Sign

by Colin Dray

  ‘What?’ Katie looked around.

  ‘Heavens, girl.’ Dettie’s posture stiffened even further in her chair.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Roger leant forward, smiling. ‘Thank you very much. I like it too,’ he said. ‘And I think you have very pretty hair.’

  Katie beamed, then, suddenly shy, huddled back down to her food.

  Sam, like Katie, wasn’t sure what all the fuss had been about. Roger did have nice skin. A smooth, warm cinnamon. When he smiled his whole face seemed to light up, wide and welcoming. Bright teeth beneath his dark, trimmed beard. Soft hair flecked with silver. His high cheekbones shining. He reminded him of the vice-principal, Mr Pauls, who was part-Aboriginal, and always ran the annual Dreamtime festival at school. Perhaps Roger was Aboriginal too. Sam wished he could ask, but suspected that even if he could, the question would probably be met with a similar jolt of surprise.

  Everyone was eating again, and Sam heard his mother murmuring something about putting music on. He went back to enjoying the slick sound of his pasta as it twirled and slurped on his fork.

  ‘Hmmm. Now, Dettie. Dettie. That’s quite an unusual name, isn’t it?’ Roger said at last, taking another large bite.

  Dettie looked up again. ‘Do you find it unusual, Roger?’ She seemed almost amused, smiling slightly the way she did whenever she caught one of the children in a lie.

  ‘No. No, not unusual,’ he said. ‘I’ve just not heard it before. Does it—’ He swallowed. ‘Does it stand for anything?’

  ‘Stand for?’

  ‘Is it short for anything?’

  ‘Bernadette,’ their mother said, wiping her mouth. ‘Her name is actually Bernadette. But we’ve always known her as Dettie, haven’t we kids?’

  Roger was nodding, clutching his cutlery tight. To Sam, no one appeared to be saying anything all that interesting, but Roger’s eyebrows were knotted, his forehead creased heavily as though this were all somehow very important.

  ‘Bernadette,’ he said. ‘That’s one of those classic names you don’t hear too often anymore. It’s nice.’

  He smiled at Dettie with food in his mouth, but she was looking away, concentrating on slicing apart her spaghetti. For a moment everything turned quiet again. Katie was finishing her third piece of garlic bread, sucking the salt from her fingers and kicking her legs beneath her chair. Sam was taking bites from his ball of pasta, feeling the strands disentangle and drop down his chin. As he ate, he realised his mother was shooting Dettie long looks across the table. Finally, Dettie sighed.

  ‘So,’ she said, slowly. ‘Roger.’ She nudged the food around on her plate. ‘You’re religious?’

  Roger was taken a little by surprise. He had just cut another rather large mouthful, and took a moment, raising his finger slightly while he chewed.

  ‘Sorry.’ He swallowed. ‘Um, raised Anglican,’ he said, and smiled. ‘Joanne says you’re very involved in the church yourself?’

  ‘She told you that, did she? Hm.’ Dettie’s eyes swept the table before she turned back to her food. ‘Yes. My husband and I were very active. Very committed.’

  Sam thought he heard her voice tighten on the word husband.

  ‘So you work at Joanne’s bank?’ she said.

  ‘For now, yes. I’m an underwriter mostly. Mortgages. Business loans.’

  ‘Hm.’

  Roger took a sip of beer. ‘I’m hoping to get back into law eventually.’

  ‘So you’re a lawyer?’ Dettie seemed to chew a little on that sentence.

  ‘I was. For a time. Before I moved. Before the bank. Contract law. Negotiations. Things like that. Very boring to anyone who’s not me, I’m sure.’

  ‘Negotiations? What—like divorces?’ Her eyes narrowed.

  ‘No. Not really that kind of—’ Sam noticed the way Roger’s beard rippled a little whenever he licked the insides of his mouth. ‘You know when a business has a lease agreement with the people who own their building?’ he said. ‘Or when a manager has a contract with the company he works for?’

  Dettie was nodding. ‘You wrote up contracts, did you?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Well, I could. I did sometimes. But mostly—well, say that the person who’d written the contract, say they wanted to get out of it. They were sick of it. My job was usually to help them do that. To help them find a way.’

  Dettie’s voice lowered. ‘To help them out of the contract?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Help them break it?’

  ‘Well, not break it, exactly. Find a fault in it. Find a way out. So they didn’t have to be stuck in an arrangement that was bad for their business.’

  At that, Dettie became oddly quiet. Her lips were pursed and she pushed her plate away untouched, setting her knife and fork aside. As she sat silently, taking little sips from her water, she stared straight down at the tablecloth, ever so slightly shaking her head.

  After a few minutes, their mother excused herself and rose from the table, slipping behind Roger into the next room. Everyone sat motionless for a moment, waiting. Sam and Katie looked at each other, confused, until they heard the stereo begin playing the one classical music record they owned. As she squeezed back into the room their mother touched Roger gently on his shoulder.

  ‘You know, you two don’t look like each other at all,’ he said, as she sat back down. After the quiet, his voice seemed rather loud.

  Dettie straightened. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘For sisters,’ Roger said.

  ‘What on earth?!’ Dettie snapped.

  Their mother laughed, quickly, like a cough. ‘No. No, we’re not sisters.’

  Dettie refolded her napkin, tightly, and cleared her throat. ‘I’m Donald’s sister,’ she said.

  Katie looked up at the sound of her father’s name. Dettie seemed rather pleased with herself.

  ‘Really?’ Roger gestured between the children’s mother and aunt. ‘Because you seem much closer.’

  Their mother swallowed. ‘Well, when the children’s father—’ She stopped and took a breath before she continued. ‘When that ended. When he left us. Dettie was here. Lucky for us. She was priceless. She helped out. She got the kids to school while I was working. She was there if I needed to talk, or if the children wanted for anything.’

  Roger nodded enthusiastically. He sipped from his water and raised his glass to them both. ‘Good for you,’ he said. ‘What a blessing.’

  ‘Well, my own husband had passed on,’ Dettie said. ‘So I was only too happy to pitch in where I could.’

  Their mother looked at her sister-in-law strangely, her mouth slightly ajar, but Dettie stared straight ahead at Roger with a sad smile.

  ‘See, that’s wonderful,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s more important than family.’

  Dettie raised her hand. ‘From your mouth to God’s ears.’

  Sam wasn’t sure what that meant, but it seemed to stop the conversation entirely.

  15

  When Roger got ready to leave at the end of the night, he stood for a moment beside the front door, his jacket draped over one wrist and his other arm extended to shake Sam’s hand. As the evening wore on, Sam had realised that he didn’t really like the sound of Roger’s voice. It was deep and thick, and he always spoke slowly, as though he were trying to explain something very complicated to people unable to understand. It was a tone Sam had noticed most adults using when speaking to him since the operation—although Roger seemed to do it to everyone. But as Sam felt his hand being surrounded by Roger’s palm, and as he heard that loud, low voice calling him the ‘man of the house’, saying it was a pleasure to see him again, he felt larger all of a sudden. Older. There was a warm sensation in his chest, and for the first time since leaving the hospital he didn’t see pity in his mother’s eyes as she smiled down at him.

  The front porch light spilled out onto the road. As his mother walked Roger to his car, their bodies were yellowed beneath the glare. Katie had fallen asleep on the couch, and Dettie woke her gently,
ushering the children to their rooms to get ready for bed. Katie slipped straight under her covers, not bothering to change out of her clothes, but as Sam washed his face in the bathroom and began brushing his teeth, he could hear through the window the murmur of voices echoing up the driveway. Finally, the sound of an engine starting filled the empty street, and when the noise had faded away the front door eased open again and pulled shut.

  ‘So you’ve said your goodbyes?’ Dettie was whispering, but her voice carried up the hall.

  ‘Yes. Both got early mornings tomorrow. He said to say thanks again.’ Sam could tell by the way his mother’s voice trailed off that there was something else she wanted to say. ‘Are the children in bed?’ she asked.

  Dettie grunted. ‘Just settling down now. Too much excitement for one day.’

  Their voices rose as they walked through to the dining room. Sam went on brushing slowly so that he could still hear, spitting quietly into the sink.

  ‘I think that went rather well,’ his mother was saying. There was a soft clatter of dishes and cutlery as they began clearing the table. ‘Roger loved the children. Obviously. And I think they took a liking to him.’

  Dettie cleared her throat. She was quiet.

  ‘Everyone—I think everyone got on quite well.’ Over the tinkle of empty glasses, Sam could hear that same tone in his mother’s voice—she was getting ready to say something. ‘Everyone was comfortable. They enjoyed themselves, I think.’ She was in the kitchen now, and it was only because the house was so quiet, the street outside so empty, that Sam could still listen in. ‘It got us talking,’ she said. ‘Roger and I. We started thinking that—well, since it went so nicely—in a week or so we might take the next step.’

  ‘Next step? What next step?’ Dettie’s voice sharpened.

  ‘Well, we just thought…’ Sam’s mother took a breath. ‘We thought it might be good for the children if we spend some time over there. At Roger’s house.’ There was a clunk that sounded like pots being stacked. ‘So we can all get more comfortable. All together. Next Friday, we were thinking.’

  By now Sam was standing by the bathroom door, peering out, toothpaste dribbling from his mouth onto his hand. He could see shadows from the kitchen cast against the hallway wall, but they were still.

  He heard his aunt exhale. ‘I don’t want to go over to his house, Joanne,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to, and I won’t.’

  ‘That’s fine. That’s—that’s actually okay. We were thinking it might be a good idea if the children and I went by ourselves. We thought we’d give them some real one-on-one time.’

  Sam’s mouth was filled with paste and saliva. He wanted to spit again, but was afraid it would break the silence. He knew he was eavesdropping—that he shouldn’t be doing it—but lately it seemed he was always overhearing things. Suddenly, he had a faint recollection of listening in on his mother and aunt like this once before. Was it before his operation? What was it they’d been talking about? His father? Soup?

  ‘The children? Over to Roger—’ Dettie stammered. ‘What, alone?’

  ‘Not alone. I’m going to be there.’

  ‘But—why? What purpose—’ Even from the next room Sam could make out her indignant panting. He could picture her wringing her hands. ‘Does he not want to come here anymore? Is that it? Is this not good enough? Because this is where you live. Where the children—’ She was talking faster now. Almost hiccoughing. ‘Why do the children have to go there? To him? All that unnecessary hassle. Fuss. Why not have him come here? This is their place. Where they feel comfortable.’

  ‘It’s really not a big thing, Dettie. Really. We just want everyone to relax. To get used to one another.’

  Dettie didn’t respond. There was a quick tapping, a fingernail on a table, but as Sam looked on, the two shadows stayed motionless on the wall. No one was speaking. From the next room he thought he heard the squeak of Katie turning in bed. Eventually, Dettie cleared her throat and there was a tinkle of glasses. The shadows moved. They slipped apart, and somebody started the kitchen tap running.

  Taking advantage of the noise, Sam turned on the bathroom faucet softly, rinsed his mouth and spat.

  ‘I mean, it’s perfectly natural,’ he heard his mother saying. ‘Would it be so bad if—’

  ‘So this is who you’ve been spending your time with? Who you’ve been having your children spend time with?’ Dettie said.

  ‘What? Roger? What’s wrong with Roger? Everyone had a lovely night.’

  ‘A lawyer, is he?’

  His mother took a moment to reply. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He was a lawyer. What’s your point?’

  ‘And all the drinking. All night. The bottle never left his hand.’

  ‘He had two beers, Dettie. What are you on about?’

  ‘You know what they’re like.’

  The word they hung in the air a moment. When his mother next spoke her voice was firm. Slow.

  ‘Know what who is like?’ she said. ‘Lawyers?’

  ‘Don’t be so naive. You know full well what he is. Black as the ace of—’

  A stack of plates slammed down on the table.

  ‘No! You are unbelievable. How dare you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t get all—I’m just saying, there are certain realities, Joanne. Cultural differences. Sensitivities.’

  ‘No. That is appalling. No, Dettie.’

  ‘It’s being realistic. When I was a girl my father had a farmhand—’

  ‘Shut. Your. Mouth. You are not poisoning my children’s minds with that kind of disgusting, ignorant—’

  ‘I’ve called Donald.’

  Dettie had lowered her voice, but it was as if she had shouted for quiet. The house was suddenly still. As soon as Sam had heard his father’s name he’d leapt back over to the door. For a moment, as he pressed his ear closer, wiping his mouth on his wrist, there was nothing. He could feel the silence stretch out, picture his mother’s face, her mouth ajar.

  ‘You what? You—when?’ she said. He saw a shadow shift. ‘What in God’s name—why, Dettie? Why would you do that?’

  ‘I called yesterday. I think he has a right to know who his children are spending their time with, Joanne.’

  ‘No. No, he doesn’t, Dettie.’ His mother’s voice was fierce. ‘He doesn’t have the right.’

  Sam heard his aunt sniff. She was rattling a handful of cutlery. ‘Well, he’s not very impressed.’

  ‘Do you think I give a damn what that man—’

  ‘He’s your husband, Joanne. He’s your children’s—’

  ‘It’s none of his business! It’s none of your business! You are so far out of—’

  ‘When I lost my Ted—’

  ‘Oh, don’t start with all that.’

  Dettie exhaled. Sam heard water swishing. ‘Call Donald, Joanne. Call your husband. Talk to him.’

  ‘That is enough!’ There was a crash as plates and pans scattered, something rattled against glass. In the quiet of the house, the sudden noise sounded like a roar. ‘I am not having this conversation again.’ His mother was talking slowly. ‘Your behaviour.’ She sighed. Loudly. ‘I don’t even know where to begin.’

  ‘I’m just—’

  ‘Goodnight, Dettie. Go home.’

  There was a moment’s silence before a clatter of dishes echoed in the sink and his mother’s shadow swept down the hallway, through to her room, and slammed the door.

  16

  The following morning the windows of the house were propped open, and the summer breeze that slipped through the kitchen was so moist it left a faint chill in its wake. The radio was on but turned down to a metallic patter. Dettie had not gone home and was finishing up breakfast with the children, refilling their juice glasses. Sam’s mother walked in from the hallway, fixing her hair. As she passed him the comics section of the newspaper she touched both him and his sister on their shoulders and squeezed. Sam noticed the way she kept glancing at Dettie, and he could tell that his aunt was intentionally av
oiding her gaze.

  ‘Good morning.’ His mother crossed to the refrigerator and grabbed a tub of yoghurt. ‘How did everyone sleep?’

  Katie nodded and slurped up another spoonful of milk from her bowl. Sam shrugged.

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ Dettie said, scraping a sliver of margarine over her toast. Sam knew she was lying. Her eyes were puffy and she had been massaging a crick in her neck since she’d sat down to eat. She was still wearing the same clothes as the night before, her brown skirt and grey blouse both crumpled, and when Sam had emerged from his room there’d been a blanket and her knitted cardigan folded on the arm of the couch.

  Their mother checked the water in the kettle, and measured a scoop of instant coffee into her travel mug. ‘Sam, Katie, I was very proud of you both last night,’ she said. ‘You were really well behaved. Roger said he’d never met two nicer children.’

  Dettie rolled her eyes, her lips pursed, pushing her plate aside until it clicked against her teacup.

  When the kettle boiled, their mother poured hot water into her mug, stirring it in. ‘Which reminds me,’ she said, sucking her spoon clean. ‘Did I ever tell you kids about Roger’s house?’ She tucked the coffee jar back on its shelf. ‘He has a pool. His own pool. He said you kids are welcome to try it out some time. And Katie, did Roger mention last night that he has two cats?’

  Katie’s eyes widened.

  Their mother smiled, screwing the lid onto her mug. ‘Well, if you like the sound of that,’ she said, ‘after work, I’ve got a big surprise for you.’

  Dettie exhaled loudly. She took a bite from a triangle of Vegemite toast and examined the marks left by her teeth, turning it in her thin fingers.

  ‘Honestly, I don’t understand you, Dettie,’ their mother said, setting down her drink on the counter. ‘I would have thought you’d be happy about all this. If everything works well, we won’t have to go out so much. See? I won’t have to lump the kids on you all the time.’