‘Of course you shall have your hair cut,’ he muttered again. ‘Who wants stupid long hair anyway?’ He gave me a warm smile, waited for me to smile back through my tears, then pulled an even strand of hair into the comb and clipped it off very short. ‘Yes, short hair is much better,’ he said. ‘So much easier to manage! Who wants to be bothered with that stupid long stuff?’ I smiled and closed my eyes and listened to his kind voice, knowing that when I opened them again I would be someone different.
The next thing I remember was that it had become dark. I’d been walking around for hours. Now up towards Carlton, where I knew there’d be a cafe open, somewhere to sit. If only I had my coat! It was freezing. I crossed my arms over my chest and hurried on up the hill trying to remember where I’d left it. In the the tattoo shop? It was the coat Mum had bought me for the wet city days and nights. A sob rose in my throat, but I managed to swallow it. I would not think about anything. I would obliterate this last week from my memory. I would forget everything she’d told me, just go and have a good coffee, maybe a toasted sandwich, and then walk home. Go to bed. Wake up and talk to Carmel. The tight lump in my chest made me feel as if I was getting sick, a cold perhaps or the flu. Light, even rain began to fall, making the roads shiny and wet. Everywhere about me bright red and yellow lights flickered and shone. There was hardly anyone on the street. I felt like an ant, invisible, crawling along blind between the concrete and steel.
He was found in the coastal city of Concepción. Caught red-handed helping to collate a register of missing persons. People were frantic. Where have they taken my son? My brother? This work was always interrupted by the sick. Por favor, Doctor . . . my child is sick . . . no money. He was easy to find once they knew the village . . .
I placed my bag down carefully on the table nearest the window and went over to order coffee from the bar. The man washing the dishes merely grunted when I told him I’d like a toasted sandwich too. The few men playing pool up the other end of the room turned momentarily and looked me over, but turned back to their game without any lewd comments or stares. I sat, exhausted, but immensely relieved, too. I was inside at last. No one was going to bother me. And the place was warm. I cupped my chin in my hands and stared out into the night.
My mother came to me then. It wasn’t a matter of being able to will any of the images or thoughts to come or go. They just happened. Vivid flashes would hit me, and it was as if she was with me, sitting at the table, talking to me in that nice low way she had, and I’d sit there, ramrod straight, straining and wondering why I couldn’t reach out and touch her, touch the memory. Then the intensity of it would drain away until it was just like any other kind of dull purposeless thought on its way to nowhere.
I saw her waiting for me after a day at primary school. Her face bright with the expectation of seeing me, and myself, in thick tights and school shoes, running straight past her, pushing away her gentle enquiries about what I’d done that day. I’d arranged a game with one of my classmates and was determined to get it in before I had to head off home to our evening together. Our quiet productive evenings together, they were what I remembered best. Reading and drawing and listening to the radio. Gardening. It was the happiest childhood for me. She provided everything I needed. No visitors except classmates of mine sometimes. Her full attention whenever I wanted it. Now sitting in that cafe it chilled me to realise that it may not have been the happiest time for her. What awful memories she had kept from me.
‘Jude, I just want some kind of peace . . .’ She had said that often enough. ‘I just want you to be happy.’ Her brow wrinkling up, the weight of the world on her shoulders. That troubled intense face she had when she thought I wasn’t watching, sitting at the kitchen table, one hand cupping her face, the other doodling with her pencil.
‘What are you thinking of, Mum?’
She would look up with a start.
‘Oh, nothing, darling . . .’
I began to cry as I sat there, tears running down my face, into my coffee. I let them roll. No one could see. I was just thinking of her, picturing the red and grey hair, tied back in knots with elastic bands or pins. The way she used to lie next to me on the bed when I was little, reading me to sleep, singing songs in Spanish. The best of mothers. What kind of daughter had I been?
I must have nodded off curled up in the corner near the window. When I woke the morning had broken. The grey sky above the shops opposite was streaked with golden light. A van nearby was off-loading flowers: great buckets of roses and white calla lilies. There were even a few people in the steet hurrying about with takeaway coffees and white bags of croissants. I got up stiffly and paid for my coffee.
‘You tired, eh?’ the grumpy man asked, giving me my change. ‘Yes,’ I shrugged. ‘What’s the time?’ He held out his watch for me to see.
‘Nearly seven.’
‘Thanks.’
I walked home, suddenly dying to see Carmel, to tell her everything that had been happening to me, and to show her my haircut. I knew she wouldn’t like it much, she was always saying how much she loved my inky-black locks, but I wanted to extol the virtures of ultra-short hair. It’s so short I’ll hardly even have to wash it! I practised saying that a few times on my way through the front gate and then again as I put the key into the front door. But she wasn’t home. The house was empty. Rehearsal, I supposed grimly, with that bunch of misogynist deadheads. I walked down to the kitchen. With a bit of luck she’d have a night off from the cafe and we’d be able to talk then.
I made toast and some cocoa with three spoonfuls of sugar. Curled up in bed, under the rug I’d brought from home, I picked up my book and began to read, sipping my cocoa and munching the hot buttery toast. It was all right. My mother’s visit had at least got me eating again. The food was delicious and my mind was floating easily from one thing to another. I could feel myself slipping off. And it didn’t take long. I’d been hungry, but I didn’t even manage to finish one piece of toast. Within a few minutes I had fallen into a heavy sleep.
When I woke I was completely disoriented. The blind was up, but all I could see was blackness outside and the vague half-light from a streetlamp. Night. But which night? Then I heard the key turning slowly in the lock of the front door, and footsteps pounding swiftly down the hallway. A couple of doors slammed. Someone was down in the lounge room, roughing it up. I became rigid with fear. Get up. Grab something to protect yourself! Katerina and Carmel didn’t move around the house like that. I picked up the heavy lamp on my dressing-table, tiptoed to my door, and gingerly opened it. I’ll throw the thing at his head. Then I realised how stupid I was being. What match would I be for someone within the confined space of this little house? Far better to escape out the front door. I peeped out and tried to judge the distance. The door was shut. Would I be able to make it up the hallway and open it before he’d heard me?
It was then, while I was standing there holding the heavy lamp, shaking and trying to decide what to do, that Carmel appeared in the hallway. She walked in from the lounge room, wearing a big duffle-coat and heavy men’s boots I hadn’t seen before. She stopped suddenly, her hand flying up to her mouth.
‘Jude! My God!’ she gasped. I stared back at her gulping. My legs weak with relief, I had completely forgotten about my shorn-off hair.
‘Carmel,’ I said, trying to smile. ‘Was that . . . was that you out there, making that noise? I thought . . . I thought . . .’ But I didn’t bother to finish the sentence. I simply sank down where I stood, staring at the floor. Everything seemed unreal, out of sync. Carmel looked strange. I felt very weird . . .
‘I didn’t know you were home, Jude,’ she said, staring at me in wonder. ‘I wouldn’t have made such a racket . . . and you’ve cut your hair.’ I hadn’t expected her to be thrilled, but the flatness was unexpected. ‘And what are you holding that lamp for?’ I put the lamp down carefully and tried to smile.
‘What time is it?’ I whispered.
‘Just after one,’ she s
aid.
‘At night?’ I said wonderingly. It was hard to believe I’d slept that long, ‘God, Carm, I’m so glad to see you. You wouldn’t believe . . . have you been at Juan’s working?’ She nodded.
‘But you’re normally home before this,’ I said. She shrugged noncommittally.
‘Where were you last night, Jude? You didn’t come home.’
‘I was . . .’ I was about to begin my long convoluted story, but when I turned to look at her I saw that her face was very pale, she was trembling and she was staring at the wall in front of her as if in shock. I put out my hand and rubbed her cold one. She didn’t seem to notice. Something terrible must have happened. Some new instalment in Carmel’s family soap opera perhaps.
‘Carmel,’ I said softly. ‘What’s up? Tell me what’s happened.’ She slumped a little. I put an arm around her shoulders. I could see her trying to hold her face together.
‘I went over to Anton’s place after work,’ she said evenly. ‘It’s his birthday tomorrow . . . I thought I’d surprise him and arrive unannounced. I saw his bedroom light on and thought he was studying. They always leave the back gate open.’ Her voice petered out. I leant in closer and squeezed her shoulder encouragingly.
‘And?’ I said quietly. I’d only been to Anton’s house once. It was a really nice big white terrace in Fitzroy, owned by his family and shared with a couple of older lawyers. The place was beautifully furnished, with polished floors and stained-glass windows.
‘So I slipped around the back,’ Carmel went on, ‘into the back of the house. Then I crept up the passage to his room . . .’
‘And?’
‘And I found him in bed with Kara,’ she said dully.
‘No!’ I gasped. I shook my head. For once in my life I was stumped. Shocked. I didn’t know what to say.
‘Yeah,’ she said.
‘But . . . did you just . . . barge in on them?’
‘Yeah,’ she sighed.
‘Did you do anything . . .I mean did you say anything?’ I felt my sense of outrage growing.
‘No . . .I was so stunned,’ she said slowly. ‘I said nothing! I wish I had said something!’
‘But they must have seen you.’
‘No, they didn’t. You see, I’d tiptoed up the hallway and poked my head around the door to give him a surprise. The lamp on the desk was on, so I saw them lying on their backs . . . asleep! Heads propped up on his pillows. She was snuggled into his shoulder, his arm around her . . .’ Carmel gave a low sob. ‘Can you believe it, Jude? They were cuddled up together like the perfect couple!’
‘Jeeze!’ I whispered, tightening my grip around her shoulder.
‘They looked so . . . right together, Jude. And I felt so stupid that I’d ever thought that he and I.. . . that . . . fat, ugly me could have belonged with him,’ she whispered through tears. It was hard to believe what she was telling me.
‘So did you just come back here?’ I asked. Carmel nodded and gave a weak smile.
‘Yeah, I just came back here and smashed a few things around, thinking I was alone . . .I just wish . . .’ She stopped and I looked up at her face. It had grown hard and tense with anger. ‘What do you wish?’ I said.
‘Well, I just wish I’d said something! Woken them up and shouted. Done something! I mean I just tiptoed back out like a good little girl who makes no trouble! Why should he get away without knowing how much he’s hurt me?’ Her voice broke and she began to sob again. I didn’t say anything, just let her cry.
‘I mean, it is rotten behaviour, isn’t it, Jude?’ she gasped through her tears.
‘Of course it is,’ I answered.
‘By anyone’s terms, it’s shitty!’ she spat out. ‘The bloody two-faced bastard! He told me so often that he loved me! All the time. Only yesterday. He said I was the most . . . interesting, most lovable person he’d ever met. He said he was so glad he was with me, that he was proud of my singing . . .’ She was crying and moaning. Her eyes were screwed tight, her head thrown back against the wall, both fists clenched. She began to beat the floor rhythmically with them where she sat.
‘Jude. I’m an idiot, I know. But I believed him! And now I don’t think I can bear it!’
‘I know,’ I said softly. But I knew that I didn’t really.
Carmel had dived into being in love with Anton in a way that was foreign to me. You could see it in her face, the way she moved. Her whole being had been lit up. I knew I would probably never experience that kind of emotional connection with another person. In that way we were different. Sure, I’d loved David. And I’d felt pain when we’d parted. But my world hadn’t turned upside down or inside out. I still knew who I was and what I wanted to do with my life. But Carmel was different. I reckon she was a natural, a naive romantic. She had adored Anton. Her fledgeling inner-self had come alive because of him. I searched for something to say to her.
‘It hurts me here and here,’ she gasped, pointing to her throat and chest. ‘Really, I’m not kidding! It’s hurting me physically.’ ‘I believe you!’
She sat up suddenly, pushed her hair away from her face, and looked at me seriously.
‘I want revenge, Jude,’ she said.
‘Jeeze, Carm . . .I don’t know,’ I said a little shakily. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve got to do something. Now. Or I’ll go mad!’ she said, standing up.
‘What? You want to go and have – it out with him?’ I asked tentatively, standing up too. ‘With both of them?’
‘Well, I can’t just go on! Can’t just go to bed and get up and . . .’ I looked at her, thinking about my own obsession with revenge – if that’s what it had been – over the previous few weeks. The idea of Carmel getting into that same kind of mess was mind-boggling.
‘It’s too late for confronting them,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I want to hurt him, hurt them, in some way.’
I said nothing, hoping she’d calm down. After all, Carmel normally wouldn’t hurt a fly. She was a very gentle person. Much more so than me.
‘I have to do something,’ she said again. I took a deep breath. ‘Carm,’ I began, ‘as much as you hate him for this . . . hate both of them . . . the thing is, he probably does love you.’ She shook her head furiously.
‘No! He would never have done this if he’d loved me.’ I sighed and wondered how I should talk to someone whose ideas about love were straight out of a nineteenth-century novel!
‘I mean, sometimes crappy things happen, Carm,’ I blundered on. ‘They don’t have to mean the world . . .’
‘I will never, ever speak to him again!’ She was shaking her head and frowning, wanting me to understand what she was saying.
‘But why should it be . . . it’s not necessarily over between you and Anton. I think you should talk to him.’
‘Jude, I will never speak to him . . .’
‘But it might have only happened once,’ I said. ‘Find out what his real feelings are! You know Katerina. She probably set it up. Just to spite you . . .’
‘Katerina?’ Carmel repeated disbelievingly. ‘To spite me?’
‘Yeah. She’s jealous of you,’ I said. Carmel gave a harsh laugh.
‘That’s a joke!’
‘I saw her face when you were singing that night,’ I said vehemently. ‘You were so good and she was sick with jealousy! In spite of all her fancy clothes and those guys. You’re the one with the talent.’ I grabbed Carmel by both arms and squeezed her hard. ‘Come on, let’s go get something to eat. Why don’t we get a bit drunk or something?’
I wasn’t sure that I was getting through, but she looked thoughtful as I led her through the lounge room into the kitchen. I pushed her into a chair.
‘And you know that whole money thing with her family and his. The country aristocracy bit!’ I grinned at her. ‘She probably couldn’t bear the idea of someone like you nailing him!’ ‘I still want to do something, Jude. I need to . . .’ she said softly. I sighed and waited. But she was looking at the wall op
posite, frowning. Her eyes were very red and her face was puffed up with tiredness.
‘What have you got in mind?’ I said, not really wanting to hear the answer.
‘Well, I guess I could . . . I dunno, throw a brick through his front window.’
‘What, now?’ I said cautiously. ‘It’s nearly two. I mean . . .’
‘Yeah, now!’ she said quickly. ‘That’s what I want to do. I want to heave a big heavy brick. I want it to come sailing through that bloody stained-glass window he loves so much. I want the glass to smash all over them as they lie there in bed. Give them both a fright. And if we get away in time they’ll never know who did it.’
We? Oh Jeeze.
‘Carmel!’
‘What?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Absolutely!’
‘But what if . . .’
‘I’m deadly serious, Jude.’
‘Okay.’
On the way out of the house I picked up half a bottle of whisky that had been left by Juan on the night of the protest, and slipped it into the pocket of my old coat. Neither of us normally drank, just a glass or two of wine every now and again. But this night was different; it was cold out there. I’d filled Carmel in with what had been happening to me, and by the end of that we were both shot through with this unreal feeling that we were actors in someone’s TV soap opera. It was then that we started laughing. I’m not sure how or why, but it was around that point that a sense of absolute craziness descended on us.
I took a quick gulp of whisky at the front door and handed the bottle to Carmel.
‘Here. Have some.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, and took a mouthful, then shuddered. ‘God, do people drink this stuff?’ I pretended to read the writing on the bottle seriously.
‘Shit no!’ I said. ‘You’re meant to inject it! Sorry, my mistake.’ We laughed again as the terrible hard taste disappeared and the burning sense of wellbeing began.
Queen Kat, Carmel and St Jude Get a Life Page 30