Our Magic Hour

by Jennifer Down

  Sylvie held the baby and beamed as everyone unwrapped her gifts. They were lavish: she gave Audrey a cashmere jumper, an enormous box of lotions and creams, a thin gold bracelet. Audrey was confused by the excess. She thanked her mother over and over again. She saw Bernie, Irène and David glance at one another. Sylvie was smiling.

  In the bathroom Audrey washed her hands with a heavy feeling of unease. Nick used to laugh at her for jumping at small noises, at always expecting the worst, but growing up she’d divined her parents’ moods preternaturally. Sometimes she just knew. It helped to navigate what was coming. And yet she could not decode whatever she’d just seen pass between her brother and sister. She wondered if Sydney had dulled her senses.

  Irène stepped in and shut the door. ‘You need to talk to her. I can’t. I’m going to say something awful. She’s been borrowing money from us since October.’

  Audrey was still holding the hand towel. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Since she lost her job.’

  ‘She told me she got a promotion. She’s a team leader.’

  Irène looked up at the water-stained ceiling. ‘A team leader,’ she said. ‘It’s not really funny, I guess. But almost.’

  ‘She goes to work every day. She wears her shirt and name badge.’

  ‘She’s not going to work, Audrey.’

  ‘Okay. Don’t—yell at me. I had no idea.’

  ‘I’m not yelling.’

  ‘Don’t speak to me like that. It’s not my fault.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Irène’s arms were crossed. ‘She says she’s doing more volunteer work at the hospital. I don’t know if she’s looking for another job. I just thought she might listen to you.’

  Audrey thought of Sylvie pinning back her hair every morning in the hallway mirror. Sylvie on the couch in her stockings, fiddling with her earring. How was work, Maman? Just the same.

  ‘Please,’ Irène said, ‘please.’

  Audrey found her mother in the kitchen making coffee.

  ‘Those were really generous gifts, Maman,’ she said.

  Sylvie kissed her forehead. ‘I like to make my family happy.’

  ‘I know. And we’re really grateful. But we weren’t expecting anything this year.’

  Sylvie spilled sugar across the bench. ‘Qu’est-ce qui t’as dit? Who told you about my job?’

  Audrey went to get a sponge.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, it’s nothing to be ashamed of—’

  ‘I’m not ashamed. Don’t be patronising to me.’

  ‘All right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just saying thanks. They were generous gifts.’

  Sylvie fell back against the pantry door, arms folded.

  ‘Let’s just enjoy the rest of the day, all right?’ Audrey said. ‘Forget I mentioned it. I’m sorry.’

  Her mother wiped her hands on a tea towel. She had a look in her eye, a mindless cruelty that was not really hers.

  ‘Nick has a new girlfriend,’ Sylvie said. Audrey’s pain was acute and fleeting. She felt her arms go weak. Steady, recover, all in a matter of milliseconds.

  ‘Does he.’

  ‘Mm,’ Sylvie said, sawing the tea towel between her fingers, ‘Adam told me.’

  ‘Well. As long as he’s happy.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t know. Adam didn’t mention it?’

  ‘No. He didn’t.’

  The coffee was made, the cups lined up along the bench. Audrey looked at her mother’s face for a very long time, and was frightened by the absence of anything tender or regretful. She excused herself and went outside. She walked to the far end of the property and leaned against one of the big peppercorn trees. She had to put her fist to her mouth so she wouldn’t howl.

  She stayed at her sister’s house that night, curled on the fold-out sofa. She read a Bruno Schulz book from Irène’s shelves, battling through pages and pages and unable to recall in the morning a thing she’d read. The baby cried out after two o’clock. She saw the light go on in Irène and David’s bedroom, heard their drowsy voices.

  She was sitting at the kitchen table when the sun came up, drawing with Zoe’s textas. She could see the blooming sky through the French doors she’d opened onto the backyard and through the skylight above her. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. The air was sweet. Irène came out in her thinning dressing-gown and drank a glass of water standing by the sink, holding the baby. He was awake but not crying. Irène sat down next to Audrey.

  ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘Good, thanks.’

  ‘Could you hold Lucas? I need to get his bottle.’ He squirmed slowly, moving his legs, opening and closing his fists. His eyes focused on Audrey. His hair smelled milky.

  Irène took Lucas in her arms. He guzzled at the rubber teat.

  ‘He just wouldn’t take the breast,’ she said, and Audrey made an empathetic noise in her throat, the noise of someone without children, who did not care. ‘I fed Zoe until she was eighteen months old.’ Audrey watched her sister expertly cradling the baby. She picked up the black texta. She added birds to her picture, crude dilated Ms hovering above the trees.

  ‘Is it good to be home?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Yeah, what? There was a but coming.’

  ‘No, there wasn’t. I like Sydney.’

  ‘You like the anonymity,’ Irène said, shifting the baby to her shoulder. Audrey was surprised. Her sister gave a small smile. ‘You forget we grew up in the same house. I’m sorry you were stuck for longer, but I was there, too.’

  ‘No,’ Audrey said, ‘I don’t forget that at all. But how do you—’ The right words fell away from her. ‘I’m happy, but I don’t understand how you stop thinking about it all.’ She put the texta down.

  ‘It’s hard,’ Irène said. ‘Maybe Zoe helped. You have to not be so self-centred. You can’t have bad days. You work it out.’

  Audrey had thought her sister understood.

  ‘Of course,’ Irène added, ‘it was toughest for you. I just got out as soon as I could. Bernie’s such a selfish shit, he doesn’t know how much time we spent looking after him. You didn’t want to leave Maman. You didn’t want to leave Bern. And you didn’t want to leave Dad, either. You felt like you had to stay.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Irène answered. ‘You told me.’

  Zoe thumped sleepily into the kitchen.

  ‘Morning, blossom.’

  ‘Morning.’ She settled herself on the chair beside Audrey, leaning over to see the picture.

  ‘That’s really good,’ she said.

  Audrey laughed. ‘Thanks, Zoe.’

  ‘You’re an artist.’

  ‘Sell it to you for fifty cents.’

  ‘I have thirty-six dollars,’ Zoe announced, ‘from the tooth fairy and also pocket money from Mum and Dad. And ten that Mamie gave me yesterday in my card. And
she gave me a cooking set and a cardigan, and two pet fish. They have to have French names.’ She slid off the chair, ran from the room.

  Irène propped the baby on her lap, one hand under his chin to support the weak stalk of his neck, the other rubbing his back rhythmically.

  Audrey cleared her throat. ‘Irène, I felt sort of scapegoated yesterday.’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to scapegoat you,’ Irène said. ‘I just thought she might listen to you. You handle her better.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘It is. And I know it’s not fair, but I’m so mad at her lately I can hardly look at her.’ She held the baby out to Audrey again. ‘It was harder after Lucas. You know, you stop working, you stop seeing people. I felt like my world was very small. I don’t want to exaggerate it. I love my kids so much. It’s not that.’

  There was a desperation to her that made Audrey look away. ‘You don’t have to justify it,’ she said.

  Irène’s mouth was a hard line, like in Bernie’s painting. ‘I just wanted Maman to be a normal mother. I just wanted her to ask. “Ça va? Is there anything I can do? Can I look after him for a couple of hours?”’ Her mouth trembled, and tightened again. ‘I mightn’t have even taken her up on the offer, but she’s my mother. I just wanted her to ask. She didn’t even come around. And you can’t resent it, or her, because it’s not her, it’s the chemicals.’

  Audrey squeezed her sister’s arm. ‘I’m sorry that happened.’

  ‘I am happy,’ Irène said. ‘Don’t mistake this.’

  David appeared then, holding Zoe under one arm, joking about cooking her in a pot for breakfast. She was shrieking and Irène was hissing Sh, sh, but they were all laughing. The day had started without warning.

  She went out with Adam for sangria at a rooftop bar, compared notes on Christmas. Adam’s garrulous extended family, the house on the farm, made for cheerful talk.

  Audrey shook her head when he asked about her day.

  ‘Well, it must have been pretty fucked if you ended up at your sister’s,’ he said at last.

  ‘It just sounds so petty in the retelling.’

  ‘Go on. I live for this stuff. You know that.’

  She gave him an abridged version. When she got to Sylvie in the kitchen, spilling sugar, spitting Nick has a new girlfriend, Adam pulled his lips back like he was watching a gory crime show.

  ‘Sorry, Spence.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. He can do what he likes.’

  ‘You know what I mean. I’m sorry Sylv told you like that. I should’ve said something, but—’

  ‘Did she call you?’ Audrey asked.

  ‘Yeah, she did, actually, before you came down. I sort of thought you might have asked her to do it. I thought maybe you were uncomfortable talking to me about it.’

  ‘I’d never do that.’

  ‘I know. It was just weird that she still had my number.’

  Audrey picked a slice of orange from the bottom of her glass and sucked on it. It tasted faintly medicinal.

  ‘Anyway,’ Adam said, ‘Girlfriend is definitely a Sylvie term. I think they’re just seeing each other.’

  ‘It’s all right. That’s just Maman. Passive-aggressive is what she does.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for? I just wanted to know she wasn’t making it up.’

  ‘How mature. Good on you, Spence. Fuck ’em all.’

  Minh came by later and made Audrey laugh until she was weak. They ended up at an afternoon gig, drinking Pacificos underground in a narrow bandroom while the support act played. There was barely anyone there, only slow sexy music, a man singing Take me home, you know me, so breathy and low it was hard to hear. The three of them danced together right in front of the stage. Audrey could not help but think of Katy, the way the three of them had danced together so no one was left out. Minh’s shirtsleeves were buttoned, and every time he raised his arm to spin her around Audrey watched the fabric strain upwards over his thin wrists. They reached for one another, grinning when the yellow stage light flashed over their faces.

  Between songs Audrey slipped to the bar. She looked back at the two of them. Everyone in the room was watching; even the bass player was smiling at them from under her hair. Adam had his back to Minh, but their faces were close. It was almost too intimate a thing to see.

  When Audrey returned to her sister’s, late afternoon, her texta picture of the woods was stuck to the fridge.

  Irène had invited their mother for dinner: an act of daughterly courtesy, a peace offering. Sylvie would not shut up. Audrey played dress-ups with Zoe in the backyard. They put scarves around their heads like bandits, they dressed as bride and groom, they were belly dancers with jangly belts.

  Sylvie stood and smoked by the back door.

  ‘Did you find something at the sales today?’

  ‘Not really,’ Audrey answered, unwinding a feather boa from her neck. She was residually drunk. ‘I hung out with Adam and Minh. It was so crowded.’

  ‘That’s why I never go. It’s disgusting, all these people.’ She tapped ash into a clay bowl, a makeshift ashtray. She stepped forwards and touched Audrey’s face. ‘You’ve got some sparkle on your nose.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She wished Sylvie would stop touching her, stop talking to her.

  Zoe was trying to fasten an apron around her waist, but her small clumsy fingers got in the way of themselves. Sylvie reached down to help her.

  ‘Thanks, Mamie.’

  Audrey stopped to watch them, Sylvie squinting as she looped the strings, cigarette between her lips. And the way she had a thousand times before, she thought: Let’s start again.

  They went back to the indoor pool. They kicked their legs. They blew bubbles together. Audrey showed her how to push the water back and forth with a flat hand, how to dog paddle to keep her head above water. She’d bought her some private swimming lessons for Christmas, but she doubted Sylvie would ever use the voucher. She tried to teach her as much as she could. Once Sylvie said I want to see you do it. She sat on the edge, knees tucked to her chin, while Audrey swam a lap.

  Afterwards Sylvie floated on her back. She clutched a foam board to her chest in supplication, Audrey standing beside her like a doctor or a priest.

  Sylvie drove her out to Tullamarine. They arrived an hour too early, and sat in a café watching the planes through the plate-glass windows.

  ‘Ça va, Audrey?’

  ‘Ça va, Maman.’

  Sylvie folded her arms. ‘Qu’est-ce que t’as?’

  ‘Nothing. I was just thinking.’

  ‘Chuis ta mère. I know when something is wrong. Dis-moi, ma p’tite.’

  It took you years to work out Dad was hitting us as well as you. You never know when you’re sick. You didn’t know I was dropping acid back when I was sixteen. You didn’t know Bernie and I used to steal your Endep when we were still living in your house, when Dad was alive. How could you not have noticed it was missing? You didn’t know when Nick and I were splitting up. You didn’t know when Irène was stuck in that ha
ppy house of hers with two children and a sick head. How could you know?

  She reached across the table for her mother’s hand.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, honest. What are you doing for New Year’s?’

  Dry Swallow

  In Randwick the church sign still said Wishing you a white Christmas! May your sins be as white as snow. The poinsettias were still out. Audrey read for hours in her room, in the backyard, in the reserve at the end of the street. She went down to the baths every night. She and Pip lay on their towels at the beach and indulged in pointless conversation. It was high summer, long daylight hours. They got sucked into an Irish crime series, watching it at night on a laptop huddled together in Pip’s bed. They flinched at the noises of the settling house, glanced at each other.

  They had a New Year’s Eve party. There seemed an impossible number of people in the house, all friends or friends of friends, and nobody was bothering to ask names. The windows and doors were open. The house groaned with the weight of so many feet. Bicycles littered the yard. The kids leaned against the fridge and slipped ice cubes down one another’s shirts.

  Audrey felt the blood in her fingertips. She danced until she was sweaty; she sat down, breathlessly happy, and talked to Claire’s friends. She drew pictures with Elliott, who had started to document All the insects in the world in an exercise book. His tongue pushed its way between his lips as he coloured. With a fine-tipped black pen Audrey drew a rudimentary spider.

  ‘There you go,’ she said, ‘a daddy-long-legs.’

  ‘Those spiders,’ Elliott said, inspecting it critically, ‘have more poison than redbacks. They just don’t know how to release it.’ Audrey looked at him. He bared his teeth. ‘Can I have a sip of your drink?’

  ‘No.’