Queen Kat, Carmel and St Jude Get a Life

by Maureen McCarthy

  ‘Do you remember, I asked you, before . . .’ All trace of superiority was gone. ‘It’s just that I have to let them know. . . numbers and everything.’

  ‘Do you want us to come?’ I burst out, ‘I mean . . . er, you might rather we didn’t . . . ?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said. ‘Er . . . Glen won’t be there. He’s going overseas.’ Jude burst into a roar of delighted laughter.

  ‘Well, good! I’m definitely coming!’ she said. Still laughing, she picked up a nearby tea-towel, wiped the grease off her hands and mouth, lolled back in her chair and sighed good-humouredly. ‘What about you, Carmel?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ I raised my cup. There were smiles all around as the others clinked their cups with mine.

  ‘To the party!’

  ‘Yeah. To the party!’

  I took a sip and almost heard my mother’s nagging voice. Who’s going to take you? How will you get home? What do you want to be hanging around those toffs for? But I was eighteen. I’d been invited to a party. Why shouldn’t I go?

  IT RAINED ALL GOOD FRIDAY. ALL THROUGH the Stations of the Cross there was ominous rolling thunder and the sound of rain like driving nails hitting the slate roof of Manella’s Sacred Heart Church. I was upstairs at the back playing the organ, so I could spy on the congregation without them seeing much of me. I loved watching the younger kids shiver and nudge each other with each new clap of thunder. I knew that for some of them in that darkening atmosphere, John’s long, involving account of Christ’s passion would take on the same dramatic impact that it had for me at their age.

  The last stark picture of the three crosses on the bare hill was with me as I settled my fingers onto the keys for the final hymn. It felt as if some of the pain and thirst and suffering was in my own hands as I began to play.

  After the service the members of the congregation began to run for their cars in the sloshing mud. But three girls I’d been to school with the year before approached me tentatively as I was leaving the church.

  ‘So, how are things?’ Mary-Lou Bishop asked slyly, swinging her long straight hair back over her shoulder, her narrow eyes flicking over my red skirt and old coat. I remembered Mary-Lou trying to remember my name for some swimming carnival at the beginning of the previous year. ‘You know!’ she’d yelled impatiently to her friends, ‘that . . . that fat dag with curly reddish hair who plays piano!’

  ‘Pretty good,’ I said, dipping my hand into the holy-water font and blessing myself so I’d be able to get away quickly. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Good . . .’ they answered, as though they weren’t at all sure. They obviously knew about me being invited to the Armstrongs’. The puzzled envy was written all over their faces. I hadn’t even been worth saying hello to before. Now I had become interesting. What a turn-up.

  ‘Do you really share a house with Katerina Armstrong?’ one of them asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, not meeting their eyes, a sort of rootless anger swelling within me.

  ‘How did you . . .I mean, how did that happen? I didn’t think you knew her,’ Mary-Lou bumbled on. She could see that I wanted to go. That I was edging away. They were all waiting for me to speak. They wanted to sink their teeth into the details of how such a social nobody could possibly be living with the likes of Katerina.

  ‘Oh, well,’ I said blithely, ‘I know her.’ I left before I could say another word. But I couldn’t help a little smile as I turned and waved goodbye then followed my parents to the car.

  By Sunday the weather had more or less cleared, although there had been some intermittent rain and strong winds in the early afternoon. Jude and I arrived at the party together in Cynthia’s old battered Toyota. The invitation had been for seven, so at five to seven we were winding our way up the narrow road to the big house on the hill. The atmosphere after all the rain had become warm and still. Cynthia stopped the car and we prepared to get out. In the half-light, the bits of the house we could see through the surrounding hedge and large overhanging trees looked like a castle. I’d never been this close to it before.

  ‘How do we get in?’ I mumbled.

  ‘There,’ Jude pointed to a small white gate in the middle of the hedge.

  ‘Have a great time, you two!’ Cynthia said gaily. ‘I’ll come for you when you ring.’

  ‘Okay, Mum. Thanks.’

  I smiled at Cynthia and thought disloyally how wonderful it would be to have a mother who was so beautiful . . . and modern. My own mother had simply sniffed when I’d told her about the party, and told me I had nothing to wear and she wasn’t about to buy me anything as useless as an evening frock. When I’d said that I was happy to go in my red skirt and T-shirt she’d sniffed again and said that I’d disgrace them all by doing that. Only two months before I would have given in. I would have thought, Of course she’s right. I can’t go because I don’t have the right clothes. But I stayed firm. I wasn’t expecting to be glamorous and beautiful like everyone else. I knew I wouldn’t fit in. But the red skirt teamed with the long black T-shirt was an outfit I felt vaguely comfortable in. I would wear it. At home I’d washed and ironed it carefully then folded it and put it in the back seat of the car. Dad had agreed to drop me in town at Jude’s at about three in the afternoon. I could tell both my parents had deep reservations about me going to the Armstrong party, but I refused to draw them out of their silences; their uneasy glances and frowns.

  We both got out. I tried to quell my nervousness by smoothing the creases out of my red skirt and picking imaginary bits of fluff from the lovely beaded top Cynthia had loaned me. She leant across and wound down the window.

  ‘Carmel,’ she called, ‘come here.’ I walked back to the car.

  ‘You look terrific!’ she whispered. ‘Get in there now and enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, and remembered the spurt of joy I’d felt when I’d checked myself in Jude’s mirror before leaving. That feeling had disappeared now. Now I was out in the world about to meet strangers. They would size up my fat, blushing awkwardness with cold, amused, unforgiving eyes. The way they always did. They would not pass over it like Cynthia and Jude.

  I’d been euphoric for most of the afternoon. Cynthia’s large room at the front of the house was jam-packed with all kinds of stuff, and she’d invited us in to hunt for anything we could find that took our fancy. Belts and silk scarves, fancy Mexican pins for our hair, and shoes for all occasions. Much of the clothing was old and tattered. Everything I picked up had something exceptional about it, though: the cut or the line, a bit of lace here or lovely edging somewhere else. I enjoyed just looking at it all, touching and examining everything. I loved listening to their prattle – half in Spanish – about everything. I’d never whiled away time on something as frivolous as clothing with my own mother. She was always too busy and anyway she hated that kind of thing. I had thought I hated it too, but this afternoon with Jude and Cynthia I realised I loved it.

  Cynthia had two large old trunks, and an enormous heavy cupboard, all full-to-bursting with different bits and pieces. The three of us pulled the stuff on, wrapped it around each other, and pranced around like show ponies. I didn’t even feel self-conscious when I told them that I would wear my simple everyday outfit. But when, towards the end of the afternoon, Cynthia dragged out an evening top that she thought might interest me, I suddenly clammed up with shyness. Even before I tried it on I knew I loved it.

  It was a black, finely knitted, clinging thing with a narrow band of tiny bright pink and red beading around the wide neckline. It was long and loose with three-quarter-length sleeves, and had a stylish night-time feel to it, despite being quite simple. And it went beautifully with my red skirt. As soon as I put it on I felt it had been sent to me by someone who knew exactly how I wanted to look. I felt dressed up, but comfortable and unfussy. Part of the joy of it was that it had been so unexpected. They’d just fished it up from the bottom of one of the trunks. It had belonged to one of Cynthia’s aunts
, and out of the blue it had turned up, as if it had been waiting for me.

  As soon as I put it on Cynthia went quiet. She walked around me slowly as if I was a prize Pekingese in a show, studying me seriously.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked, hoping like mad that I was right in thinking it looked good. It fitted closely around my breasts and shoulders and hung loose to my hips in the most flattering way.

  ‘Oh, it’s perfect,’ she said, ‘absolutely perfect.’ Jude came in from the other room and clapped her hands in glee.

  ‘Fantastic!’ she glowed. ‘You look stunning.’ Cynthia dived into her handbag and pulled out a deep-red lipstick.

  ‘No!’ I said, edging away. Enough was enough. I didn’t even want to try it. ‘It’s too strong and bright. I only ever wear clear gloss . . .’ But she insisted, making me stand there and open my mouth, drawing it on me herself. With the lipstick on, my face took on a totally different look. I stared at myself in disbelief. I looked brazen, as though I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted.

  Over the next couple of hours, in between cups of tea and jokes, the two of them proceeded to do up my eyes and roll my hair up into a soft bun secured with one of Cynthia’s tortoise-shell clips.

  ‘I can’t look like this,’ I said into Cynthia’s bedroom mirror, excited by the transformation, but scared witless too.

  ‘Yes you can!’ Jude and Cynthia yelled together and then fell about me, laughing with delight. ‘You can! You can!’

  ‘You look really vampy!’ Cynthia sighed, popping the lipstick into my little bag and patting it so that I’d notice. ‘Now remember,’ she said seriously, ‘at odd moments during the party you are to go out to the bathroom and replenish this. This colour really suits you.’

  We waved as Cynthia turned the car around and disappeared. ‘Well, here we go,’ Jude said, as we reached the gate. Jude at that moment exactly fitted my vision of a gypsy. She had chosen an old black silk dress of her mother’s; a tight, skimpy bodice with a wide, full skirt embroidered in red and silver flowers that came down almost to her ankles. A red leather belt clinched her waist and her small feet were in shiny, red, very high-heeled shoes. Silver bangles clattered on both her wrists and her hair, pulled back from her face with a silver clasp, fell in dark curls down her back. She looked very exotic and very wild. We opened the gate and stepped into the large garden. A steep row of steps flanked by rose bushes led up through the rolling lawns to the house. It sat there shimmering in the half-light. So substantial, and yet pretty too, with its iron-lace-worked verandah. We could see some people standing about on the lawn and verandah, and heard the faint buzz of talk and the tinkle of glass and laughter.

  ‘We should have come in around the back,’ I whispered. Jude nodded and we both began to climb the stairs. Our car had been the only one down the front when we’d arrived, but we hadn’t known to take the dirt track around the right of the house. Now I understood it would have led us to where all the other cars were probably parked. I cursed our stupidity. We were going to look foolish walking up these steps, coming into the party this way. The thick smell of the roses on each side of the narrow stone stairs wafted towards me, making me reel. I loved roses and these were particularly lovely, heavy white and various delicate shades of lilac, but the lushness of the smell made me feel like puking. The sweeping lawns were dotted with small beds of lavender, pansies and violets. It was as perfect as . . . as perfect as Katerina.

  My stomach suddenly did its usual dive and I was busting to go to the toilet.

  ‘Jude! I’ve gotta go to the toilet!’ I hissed.

  We were steadily getting nearer to the small group of perhaps a dozen people standing outside. I could see now that two big glass doors leading into the lighted room were open. The room seemed to be full of people. The hum of chatter was punctuated by an occasional little scream of excitement.

  ‘Oh, I haven’t seen you for ages!’

  ‘How was LA ? I heard you . . .’

  Underneath all that I could hear the sound of instruments tuning up. I felt ill.

  ‘Can’t you hang on?’ she whispered.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Okay, come on.’ Her pretty, dark face set into a determined grimace. I felt hopelessly ashamed, conscious of what a drag it must be for Jude to have someone like me tagging along making all these embarrassing demands.

  We had reached the house now and were only two steps away from the guests outside, who’d turned to peer at us around the wisteria-covered verandah posts. The girls, with their gleaming hair, thin strapless dresses and tanned skins, edged forward to get a better look. They threw their heads back to giggle.

  ‘Did they really walk up all those stairs?’

  ‘You saw it, Caitlin.’

  ‘Oh, gosh, they must be fit!’ More titters and then a loud guffaw as a young man’s glass smashed onto the stone floor. For a moment they turned their attention away from us.

  The young men were standing uneasily beside the girls trying to affect a supercilious slightly amused air. But they weren’t convincing. At this early time in the night they were definitely waiting for the girls to call the shots and that somehow made them seem childish and fake in comparison.

  I knew these people. I’d known them all my life. I’d never actually met them, but they were the stuff of my nightmares. I desperately wanted to run. What if there was no toilet nearby? Perhaps the thing that I feared most would happen. Here, of all places! I could feel my face beginning to heat up as their eyes bore down on us again, a slightly questioning look on every face.

  ‘So, who are you both?’ a tall dark girl dressed in a tight silver dress and long black gloves asked lightly, her friendly stance belied by the hard glint in her narrowed eyes. I hesitated, about to blurt out an explanation. Anything to stop them looking at us. But Jude beat me to it.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she countered calmly. ‘Who are you?’ A faint ripple of nervous laughter fanned out behind the girl. I gulped. Oh Jude, Jude! Shit, don’t do this to me. Not here. Not now. There were a few muttered comments. The girl’s eyes had narrowed further. I wanted to scream and break free. What if I couldn’t hold . . . it back? What if . . . I.. . .? More stifled giggles. Someone was sweeping up the glass.

  ‘Well, it’s good to see you all!’ Jude said with a laugh, leaning forward to nod at each face in the tight little group as if she knew them all very well. No one said anything, but they fixed us with those blank half-smiles that said they were almost ready to give us the benefit of the doubt because Jude had called their bluff so nicely. Jude grabbed my arm, pulled me up onto the verandah and swept me around, then we both hurried off along the verandah.

  ‘Phew!’ she said with a grin. ‘That was close. Now to find you a toilet!’ The verandah was tiled in a lovely intricate design. Some of the tiles had come loose and I kept tripping, almost falling over in the high heels.

  ‘Oh God, Jude,’ I moaned. ‘I need to go! I wish we’d never come.’

  ‘Come on. Around the back,’ she replied calmly. ‘And we’ll ask someone.’

  But to my great relief, when we turned the next corner we came across an outhouse lavatory hidden under a huge sweet-smelling jasmine bush. It must have been there for the gardener’s use. Although we could hear the party noises no one was around this side of the house so only Jude saw my anxious rush towards it. She waited for me under a nearby tree. ‘Thank you God,’ I prayed with a rush of gratitude. ‘For this lavatory, for this wonderful top and for Jude . . .’

  I found a little garden tap nearby and washed my hands. Without another word we walked straight towards the bright lights and the music. We stepped into the formal lobby and were met by Katerina, who unsurprisingly looked fantastic in a simple, long, dark-blue velvet dress that showed off her arms and shoulders. What’s more she seemed genuinely pleased to see us and proudly introduced us to her parents.

  ‘Dad. Mum. My housemates, Carmel McCaffrey and Jude Torres.’

  ‘Oh yes, of co
urse! So glad you could both come.’ The father was polite, but distant, as though he would rather have been somewhere else. But her mother was warm and genuinely charming.

  ‘I’m so pleased the house worked out the way it did,’ she enthused, linking arms with us briefly, ‘two lovely local girls!’ We were both smiling uneasily, but she didn’t seem to notice. ‘Now how are you all managing with the cooking and housework?’ she asked seriously. ‘I hope Katerina is doing her fair share.’

  Jude and I looked at each other, then both caught Katerina’s eye. Who was going to break the news that so far nothing much apart from the occasional wash-up was ever done? Thankfully, Katerina’s mother was called away to meet someone else so we were off the hook. Katerina smiled at us as if we were old and very special friends, and led us down the long wide hallway to the formal ballroom at the front of the house.

  ‘I’m so glad you gals could make it,’ she said warmly, as though she’d been half-expecting us not to turn up.

  The ballroom was packed, well, crowded anyway, but not unpleasantly so. It was a long high room, papered in some fancy embossed stuff. There were mirrors all around and three sets of lovely glass doors leading out onto the verandah and lawn gardens outside. The muted light from the chandeliers above played over the crowd. There were couples dancing in the middle of the floor, and clusters of perfectly dressed girls around the edges who were sort of dancing together and sort of standing about laughing nervously. I stood mesmerised for a few moments.

  Then someone handed me a flute of pale yellow champagne from a silver tray. I took a deep sip and turned to Jude and Katerina. It suddenly hit me how wonderful everything was. The beautiful room. All the bright, pretty people. The way they shone, twice, first in the flesh and again in the mirrors on the wall. How absolutely brilliant it all was.

  ‘Wow!’ I said with real feeling. Katerina and Jude both burst out laughing in agreement.

  ‘Yeah,’ echoed Jude, ‘Wow! Wow! Wow!’

  Katerina glowed with pleasure. When she looked at us I had a strong sense that she’d been waiting for this moment; waiting to show us her lovely house and the fantastic party, and it made me wonder. There was so much about her that mystified me. Why did she need us to be there? It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her to explain herself. What’s with old Glen? I wanted to ask. Where does he fit into the picture? And what do you really think of Jude? And how about me? Thank goodness I didn’t get the chance. An older lady dressed like a maid in black with a small white apron tapped Katerina’s shoulder. ‘Your mother says to come back out. More people have arrived.’