‘Anal bastard.’
Rodney looks up then and stares at Jim, but doesn’t say anything.
‘Like, who cares if there’re water marks on the fucking sink?’ Jim makes a face. ‘Tells me, sink needs to be wiped down, glass shelves need a chamois, blah blah blah…’
Jim squints and sings along with the Carly Simon song. He swivels the stool one full circle, stops, flicks his cigarette ash into the ashtray and says, ‘And then he tells me all the bins need to be lined, including the crummy waste-paper baskets in the bedrooms. Like some bloody woman.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Jim, who are you talking about?’
Jim blows out smoke. ‘The wanker. David.’
‘Who?’
‘My boss, the one with the riverboats.’
‘Oh, him. Your second job, right?’
‘Yep.’
Rodney wipes the glasses and places them on the shelf. ‘Thought you said he was a great guy.’
‘Yeah, I know, I mean he is, he was. But lately he’s been a pain.’
‘How long have you been working for him?’
‘Oh, about six weeks. At first it was all cool, then he comes down on me like a tonne of bricks.’
Rodney cocks his head and looks at Jim with doubtful eyes. ‘Anything you’ve been doing differently?’
‘Nah.’
‘Come on, Jim, if you’ve been doing the same thing and he’s been cool about it, how come he suddenly turns on you?’
‘Fucked if I know.’ He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Nothing worse than some arsehole breathing down your neck.’
‘Me. I know what my boss is like. If I do the same thing, he’s cool. If I take shortcuts, won’t take long, he spots it and I cop it there and then.’
Jim looks at Rodney, shifts his gaze, then faces him again. ‘Yeah, I know what you’re saying. But man, what’s a few fucking water marks? Was in a hurry that day, okay. Not like I planned to do it again—’
‘Hey, look who’s here?’ Rodney says, looking past Jim.
Peter walks towards them and pulls out a stool. ‘Hiya, guys.’
Jim turns around and waves.
‘How’re you going?’
‘Yeah, good.’
‘So, what’s up?’
Jim quickly straightens up. ‘Aw, just the usual. Block’s pretty much vacated, yeah? Was up there this morning. Not a ghost around.’
‘Yeah, most guys have taken leave.’
‘You wrapping up too?’
‘Yeah, today’s my last day. Drove the cherry picker back to the yard. You know how hard it is to steer that big monster. Just finished cleaning the sulphur houses.’
‘Bloody Christmas. Who needs Christmas?’ Jim says.
Marietta sets down the tray of raw lamb chops, sausages and chicken shashliks. Peter begins arranging the chops on the barbecue. Oil snaps like fireworks and the scent of grilled meat, a typical summer smell, permeates the air.
Jim gets up from his chair. ‘Got another pair of tongs?’ he asks.
‘Here.’ Peter picks up tongs from a basket and hands them to Jim.
Jim lines the sausages in neat rows beside the chops, and before long the hotplate is full. He looks across at Marietta, watches her slice the onions, potatoes and zucchinis.
She brings the bowls of cut vegetables to them. ‘Here, throw these on after the meat’s done.’
‘Who needs vegies?’ Jim says.
‘Come on, Jim, don’t tell me you’re going back to your old ways,’ Marietta says.
‘Hey, what choice do I have? Laila spoiled me rotten. Cooked me all those yummy stir-fries. Like as if I can whip them up myself.’
‘It’s not that hard. Stir-fries are dead easy. You could do them blindfolded,’ she says.
‘Yeah right.’ Jim makes a face.
‘Well, you’ll just have to come around to our place more often,’ she says.
‘Jim’s fine,’ Peter says, looking Jim’s way, ‘aren’t you?’
‘Yep, yep, one day at a time,’ Jim says.
‘Say, after all this Christmas shit dies down, how about we go to Adelaide one weekend? My uncle’s got a big house. Said I could bring guests anytime,’ Peter says.
‘Sounds good to me!’
Marietta puts the knife and chopping board back into the basket and moves towards the barbecue. Jim inches to his right to make way for her.
‘No, you’re alright, Jim.’
Jim moves anyway. He picks up a can of beer and offers it to her. ‘Or would you prefer some wine? I’ve got a good merlot I got as a Christmas gift sitting in my caravan. I could go grab it.’ He drops his tongs.
‘No, no, beer’s fine.’ She opens the can and takes a sip. She looks at Jim. ‘Still missing Laila?’
Jim looks ahead at the river. He sees birds circling the gum trees on the opposite bank. ‘Sometimes. But hey, you know, I think I’m on the way up. I can think about her now and not have that yearning, you know what I mean.’
‘That’s great, Jim.’
‘The only thing I do think about quite a lot is, how she’s going. I mean, fine, she left me and that—best man wins, what can you do—but I still want her to be okay, you know.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Marietta nods, looks over at Peter, who is now picking up pieces of cooked meat, putting them on a platter, and spreading the vegetables across the grill.
Jim and Marietta slowly stroll a little way towards the river, beers in hand. The sun is hovering just above the gum trees. Shifting golden rays dance on their faces. Jim lowers his cap to shade more of his face.
Marietta sips her beer. ‘Ever thought about meeting someone else?’
Jim puts his hand in his pocket, looks across at the Christmas lights along the eaves of the caravan park office. This time last year, he was totally oblivious, had no idea that Laila would leave him soon after.
‘Maybe. Dunno. Just want to let things lie for the moment. We’ll see.’
‘Well, you never know what’s around the corner.’
‘Yeah, damn right.’
‘I mean, you really don’t know where she is and what she’s up to. Might be wise not to jump into something so soon.’
‘Yeah, like there’s much in the way of pickings here in Renmark.’ Jim laughs.
‘True. Who knows? She may be somewhere in Adelaide thinking what a big mistake she made leaving you.’
Jim shakes his head. ‘Mmm…don’t know, she sounded pretty certain in her letter.’
‘That was then, Jim. You know things never stay the same…’
‘You two hungry yet?’ They hear Peter calling out from the barbecue area. ‘It’s all done.’
They turn to face him.
‘Yep, coming…’ Jim says, seeing the platter of food. His stomach growls.
39
LAILA SITS IN HER favourite spot under the gum tree, mug in hand. She sips her coffee, takes in the backyard, the birdbath to her right, the stone path leading to the cluster of shrubs and lemon tree, the vegetable patch at the far corner. Tomatoes hang from the vines like shiny bright faces in the sun. The view is predictable but she still goes through all the items in the backyard as if it’s her first time. There’s something soothing about the ritual. She leans back on the bench, closes her eyes.
It’s Friday afternoon and the other girls are busy making banana cream-caramel pies in the kitchen. She can hear their murmurs from where she is. Helen is telling them the right way to prepare short-crust pastry.
‘Rub the butter in and let the flour fall over your fingers like so. Yes, that’s right.’
It’s been more than two months since she arrived at ‘Magpie’s Nest’. She remembers the day clearly—21 November 1997, nine months after she moved in with Sean. With a small bag of clothes and a few important documents she’d packed and hidden the day before, she scooted out the door half an hour after Sean left for work. In the taxi, she kept her eyes shut, not daring to look behind her in case she should see Sean trailing her. She st
ill quivers when she hears a car pulling up in the driveway, starts when someone shuts the door too loudly. She still has to remind herself, on waking up each morning, that she’s safe, that terror will not be around the corner with the sound of his voice.
For the first week, she hadn’t been able to have her back to anyone. She’d only sit with her spine against a wall, face forward in a defence position. Now and again, the visions will still pulse in her head—Sean’s piercing eyes, the deafening tone of his voice, the walls vibrating with his anger. Even now, she sleeps with the night light on, near her bed. The nightmares have lessened. In nearly all of them, parts of her body are being hacked away. By human hands, animals, machinery. There are pools of blood, mangled remains of human parts.
Last night she had one of her first nightmare-free sleeps. A lightness fills her today. She breathes in the scent of the gum leaves. It reminds her of her first day in Australia, her first view of the bush, the scrubland. Jim beside her, steering the ute, whistling country-and-western tunes. Big open spaces, big open dreams, heading for Renmark. Huge, stretching forever.
‘It will take a long time for the psychological scars to heal,’ Helen has told her.
She removes her shoes and brings her knees up to her chin. She thinks about Marietta, about the countless rapes she must have experienced in that one year in Jogjakarta. Laila returns to the night of the rape, tries to recapture the anatomy of her suffering, and multiplies it by 365. She shudders.
‘The caravan is like heaven after what I’ve been through,’ Marietta’s words reverberate in her thoughts.
She thinks about the little trinkets she used to buy from Bargain Basement, that she placed on the narrow windowsill in the caravan. Bits of junk: a miniature cat sleeping in a basket, little spoons with elaborate handles, even their little gift boxes she couldn’t bear to throw out. They were her treasures. Each time she picked one up at the shop and asked Marietta what she thought of it, Marietta would nod and smile. But while Laila would part with her carefully saved money for these useless items, Marietta would never buy them herself.
Laila pictures Sean sitting in his mansion, surrounded by his wealth. She sees him gathering the clothes and accessories that she’d left behind, and chucking them into the bin.
The next day, Laila takes a walk to the nearby Junction Markets. She heads straight for stall number fifteen, run by a Vietnamese woman. Her peacharines are the juiciest and usually cost a dollar less a kilogram. After grabbing a few and paying for them, she heads to a phone booth two streets from the market.
Marietta picks up the mobile after five rings.
‘Laila, how are you? So good to hear from you.’
‘Hello, Marietta. I’m well. Thought I’d give you a ring to find out how you are.’
‘Lucky you got me, Peter happened to leave his mobile behind. He’s gone to the deli to get the newspaper.’
‘Are you still in Renmark?’
‘No. We’re in Kapunda. Moved back here mid-January. Can you believe, it’s already the New Year? Talking about which, belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.’
‘Same to you.’
‘Did you have a good Christmas?’
‘I just stayed here. Didn’t go out, didn’t do much. And you?’
‘Spent it at Renmark. The normal thing with Peter’s family, you know. Couldn’t escape it this time.’
‘Gee, is that how long it is since I’ve spoken to you?’
‘Looks like. They still won’t allow you to receive calls there?’
‘No, they won’t. I can understand why. One of the girls, her husband tried to find her. He came to the centre, all crazed, smashed a window. We were so scared. They had to call the police and now she has a restraining order against him.’
‘Gee, that’s scary. Are you okay?’
‘I’m getting better. It takes time, Marietta. That’s what the counsellors say…So why did you move back to Kapunda?’
‘Oh, remember I told you about the business thing Peter was trying to work out with his uncle? It’s finally happening and they’re selling wine from wineries in the Barossa, and Kapunda is a lot closer.’
‘Still in the caravan?’
Laila hears Marietta laughing. ‘Yes, still in the caravan.’
‘You’re well?’ Laila asks.
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m good. But I miss Renmark. Miss the river. And I miss you.’
‘I miss you too, Marietta. So much. It gets lonely in the centre. I think about our days together in Renmark so much.’
‘Those were good days, huh? It’s not the same in Kapunda. I know a few women here, but we’re not that close.’
‘Oh Marietta, I wish I could see you again.’
‘Me too.’ Pause. ‘Do you think about Sean?’
‘Sometimes. Not that often. I try not to think about the past.’
‘Yeah, wise.’
‘I actually feel quite numb now. But sometimes I get up in the morning and I hate myself, I hate the mistakes I’ve made.’
‘Oh Laila. We all go through that. Everyone makes mistakes.’
‘Yes, but I was really stupid. I did things and because of those things, my life is now a mess.’
‘You’re getting your life back together, though. You are, right?’
‘I hope so. I won’t know till I leave this place. And that’s the scary part.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Don’t know. I’ll have to look for a job or something. For the first time in my life I have to earn money to feed myself. It’s frightening.’
‘Oh, sweetie. I remember how it was at the sweatshop. You just need to take whatever comes your way, no matter how awful the work is. Register yourself with Centrelink, that’s a start. Have you done that yet?’
‘Tomorrow, I’m going there tomorrow. Every time I feel scared, I think about you, Marietta, about what you went through.’
‘Oh, sweetie.’
A beep, then a recorded voice tells her she needs to top up.
‘Hold on a while. I have to put in more money.’
She slips in some coins.
‘You’re okay with money?’ Marietta asks.
‘Yes, I’ve got the money my Mak gave me before I came to Australia. It’s not a lot but I was careful not to use it, just in case. Thank goodness.’
‘I really hope something comes your way.’
‘Thanks, Marietta.’
A motorcycle whizzes past. Laila looks in the direction of the vehicle, sees a bearded man in a black leather jacket with studs and chains, his helmet covered with all sorts of stickers.
‘How’s Jim?’ she asks. ‘You wouldn’t have seen him lately, huh, now that you’re in Kapunda.’
‘Saw him just before we moved. The three of us went out for a meal. A kind of farewell for us, you know.’
‘Oh, that’s nice. Where?’
‘The Renmark Club of course.’
‘Yes, that’s Jim’s favourite.’
‘Mmm, he likes the sticky date pudding there. It was a lovely evening.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘Yeah. He seems to be doing okay.’
‘That’s good. He’s a good man.’
Laila hears Marietta’s breathing.
‘Do you miss him?’ Marietta asks.
‘Sometimes. I miss how he makes me laugh. And his silly ways.’
‘Laila, I’m sorry things have turned out this way. Sometimes, when I think about you, I feel so guilty—I did persuade you to marry Jim right at the start, remember?’
‘It’s okay, don’t worry about it—’
‘Really, Laila, I need to say this, as I have felt so horrible about it. If I hadn’t asked you to give him a chance, who knows what might have happened to your life? You might have met someone else and you wouldn’t have gone through all that suffering. I am so sorry.’
Laila sighs. ‘It’s not your fault, Marietta. You know, my Mak used to tell me, some things are meant to be. I was meant to liv
e in that smelly caravan.’ She laughs.
‘All I want to say now is that I know for sure Jim loved you.’
‘I know he did. But I’ve told myself not to make any decisions yet. I want to think some more. I’m so afraid of making big decisions now. Since I left the longhouse, all the decisions I made have been wrong, so I want to think really carefully. First thing is for me to take care of myself after leaving this place.’
‘Sounds like a good thing.’
‘I used to think all women need a husband to look after them, they are helpless and, without a man, their life is useless.’
‘Don’t we all think that?’
‘Not anymore. I really have no choice now. I’m on my own and there’s no one I can depend on to look after me.’
‘You can count on me to be your friend always, you know that, right?’
Another beep.
‘Have to go, Marietta.’
‘Okay, next time you ring me, give me the number of the phone booth and I’ll ring you right back.’
‘Okay. Bye for now. Love you.’
‘Love you, too, Laila. Big hug.’
40
AFTER HE FINISHES CLEANING the houseboat Jim gives it a quick glance to check if everything is back in place. He goes to the kitchen sink, runs his finger over the dry surface and bends over to have a closer look. No water marks. He checks the tap as well, angling goose-necked into the sink. Under his breath, he mouths a curse. Then he chuckles to himself.
‘Bloody water marks.’
How he’d bitched about it to Rodney last year.
In the bathroom, he checks the gleaming surfaces. He takes a whiff of the scent of lemon detergent. A quick squeak-test with his index finger to the basin and bath taps, before he gives them a once-over with a fresh rag.
Back in the living area, he sprays air freshener in a circular wave, packs up his cleaning kit, and shuts the door behind him.
Tonight, he drives his normal route to the KFC outlet to get his Two Piece Feed. At the intersection, as he waits while an elderly couple crosses the road, he thinks about rewarding himself with a nice hot meal at the Club. At the Renmark Drive-in opposite KFC, he makes his usual U-turn. But instead of flicking his indicator to the left, he drives straight, to head back into town. Next thing, he is pulling into a parking lot outside Renmark Club.
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