A Complicated Woman

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘I’ll bet Melinda thinks I’m loony, doesn’t she? Ye can’t hide anything from that one. I’ve seen her looking.’

  ‘She’s said nowt to me and if she did she’d be straight through that door. Just let me be the one to worry about that.’

  And he did worry. The pressure on Nat was greater than he had ever experienced before. Never in his life had he been called upon to care for anyone, but during his brief marriage he had succeeded in nursing his wife through the scourge of influenza and now had to fend off her madness as well. It was all too much. He could not eat and the flesh began to fall from him. In his desperation, he sought Oriel’s help, choosing the only time when Bright permitted him to leave her – when she visited the lavatory.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he anguished to his daughter. ‘D’you reckon I’m doing t’right thing by not calling a doctor? Your mam says they’ll put her away and I’d never allow that, but I just don’t know if I’m making her worse.’

  Oriel abandoned her secretarial work for the moment and shuffled round in her chair to look at him, twiddling her pen. Flattered at being consulted she tried to reassure, even though she felt far from happy about her mother’s illness herself. ‘It’s frightening, I know, but it eventually goes away.’ As all pain does. She realized that she had not thought so much of Errol lately.

  ‘You’ve seen her like this before?’ Nat remained standing in the doorway of the small room they had assigned as an office.

  His daughter gave a sombre nod. ‘Mother never said anything to me but when I was little I recall her being a bit like she is now. And from time to time as I grew up she’d act strangely.’ Oriel had almost become used to it.

  ‘She’s worried that lass’ll think she’s crackers.’ Melinda was out of earshot. ‘Has owt been said to you?’

  His daughter shook her head. Though she had seen the look of wariness in Melinda’s eyes her friend had betrayed nothing.

  ‘I need to go and get me rents but she won’t let me leave her.’ Nat’s horse had been standing idle for over a week. His daughter had been feeding and grooming it.

  ‘I’d offer to stay with Mother but I know she’d prefer to have you here.’ This was not just an indication of self-pity. Oriel knew that by volunteering to remain she might be asked to handle the baby and this was only something she would do if forced. ‘But I’ll go and collect your rents.’

  ‘Nay, it’s not an area I’d like you to go. You’ve got enough to do with your bookwork.’

  ‘If Melinda once lived there it can’t be that bad.’ She was used to travelling around other parts of Melbourne now. ‘And I’m almost done here. Just give me five minutes.’

  He nodded, then took on an expression of concern. ‘Your mother’s been a long time. I think I’ll just go and look for her.’

  Oriel turned back to her desk to finish off her secretarial work. After completing it, she donned a beret and her trenchcoat, then searched for her father to tell him she was ready to leave, finding him sitting at the dining table, head in hands. A dart of anxiety stabbed her breast. ‘Where’s Mother?’

  He jabbed a finger at the table, a look of defeat upon his face. Perplexed, Oriel stood there for a moment trying to gauge his meaning, then spotted beneath the edge of the chenille tablecloth a pair of feet and the folds of her mother’s skirt.

  Slowly emerging from her maelstrom, Bright’s mind returned to focus. In the gap of light twixt tablecloth and floor she saw two pairs of shoes. No one spoke, but she felt the silent conversation that passed between her husband and daughter.

  ‘You go,’ she heard Nat murmur. ‘I’ll look after her.’

  The owner of the other pair of pointed-toed shoes hesitated, then came towards the table and lifted the edge of the cloth. Shame-faced, Bright looked into her daughter’s kindly expression.

  ‘I’m just going out, Mother, is there anything you want?’

  ‘Are you going past the ham and beef?’ Though subdued, Bright sounded quite normal.

  ‘Can do.’

  ‘I fancy some German sausage.’

  ‘I’ll get it on the way back – tootle-oo!’ Oriel dropped the cloth, straightened her beret and left as if everything were as it should be, though once out of the room she allowed her true concern to show. Please God, make her better soon.

  Catching a train to the city, Oriel then strode to Bourke Street where she jumped on a tram. Handing her fare to the conductor whose bell-punch rang to indicate that she had paid, she sat back on the wooden seat and at a pace of ten miles per hour glided off towards the inner suburb of Fitzroy.

  She discovered an area that was more industrial in nature, more densely populated than her own, many of its tiny crumbling cottages undergoing demolition and others awaiting the same fate, like sheep outside an abattoir. There were larger houses too. The two which her father owned had apparently been subdivided as he had informed her that there would be four lots of rent to collect from each building.

  ‘I want nine bob off each of them,’ he had told her. ‘Make sure you don’t take any sob stories or they’ll be away without paying next time you go.’ His tenants mainly transient workers, he had always made sure they paid in advance.

  Oriel wandered slowly down each street looking for the addresses. The large brick and stone terraces had once been occupied by middle-class folk, but as the population of the city increased these had moved ever outwards to the more genteel areas such as the one where Oriel herself lived, and the only people she encountered now were obviously of lesser means. When the workers had taken over the area industrialists had followed, erecting their shoe and clothing factories, foundries and brush works to draw from the ready supply of labour. In the shadow of these were narrow cobbled lanes where the very poor resided. Oriel faltered at the sight of a small barefooted girl with a shaved head, dragging her even tinier brother by the hand, his soiled nappy swinging round his dirty knees.

  Dismayed, she proceeded and eventually found the right street, hovering on the litter-strewn footpath to check the address on her bit of paper before entering.

  Her first vision was of a lavatory tucked away at the end of a linoleumed hall, its door left open to display its stained, decrepit furniture. There was a hint of urine in the air.

  Turning away she knocked at the nearest door. A hard-looking woman answered and, when Oriel asked for the rent, gave a wheedling response.

  ‘Me man’s laid off. Yer couldn’t wait till next week, could yer?’

  Oriel’s heart sank. Were all the tenants going to be so difficult? She appraised the woman a moment. Her father had warned that they might try it on. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she answered firmly, whilst preparing for another excuse. The woman did not seem perturbed but went into the room, collected some silver off a table and thrust it at Oriel before closing the door.

  Pleased with herself, she knocked at the room next door and waited, wondering over the low whirring vibrations from within. The tenant appeared. Oriel gaped past the young Indian man to the scene inside, counting nine more dark-skinned people there, most of them bent over sewing machines.

  ‘I’ve come for the rent,’ she murmured. He nodded and delved into his pocket. ‘Do all these people live here?’ Oriel could not help but ask.

  The man was polite. ‘Yes, that is correct.’ He mirrored her frown. ‘There is a problem?’

  ‘Oh no! Thank you.’ She pocketed the money and left to visit the upstairs rooms, which might have fewer occupants but were nonetheless equally cramped as the others.

  The next building was of a similar pattern. Oriel knocked at the first door and asked the tenant for her rent.

  The young woman’s face dropped. The small child she carried was yelling, two rivers of mucus running from his nose. She hefted him on to her other arm, looking harassed. ‘I’m sorry but I just haven’t got it. My husband’s been rushed to hospital so he hasn’t had any wages.’

  Oriel looked past her into the room. Its few items of furniture were v
ery poor, and there was another small child running around with no knickers on. She turned her eyes back to the woman whom she was certain was not lying. ‘I’m sorry about your husband. I’m sure we can wait for the rent until next week.’

  ‘I have to be truthful, I might not be able to manage it then. He’s lost his foot in a machine so they might not take him back at the factory. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

  She jiggled the child but only succeeded in making him scream louder.

  Irritated by its noise, and feeling desperately sorry for its mother, Oriel terminated the discussion. ‘All right, I’ll let you off this week and I’ll explain to Mr Prince. I’m sure he’ll be patient.’

  ‘Huh! You can’t know him very well – but thanks for your understanding.’

  The woman was about to close the door when Oriel fumbled in her purse and said: ‘Here! That should tide you over until your husband gets back on his fee— I mean gets well.’ Blushing over her gaffe, she handed over a five-pound note, then hurried upstairs to the next apartment, taking nine shillings out of her purse and dropping it into the bag reserved for the rent money. Father need never know.

  Succeeding in gathering the rest of the rents, Oriel asked the last occupant, ‘Where is your lavatory?’ When told it was downstairs, she gaped. ‘You mean that has to serve all of you?’ Receiving a nod, she asked, ‘Is there no bathroom?’ This drew amusement. Feeling rather stupid, she hurried downstairs and paid a tentative visit to the lavatory, trying to avoid her cream trenchcoat coming into contact with the walls. How could she have been feeling so sorry for herself when people had to live like this? Much humbled by the experience and disgusted with her father, she embarked on her journey home, where it was some relief to see that her mother was seated in a normal position on the sofa.

  Nat was delighted that his daughter had not been taken in. ‘You got it all? Good on yer!’ He put the rent money in his safe, then came back to sit next to his wife.

  ‘I don’t feel good.’ Oriel’s face was stern.

  ‘You didn’t have any trouble, did you?’ Bright showed anxiety.

  ‘No!’ Oriel was quick to allay worry and patted her bag. ‘I got your German sausage.’ Then she turned to her father. ‘Are you aware of how many Indian people are living in one of those rooms? Ten!’

  ‘Oh, I’m not putting up with that, they’ll be damaging t’place,’ returned Nat, shaking his head. ‘If they’re going to be playing them tricks I’ll start charging ’em more rent.’

  ‘I was thinking of their welfare!’

  ‘Nay, that won’t bother ’em – they’re used to living in large communities.’

  He patted his wife’s knee reassuringly. She did not appear to be listening to the interplay but had drifted off again and had adopted that fearful expression that he had come to dread. He could not bear the torture in her eyes, felt sometimes that he was going mad himself. Hence, he only attended Oriel’s grumblings with half an ear.

  ‘Even so, I would’ve thought nine shillings is rather extortionate considering what they’re getting,’ argued Oriel.

  ‘Nobody’s forcing them to pay it.’ However, Nat had taken advantage of the fact that people were prepared to pay high rents to be near work if they would soon be moving on. His anxious eyes watched his wife get up and leave the room.

  Oriel did not seem to notice. ‘There’s one lavatory between twenty-five people and no bathroom.’

  ‘Nay, you’ll be wanting a roof on next.’

  ‘You wouldn’t care to live like that.’

  ‘That’s heaven compared to some of the places I’ve had to live! They’re near to their work, food markets, hospitals – excuse me if I don’t share your sympathies but mine are concentrated a bit nearer home.’ He made an abrupt move to check on his wife’s whereabouts.

  Oriel felt guilty then, and evicted those unfortunate people from her mind in favour of concern for her mother. ‘How’s she been?’

  He paused, puffed out his cheeks and shook his head. ‘I just keep worrying she isn’t going to get better.’

  ‘Oh, she will!’

  He sounded so pathetic that Oriel was moved to comfort him, coming forward and touching his arm, her eyes abrim with compassion. He seemed to appreciate the gesture, returning her touch and holding her gaze with sad affection. They stood for a moment thus, patting and comforting like friends. Then, after long hesitant moments, Oriel summoned enough courage to take the risk she had avoided for so long. She laid her head upon his breast, and to her vast relief experienced not the unnatural feelings she had dreaded but those of a daughter for her father. Her father. Warmth flooded through her as, with equal hesitancy, his arms enfolded her. Without passion, they stood embracing for some seconds, and when they drew apart a new understanding had been forged.

  Fighting tears, she urged him, ‘Don’t try to do it all on your own. I’m here too, you know.’

  Nat’s anxious blue gaze probed her face. ‘We’ve been neglecting you lately, haven’t we?’

  Berating her own selfishness, Oriel reddened. ‘Oh, I’m all right.’ She sought to relax his tension with a smile. ‘Really I am – and don’t worry, Mother will be too.’

  9

  Oriel’s advice appeared to be well founded, for by the first anniversary of the Armistice, Bright had regained enough lucidity to remind other members of her household to observe the two minutes’ silence that fell upon the nation. Though still anxious, her cringing episodes under the table were fewer, and for Nat’s sake she felt daring enough to risk a timorous trip across the main highway to Landcox Park to celebrate their own first wedding anniversary with an outdoor performance of music from Madame Butterfly by the Orchestral Society, fighting any threatened twinge of panic by sinking her fingernails into her palms. By the time summer came and Victoria was three months old Bright was exhibiting signs of being her old self again; in fact she had even taken up Mrs Ratcliffe’s invitation to join her bowling club, leaving Melinda to look after Vicky. Being involved with his work and so not at home to miss her, Nat had no objection, though he was glad that she continued to reserve her weekends for him. His paints relegated to a cupboard, Nat himself had taken up his daughter’s suggestion that he try his hand at gardening and Bright discovered that she thoroughly enjoyed it too, finding it deeply therapeutic.

  If her illness had had one good effect it was that the concern Oriel had felt over her mother helped to force the memory of Errol’s treachery into the background. Occasionally she would see him in the street but would make a sudden detour if she could. It was harder to avoid him at dances, but Dorothy was a godsend here, making such derogatory comments about him that it was impossible not to collapse in laughter.

  Despite having recovered from her bruising experience, Oriel had decided to concentrate her efforts on other things for a while, work being one of them, balancing her father’s accounts and typing the occasional business letter – although she had never offered to collect the rents again. Unwilling to upset the new-found intimacy with her father she had not known how to correct the poverty she had seen, and so she had done nothing, had tried to pretend those people did not exist, just as she tried to deny the existence of her sister.

  Victoria was a well-behaved infant, though nothing could endear her to her elder sibling. Oriel showed little interest unless prompted, preferring to spend her leisure time in tennis or cycle riding with Dorothy, or anything that did not involve babies – which was all that people in this house ever seemed to talk about. This did not go unnoticed with her parents.

  ‘I know she’s acting a bit immaturely for her age,’ she overheard her mother say one evening, assuming her daughter to be safely in bed when in fact Oriel had been about to return to the kitchen to collect some forgotten item. ‘But I feel sorry for her all the same. It can’t be much fun for her to see Vicky getting all the attention that she missed as a child.’

  Though peeved, Oriel continued to eavesdrop and heard her father reply: ‘What�
��s she going to be like if we have any more? It could happen, you know.’

  There was a note of dread in her mother’s response when, after a pause, Bright murmured, ‘I don’t think I can go through that again, Nat. If I’m going to be like it every time I have a baby—’

  ‘We won’t have any more then.’ He was adamant. ‘There’s nothing so important to me as you.’

  ‘I don’t see how we can prevent them. I couldn’t bear for us not to… you know. I just love ye. I couldn’t stand it.’

  There had been silence then and Oriel had hurried away to avoid sounds of further intimacy. But she carried with her an idea: instead of hiding Wise Parenthood away in her cupboard she would leave it for her mother to find and hope that she would be game enough to sneak a look inside its cover. By this action she knew that she risked a detrimental effect upon her own privacy, but better that than a houseful of siblings.

  The next morning being washing day, Bright went to strip the beds and in Oriel’s room found the book just as her daughter had intended. Intrigued by the title, she dropped the bundle of sheets on the floor and after a surreptitious lifting of the cover, recoiled in shock as she realized its topic. Her first thought being for Oriel’s chastity, she covered her mouth and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, before picking up the book and gawping over its diagrams. She was still here fifteen minutes later when Nat poked his head in.

  ‘I’m off to t’yard!’

  ‘Oh Jesus!’ Bright leaped up. ‘I thought it was – Look at this!’ Pulling the book from behind her back she showed it to him. ‘I don’t know what to do, what to say to her. I hope she’s not going to get herself into trouble!’ Her husband’s mother came to mind. What if Oriel turned out like her?

  Nat took the book from his wife and stared at it. He was not a great reader but could not fail to interpret its contents. Stunned, he made no suggestion, but darted anxious glances over his shoulder between snatching at words.

  ‘Maybe we ought to confiscate it.’