Queen Kat, Carmel and St Jude Get a Life

by Maureen McCarthy

  ‘Well, somehow . . . I can hardly believe this. I sang!’ Carmel declared. She shivered then and looked across at me in disbelief. ‘Jude, did I dream that or was it real?’

  ‘It was real, you idiot,’ I snapped back happily. ‘Come on, tell Mum about it . . .’

  Carmel explained simply how she’d sung. How nervous she’d been and how well she had been received. Mum was thrilled. At one stage she moved over and gave Carmel a quick hug.

  ‘Aren’t you wonderful! See how silly you were to be nervous?’

  Carmel’s eyes were shining as she went on to describe the dancing, the girls’ dresses, the brilliant mirrored room. She didn’t mention Anton, and although it was on the tip of my tongue to spill out all the details about him to Mum, I managed to restrain myself. I could tell that it was all too new for Carmel, too precious and unresolved, still too hard for her even to believe. I decided to keep my mouth shut until she was ready.

  ‘Enough about all the others’ dresses. Did you feel lovely yourselves? Because you both looked perfect when you left here. Carmel, I hope you remembered to replenish the lipstick!’

  We laughed and chatted on into the morning, taking it in turns to get up for further supplies of toast and tea.

  Suddenly it was midday. Carmel jumped up from the table when she saw the time.

  ‘Dad will be here to pick me up in an hour,’ she said, and hurriedly began to gather her things together. ‘I’d better not keep him waiting.’

  ‘Give him a ring, why don’t you? I’ll take you home,’ Mum said quickly.

  ‘Oh no, Cynthia . . . I don’t think.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ Mum had picked up the phone and handed it to Carmel.

  ‘Come on. So you don’t have to hurry.’ I could see that Carmel was uncomfortable with the idea, but she relented at our insistence.

  ‘Er, Mum . . . it’s me, Carmel,’ she said into the phone. ‘Tell Dad not to worry about picking me up. They’re going to drive me out. Yeah. That’s okay. Bye.’

  It was still quite dry out there, in spite of it being April, though there was a faint tinge of green coming up through the long brown grass. I was about to turn to Carmel and remind her of the day she told me that was what she liked best about living in the country: the green autumn shoots coming up through the dead grass. But when I turned around to her in the back seat her face was set, strained. She didn’t look like she wanted to be reminded of anything, so I shut up. We turned in from the main road and began to travel up a windy dirt track, over a rattling wooden bridge, and up and around a few rises. Heavy gum trees stood clumped together in groups by the track, leaning towards each other like friends talking; the strong sweet eucalypt smell was overpowering. We passed a few gates that led into farms; often only the roofs were visible behind leafy gardens. All was quiet and tranquil. I pictured Carmel as the solitary little girl she would have been, growing up among all those brothers amid this beauty.

  ‘This one,’ she said suddenly. Mum braked and we turned in between two faded white fence posts and across a cattlepit, then began to ascend a small hill towards a house set squarely at the top. I loved it immediately. The scene before us was like something out of a book of fairytales. The house was old and made of timber. It seemed to have no formal design at all. Just a higgledy mess of rooms all sticking out from one another. A partially collapsed verandah ran from one uneven end of the structure to the other. At the back of the house was a tall windmill and the dome shape of an underground tank. As we got nearer, I saw that the weatherboards were peeling badly. The whole place seemed to be an integral part of the surrounding dry hills, almost like a large gnarled tree root that had been there forever – its unique shape making its own unique sense. I took a quick look at Mum as she pulled the car up in front of the lopsided picket fence and saw that she was similarly entranced. I almost turned around to Carmel to ask if we could come in, but something stopped me. I knew she’d make some excuse and we’d have to leave without seeing it all.

  ‘Well, thanks a lot you two. Cynthia, thanks . . .’ Carmel said quickly before jumping out and turning to smile. But Mum beat her to it. Before she got a chance to leave, Mum had hopped out of the car.

  ‘I might just say hello to your mother,’ Mum said lightly. I got out too.

  ‘Oh . . . er.’ Carmel looked at us uncomfortably. ‘I don’t know if she’s home.’

  ‘There’s someone there,’ Mum said gaily, pointing to the figure of a thin woman taking clothes off a line of wire that hung between two dead trees at the side of the house. Carmel shrugged resignedly and the three of us walked towards the rusted old back gate.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ Carmel called in a careful, thin voice. The woman, her arms full of sheets and towels, had stopped what she was doing and was already squinting at us as we walked through the gate into the dusty yard.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said drily. Her face was like the house, wind-worn and bare. But her eyes were full of shrewd watchfulness. I sussed her out as a clever woman. Thin, worn-out and clever, I thought to myself. I also sensed she was daring us to come any further without an invitation. That thought must have hit Mum at the same time as me. We both stopped on the path, halfway between the gate and the back door, and waited. I turned away from the woman’s quizzical look to stare at the back verandah. There were men’s boots by the back door, wheat bags and shovels and a pile of used fruit tins with the labels still on. A few geraniums were trying to grow in a couple of cut-in-half rusted forty-four-gallon drums by the back step. Somehow they, more than anything else, gave a desolate tone to the place.

  ‘I’m Cynthia,’ my mother began. ‘Jude’s mother . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ the woman said quickly. ‘Well, thanks for bringing her back.’ Her dress was worn and grubby and her straight grey hair was cut as short as a man’s.

  ‘That’s no trouble at all,’ Mum said with a warm smile. That smile usually won strangers over. I watched her flounder a little when Carmel’s mother’s hard expression didn’t change. Mum opened her mouth and then closed it again.

  ‘It’s nice for the girls to share the house in Melbourne, isn’t it?’ she managed lamely after a couple of uncomfortable moments. The woman turned away. For a moment I thought she was going to ignore us altogether, but she was only bending down to put the pile of washing into the basket.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she said flatly, not looking directly at us, as though somehow resigned to the inevitable. I looked over at Carmel, who was standing by the back door. I knew she didn’t want us to come in so I reluctantly nudged Mum to suggest we should leave. But Mum obviously had other ideas.

  ‘Oh, that would be lovely!’ she said enthusiastically. ‘If it isn’t too much trouble.’

  ‘Well, no,’ the woman said in a slightly more friendly tone and, picking up the basket of washing, began to walk towards the door. ‘I was going to have a cup myself anyway.’ She stopped just before we walked into the house. ‘I’m Nancy by the way. Nance McCaffrey.’

  ‘Nancy,’ Mum said, taking the thin rough hand into her own. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Call me Nance.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Mum, and meekly followed her inside.

  The kitchen was large and full of so many things. The huge table in the middle of the room was covered in a horrible plastic tartan tablecloth. Down one end sat a disconnected microwave oven still in its box, and down the other end were half a dozen gutted rabbits. Their dead grey eyes made me shudder. In the middle of the table sat an ice-cream container filled with lemons. Every bench was cluttered with things; practical useful things like tins of golden syrup and peaches, balls of green twine, packets of matches and cartridges, a pocket-knife, cheque books, a set of screwdrivers and nails. There were piles of boxing magazines on top of a large packing box and a calendar advertising local businesses pinned to the wall. Farm management statistics were written in pencil on the doorway into the next room: 24 ewes @ $63.90. 15 head of cattle. 13 calves etc. In the far c
orner there were two shotguns and a kid’s cricket bat, in the other a pile of saucepans with no lids, three of them filled with dirt-encrusted fresh eggs. It was all clean though. The worn lino had recently been washed and there were no dirty dishes hanging around. Nance swiftly slung the rabbits off the table and into the enamel sink, then wiped the blood off the table with a pink cloth.

  ‘Take a seat,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll make the tea.’ The big kettle on the old black wood stove was already whistling. Mum and I sat at the table. Carmel, her eyes downcast, walked over to the dresser and began to get out cups and saucers.

  ‘So, how did the party go?’ Nance asked sharply, turning to her daughter with a frown. Carmel was taking great care to wipe the cups and put them with the right saucers and so didn’t answer immediately.

  ‘It was okay,’ she shrugged.

  Something about the way she answered perturbed me. So subdued and sad. So crushed. I understood with a jolt why Carmel found things so hard, why her belief in herself was so minuscule. This is where she comes from. I had a sudden gut feeling that no one around here would be allowed to get enthusiastic about anything for a long while. I liked the rough house and poor farm. None of that was standing in her way. It was this sharp, practical woman in front of us, with her tough no-nonsense approach to everything, that was stifling Carmel. I just knew that in my bones. I also knew – I know this will seem too crazy – but I also knew that there would be a fight for Carmel one day. Between this woman and me. It would be a bitter fight and I wasn’t at all sure who’d win.

  ‘It was really good,’ I piped up, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. Mrs McCaffrey turned to me, as if she’d only just noticed I was there.

  ‘Did you get anyone to dance with you?’ she asked suspiciously. The way she said it! Like it wasn’t at all probable that either of us would have anyone to dance with. It took my breath away for a couple of moments. I wanted to scream.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘we both danced all night.’

  ‘That true, Carmel?’ her mother snapped.

  ‘Well, yes . . .’ Carmel looked up unhappily, only holding her mother’s look for a brief moment. ‘We both enjoyed ourselves . . .’ She ventured the last part tentatively. She didn’t expect her mother to believe her. I could feel I was going to say something very stupid even before I said it. I did try to calm myself. I knew it wasn’t my place to interfere with this woman’s way of doing things, especially in her own house. But that attitude made me see red.

  ‘Carmel was dancing all night,’ I said loudly, looking straight at her mother, ‘then the most attractive man in the whole place fell in love with her . . .’

  ‘Jude . . . !’ Carmel groaned. I looked over at her defiantly, but her eyes were downcast and a terrible pink blush was beginning to suffuse her neck and face.

  ‘And who was that?’ Mrs McCaffrey asked with a grim, sarcastic smile as she pulled some biscuits out of a tin, set them on a plate, and sat down. ‘Who fell in love with Carmel?’ Her voice was dripping irony as if it was the most stupid phrase she’d ever heard.

  ‘Anton Crossway,’ I muttered savagely. Now that I’d made the mistake of going up this path I wasn’t about to pike out before I’d finished. A sudden burst of pure unadulterated hatred for this woman began to pulse through me. I wouldn’t let her have the satisfaction, even if Carmel never spoke to me again. Mrs McCaffrey sniffed and frowned. The rest of us were silent as we gingerly sipped our tea. Mum took one of the offered biscuits with a little smile, as much to relieve the tension as anything.

  ‘Thanks, I’d love one . . .’

  ‘You mean the Crossways from Yassfield?’ Mrs McCaffrey asked. I looked swiftly at Carmel, but she was hunkered down in her chair, not meeting anyone’s eyes, sipping her tea as if her life depended on it.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘that rich family with all the property.’ Then, much to my dismay, I began to babble.

  ‘Anton’s twenty-two and has finished his Law course. He’s doing his articles with a city firm. He’s very charming and very good-looking. Apparently he’s undecided about what he’ll be doing next year, once he’s admitted to practice. He might come back to the family property or stay in town . . .’

  ‘But that’s a bit . . .’ Mrs McCaffrey cut in disbelievingly. ‘What in God’s name would he see in Carmel?’ We all stared at her in silence. The words swam around us where we sat.

  When they finally registered properly I had to stop myself from jumping up and punching her. Even Mum was outraged. I looked across the table and saw that her mouth had tightened and her eyes were flashing all over the place. A sure sign. But Mum has always been much better at controlling her feelings than I am.

  ‘Carmel looked absolutely wonderful last night . . . N ance,’ Mum began evenly. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t see her . . . well, both of them really, dressed up . . . Jude and Carmel both looked wonderful.’

  ‘Because she’s beautiful,’ I cut in furiously, ‘and she’s a . . . she’s a shithot singer too!’ Mrs McCaffrey started in her chair as if she’d been shot. The word shit hung in the air between us like soiled underwear. As soon as I’d said it I realised I was pouring more fuel onto the flames. Mrs McCaffrey fixed me with a savage glare of disapproval. I thought for a moment that she was going to tell me to get out of her house, but she remained silent. The whole scene was getting too hot for Carmel. She rose quickly and for some reason began hauling canisters down from the top shelf of the dresser, her face the colour of beetroot.

  ‘It’s nothing, Mum,’ she whispered. ‘He doesn’t . . . er, love me or anything. Jude’s exaggerating . . . did you want me to clean all of these today?’ I knew this was our cue to leave. I desperately didn’t want to go yet. I had to talk to Carmel. I wanted to apologise. I also wanted to point out that this woman, her mother, was bloody poison. Until she got her life together she must stay away from her. I silently offered up a prayer of thanks for the job we’d organised with Juan.

  ‘Yes, they’ll have to be washed out,’ her mother replied. Mum and I rose to go. I was surprised to see the look of weariness on Mrs McCaffrey’s face. The fight seemed to have gone right out of her as she sat looking at her daughter, holding both arms tightly across her thin chest.

  ‘Well, he’d be quite a catch, Carm,’ she said, with a dry little laugh, ‘but I’d watch myself if I were you.’

  Well, you’re not her are you, you stupid old cow! The uncomfortable atmosphere was broken by the shrill ringing of the telephone in the far corner of the kitchen. Carmel took a couple of steps towards it, but her mother waved her back, getting up slowly from her chair.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’ll only be Jim Slavin wanting to know if we’ve got the rams.’ She turned to Mum and me politely before picking up the receiver.

  ‘Won’t be a minute. Then I’ll see you out.’ We nodded and stood waiting for her to finish.

  ‘Hello. Yes? Oh . . .’ Her face gave nothing away as she turned to Carmel.

  ‘It’s for you, Carmel,’ she muttered. ‘Hurry, will you. Jim will be calling soon.’

  Carmel gulped and hurried over.

  ‘Yes. Carmel speaking. Oh yes. Oh yes. Hello!’ I watched and knew it must be him because her face was suddenly glowing with a kind of nervous delight. I looked at Mum and we both winked and smiled at exactly the same time. Mrs McCaffrey was studying us sourly, as if it was somehow our fault that her daughter was behaving in such an outrageous way. The three of us eavesdropped. We couldn’t help it.

  ‘Yes,’ Carmel kept saying breathlessly. ‘Yes, yes.’ Then, ‘No, no. I’m sorry I don’t think I can . . .’ I began to get worried until I heard her tone pick up again.

  ‘Yes. That will be all right. Good. Thank you. Goodbye.’ She put the receiver down and turned around. Her face was blazing with . . . well, with happiness. She was looking right at me and she wasn’t trying to hide it at all.

  ‘Jude,’ she began breathlessly. ‘He’s asked me out when we get
back to Melbourne . . . do you think I should? I said yes. Do you think I.. . . ?’

  I loved seeing her so forthrightly happy for a few precious moments in front of this dour woman. I wiped the grin from my face and frowned, very deadpan.

  ‘No,’ I answered slowly, tapping my fingers severely on the table. ‘I won’t allow it.’ I turned to her mother. ‘Mrs McCaffrey, rest assured, I won’t allow it. Men simply take our minds off the higher concerns, such as our study . . .T rust me. I’ll get the . . . er, young man’s number from this wanton girl and ring him straight back . . .’

  After a couple of odd initial moments of total confusion, they were all laughing, Mum, Carmel and even Mrs McCaffrey. When she finally realised I was joking her face softened and her eyes began to twinkle. The smile took about ten years off her age. It was a pleasure –I think we all felt it – to see her smile. I remember thinking that perhaps underneath she wasn’t as bad as I’d first thought.

  On the way out to the car Carmel and I moved away a little from the other two, agreeing to meet on the train back to the city the next day.

  ‘See you tomorrow then,’ I said, squeezing her arm, ‘at four.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Carmel sighed. ‘Do you think he likes me?’

  ‘No, Carmel. That’s why he’s taken so long to ring. God, I mean it’s a full half day since he’s seen you! I’d say he probably despises you.’

  ‘But me!’ she said, giggling and shaking her head. ‘I mean with all those other beautiful girls . . .’

  ‘Ah, all those little bimbos,’ I growled. ‘Listen, he’s obviously a man of taste, you idiot!’

  ‘See you tomorrow then!’

  ‘Yep, tomorrow!’

  My mother and I didn’t talk much on our way back to Manella. We were both thinking, I guess, about that strange shambling house, and the thin sharp woman who was so different from her daughter. I was hoping like mad it would work out for Carmel.

  That night I told Mum about Juan. I hadn’t planned to. But we’d got talking about Carmel and Mum had wanted to know about her uni course, how she was doing, and what her plans were. Without too much angst I decided simply to tell her the truth –M um wasn’t someone who’d go blabbing it to anyone. ‘But how will she live?’ she asked, surprised and worried. ‘They’ll cut off her student allowance, won’t they?’ We were sitting in the lounge room sipping cocoa before bed. There’d been a fine tension over everything since I’d got home, something hard to explain. Mum had welcomed me with open arms, made all my favourite foods, and tried to engage me in conversation, but still I felt there was something wrong. Maybe spilling the beans about Carmel was an unconscious way to bring this uneasiness to a head, to get on the level with her.