Oriel sighed as her son tripped in his dash. ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Bending, she set him on his feet again before going on her way to the kitchen.
Her mother followed, cups in hand. ‘He’s a little monkey is Dorrie, isn’t he? I suppose he gets a bit of a handful at times.’
Oriel knew that this was a comment on her displays of short temper, and wanted to shout, it’s not Dorrie who’s the problem! Can’t you see? I’m angry because I’m condemned to spend my life with a man who drives me up the wall, knowing I can never escape unless I let you down, and I’m taking it out on my son.
‘It must be difficult when they’re so close together in age,’ tendered Bright. ‘It might be an idea to wait for a while before you have any more.’
‘What makes you think I want any more?’ The comment emerged on a disparaging laugh. Yet it was not the thought of bearing children that repelled her but the process that created them. Even the image of Clive on top of her made her feel sick.
All at once, in the middle of peeling potatoes, she came to a decision: if she could stop the physical side of her marriage then things might not be so hard to bear. She would no longer submit to the demands that so revolted her. Then perhaps, she dreamed, he would grow tired of this inhuman treatment and abandon her. At least then she would not have to confess to her mother that she was the one who had let her down. She had tried, she really had.
* * *
At first, that afternoon’s decision inflicted little extra pressure on an already fraught relationship. Clive was accustomed to being rejected for one reason or another. Be that as it may, after three months had passed with no physical contact between them he felt entitled to object, was more confused than ever by his eccentric wife, could not understand what he had done to spawn this treatment. Even in the grip of depression Oriel had never been one to lower her standards of grooming, but faced with this unhappy state of affairs Clive began to neglect his own appearance, and at the weekend would dispense with his work suit in favour of more casual attire, and even declined to shave. Realizing that her determination to survive this marriage had imposed yet another toll, she began to dread being seen with this scruffy companion, hated having people assume they were a couple. They might live together, sleep together, but they weren’t a couple.
Why could others not see this? Perhaps, she thought as she waved with artificial cheer to a neighbour from the car this Sunday afternoon, perhaps I’ve become too adept at pretence. She lifted Dorrie from her knee to wave to another as the open tourer wheeled into the street where they lived after its weekly visit to Clive’s parents. The afternoon had been passed in the usual series of events: they had eaten dinner, Clive had fallen asleep, she had been left to talk to George and Daphne when she did not feel like talking at all but falling into permanent slumber.
Noting this taciturnity, Clive offered a laugh of sarcasm as he drove. ‘You look as if you’ve enjoyed yourself. I suppose you’re as fed up of going to Mum and Dad’s every Sunday as you are of me.’ When she did not respond he suggested, ‘We could just go every other week if you want, and maybe take the kids for a drive to the bush instead.’
‘If you like,’ came the dull reply.
But in their lacklustre marriage, every other week became every other month. Oriel did not care. For the more she was confronted by the sight of his parents, one at either side of the fireplace like two Toby jugs, she saw an image of herself and Clive in twenty years’ time and it made her want to die. She could not stand another twenty years – another twenty minutes.
Sensing that he was in danger of being cast overboard, Clive set up a desperate battle to keep her, uttered endearances, offered what he thought she wanted to hear, and when these failed to work he employed pathos, his fearful words drifting across the gap between them in the bed that night. ‘You don’t want me to go, do you?’
If only she had the courage to speak the truth. But, ever the coward, all she could think of were the people who would be hurt if she said yes – her parents, his parents, and most of all the children. She answered in the negative but was otherwise silent.
His voice was thoughtful. ‘No… your mother always said you were very loyal.’
Oriel grimaced in the darkness. She might have guessed he would use her mother, knew that she could never bear to upset her. She recalled now the piece of emotional blackmail he had employed before introducing her to his own mother all those years ago. He had used this tactic throughout their entire marriage, always making out that she had a heart of stone simply because she refused to enunciate her feelings, would not share with him the thoughts that were inside her. Oh he’s a lovely bloke, people said, you’re so lucky – indeed she herself was guilty of this. She had actually said to Dorothy that he was too good for her. How lacking in self-esteem could one get? Then she frowned as his last words finally made an impact. ‘When did she say that?’
‘Oh, years ago. When we had that spot of trouble. She told me it was all because your father abandoned you before you were born, that you were mixed up about men.’
Oriel was furious at her mother’s disloyalty. It had to be my fault! It couldn’t have just been that Clive and I aren’t right for each other, it had to be that I’m crazy like her! How could Mother have betrayed me so? One would have thought that she of all people would have understood. There had been only one man for her – even if people had thought she was mad her love for him was unshakable and she could never accept a consolation prize. So why could she not understand that Oriel felt this way too? All right, she had made the error of mistaking pity for love and she had tried her best to be responsible but should one mistake be allowed to ruin one’s entire life?
In the dark silence, she thought again of all the people whose feelings she had been trying to protect by remaining here, and one by one they eliminated themselves from her list: her parents had no care for her emotions, they had gone the way they wanted to go; she thought of his parents, the Toby jugs, bored to death with each other. The very image sent her into a pit of blackness. The children: there was no easy answer here, they would be hurt. Only now did she begin to understand her mother’s decision to come to Australia with her father all those years ago without a thought for her daughter – or so it had seemed to Oriel at the time. How much anguish Bright must have suffered then, but in the end one had to put one’s own survival first. For to stay was to die and what good would she be to the children then?
At that point, Oriel decided that her first loyalty must be to herself. It sounded too grand a proclamation when she did not even know which direction she was going to take but the certainty was that she must stop putting other people’s feelings first. Clive would roar with laughter at that! When had she ever thought of anyone but herself? he’d demand. She could hear him saying it, though the dark room was silent. If I hadn’t put others first d’you think I’d still be here now? she’d respond. But no, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t reply at all. Let him think that she was cold and unemotional and selfish. She didn’t care. Freedom tweaked at her fingertips. No longer did her mind scream, I wish I were dead, but, I wish I were alive.
‘I told your mum, I always thought you were the best thing that ever happened to me,’ murmured Clive.
Oriel closed her eyes and issued a mental scream. Resolution demolished, she turned away into the night.
17
Faced with no chance of escape, other than to perform the unthinkable and walk out herself Oriel groped for anything that might keep her afloat. Taking a leaf from her mother’s book she started to keep a journal, but what was there to write? The truth leaped out from those blank pages: you are on your own in life. There is only you.
Whilst she proceeded to endure this stifling existence, life for others was in turmoil. A letter from Melinda brought news that Daniel and the timber workers had gone on strike – indeed, every trade unionist in the country seemed to be at war with Prime Minister Bruce. Daniel’s job had always been well paid, and once rec
overed from the hardships of the Mallee his wife had managed to build a comfortable nest for her family. Today, however, her letter was filled with resentment that Daniel had been asked to work longer hours for less pay. She wondered how long they could hold out for justice – and asked when Oriel and her family would be coming to visit. It had been so long since their last meeting, and she fervently needed a shoulder to cry on.
At first, Oriel had tried her hardest not to go, knew that when she set eyes on Daniel the futile desires would once again be stirred. In keeping with this attempt, her reply to Melinda explained that Dorrie was ill, though she would visit soon if she could. It also contained the offer of financial help should Melinda so require it.
Four months were to pass before another letter came. The workers were still in deadlock. Scab labour had been used to transport the timber from the mills. Amid the pessimism there was a momentary note of amusement to Melinda’s letter as she told of how the strikers had greased the rails to prevent the train getting through – like a centipede trying to climb an icy-pole, was her simile – but eventually the employers had triumphed. There was now talk of evicting strikers’ families from mill houses. Melinda was safe enough there but she did not know where the next penny was coming from. It was this desperation in her letter which finally propelled Oriel into a course of action she had been trying to avoid. Filling a basket with anything that might prove useful she left the children with her mother-in-law and took the train to Yarra Junction.
Oh, the crushing disappointment when, at the very moment she entered, Daniel jumped to his feet and said he had to go out and look for odd jobs. Heart and mind in perpetual war, Oriel wondered how she managed to sit there and listen to Melinda’s grumblings about him, could have screamed at her friend that she would swap places with her any day, poverty or no, but old friendship forbade any such comment. When Oriel went home, Melinda’s gratitude ringing in her ears, she felt worse than ever and thereupon decided she must write to her mother and arrange to take a holiday in Queensland, or go insane.
Just prior to the intended winter sojourn with her parents, however, the Victorian timber strikers finally voted to go back to work, thus ending six months of hardship for her friends. Once again, with hopeful heart, Oriel travelled up to Yarra Junction to give succour, and once again was chagrined not to see Daniel.
‘He’s grabbing all the overtime he can,’ explained Melinda when her friend asked after his whereabouts. ‘It’s gonna take us ages to get back on our feet. Still, he’s always been a hard worker, despite what I sometimes say about him. He doesn’t seem to mind. Clive still in work? Good – wouldn’t like to swap for a while would yer?’ And she laughed.
Leaving behind her unhappy marriage, Oriel embarked on her holiday in Queensland where the sunshine and lush vegetation acted as palliative. Even in winter her mother’s garden was engorged with flame and magenta.
As ever her parents were glad to see her and, wrapped up in their grandchildren, seemed not to care that Clive had been too busy at work to accompany his wife. As at every reunion, Oriel noticed a great difference in her sister’s appearance and remarked over how tall she had grown. There were slight changes in her parents too, both a few pounds heavier, a few more lines upon each face. Fit and tanned from his coastal jaunts, Nat was a picture of health, though Oriel was concerned that Bright looked somewhat drawn and when her mother momentarily disappeared into the bedroom she asked after her health.
Nat replied that she was fine in general. ‘She just gets her old trouble from time to time,’ he murmured.
On her way back Bright overheard and laughed. ‘There’s nothing to concern yourself with. I don’t dive under the table any more.’ The odd thoughts and violent images still occasionally flashed through her mind but after all these years she had learned to cope with them. ‘I didn’t bother sending your birthday present when I heard you were coming.’
It had been her daughter’s birthday the previous week. ‘You can open it now if you want.’
Oriel showed eagerness to do so, the children crowding round.
‘Shove up, nuisance,’ Jennifer told her brother, and at her mother’s reproval said, ‘Grandad says it.’
‘That doesn’t make it right.’ Oriel presented mock severity. ‘Your brother’s name is Dorrie.’ Without Clive to burden her she felt almost light-hearted. ‘Thirty-three.’ She bit her lip as she took off the wrapping. ‘Poor old devil.’
‘Nay, you’re nobbut a lass – this one’ll be fifty next year, you know.’ Nat indicated his wife, who swiped at him.
‘I’m not forty-nine yet! He always has to let folk know I’m four months older than him. Do you like it?’ Bright watched Oriel try on the nasturtium jumper, which fitted over her hips and had a scarf collar with fringing at the ends. ‘I bought it the last time I was in Melbourne,’ she admitted. ‘You can’t get anything up here.’
Oriel said it was beautiful and went to find a mirror in which to admire herself, deciding to keep the garment on.
Nat was appraising his granddaughter. ‘Jenny’s looking posh an’ all.’
‘D’you like my shoes, Grandad?’ she asked him.
‘I do, they’re lovely. I’m told you’ve got a birthday coming up soon an’ all. How old will you be?’
Jennifer said she would be five. Her cousin Victoria announced she would be ten in September and proceeded to tell the other children and her sister of the duties she performed around the house.
‘I’m nearly four,’ piped up Dorrie.
‘Are you? Stop fiddling with that ornament – because you’ll break it! Be told.’ Lips tight with exasperation, Nat turned back to his granddaughter. ‘So are you having a party, Jenny Wren?’
Jennifer replied that she would and there followed conversation about which friends would be invited. After listening a while, Bright said she would put the kettle on.
‘Stay there!’ Nat ordered her. ‘I’ll do it, you can’t be doing too much at your age.’ He went off to the kitchen, leaving the females to talk. A moment later, Dorrie sauntered in. Without paying him much attention, Nat pottered around, lifting cups and saucers out of the cupboards.
‘Can I help?’ asked his grandson.
‘No, it’s done now.’ Nat waited for the kettle to boil. The little boy stood beside him, hands gripping the edge of the workbench, his head barely level with it.
‘I help my mummy,’ offered Dorrie.
The man did not seem inclined to chat. ‘Aye well, as I said, it’s done now.’
A long silence followed, during which Dorrie wandered up and down the kitchen trailing his hand over its fittings. As ever, Nat felt awkward and did not know why, could not think of anything to say.
‘I like your cooker,’ said Dorrie. ‘It’s lovely.’
His grandfather could not help a twinge of mirth. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said the little boy to Nat’s further amusement.
‘Right well, make yourself useful and go ask your grandma if she wants a sandwich to go with her cup o’ tea.’
Dorrie scampered off and returned with Oriel. ‘I’ll do them. Mother’s just taken Jenny down the garden.’
‘No, I’ll do ’em! You can stand and talk to me, though.’ Nat began to spread butter over slices of bread. ‘What d’you want on ’em – and don’t say that awful brown stuff,’ he warned Dorrie. ‘It’s like spreading – well, I won’t say in front of a lady.’ He threw a curious glance at Oriel. ‘Is there owt bothering you?’
Immediately she was on the defensive, playing with the scarf of her jumper. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, you’ve got odd shoes on.’
She looked down in horror. ‘Oh my God! I must have been like it all day. How come I didn’t feel the difference?’
‘Well, they are quite similar,’ joked her father. One shoe was brown, the other navy.
After a moment’s laughter they fell to silence whilst he continued to make the sandwiches, then h
e lifted his head and looked through the window to see black specks floating through the air and on to the line of washing. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, not again!’
‘Is Aunty Thora coming?’ enquired an innocent voice.
Bemused, Nat and Oriel both looked down at Dorrie, then the child’s mother burst out laughing. ‘That what I always say when Clive’s sister comes to visit.’
Nat had to smile too and explained to his grandson that he was only grumbling about farmers burning off their cane. He finished laying slices of ham on the bread. ‘Now then, is there anything else you want on this?’
Oriel asked for some tomato. Her son put his finger on his chin as if in deep thought. ‘Er, I’d like zelaba.’
The father looked enquiringly at his daughter. ‘Don’t ask me,’ said Oriel.
Feeling playful towards his grandson, Nat made up a word of his own. ‘We haven’t got zelaba, how about some ossicant?’
Dorrie extended the silliness. ‘And poobra.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought ossicant would go very well with poobra,’ pointed out Oriel.
Then all three set to chuckling, Nat making an observation to his daughter: ‘This’n’s a right comedian, isn’t he?’
Pleased that her father was granting Dorrie more attention now, Oriel gave a fond smile. ‘He keeps us amused.’
This buoyant mood was to continue throughout the holiday. Accepting his grandson as a personality and not just an encumbrance, Nat included him in all activities, decreeing that they would have their own orchestra and each person would represent a section – Bright would be strings, Oriel woodwind and so on and so forth – Dorrie would be drums and each time the conductor, Nat, pointed at him, he would make as much sound as he could, which of course he did, and after great cacophony everything finally collapsed in laughter. The musical interlude might have sounded like a disaster but in truth was a great success, for at the end of the holiday Oriel could tell by the way her father spoke to her son that the little boy was firmly entrenched in his grandfather’s affections.
A Complicated Woman Page 41