I decided it was a big funeral; after all, he was the son of a politician. But it still didn’t feel right. I shuffled uncomfortably, scratched my ear. I gave him a soul and made him a man of integrity; a man admired in a smaller community, rather than by society at large. A soul admired, yes, as an intellectual. He would be a university professor who was known in academic circles. He had had cancer of the spine. I looked up from the keyboard. What was it Warwick said? Was it spinal cancer that had taken his mother?
They stood two among many mourners all dressed darkly: red eyes, handkerchiefs ready, sniffles, strained faces. Ashes to ashes. A loud sob, a large woman cocooned in an old black shawl shook as she cried. A short, bald, red-faced man in a grey duffel coat blew his nose noisily. A tall, black-skinned man, who was made taller by a hat perched high on his head, danced from foot to foot to keep warm; he didn’t seem too upset, just keen to get away. They looked at the box. A pretty blonde girl with too much make-up coughed. All eyes on a wooden box.
Could I believe that I really knew someone I had invented? He was not just a stranger, he was less than that: an invention decaying in a wooden box. I knew what it was like to lose a real person, to mourn them. Could I give my characters the ability to mourn someone they didn’t know? Is that thing in the coffin all that’s left when existence ceases, or does existence remain as long as there is someone alive to remember? The journey’s end is never as good the start, ‘Coming home ain’t quite as fine as leaving...’ it was a good song, one my father liked. The ground accepted the box, serving to remind each mourner of nature in reverse: something was being planted, something that would not grow. Wind shook the nearby liquidambars and leaves flew. Two of the mourners caught each other’s eye. What did they see?
Then I stopped, sat still and stared at nothing. I was confused; random thoughts were getting mixed up with reality, or, rather, with possibilities. Things didn’t make sense… or did they? The events of recent days were orbiting, questions appeared, seeming to have a different colour, and then their shapes changed and some started to fit together. Maybe I could make two and two add up?
I hit ‘Save’ and shut down the computer.
CHAPTER 31
It was nearly dark as I pulled up in front of the old weatherboard house that needed painting. I pushed open the stiff wooden gate, poked my finger into the recessed doorbell. The bouquet of recently mown grass evoked memories and I wondered if Virginia had been doing the mowing. As if I’d beckoned her, she opened the door.
‘G’day, Carter. Did Mum invite you for dinner?’
‘Hi, Virginia. No, just a flying visit.’ I remembered to be chatty, be casual. ‘So, someone’s been mowing.’
She pulled a face. ‘Oh yeah. It only took me forty-seven goes to get our bloody old mower going, and I had to go and buy petrol. I tell you, it was more bother than it was worth.’
I laughed, and it was for real. ‘Well, good work; you can do mine anytime.’
She smiled and raised her eyebrows. ‘Yeah, likely.’
I followed her down the hall into their small family room, where there was a musical talent-quest show on the television. Gloria was sitting in the old floral armchair with a magazine on her lap. She looked surprised to see me.
‘Carter. I didn’t even hear the door over the noise of the TV.’ She pointed at it, as if to prove her point. ‘The two sisters that just sang are so good, only thirteen and fourteen years old.’
She spoke quickly; I figured it was a reaction. She started to get up. I told her not to but she was already on her feet, so I gave her a hug and kissed her cheek.
‘So, what brings you to these parts?’
She nodded to the cane chair and I sat. Virginia assumed a pose that was very much her style, leaning against the door, arms crossed. It had occurred to me previously that it was a smart position to take. You look relaxed and are in the room but you’re also on your feet, near the door, so it’s easy to exit.
‘Oh, not much really. I went to Vue de Mer today. You know, the house in the painting. The place at Mornington you think you may have visited when Max was a child.’
Gloria nodded slowly.
‘Yes, it was fascinating, a lovely setting.’ I lied, ‘As soon as I got there, I thought of you. I should have invited you, but I only decided to go at the last minute, so sorry about that.’
She smiled softly and shrugged her shoulders.
’Anyway, it was good, and while I was there, the oddest thought occurred to me. Is it possible that Maxine could have been painted by Elaine Tyson?’
I locked on to Gloria’s eyes, which was something I normally would not do. She returned my stare with a look that told me little, then turned back to the television. The volume had been turned down low, so we had an odd broken background melody.
‘It’s just that I also went to an art exhibition recently, at a gallery in East Melbourne. It was called “Great Ladies of Australian Art”, and there were a few Elaine Tyson paintings, and one was of a young girl running through a garden. It was Vue de Mer and she had red hair and, anyway, I wondered if it could be Maxine.’
Her eyes stayed on the television but she was not seeing it. The air in the room suddenly seemed heavy, and there was an odd stillness. The pause continued and I was about to speak when Gloria straightened in her chair, lifting her head as if someone had called her to attention. She breathed in deeply, her eyes widened, then she exhaled with a strange noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a soft grunt. She turned and looked at me intently, then turned to Virginia and, as she did, her face softened.
‘Darling, would you come and sit down, please? I have something I need to tell you.’
Virginia’s eyebrows rose, and she moved obediently to the other lounge chair. Their eyes locked.
‘Virginia, darling, I’m sorry I haven’t told you this before but it seems it’s time.’ Gloria smiled at her daughter, then turned her glance back to me and took another deep breath. ‘Maxine was not my child.’ The words exploded, like a radio that had been turned up loudly when it was turned off and then someone switches it on.
Gloria raised both hands quickly, as if to say “no, wait”, then continued, ‘of course she was mine, she was my beautiful girl, I loved her all her life, still do, but I was not her birth mother.’
The words were strong and clear, but sounded like they’d travelled a long way and that the journey was difficult. Her eyes filled with tears and she looked uncomfortable. But she held her head high, strength was her ally, her chest heaved.
‘My brother, Oliver had a relationship with a woman, her name was Geraldine. They were a bad match; mind you, Oliver would have been a bad match for just about anyone. He had charm, a scoundrel’s charm and good looks, and she, well, she was being defiant and, you know, sort of a hippy and wanting to be wild. She was a totally different style of person to him. Chalk and bloody cheese. They never would have lasted, but they had a baby girl.’ Gloria’s hands were together, the fingers entwined, and her thumbs moved against each other. ‘They gave her the name Maxine. My brother had been convinced it was going to be a boy and he’d decided on the name Maxwell. When it was a girl, they called her Maxine, and it stuck.’
Now she was looking wide-eyed at the floor, as if her story was being replayed only for her. ‘Odd that I’d remember that, about the names. But, anyway, Geraldine wanted nothing to do with the baby. Oliver was a fling for her, she was so young. She’d been in a long-term relationship with someone else, almost engaged to him, some lawyer. She’d dumped him, he wasn’t cool enough. He came back on the scene and forgave Geraldine and wanted her back, and she must have said yes. Of course, there was no way the lawyer wanted the baby but by then it was too late for an abortion. She told Oliver that she didn’t want it and planned to marry this lawyer, and Oliver, well, he didn’t want a baby, he couldn’t be a dad, he couldn’t even keep a job.’ Gloria’s tone ch
anged; there was venom in it.
Her eyes darted around the room, looking at everything but seeing nothing. ‘I loaned him money often enough. He wasn’t really nasty or dangerous or anything, just a stupid, irresponsible man. He caused our parents lots of pain. I knew he’d take off again, up north or to Asia. There had been problems with the police: drunken and disorderly stuff, and once for possession of marijuana.’ She shook her head, her hair moved with it. She took time a tissue from her cardigan pocket.
I felt like concrete that had set; I was almost too scared to breathe. The room seemed opaque, time was elsewhere.
‘I sort of loved my brother but he was hopeless.’ She blew her nose quietly. ‘He asked me to look after Maxine for a bit while he worked things out, but I knew what that meant. Then the lawyer, Geraldine’s boyfriend, asked me to visit him in his offices in Collins Street. When I got there, he didn’t even see me, one of the other lawyers did. They offered me money to look after the baby. I remember the word he used. He said that it seemed “appropriate” we look after Maxine for a while. Appropriate! I had to sign a paper saying I would tell no one. I had no doubt they gave money to Oliver, just to get him out of the picture. I asked the lawyer if I needed to adopt Maxine, but he said he was able to change the hospital records or something, so, for all intents and purposes, she was mine.’
She turned back to Virginia and leaned towards her. ‘Your dad was so good. We hadn’t long been married and we weren’t going to have kids for a couple of years, but he loved me and when we both met this beautiful baby named Maxine, we just fell in love. Four years later, you came along and all of a sudden we had the two most beautiful daughters, who we loved so much.’
The last words were almost inaudible, tears turning her eyes into large, shining crystals. Virginia was out of her chair and embracing her mother. I heard them both sobbing.
‘I’m so sorry, darling, I should have told you. I know I should have.’
‘Shush, it’s all right, Mum. It’s all right.’
It was the first time I had seen them show affection for each other. I envied their oneness.
I dragged a crumpled handkerchief out of my pocket, wiped my eyes and cleared my throat. Then I quietly got up and switched off the television, which showed four loose-trousered boys rap dancing. They added such absurdity to the scene that I almost smiled.
Eventually, Virginia stood up. I found a box of tissues on the mantelpiece, and she took them from me and dried her mother’s eyes.
‘It’s OK, Mum. I know you loved us both, and Max knew it to.’ Then Virginia turned from her mother and moved quickly into my arms.
Gloria continued: ‘We actually took her home from the hospital where she was born. It was a private hospital, I don’t remember what it was called. It was easy; everything had been arranged by the solicitors. And, yes, Carter, we did visit Vue de Mer, I think three times.’ Her fingers were still knotted, and she rocked forward and back in her chair. She mesmerised me.
She turned to face me. ‘I lied to you, Carter, I remember Vue de Mer. I remember some things clearly but other parts are a blur; much of it I wanted to forget. But I do remember Elaine, she was Maxine’s grandmother. I didn’t know she was a well-known artist. Maybe I was told about it but I guess she wasn’t so famous back then. In fact, I think she used her married name. Was it Appleby?’
I nodded.
‘She was all right – Elaine, I mean – she was nice enough. She was quiet, and she loved to see Maxine and played with her the whole time we were there. She was never unpleasant but I never got close to her. She just wanted to talk about Maxine. She didn’t approve of Oliver; she could hardly speak to him and Geraldine was never there when we visited.’
‘Fucking bitch.’
Gloria and I spun around to face Virginia. Her eyes were wide, her mouth contorted, her knuckles white as she gripped the sides of the armchair.
‘What a bitch. How could she just dump Max like that? Fuck, I hope I never meet her.’ She looked from her mother to me, then back to her mother, almost daring us to disagree. She was breathing hard, and looked like she was going to continue speaking. We waited, then she looked down and fixed her eyes on the floor as if was examining her feet. I wanted to tell Virginia she was wrong to hate Geraldine, and that she should be thankful, as otherwise Maxine would never have been in their lives, but such words were for later.
Then I remembered that Virginia was the only one in the room who was totally ignorant of the history. I had an advantage, having arrived at their house in the belief that Gloria had much to tell. I had decided there was some sort of relationship between Maxine and Elaine Tyson but I had had no idea Gloria wasn’t Maxine’s birth mother. I was struggling with the reality that the woman I had a brief chat to in the garden at Vue de Mer was the person who gave birth to Maxine. I wanted to tell them more about my trip to Mornington but, given Virginia’s tirade against Geraldine, I decided to wait.
Gloria kept talking, her words so honest that there was a constant ebb and flow of emotion. She spoke of how she’d agreed with her husband that they would tell family and friends there had been some complications, and so kept they kept the pregnancy quiet, in case it didn’t go the distance. She said the lie worked, and a couple of weeks after Maxine came to live with them, they announced her birth. Then she talked of how wonderful it was when Virginia arrived, and how good the early years were with two happy and healthy girls. Then she smiled and said that sometimes having two teenage daughters had been a handful.
Virginia wore a sad smile as her mother spoke, and occasionally tears eased down her cheeks. When Gloria mentioned her and Maxine’s teenage years, Virginia broke into sobs and revealed how at the age of twelve, she hated her sister because she thought she was inferior to her, and believed their parents loved Maxine more. Her mother shook her head rapidly and they again embraced. Virginia went on to talk of how she had suffered due to the loss to of her father when she was only eight years old. She would cry herself to sleep and Maxine had got into bed with her and comforted her.
I make Virginia laugh till she cried when I told her how Maxine often said to me she envied her sister’s carefree attitude to life, and would ask ‘Why can’t I just handle conflict like my sister? She’s so cool.’ As I spoke, I mimicked Max’s habits of putting her right hand in the air, like a policeman signalling ‘stop’, when she disagreed with something or wanted to make a point. How she raised her eyebrows and opened her eyes as wide as she could when she was excited, and how she would habitually say ‘bloody well.’ I felt part of their family.
Then Gloria sobbed as she said she should have told Maxine about the circumstances of her birth, and how much she loved her. Virginia hugged her mother again and insisted that Maxine knew she was loved. I did my best to confirm this. I knew it was time to tell them the truth.
‘I came here this evening because I had an inkling that things were not what they seemed. I didn’t know anything about what you’ve just told me, Gloria, but I’d started to wonder. You see, I met Geraldine today – in the garden at Mornington.’
Both women sat still as I spoke. Gloria looked sad but accepting, almost as if she was not greatly surprised. Virginia, however, looked confused; this news seemed to send her emotions flying once more.
I explained how I had accidentally come across Geraldine at Vue de Mer, how I introduced myself and described the painting to her, and told her how Maxine had accidentally found it, having been compelled to buy it but was not sure why. ‘She seemed politely curious as soon as I started to talk about the painting but her expression changed when I mentioned Maxine’s name.’ I looked back and forth from mother to daughter to gauge their reaction. ‘It was only later, when I recalled the look on her face when I told her Maxine had been killed in a car accident, that I felt things didn’t add up, that she knew more than she was saying. Now, of course, I realise that I was telling her the girl she gav
e birth to thirty-seven years ago was gone.’
There was a moment’s silence before Gloria spoke. ‘I suppose I feel sorry for her but what did she ever do for Max?’ Then she laughed wryly. ‘Well, of course, except bring her into the world. If you look at it that way, she deserves our thanks.’ Again, tears threatened to fall.
“Our thanks…’ The words flew out of Virginia’s mouth. Then she halted and breathed deeply, started to speak, then stopped again and frowned, her expression somewhere between disgust and understanding. It was clear her emotions were like peas in boiling water, jumping and colliding and diving. We all knew this person who had seemed cruel had given us something wonderful.
Virginia offered to make more tea, but I declined. I felt that it was time for me to leave but I was also hesitant to do so because I was nervous about what to do next.
Maxine’s sister spoke. ‘So, what do we do now? Do we need to keep quiet about what we all know?’ Her eyes moved from her mother to me. ‘I mean, is there likely to be any sort of trouble because you have breached the agreement you signed all those years ago, now you’ve told us the whole story?’
This hadn’t occurred to me. Unexpectedly, Gloria smirked and, almost growling, said, ‘Who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks?’
A Change of Texture Page 13