by Joy Dettman
The tea was made and poured when he joined her at the table. ‘No ghost,’ he said. ‘No ghost.’ His podgy old hand grasped her own, and he held it long, patting it. Patting it.
They talked, talked of many things, of work and cars and Melbourne, and of Narrawee, and when she looked at her watch, he hurried to his den and returned, his chubby old cheeks unable to hold back a smile as he slapped two paperback books on his kitchen table, unashamed of the voluptuous near-naked women featured there in high colour. Like a guilty boy, he waited expectantly for her reaction, his eyes watching her expression as she frowned over first one, then the other.
‘I’ve read these, sir.’
‘Have you, indeed. You read this trash, Burton?’ His smile was wide.
Her mouth fell open. She lifted her eyes to his, holding his with an unspoken question, which he replied to anyhow.
‘I cut down the cherry tree. I am the rogue, the unscrupulous capitalistic abortionist.’ They laughed together, their laughter real. They bellowed with laughter, until the windows rattled in their frames, and the table shook, and the chairs squealed on aching legs. Then they drank more tea and controlled their laughter while he signed the flyleaf of the two novels, signed them with his real name, and he placed them in her hand.
‘When I am dead, you may give up my secret.’ She allowed him the floor, knowing he had been starved of an ear in which to pour his secret. She listened and she laughed and it was so good.
It was almost six when she told him she was to be married in January, that she’d be living in America. She spoke of May, and Sam. She looked him in the eye then, and said, ‘I don’t want Sam to walk me down the aisle, sir. Would you? I’d prefer to have someone of my own – make it mean something to me.’
He hurried from the room again, his face crumpling. He stayed away a long time. When he returned, she was sitting relaxed where he had left her, and he sat beside her, taking her hand in his, seeking words that wouldn’t come.
‘Proud. Proud and honoured, Burton. You do an old fool the greatest honour. The greatest honour, Burton. Proud,’ he repeated. ‘I am so proud of you, child. Seeing you this day, seeing what you have become. Knowing that I played some small part in ... Ah.’ His sigh shook his massive frame. ‘Proud,’ he said. But the old man of words was lost for more words. Head shaking, mouth trembling, he turned away.
Ann left soon after. Branny was banging down his front door.
Eyes flashing a language of their own, Bronwyn sent her friend and his motor-bike on their way. ‘See you at Ben’s after ten. Don’t forget me, ’ she yelled and she ran to Ann, hugged her, danced her up and down the footpath.
Little Bron, all grown up. A dry wit, her cigarette packet offered to Ann before she lit up and sucked life from the weed, as her father did. As if resentful of its escape, Bronwyn attempted to possess the smoke to the end.
‘I’m getting married, Bron,’ Ann said, studying her sister’s hand, its shape around the cigarette. It was her hand, but smaller. Strange. Bron, so vital, so alive – and she? ‘I thought you might be my bridesmaid. Ben said he’d come. He’ll be best man. Mr Fletcher will be there. I hoped maybe ... I’m going to ask Mum, but I don’t want – ’
Bronwyn laughed, spraying smoke, wasting smoke. ‘Mum? Invite Mum and not her Prince Charming? Do you really think she’d leave her cows and Jack just to go to a wedding? Big joke, Annie, but I’ll be there with bells on. I’m dying to see Narrawee. Can I bring a friend?’
‘Bring as many as you like. Most of the guests will belong to Roger’s parents and to May.’
Bronwyn was an explosion of nervous energy, limbs tossed to the passenger seat, mouth erupting in chatter, she puffed smoke as Ann drove again over the bridge.
‘Will he be home?’
‘You’ve been away too long. Don’t you remember? He always eats at six,’ she mimicked his voice, and did it well. ‘Get the bloody food on the table. It’s six.’
‘Is he safe these days?’
‘Ah. He’s weak as shit. Ben has got the young cop dogging his footsteps. He’s scared of cops. He hasn’t hit Mum for six months. Not that we can see, anyway. And if he ever placed as much as one finger on me, I’d kill him, and I’ve told him so. Told him I’d blast him to hell with his own gun while he slept, then I’d scream long-term child abuse from the roof tops. Everybody is doing it these days – and getting away with it.’
Jack’s eyes were watching the fly-wire door; he was ready for Ann, but he hadn’t expected Bronwyn, who walked to the corner where his gun was kept. He watched her pick it up, break it professionally, and remove the cartridges, her eyes daring him to comment. She took out her cigarettes, lit one, then tossed him the packet. He caught it, lit his own and pocketed the rest. Tame.
Ellie left her stove to kiss Bronwyn’s cheek, but Jack’s eyes were on Ann.
‘What are you doing home, you crawling Narrawee bitch?’ he commented.
‘I thought crawling home to Narrawee was a Burton neurosis I inherited from you.’ She watched Ellie return to her stove, to her pumpkin. Two hours ago she was forced from her pumpkin patch; at five she was peeling pumpkin, now she was mashing it. She hadn’t kissed Ann’s cheek, hadn’t touched her, wouldn’t look at her. ‘At least they were pleased to see me down there,’ Ann said.
‘Good old Sam, and how was he?’
‘Bought you a new car, I see, or did you win the lottery? Rob a bank?’ He laughed cynically and emptied his glass. ‘I don’t get you. I would have crawled for that place. I would have developed calluses on my belly, licked the old coot’s boots, and backside, if Narrawee had been the prize.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He pushed Ellie away from her plates, picked up his bottle and refilled his glass, while Ellie stood, spoon raised, pumpkin pot in her hand. ‘You don’t know the half of it, you stupid bitch.’
‘Don’t drink any more, Jack. Annie! Don’t go making trouble as soon as you walk in the door,’ Ellie said. ‘Sit down, Jack love. Don’t let her upset you.’
Jack tossed the whisky down, while Ann stood smiling. ‘You come back here thinking you can lord it over me, you smiling bitch. Thinking you can tell me what I should have done. This is my bloody castle, and I’m God here, and never you forget it. No-one tells me what to do in Chook-Shit County. Get out. Get back to Narrawee. A poor bloody man had his life stolen from under his nose by his bastard of a brother, and you come here and laugh about it.’
Ann had walked to the door. She stood there, looking at the two oddities in the kitchen. A love match. A marriage, made in hell. She shook her head, no longer able to raise energy enough to tolerate one meal. ‘Well, it’s been lovely seeing both of you, as always.’ She held her plastic smile as she stepped down into the passage, and the wire door slammed behind her.
‘I’ve cooked enough dinner, Annie. You’re welcome to stay if you just behave yourself,’ Ellie called after her.
‘I’ll take a raincheck, Mum.’
‘Don’t stay away so long then, and good luck with your career.’
Ann turned, looked at her mother through the fly-wire. Stared at her. She’d driven here with so much hope. Driven eight hours, almost got a speeding fine for this. For this? ‘Crap,’ she said. ‘Good luck with my career? You don’t know what my career is. You didn’t even ask. I can take your disinterest, Mum, but don’t insult me with pretence. I’ve been a problem to you all my life. I know it and you know it. I’m trouble you prefer not to have around.’
‘That’s not true, love. It’s lovely to see you looking so well.’
‘But more lovely to watch me making a fool of myself on television. That’s my daughter, Annie. Electronic tube that you don’t have to touch. Don’t understand how it works, of course, but I don’t try too hard either. Well, now trouble has gone away for good. I’m off to America. I’ll do a real Johnny this time – ’
‘Don’t you mention that disloyal little bastard’s name around me,’ Jack yelled. ‘Do
n’t you bring his name back here. Get out. Get off my land. Stay away from me, you wild-eyed bitch.’
‘You can bank on that,’ Ann called back, she was already halfway to her car. Bronwyn came at a run through the eastern door.
‘Get!’ he bellowed through the window as the car took off, eager to be gone, to return to bitumen and sanity. ‘Get out of my bloody life.’
Ann drove wildly along the rutted track, Bronwyn bouncing, laughing, spraying smoke at her side. The old gate closed behind them, Ann drove again. Her brain was on fire. Migraine? Stroke? She wasn’t sure. She only knew she had to get out of this town and fast. ‘What was I thinking of, Bron? What did I come back here for? Her approval? Her blessing?’
‘Self approval is all that counts for me, Annie, and I’m pretty good at it. Where are you staying tonight?’
‘Where are you living?’
‘Daree.’
‘I’ll take you home, then head back to Melbourne. I’m supposed to be in Narrawee entertaining my future in-laws. It’s the last place I want to be, but it’s the only place I’ve got to go. Funny, but not funny.’
‘I’ll have to hang around until Mark comes back. I didn’t know your plans, Annie. I told him to pick me up at ten, and there’s no way I can contact him. Do you drink? Let’s go to the pub. Show the town what Jack’s daughters are made of.’
‘Stuff the bloody town – and him, and Mum. I’ve got to get out of it, Bron.’
‘You just got here, for Christ’s sake. What about Bessy? What about Ben?’
‘I didn’t come back to visit with Bessy. I thought Mum would be finally pleased to see me. I talked myself into thinking she’d give me a kiss, Bron. She always gives you a kiss. But she gave me a rundown on who died. “Oh, and by the way, love, old Mrs McDonald had a stroke. Oh, and by the way, old Dave Eva finally passed away. They opened up Rella’s grave and put him on top, love”.’
Bronwyn giggled. ‘Poor old bastard. So he finally got on top, did he? I wonder how many he had to push off to get there?’ Ann couldn’t even raise a smile. ‘Mum can’t help what she is, Annie. Any normal responses she might have had were gone long before we knew her. She’s his punch-drunk puppet and she’s learned to love it. It’ll buy her points in the hereafter.’
Ann left Bronwyn in town and she drove away from Mallawindy. She wanted a long straight road, where no cops prowled, wanted to flatten the accelerator to the floor and let the farm land, and farmhouses, farm fences become a grey blur. It was over. Finished.
The city of Warran looked like an advertisement for the wealth of this land when given rain and sun in the right proportions. Only twice had she been there. She drove in circles, cruising the unfamiliar streets, looking for a signpost that may point her south. Her headache left somewhere on the road, her stomach now demanded to be fed. She saw the take-away on the corner.
‘Chips,’ she said. ‘Chips out of paper.’
There was a crowd already waiting, all younger than she, or older. Her generation was at home, cooking mush for babies.
That’s what I need, she thought. A baby, to raise in love, and with love. Roger’s baby. Roger Wilkenson the Fourth, and he’ll look like Deadeye Dooley. Oh shit. What am I going to do?
Have a kid a year for two years, then a quickie divorce and no recriminations. That’s if I’m not in a nut house after the first week, or an alcoholic after the second.
For five minutes she stood waiting while bodies packed in behind. Slowly she was pressed to the front of the queue.
‘Two hamburgers with the lot.’
She heard the voice behind her and ignored it. A queue jumper. Then the words were repeated, close to her ear, in her ear.
‘Two hamburgers with the lot, and toss in a few chips.’
She swung around, and their noses near brushed in the crowd. ‘David?’ Her heart was swimming, drowning in her own gastric juices. ‘David Taylor. What are you doing here?’
‘I live here. More to the point, what are you doing here?’
She looked at his mouth and his eyes above his mouth, and she knew every curve, every line. Her heart beat too wildly. It filled her with its beat, dismembering words before they were spoken.
He filled the silence. ‘Been down at Mallawindy?’
‘Just to say goodbye. I’m off to America.’ Tongue tied, she sought for words, then the woman called above sizzling fat, ‘Next. Next.’
‘Two hamburgers with the lot and a serve of chips,’ David said.
‘We don’t like queue jumpers in Melbourne. I was here before you.’
‘I can’t eat two. I presume you’re still addicted to chips,’ he replied.
‘I live on them.’
‘They suit you.’
‘How is Melissa?’ she said. Eyebrows raised, he looked at her, his head to one side. She explained. ‘I ran into Tony George in Melbourne.’
‘Ah, ah. What’s he doing these days?’
‘Selling cars,’ she said, and she laughed, and he laughed, and the crowd stared, not in on the joke. But laughter ended and an embarrassed silence grew. Ann dived into the centre, needing to fill the silence. ‘I’m getting married. Five weeks away and I haven’t started my dress yet. Each week I leave it, the style becomes less complicated.’
It didn’t help, as the crowd of people in the confined area didn’t help. Arms brushed arms, drew away. Ann concentrated her attention on the woman behind the counter; a one man army, she cooked, wrapped and made change.
‘So, who are you marrying?’
‘A Yank. His mother actually approves of me, apart from my slim hips,’ she said, and it was the wrong thing to say. It brought back memories of disapproval and created another silence. What more was there to say unless she dredged up memories from the past? When in doubt, do as her mother did. Speak of the weather. ‘Wasn’t it a hot one today? They reckon in Mallawindy that it’s going to be a long hot summer.’
‘When the conversation deteriorates to discussing the weather, it’s time to bring it to an end,’ he said.
‘You’re probably right.’ She shrugged and tried again, knowing it would be easier if his eyes would turn away from her. ‘How are your Mum and Dad, anyhow?’
‘The same could be said of feigned interest in family members, but to answer your question, they sold up, retired to New Zealand. Dad is a New Zealander. He’s got family there.’
‘Oh!’ Nodding, nodding, she prayed for the hamburgers to cook in a hurry.
‘Two hamburgers with the lot, and chips,’ the one woman army called.
David paid. He handed the parcel to Ann. ‘ Do you get to eat the lot or can old friends sit in a car in the middle of the main street and share them?’ His lips wore that same smile, but his eyes had lost their laughter. He looked sad, older somehow and the reply on her lips altered mid sentence.
‘It’s your town. I don’t have to live here.’
‘While they are gossiping about me, they are leaving some other poor sod alone.’ He led the way to his car, held the door open, watched her seated, then walked to the driver’s door and slid in beside her.
Together they unwrapped the food and together they attacked it as they had in the days of old. They spoke with mouths full, while tomato sauce and hamburger juice dripped onto Ann’s T-shirt. David opened a glove box, neater, smaller than her own, and he handed her a box of tissues.
‘You’ve obviously got a tribe of kids,’ she said, wiping at the stain.
‘No.’ End of subject. ‘Tell me what you’ve been up to.’
‘Nothing to tell. I’ve been in Melbourne for eight years, and it gets bigger every year. I think I’ll be pleased to leave it.’
‘No ring yet?’ He took the hand seeking a chip.
‘It’s at the jewellers.’ She looked at him, shrugged. ‘It was too big, then it was too small, and now it’s probably too big again. I think I’m just petrified of the thing – scared I’ll lose it down a plughole. And it’s a great, ugly block. He’s not very tall a
nd he’s got this idea that big is beautiful. He only wants me so I can inject some long genes into the Wilkenson clan. They’re all about five foot nothing.’ Determinedly she removed her hand from his grasp, and when it was free, she tucked both hands beneath her knees, safe from his touch.
‘Where did you get to that night?’
She shrugged. ‘I rode my bike to Daree, then caught a bus to Melbourne. I’ve lived in a dozen or so suburbs. It’s the way to get to know the place. Every time I moved, I thought I’d find Johnny living next door, but I doubt he’s even in Australia. If he is, he doesn’t want to be found. Maybe I’ll find him in America. I found an aunt and uncle,’ she finished lamely.
‘And a fiance.’
‘And a grey hair the other day.’
‘It still looks as black and wild as I remember it.’ His hand brushed the woolly mane over her shoulder, an old habit, but she swung the car door wide, the hamburger laying heavy, somewhere in her chest.
‘I must keep going. It’s getting late,’ she smiled. ‘Nice to see you, David. Remember me to Melissa.’
‘Where must you go?’
‘Somewhere.’
‘Stay a while. Talk to me.’
‘Melissa will have a search party out.’
‘She’s holidaying with her parents in America – won’t be home until January.’
‘America and January seem to go together. But I do have to go. I’m pleased I ran into you, David. Have a good life.’ She picked up her bag and walked away without a backward glance.
David watched her go as he disposed of the litter. He was in his car when he heard her call. ‘Wait! My keys. I must have left them in your car.’
Their search was unsuccessful. Fingers slid between the seats. They emptied the glove box, checked the floor. ‘I hate keys. I loathe keys! Where in the name of hell did I leave them this time?’
‘Maybe in the shop.’
When she returned empty handed, David was rummaging through hamburger wrappings he’d tossed in the bin. She stood beside him, her eyes hopeful.