A Complicated Woman

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘I hope you’ll come again soon,’ Nat told not just his beloved Jenny Wren but his grandson too, endowing each with his own brand of affection. ‘It’s easier if you come here. Saves me having to get somebody to look after t’hoss.’

  Dorrie turned to his mother for confirmation. ‘When can we come and see Grandad Grumpy again?’

  ‘Eh, meladdo, if that’s what you call me you needn’t bother.’ But Nat showed he was joking by ruffling the child’s hair.

  Whilst Bright was kissing each of her grandchildren goodbye, Nat embraced his daughter, constantly patting her back as if trying to make reparation for the previous neglect of her son. ‘He’s a grand little chap,’ he muttered gruffly into her shoulder. ‘I’ll miss him – you too.’

  Oriel was glad that her parents assumed her tears to be just an indication of her sadness at parting, when in fact they flowed more from a sense of dread at going home.

  * * *

  Winter turned to spring and still Clive maintained his pathetic attempts to keep her, grinding her further into despair. The crumbling state of her marriage was echoed throughout the country. In October Prime Minister Bruce was finally and savagely rejected by the electorate and Australia had a new Labor Prime Minister, James Scullin. Alas, the damage already done could not easily be remedied, both in the state of the country and in Oriel’s marriage.

  Christmas was a mere six weeks away and still she had not left him, though separation loomed ever near. With every hour her dilemma intensified. She had been feeling physically and mentally ill for weeks. Each day after he went to work, her children to school, she would flop on to the sofa and sit and stare until it was time for them to come home again. Her entire day was black. Every morning upon rising she was presented with this colour and did not know how she would ever manage to wade through it. She could not eat. Her clothes hung on her. She was so depressed that even though he was the cause of that depression she even looked forward to his coming home just to have another adult there.

  Naturally Clive noticed her despondency, how could he not? He probably felt the same way too. Why then would he not give in and find someone else? Daily, each was administering to the other a personal brand of poison and neither was prepared to be the first to call a halt.

  Belatedly, Oriel came to recognize that through her own suffering she was causing others to suffer too, knew that if she did not do something about this awful dilemma now she would keep putting it off until… who knew what would happen? There was no kindness in delay. She must end it now – tonight. He would be hurt and rejected, yes, but he would recover. She could not continue to wait and hope that someone else would make the move for her. She must face the truth, for it was of her own making.

  With fresh determination she began that day to clear out cupboards, ready for her departure, sorting out unwanted possessions, sentiment overcome by a ruthless need to purge, until the entire house had been cleansed.

  An automaton, she went to collect the children, mindless of their chatter as they skipped happily beside her. Upon a change of clothing, she gave them tea and sat dejectedly whilst they ate it, trying to think of how to tell them, determined that she would. But not yet.

  When their father came in a few hours later he was carrying a bouquet, which he presented with a look of hope. The dismay must have shown in her visage for his own face reflected it. ‘Can’t I even bring my wife flowers?’

  Oriel gave what she hoped was a smile but knew in her heart that it was a grimace. How could she smile, the way she felt? She took the flowers and without even unwrapping them stuck them in a vase of water. Say it. Say it! But there was no way to tell him whilst the children were there. At least until they went to bed she had an excuse not to make her announcement, though the interval was not a time of relaxation. Tension mounting, she grabbed a book to deliver their bedtime story, eyes flicking up between each turn of page to consult the clock. Reaching the end, she could no longer bear the suspense and said, ‘I think we’ll have you two in bed now.’ They opened their mouths to whine. ‘Bed!’ She shooed them from the room.

  Drawn of feature, Clive glanced at her from his chair by the fire as she returned from the children’s room and flopped on to a seat. ‘Have they been a nuisance too?’

  If you know you’re a nuisance why don’t you just bloody go? begged Oriel silently. ‘No, it’s just me.’ She kneaded her brow. Say it, coward. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache.’

  ‘Must be all that thinking you do.’ He rose to put a log on the fire. The spring nights were still cold. Noticing that he was about to incinerate a woodlouse he carefully picked it from the log and put it back into the bucket.

  Oriel’s sense of purpose disintegrated. How could one possibly tell a man whose kindness extended to a woodlouse that one could not bear to be in his presence a moment longer? Hence, by the time they retired the subject of her release had still not been broached.

  Though still in the same bed they slept as far away from each other as possible now, sleep being rather a misnomer, both coping with the night as best they could.

  Daybreak came. Oriel groped for the clock and peered at it, but the curtains disallowed sufficient light to infiltrate the room and she put it down and lay there for what seemed like half an hour. If she did not tell him this morning she would have to struggle through another entire day before having a second chance. Fearing that if she lay here another minute her body would rot into the mattress, she rose swiftly, put on a dressing gown and moved to the window to draw back the curtain. Now she was able to read the clock. It was only five thirty. There was neither sound nor movement from Clive, but Oriel could tell that he had been awake as long as she had, lying there silently dying. She took a deep breath and said without turning, ‘I can’t go on like this.’

  A look of fear passed over his face – the look of a man who knows he is to receive the coup de grâce – but he denied it to the end. ‘What d’you mean?’

  Oriel’s bleary eyes stared out of the window. ‘Us.’ Us? There was no us. Never had been. ‘I just can’t face any more.’

  He caught his breath. ‘You mean you want a divorce?’

  ‘Yes.’ And from that point Oriel began to regain life.

  ‘God, what a time to choose!’ Clive rolled out of bed and paced the room, hand on head. ‘How can I go to work as if nothing’s happened?’

  She did not answer and did not care. Released, she felt wonderful and terrible at the same time, for the children still had to be told – and others. She could not wait for him to be out of the house so she could spread her glad tidings.

  Dazed, he fought for words. ‘I suppose I’ll have to be the one to leave.’

  ‘You don’t have to go right this minute.’

  ‘That’s kind of you.’ Clive glanced frantically at the clock. ‘We’ll have to talk about this tonight. I haven’t time to give it full attention now.’

  I don’t see that there’s much to talk about, thought Oriel but said as she left the room, ‘I’ll go and make breakfast.’

  Clive could not stomach any food, gulping only a mouthful of tea before going off to work early.

  It was only then that a great wave of relief surged over Oriel. Half an hour ago she had felt close to death, now had come resurrection. Surely the worst part was over. Sipping her tea, she decided not to tell the children yet, for they would obviously be upset and want to stay off school and she had other things to do.

  Awoken later, they came in to breakfast not knowing that anything was wrong, only that their mother was unusually happy for so early an hour. After taking them to school, she had a cup of coffee and sat down to think about how she would ever explain this to her mother. But her mother was a long way away and they had not arranged to see each other this summer, the journey being what it was.

  Deciding to postpone it, she went off instead to give Dorothy her news.

  Her friend’s first reaction was that Oriel must be joking – she was beaming widely as she made the a
nnouncement. But then why go to the bother of playing a joke at this time of morning?

  ‘Well, what a bombshell. Divorce! What d’you plan to do now? Will you be leaving or—’

  ‘No, he’s said he’ll go. If I can afford to keep the house on I will. I don’t want to disrupt the kids any more than I have to.’

  ‘Have you told them yet?’

  A shake of head. ‘I’m dreading it.’

  ‘Well, any way I can help you,’ Dorothy reached out and patted her friend’s hand, ‘you only have to ask. It’s a big step setting out on your own.’

  Oriel shrugged. ‘Not really. I got to the stage where I thought, why am I so worried about being lonely? I couldn’t be any lonelier than I am now. I’ll have to go.’ She rose. ‘I’ve made an appointment to see a solicitor.’ Not wishing to compromise her privacy by selecting one in Brighton, she had sought a more anonymous, if more expensive, practice in the city. ‘I hope Clive hasn’t chosen the same one – it’d be just my luck.’

  Leaving Dorothy, she travelled by green electric tram to the city, avoiding the area around Myers for fear of being seen.

  The solicitor asked what grounds she sought for dissolution. Oriel looked flummoxed. ‘Does he have other women? Does he beat you?’

  ‘No, he’s a nice man.’ The moment it emerged she realized how stupid it sounded, but had no wish to vilify Clive. She was hurting him enough.

  There was a slightly derisive edge to the man’s smile. ‘Mrs Widdowes, “nice” hardly constitutes reasonable grounds for divorce. You’ll have to come up with something better than that or we’d be laughed out of court.’

  Confounded by legal rigmarole, Oriel went home, determined to be rid of him, whether it was legal or not. During her journey, she made the decision to tell the children when they came in from school, for she did not want Clive as an audience when she spoke intimately to them.

  That afternoon, having collected them from school she gave them tea, then told them as a special treat they could help her mix the Christmas pudding.

  It was whilst they were weighing all the ingredients – plus some of Dorrie’s imaginary ones – that she said casually, ‘By the way, Daddy will be going to live somewhere else soon.’

  Jennifer was grappling with the wooden spoon and the thick mixture. ‘Will we go with him?’

  Oriel tried to sound cheerful. ‘No, but you’ll still see him.’

  ‘Doesn’t he want to live with us any more?’ asked Dorrie through a mouthful of currants. Perhaps he was to blame for his father leaving – had not Grandad always said that boys were a bad lot?

  ‘Well—’ Oriel fought for explanation. ‘It’s just that Mummy doesn’t want him to live here.’

  Jennifer dropped the spoon and started to cry. Little Dorrie, grave of face, looked on whilst his mother put her arms round his sister, studying Oriel in an odd way as if he were trying to read what was in his mother’s mind. Within minutes he too was crying, but after a great deal of reassurance from Oriel that they would still see their father the children were coaxed back into mixing the Christmas pudding, too young to understand the real implication of all this.

  Clive was annoyed that she had divulged the situation without his knowledge. ‘You treat them as if they’re just yours,’ he accused her, after the children had been put to bed. ‘You always have. You act as if I never had anything to do with their conception – come to think of it I didn’t! You even made that decision by yourself, as if my opinion was worthless.’

  Oriel did not argue, but considered his words. By her decision not to leave him all those years ago, in thinking that it was the right thing to do, she had only succeeded in creating more hurt for him, for everyone. Her attempts to survive this unhappy marriage had made her appear selfish in his eyes. If only he had not put up such a fight to keep her.

  Clive had obviously been doing some thinking through the day. ‘Why should I be the one to leave? It isn’t me who wants a divorce, for God’s sake.’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to go then,’ sighed Oriel, without stating the obvious that it was her money which had bought this house and many of the things in it.

  He had apparently hoped that having to abandon all this material wealth would be just too big a wrench for her. When this did not work he muttered sullenly, ‘No, I’ll go. I don’t want to uproot the kids. I’ll get meself a little house somewhere. I won’t need to take much with me. All this furniture would look out of place in the sort of house I’ll be able to afford. You’ll have to give me time to find somewhere, though.’

  She returned a dull nod. After the thrill of this morning’s disclosures there was anticlimax now.

  ‘I suppose they’ll all come sniffing round once I’ve gone.’

  By they, Oriel knew that Clive alluded to her many supposed admirers. She did not respond.

  Paradoxically, they both climbed into the same bed that night, lying there like two lumps of wood, staring at the ceiling.

  Eventually he said, ‘I don’t know what I’ve done.’

  ‘You haven’t done anything.’ You’ve just been yourself, she added privately. Why let him remain in ignorance, demanded her conscience? Why let him believe that you’re the only one at fault? But much as she detested him, much as she had wanted to kill him throughout their marriage, Oriel was not deliberately cruel, could not grind her heel into his wound.

  ‘Have you told your mother yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you would have.’ He sighed heavily. ‘But I’ll have a few words for that father of yours when I see him, tell him how he’s ruined my marriage.’

  Oriel’s voice held impatience. ‘It’s got nothing to do with anyone else.’

  ‘Well, I think it has. I agree with your mother. Him running off and leaving you has made you cold and hard – well, you’ve never shown me any affection, anyway.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I don’t know if it’s reserved for anyone else.’

  Oriel sighed, but refused to enter an argument.

  ‘You won’t be happy till you’re dead,’ he mumbled, then turned away from her.

  Neither of them slept. The following morning Clive moved into the adjacent bedroom, which he continued to use for the next couple of nights.

  * * *

  Relief turned to pressure. A week and then a fortnight passed, and Clive had given no sign of moving out or even hinting that he had found another place to live.

  Eventually, however, Oriel’s coldness towards him made him announce, ‘It’s obvious you want rid of me so I’ll go and stay at my mother’s till I find somewhere else.’

  She did not correct him.

  ‘I’ll be back to see the children, take them out – I’ll take you too, if you like.’

  Oriel wanted to shout, for Christ’s sake I can’t stand the bloody sight of you! But ever the coward she answered, ‘If you want.’

  ‘I still love you, you know.’

  She turned away, despairing that he would ever leave, but leave he eventually did the following day.

  Had Oriel guessed upon watching the door close behind him that his intention was to visit her several times in the week that followed, she would not have allowed herself to experience such relief. It became obvious that even if they were living apart he still regarded her as his wife – his property, thought Oriel darkly. She realized then that she had never regarded him as her husband, hated even referring to him as such. A husband was more than a bedfellow, more even than the father of one’s children. Alas, at thirty-three years of age she despaired that she would ever find that other half of her soul, for it had already been captured by someone else.

  Having further matters to discuss with her solicitor, she telephoned to make an appointment, then made another trip into the city. Far too early, she browsed around the shops, catching an occasional glimpse of her own reflection, an emaciated, lonely figure in a white cloche hat, the contours of the pale blue dress showing every jutting bone.

  She wander
ed at leisurely pace up Lonsdale Street. The pavements were full of men. Unemployed men loafing on corners, old men, young men, middle-aged men, all drawing close scrutiny from Oriel, who found them all wanting. So absorbed was she in her examination that she paid little heed to her passage through the shoppers until she collided with a hard body with hands that grasped her upper arms and a face that bestowed admiration. Apologizing, she allowed herself to linger, feeling the heat of those hands on her arms, the warmth of his smile, the question in his eyes. Then, denial in her own eye, she tore herself away and continued up the street. Above the noise of traffic a clanging sound made her turn. An old tramp festooned with billycans overtook her. At odds with the hot summer day he wore an army greatcoat, the smell from his unwashed body travelling in a slipstream behind him. Oriel moved across the pavement.

  It was then that she saw Daniel coming towards her and her heart turned a somersault as he saw her too, waved and donated the warm smile that she held so dear. But upon his approach she saw that he looked unwell, appeared drained and thin. His clothes were hanging on him, his trousers ruched up by a belt that was fastened two notches tighter than normal. Despite these observations Oriel was overjoyed to see him and spoke in cheery tone as they came to meet before the stained-glass window of the Shamrock Hotel.

  ‘What’re you doing in the city, Mr Maguire? I hope you’re not looking for work?’ Though the timber strike had long been over its repercussions were still being felt; there was now a lot of unemployment in that industry, as everywhere else.

  His expression had deceived her. ‘Nah, I’m one of the lucky ones. Still got me job at Powelltown. Just taken time off to go to the hospital for some tests on me head.’ He waved aside her exclamation of concern.

  ‘They couldn’t find anything wrong. I’ve been getting a few more headaches than usual and I thought it might be the bit o’ shrapnel going walkabout. It has moved, they say, but only a fraction. Made me feel like a complete bludger.’ He grinned. ‘I was just off for smoke-o before going back to work. Shout yer a cuppa if yer fancy coming and telling me all your latest news.’