audrey’s swollen eye was bloodshot. She turned her face away from him, raising her arm in pretence at shielding her eyes from the sun. The underside of her arm was bruised too — five distinct, finger-shaped markings, the handprint of a man.

  ‘Have you got the time?’ It struck him then how odd it was that this was the first time he’d spoken face to face with Audrey Gilbert, his boss’s wife. How odd it was that this woman had shown no interest in Gabrielle, who had no mother of her own. And how very strange it was that it had taken him this long to notice.

  Audrey lifted her arm away from her face and squinted at her watch. ‘Just on twelve-thirty,’ she said. Except she didn’t say twelve-thirty. The words came out in a whistle through loose teeth.

  It had been Audrey who’d rung that night, waited silently for Elsie Shanks to get off the line before asking to speak to Gabrielle. Ian tried
hard to recall Gabrielle’s end of that conversation. Tell him I’m sorry — is that what she’d said? I know someone who can help you …

  Their backs were turned to the men. Ian heard the banter carrying on, but he knew the lunch break would be over in just a couple of minutes.

  ‘You need help. I can help you,’ he muttered. He kept his eyes down, focused on the load of boxes in his arms.

  Audrey reached across him and opened the back door of the car. Her hair, thin and greasy, fell forward over her face. ‘Stay out of it,’ she whispered. ‘I’m clumsy, that’s all. Tell your girl, too. Stay out of it.’

  The men went back to work. One by one, the tractors and trucks started up, their engines overriding the sound of cicadas. Ian turned back to Audrey, but she was already around the other side of the car, climbing in the driver’s seat. Then she was gone.

  They finished at nine o’clock — two hours later than the usual stop time, but a whole day earlier than scheduled. Jack Gilbert had had twice as much grass as previous years, thanks to Ian’s care of the pasture, but it was still a lot less than the other farms. When it seemed as though they could finish the entire lot in one day, they pushed ahead, making use of the last of the daylight.

  Ian thought the cottage was empty when he wearily pushed the back door open. There were no lights on, the television was silent and the kitchen revealed no sign of supper. He looked for a note on the kitchen table from Gabrielle, but found nothing.

  She was lying on her bed, her face to the wall. At first, Ian thought she was asleep, but when he sat down next to her, she rolled over to face him.

  ‘I saw Mrs Gilbert today,’ he said.

  Gabrielle turned away from him again. He touched her shoulder, gently pulled her back to face him.

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Gabrielle, don’t play games. What did you say to Jack Gilbert on Calf Club Day?’

  ‘The truth. That he’s a wife-beater.’

  Ian took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  ‘That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. If you get involved, he’ll sack you.’

  ‘So why did you say something?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to. I had another plan — Nickie and I, we had a plan to help her. Mrs Gilbert. But when he called me a slut in front of everyone, I couldn’t help it.’

  They said nothing for a while. The light dulled. Ian stroked Gabrielle’s arm. He could feel how the day’s sunshine had warmed her skin. Every day it became browner.

  ‘What’s going to happen now?’

  ‘I don’t know, Gabrielle. Nothing’s happened so far. Jack Gilbert hasn’t said anything to me yet.’

  Ian didn’t tell Gabrielle that Jack wasn’t the only one ignoring him; that the entire district was behaving as though he didn’t exist. He didn’t want to give her something new to worry about.

  ‘Something else happened today,’ she said. ‘About Christmas.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Ian realised he had bought Gabrielle nothing for Christmas. No presents, no tree, no decorations. Tomorrow, he thought.

  ‘You know how we were supposed to be going to the Walkers on Christmas Day?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Were they? Really?

  ‘Well, we can’t go anymore. They’ve got unexpected guests, Nickie said today.’

  Relief. Ian was pleased it was dark, he was sure it would be showing on his face. He squeezed Gabrielle’s arm, then stopped abruptly, remembering the ugly bruises on Audrey Gilbert’s bicep.

  ‘Never mind. We’ll have our own Christmas. Just you and me.’ He nearly added and Bridie but stopped the words just in time.

  Nickie Walker

  It was New Year’s Eve. She was in the back of the car, outside the hall, itching to go inside. Eugene had already left them. Joy, in the front seat, picked up a strawberry that had toppled off the edge of the pav and plopped it back into the cream.

  ‘Nickie … don’t. Okay?’

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Don’t stir up any trouble tonight. Please.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘With Gabrielle. You’ve got lots of other friends, kids you’ve known your whole life … you never spend any time with Erin and Julie any more. They’ll all be there.’

  ‘So you’re saying I should just leave Gabrielle out of everything? Make her sit by herself?’

  ‘I’m not saying that. But I don’t want to see either of you anywhere near the Gilberts.’

  Her mother had nothing to worry about. After Calf Club Day, Nickie never wanted to see the Gilberts again. And she’d been secretly happy when, the day after that horrible drama, her parents had had a big fight that she wasn’t supposed to listen to but did. Afterwards, her father grounded her until Christmas.

  The grounding had meant she couldn’t see Gabrielle. The flood of relief at this restriction made her feel guilty. Gabrielle and the Gilberts had somehow become one massive ache in the pit of her stomach. It had taken all this time, the whole month of December and Christmas, for the ache to start shrinking.

  All the Form Two kids were sitting around a table in the corner of the hall. In the centre of everything was Gabrielle. Her hair was done up like a princess’s, with silver and gold ribbons in it. Nickie couldn’t take her eyes off her. Nor could anyone else — especially the boys.

  Gabrielle waved Nickie over and nudged everyone along so she could sit next to her. Everyone was talking about what they’d got for Christmas. Watches were the main thing; parents thought they would be practical for high school.

  Whenever there was a pause in the chat, everyone just seemed to stare at Gabrielle. It wasn’t only the kids at their table either. Nickie had felt something different, creepiness, from the moment she’d joined her friends; now she knew what it was. All around the hall, little pockets of adults were looking at them. At Gabrielle Baxter, who didn’t fit in. And although the adults were too far away to be heard, Nickie knew what they were saying. Their voices ebbed and flowed in her head — bad news … little tart … no good — just like the voices on the radio dial, on the afternoon she fainted at Calf Club Day.

  Joy wandered out of the Supper Room into the main hall. She looked around, trying to be casual, but it was obvious to Nickie she was checking up on her. Joy gave Nickie a quick smile when she saw all the kids were together in a big group. Nickie forgot she was annoyed with her and sort of smiled back.

  The band started playing ‘Walking My Baby Back Home’. Band wasn’t the right word for the two old guys on the stage. One on the piano, the other one playing the drums and neither of them singing. They always started with the same song, no matter what songs had been hits during the year. Nickie doubted they could have played any hits, let alone her favourite, ‘Puppy Love’. The next song was ‘The Nikau Waltz’, and this was the one the adults started dancing to. They always danced to the second song, as though they were starting to feel sorry for the band playing for no one. Erin’s mum and dad were first. Erin sunk down into her chair.

  Before long, other parents were up waltzing. Joy and Eugene were among them. Nickie was keeping an eye on her mother, who was keeping an eye on her. They both pretended not to be watching each other.

  Nickie asked Gabrielle where her father was.

  ‘He dropped me off,’ she said. ‘He’s gone home. He came in for a few minutes, but he decided not to stay. It isn’t easy for him to come to something like this on his own.’

  Nickie felt bad for asking. Everyone had a husband or a wife; even if some of them were useless dancers, at least they all had someone to stumble round the dance floor with.

  Erin’s parents had taken a break, and her dad arrived at the table with a big beer jug full of lemonade. He had eight glasses tucked under his arm which he put down in front of each of them. When he got to Gabrielle, he stopped smiling. She thanked him for the drink but he wouldn’t look at her. He sniffed, as though something had gone off, and said Huh, and Nickie wondered why adults were happy to
stare at Gabrielle from a distance, but were too afraid to look her in the eye close up.

  He asked Erin to dance and Erin’s eyes went wide, giving the disgusted look, but she got up and off she went for a waltz. Everyone knew the fathers would keep coming back and asking, getting more embarrassing as they drank more beer.

  Gabrielle nudged Nickie in the ribs. She was looking at Jack and Audrey Gilbert. They were like all the other couples, but they weren’t, at the same time. It was the way he held her. Jack had his arm around the back of Audrey, not in the loose sort of way that the other men were holding their wives, but more as though he was actually supporting her — sometimes his arm slipped upwards, so that he was holding her high under her armpits. The way he’d held her that other time. The memory of it made Nickie queasy.

  His face was intense. Not angry, not smiling. His jaw was clenched, jutting out. Jack Gilbert was intensely concentrating on dancing with Mrs Gilbert.

  Mrs Gilbert wore nice navy leather shoes with little kitten heels, and a pale blue dress that flared out at the hips. It had a wide black belt. It had long sleeves made of chiffon, which billowed out before buttoning at the wrist. Her hair didn’t look any different to normal, but she wore lots of make-up. Nickie thought back to other get-togethers and realised that she’d always done that. Dark red lipstick, lots of rouge and even mascara, which most of the mothers thought was a step too far in the cheap and trashy direction. The queasiness returned as Nickie clicked. Underneath the pink cheeks and the red lips and the glamorous dark eyes, there were cuts and bruises.

  But, in all her life, Nickie had never seen someone look happier than Mrs Gilbert. Her face was shining. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling as though she was in a wonderful dream. When the music stopped, Jack Gilbert went back to the bar. Mrs Gilbert seemed not to have noticed that the dance had ended. She swayed from side to side, her eyes closed, a drifty smile on her face. Her arms moved in time to a silent rhythm and, now and again, she clicked her fingers. She was entirely alone, in the middle of the dance floor.