The Party Line

by Sue Orr

‘I might take sewing,’ Gabrielle was saying. ‘I could use Mum’s machine. She’ll like that.’

  The mention of her name brought a sharp pain to Ian’s heart; not the usual stabbing of loss, but one of guilt. He had not thought about Bridie all day. He had, for the first time since she died, absolutely forgotten her.

  ‘It’s this Sunday, you know.’ Gabrielle was still chatting on, but he’d lost track of her conversation. She was standing at the sink, filling it with hot, soapy water.

  ‘What’s this Sunday?’ It would be something to do with church, probably.

  Gabrielle’s hands hovered above the bubbles. Her shoulders tensed, frozen, and her head tilted downwards, as though she was praying. He could see her eyes were closed. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

  ‘Sunday, Dad. It’s her birthday. Mum’s birthday.’

  The shock of having forgotten was greater than the shock of remembering, but in the end it all rolled into one and the same.

  ‘You forgot.’

  ‘I didn’t. Of course I didn’t, Gabrielle. Don’t be silly.’

  ‘You did. I can tell. It’s her first one in Heaven and you forgot.’

  Ian stood up. The weariness was overwhelming. Yes, he had forgotten. For a moment, he thought about confessing this to Gabrielle. Telling her that the world — this real world that Gabrielle so loved, that he was trying to live in for her sake — was consuming every atom of energy he could muster. Instead, he slipped behind her and hugged her.

  ‘I didn’t forget,’ he lied. ‘I just … it’s hard to think about her birthday. It’s hard for me, remembering.’

  ‘They weren’t all like that last one,’ Gabrielle said. Ian thought she might be crying, but a harshness had seeped into her voice. ‘You said that yourself, remember? That night? It was you who said we had to forget this birthday and remember the good ones?’

  Gabrielle swung around to face Ian. No traces of tears, he saw. Her face was cool, her mouth tight. ‘We’re going to have a party. A birthday party for Mum. On Sunday.’

  Nickie Walker

  Nickie realised, as they got off the bus on the first day at high school, that no one knew exactly what to do. Everyone just stood around, in their own primary school groups, looking at other people standing around in their primary school groups.

  Dominic spotted a drinking fountain. Being the bravest, he approached it for a drink. Then they all took slow turns having drinks until the bell went. Kids from other schools seemed to know more than them. They went into the hall, so the Fenward kids went, too.

  Gabrielle sat close to Nickie in assembly and whispered that if they weren’t in the same class, she would ask to be changed. Nickie nodded and said Yeah and her stomach did a tiny not-so-sure flip as she thought about her Coromandel holiday, where she’d gorged on meat and played Spotlight in the bush at night and didn’t once think about sex or violence or comprehensive appearances.

  The principal read out the streams — technical, commercial or professional — and then the students’ names. Technical was another name for cooking and sewing and woodwork and metalwork and, even though it sounded fancy, it was really for kids who couldn’t pass exams. He got to the third class, one of the technical ones, and Gabrielle’s name was called out. Gabrielle squeezed Nickie’s hand and they waited. Nickie’s name didn’t come up until the second-to-last class, a professional one.

  ‘Fuck that,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I’ll sort it out. We’ll both sort it out. Come on.’

  Nickie had no idea what sorting it out might mean, but Gabrielle simply got in the line for Nickie’s class, rather than her own.

  The desks were in pairs. Nickie and Gabrielle sat about halfway down the class. Miss Voss, the form teacher, went through her roll. Of course, Gabrielle wasn’t on it, but Miss Voss didn’t notice.

  ‘Did I miss anyone?’ She looked around the room, smiling. She was really pretty even though she had glasses. Nickie waited for Gabrielle to put her hand up, but for a change she did nothing. Nickie glanced at her and found her occupied with flicking her fringe at two boys in the next row.

  ‘Alright then. Let’s start by each standing up and sharing a little bit about ourselves. Which school you came from, the things you like to do.’

  Nickie remembered how Gabrielle had stood in front of the class at Fenward and talked about herself and her dead mother. She wondered if she’d give that speech again. Nickie talked about Fenward Primary and was going to say she liked reading, but no one else had said that and she didn’t want to stick out, so she just said the beach and holidays instead. Miss Voss said holidays got her vote, too.

  Miss Voss was eyeing up Gabrielle.

  ‘What’s your name, dear?’ Miss Voss was smiling. Nickie could tell she was already being charmed by the glamour.

  ‘Gabrielle Baxter,’ Gabrielle replied. She smiled her most enchanting smile.

  ‘Baxter …’Miss Voss looked at her paperwork again. ‘I don’t seem to have you here, Gabrielle.’

  ‘Well, they called my name out at assembly,’ she said. ‘For this class. Didn’t they, Nickie.’

  This was not a question. Nickie did a half nod and a half shake of her head, which ended up being an imitation of a wobbly-head dog, the sort that people put in the back window of their cars. She looked up at the ceiling rather than at Miss Voss.

  All the kids turned around in their chairs to look at Gabrielle. Everyone was smiling and she smiled back at them, and Nickie recognised the familiar warmth fast-forwarding around the classroom — as though a whole term’s worth of getting to know Gabrielle Baxter, and her being the most popular girl in the class, was happening in just a split second. It was especially noticeable that the boys were grinning at her and she rewarded them by pulling that special look, the one she last used to get prizes at Calf Club Day. The thought of that brought Nickie back to reality.

  There was a knock at the door and an older girl came in. She handed a note to Miss Voss, who read it then looked up again. At Gabrielle.

  ‘Gabrielle, it looks as though … I think you might be in the wrong class, honey. That’s why you weren’t on my roll. You’ll need to go with Sally — this is Sally — she’ll take you to where you’re meant to be.’

  Nickie studied her fingernails, one by one.

  ‘My name was definitely read out for this class.’ The warmth in Gabrielle’s voice was gone.

  ‘I think you misheard. Possibly. You’ll need to go with Sally, she’ll show you where 3HE1 is.’

  Gabrielle remained calm. She even smiled — at Miss Voss, at the boys, at everyone. ‘Okay. See you all later,’ she said.

  She didn’t look back as she followed Sally out the door.

  It was killing Nickie. She was dying to find out what had happened, but she couldn’t get a turn on the phone. The problem was her mother, who was on a long-winded call to someone. Nickie couldn’t tell who it was, because every time she walked past her mother would stop talking and cover the mouthpiece.

  ‘This is private, Nickie. If you don’t mind.’

  ‘How long are you going to be? I need to ring someone.’

  ‘As long as it takes, thank you.’

  Finally, ages later, Nickie rang Gabrielle.

  ‘Where’d you go? I was looking everywhere at interval. And lunch. I asked everyone and no one had even seen you.’

  There was an exploding pop sound down the line. Nickie wondered if Mrs Shanks had dropped her cup of tea.

  ‘Gross,’ said Gabrielle. ‘My bubblegum’s stuck to the mouth thingy. Hang on.’

  Nickie waited.

  ‘Got it. Got it all off.’ Her chewing started again.

  ‘So?’

  ‘I went home.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just told that bird, what’s her name — Sally? I just said I knew where the other classroom was ’cause I had an older sister who had been to the school. She went off somewhere and I came home.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’


  ‘Well, you can, because I did.’

  ‘How’d you get home? And what did Ian say?’

  ‘Walked. Well, I started walking, and then a milk tanker picked me up. It was so cool, riding in a tanker. You’re up so high.’

  ‘God, Gabrielle, that’s hitchhiking.’

  ‘Not really. I didn’t have my thumb out. I just stopped walking and looked pathetic on the side of the road. Let my head drop down. Did a Vincent.’ She giggled.

  ‘And what about your dad? What did you tell him?’

  ‘I just said it was a half-day for third formers, first day. He was too busy to worry. There was a fire down the back of the farm and he was trying to put it out. I rang your dad, he helped.’

  ‘So, are you going back tomorrow? Gabrielle? You have to go to school.’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet. Maybe. I’m not going to the moron class, that’s for sure. That’s a mistake that has to be sorted out.’

  They said nothing for a bit. Gabrielle popped her gum some more.

  ‘Nickie, I need to ask you something.’

  Nickie took a deep breath.

  ‘We’re having a party on Saturday afternoon. Dad and I. A birthday party and …’

  Nickie heard Gabrielle swallow and hoped she’d already spat out the bubblegum.

  ‘I … it would be good if you could come. Just the four of us.’

  Four? Four meant another person. Maybe Erin? Or Julie? Nickie felt jealous that Gabrielle had become friendly with one of them over summer. On the other hand, if one of them was allowed to go to the party, maybe Nickie would be, too.

  ‘Nickie? Will you come?’ Gabrielle’s voice faded.

  ‘I think so,’ Nickie lied. ‘Is it Ian’s birthday?’

  ‘It’s Mum’s birthday,’ said Gabrielle. ‘She’s thirty-five. You, me and Dad. That’s who’ll be there.’

  Nickie didn’t ask her mother, she couldn’t risk it. On Saturday afternoon, she simply got on her bike and rode to the Baxters’.

  The letterbox was swamped with balloons. Gabrielle was waiting at the front door. She wore a tie-dye dress in different shades of green and high-heeled sandals. Her make-up matched the dress. Nickie thought she looked at least sixteen.

  ‘Wow.’ Nickie grinned. There were days when just the sight of Gabrielle Baxter would make you happy.

  ‘You look nice, too.’ She grinned back. ‘Come on. Come and see how I’ve decorated the kitchen.’

  Nickie had never seen so many balloons in one place. She had to kick her way through them.

  ‘It took all morning to blow them up. I got a really sore neck,’ she said. ‘But it was worth it. For Mum.’

  ‘Where’s your dad?’

  ‘In the shower,’ said Gabrielle. ‘I told him he had to spruce himself up for the birthday lunch. Sit down. Here.’

  Three places were set. Gabrielle had made placemats out of cardboard. They were beautiful; she’d sprinkled and glued glitter around the edges. In the middle of each mat, she’d glittered names. Nickie’s was blue, hers red, her father’s green.

  Teacups were set next to the placemats — they were covered in glitter, too. Next to each cup was a bottle of fizzy drink.

  Gabrielle stomped through the balloons in her high heels. She hammered on the bathroom door. ‘Hurry up!’ she yelled.

  ‘We’ve got saveloys and cake. Dad made the cake last night.’ She flitted back into the kitchen and lifted the lid on a pot on the stove. Nickie watched as she tipped the bright pink sausages out of the hot water into a bowl. ‘Just caught them in time. If you let the water boil, the skin splits.’

  She knew how to cook saveloys. Nickie didn’t know how to cook anything other than toast. Nickie realised Gabrielle probably knew how to do a lot of things that mothers did.

  ‘Um … you … we, I mean, we can’t eat those, Gabrielle, if we’re vegetarians.’ God, they smelled good.

  ‘I know, but this is a special occasion. They were Mum’s favourite. The doctors made her eat meat when she was sick. For iron. She loved saveloys the best. Even though Dad said there was no proper meat in saveloys anyway.’

  ‘Oh … is that right? What’s in them then, if there’s no meat?’ Nickie tried not to sound too interested in saveloys, which were also a favourite of hers.

  ‘Sawdust and leftover stuff from the floor of the abattoir.’

  Gabrielle plonked herself down next to Nickie. Then she leaped up again. ‘Ooh, nearly forgot. Music.’

  The transistor was on the window ledge. She clicked it on. Janis Joplin was singing ‘Me and Bobby McGee’.

  ‘What the hell! She loved this one.’

  Gabrielle started dancing and singing. She made so much noise that Nickie didn’t notice Mr Baxter at first. He’d come into the kitchen and was standing at the door.

  Gabrielle swirled and twirled over to him. She took his hand. ‘Come on, join in. Bridie requests the pleasure of your company for a dance.’ Her voice was high — not screechy but strange all the same, as though she was acting in a play.

  Her father stared at her. ‘This wasn’t what I was expecting, Gabrielle.’ His voice was calm and quiet. Neutral, like his face.

  Nickie squirmed in her chair. Everything about this party was weird. There was music, and Gabrielle singing as though her dead mother was right there with them. And there was Mr Baxter, who looked like a statue. Nickie was too frightened to look at Mr Baxter’s face, in case he looked back and decided she was to blame for the weirdness. Instead, she focused on his neck. Lines under the skin stretched from his chin to his collarbone; they tightened as he swallowed and blinked.

  ‘I know, it’s all a surprise.’ Gabrielle grabbed him around the waist and put her other arm out, inviting her father to dance once again.

  ‘Stop,’ he said.

  Gabrielle didn’t seem to hear him.

  ‘Gabrielle, I said stop. Stop this.’

  Mr Baxter pushed Gabrielle away from him — not a huge shove, but strong enough to make her stumble. Her heel popped a red balloon. Nickie jumped, but neither Mr Baxter nor Gabrielle seemed to notice. He was crying. Not sobbing like a girl or anything, but there were shiny lines of tears running down his face. He stepped forward and hugged Gabrielle.

  ‘She’s not here, Gabrielle. Stop this.’

  ‘Course she is.’ Gabrielle’s voice was back to normal, but muffled as she cried into Ian’s shoulder.

  ‘She’s dead, Gabrielle. She’s not here.’

  ‘She is so here!’ Gabrielle was shouting now, screaming at her father, struggling to pull away from him. ‘Don’t you fucking say she’s dead. It’s her birthday and we’re having a party for her. You’re ruining it.’

  Mr Baxter pulled Gabrielle close to him again. His crying hadn’t stopped even though his eyes were closed. Nickie quietly got up, stepped carefully over all the balloons and left.

  She felt the pull on her bike carrier, just as she was starting to pedal. She didn’t turn around.

  ‘Can I tell you a story? About how I knew about the people who help women getting beaten up?’

  Neither of them moved or said anything. Nickie sensed that Gabrielle’s grip was still firm on the bike. When Nickie finally turned, her fear disappeared. Gabrielle had been crying as well — the evidence was there, two little mascara streams running down her face.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Nickie said.

  ‘It’s not what you’re thinking.’

  Nickie didn’t know what she was thinking, other than she wanted to go home.

  ‘Please. Nickie. Come on. We’ll check out the peat fire and I’ll tell you what happened.’

  They walked through the paddocks while Gabrielle talked. She swung her sandals in her hand and jumped to avoid the cowshit. She told Nickie how, at the end of her mum’s sickness, she changed. Not just how she looked, with cancer eating all her muscles and bones and other bits, but how she was as a person. Her personality, Gabrielle said, turned into someone else.

  They were in her mum’
s bedroom one afternoon, and her mum accused her dad of hating her. Hating her so much he had poisoned her and that’s how she’d got sick.

  ‘We laughed at the start,’ said Gabrielle. She was scuffing her feet in the dust that used to be a muddy paddock. ‘Dad and I. We thought Mum was joking with us, lying there in her bed. We thought she’d stop and grin and say Gotcha there, you two. That’s what the old Bridie used to say, at the end of her jokes. Gotcha there.

  ‘But she wasn’t joking at all. First she sat up and she had this horrible mean look on her face … like her prettiness was rearranged into a witch’s face. So she sat, then she swung her legs over and she stood up. Dad went to hold her — she was too weak to stand on her own by then — but she pushed him away from her. I could see, from the look on Dad’s face, that he was shocked. Shocked at what she was doing, and shocked at the strength of her. It was like she had been tricking us, storing up her energy to be mean.’

  The cicadas got louder. Maybe it was just that there was no noise in the big, open paddock, apart from Gabrielle’s quiet voice and the bugs, but it was almost as though the cicadas knew the story already; they were Gabrielle’s orchestra and they changed from loud to soft to loud again as the tale went on.

  They were about halfway to the peat fire. The day was getting hotter and Nickie wished she’d grabbed her bottle of Coca Cola off the table before she’d run away.

  ‘Mum turned around and she grabbed the lamp off her bedside table. It was made of glass, glass and pretend diamonds that were hanging down off it. Like a chandelier in a castle. And then she … she smashed it in Dad’s face. This heavy glass lamp that even I couldn’t lift with two hands. She just picked it up and she didn’t hesitate, she didn’t say a word. She looked at Dad as though he was a stranger and she swung it into his face with all the strength in her bony arms.’

  Nickie and Gabrielle stopped walking. With the sun scorching her hair and her skin and the ground underneath, Gabrielle crumpled into a pile of person on the ground. Her knees were pulled up and her head was buried in her arms and the only sign that she was alive was the twitch of her shoulders as she cried.