A Complicated Woman

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Without looking up from the book, the heavily bearded face delivered a nod.

  ‘I’d like to hear it.’

  He continued to read. ‘Never play in public now.’

  ‘We’re not public, are we, Daniel?’

  ‘I should’ve said I don’t play at all.’

  Oriel failed to pick up the warning note of impatience in his voice.

  ‘Oh we don’t mind if you’re out of practice.’ She gave an entreating smile. ‘Go on – please, I need cheering up.’

  All at once he had tossed the book to the other side of the room and his face was speaking directly into hers. ‘I said, I don’t play!’

  For seconds he pinned her with his hard, black eyes. Oriel shrank under his glare, assailed by the dreadful conviction that everyone in the world was against her now. Daniel’s hands paused on the leather boot but he did nothing more than look on in quiet concern.

  ‘Can’t you take no for an answer?’ yelled Jimmy. ‘This is my home, I built it to get away from people like you, asking your stupid bloody questions! Nag, nag, nag! I didn’t ask you to come here bringing all your troubles. What am I supposed to be, Jesus Christ? I just want to be left alone!’ He hurled himself away from her frightened face and, lifting the edge of a piece of lino that clothed the floor he pulled out a note and threw it at Daniel. ‘Here! Take that and rent yourself a place of your own where she can gabble as much as she likes. You can stay here tonight but tomorrow I want you gone.’

  Daniel made no comment that it was a ten-pound note, did not ask where on earth his friend had got it, just put it into his pocket and watched Jimmy heft his swag and depart. In the resounding silence, he looked at Oriel, who sat in the same position, too shocked to weep. He went to her, held her. She did not move, just sat there transfixed.

  ‘He’s just sick, darlin’,’ said Daniel softly.

  Aren’t we all? thought Oriel, feeling as if there would be no tomorrow.

  ‘Come on, we’ll go to bed. He won’t be back.’ And Daniel helped her undress, treating her tenderly, not as a lover but as a little child – though once she was in bed and he beside her, this attitude was folded away with his clothes and he made love to her with passion.

  Much later, in the small hours, Oriel was awoken by a noise. Clawing her way out of sleep, she rolled on to her back and listened. Outside the cabin, Jimmy Magee was crying, the stillness of the night invaded by his anguished weeping. So violent were his sobs that from time to time he would heave and retch and shiver, sounding to the horrified witness as if he were about to disgorge his very core. The depth of his emotion, the utter wretchedness of the sound, incised her heart and she too began to weep. Not wishing to disturb her beloved, but desperately needing comfort, she edged her heated body closer to his, and found that he was not there.

  It was not Jimmy Magee whose misery rent the night, but Daniel.

  23

  In the morning they left and, with no further glimpse of Jimmy, travelled back to the city the same way they had come. The clanking sootiness of the railway yards, the grey cloak that typified the area around Victoria Dock, were in stark contrast to the viridian climes they had just departed, but armed with the ten pounds they could at least put a roof over their heads. Shortly after they alighted from the wagon and hopped across the lines, they were to find a ground-floor room in a large red brick terrace. Notwithstanding the drabness of the suburb, this room was superior to the one from which they had been evicted, being furnished with a bed, chairs, table and a cooker – though owning few utensils Oriel was for ever trailing across the hall to ask the resident landlady for the loan of some necessity.

  In three days’ time it would be Christmas. Wandering round the crowded city, ostensibly looking for work whilst her beloved was otherwise engaged in his own search, Oriel thought of Dorothy and the ungrateful way she had behaved towards her. There and then she decided to telephone her friend and make her apologies. Uncaring whether Cuthbert might answer, she sought out a kiosk and made her call.

  Luckily it was Dorothy who answered, brushing aside Oriel’s apology straightaway and insisting that it was her fault for being so blasé about the other’s problem, saying also that she might come to visit and pull their traditional New Year’s wishbone if she could get away once the Christmas rush was over. Inwardly sighing over Dorothy’s inability to understand the full depth of her trauma, Oriel nevertheless informed her of the new address before wishing her a happy Christmas and hanging up.

  Oblivious to the Christmas shoppers who milled around her, she stared at the telephone for some moments, yearning to ring her children, picturing them at Christmases past, their excited rush to open presents, their gleeful tearing of paper. She was still trying to make her decision when someone’s impatient gesture caught her attention and she was forced to leave the telephone kiosk.

  Home was in easy walking distance, though the journey was not a pleasant one in this heat. When she arrived, grubby and perspiring, Daniel was already there. Obviously his own search for work had been unsuccessful again, for he remained at the table when she entered, slumped in weary manner, hands covering his face.

  She sighed and laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘No luck?’

  He gave a miserable shake of head and sighed. ‘No – I only got a bloody job, that’s all.’ He leaped from the table with a devilish laugh. ‘Fair dinkum – I’ve got a bloody job! Aw darlin’!’ And he lifted her off her feet to swing her round, delighting in the way her face showed the sort of expression that he had not seen in weeks. ‘A proper job, no temporary stuff – the dinky-di article.’ After Oriel had covered his face in kisses, he set her down and told her all about his luck in visiting the sawmill just ten minutes after another less fortunate chap had severed his arm and had been taken to hospital. ‘Feel sorry for him, yeah, but I wasn’t gonna knock it back! Start tomorrow, then get Christmas off – not bad eh? Pays well, too. Now we can afford to buy pressies for the kids.’ Eyes glittering, he could not contain his excitement.

  Neither could Oriel, who said they would go out that afternoon and buy some. ‘I’ll go and deliver mine tomorrow while you’re at work – and I’m damned if I’m asking Clive’s permission this time. I’ll just turn up at the house.’ Though the thought of seeing Jennifer and Dorrie was rather daunting. What would their reaction be?

  * * *

  Having not considered that the children would have broken up for the summer holidays, Oriel arrived at the house in time for them coming home from school, but found it empty. Of course! She damned her stupidity, they would be at their grandmother’s until Clive came home from work. Bitterly disappointed, she left the gifts in a bag with a note for Clive, then stared around at her old home. It was strange being here after all this time – as if she had never lived here at all. Wondering whether any mail had come for her she was presented with a worrying thought: Clive would still be forwarding her letters to the old address – had any slipped through during the short interim since her eviction?

  Checking the hall table on her way out she found a pile of letters and sifted through them. Finding one from her mother, she saw that Clive had already redirected it to her old address in Carlton, and sighed in relief that he had neglected to post it. Ripping it open there and then, she read: ‘Dear Oriel and Clive, don’t die from shock, but we’ve decided to pay you a long-needed visit.’

  ‘Oh God!’ She covered her mouth and read on, heart thudding. All that she had dreaded was about to come to reality. Her parents would get here on Christmas Eve. They would arrive in the expectation of a loving reunion and find only lies, deceit and a daughter who was living in sin.

  Faced with this awful dilemma, Oriel rushed to the station and caught a train home but found no answer here, for Daniel was still at work and she had to endure nerve-racking hours before being able to share the news with him.

  After a passionate hug and the query over how he had fared in his new job, she broke away. ‘Before you get too pleased with yours
elf I think I ought to tell you the bad news – Mother and Father are coming down to Melbourne.’

  The tanned face shared her look of dismay. ‘Oh, bloody Nora – for Christmas?’

  She nodded and distorted her mouth. ‘I’m so stupid! I should have written and told them months ago. Why am I such a coward? Oh well, it’s no good going over old ground. There’s only one thing for it, I’ll have to intercept them before they arrive at the house or Clive will stick his two pennorth in – though I doubt even he could make things worse. What a bloody mess.’ She clamped her face between her palms, feeling sick at the mere thought of telling them.

  Daniel was practical. ‘Better arrange something with him. ’Sno good you waiting at the station, you might miss ’em.’

  Oriel affected to bang her head against the wall in a display of frustration. ‘Oh God, I can’t face having to talk to him – still, you’re right. I’ll go out after tea and give him a ring.’

  Later, she knocked on the door across the hall and asked the landlady if she would be allowed to use her telephone.

  At this request, the woman’s heavily made-up face adopted a grimace that turned the skin of her cheeks into crazy paving. She did not mind lending the occasional utensil but her generosity had recently been stretched by this new tenant. ‘Sorry, dear, I find if I let people do that they take advantage and I end up paying for the call. There’s one just down the street, though.’

  Oriel returned to inform Daniel, who offered to go with her but knowing what a hard day he must have had she ordered him to remain in his chair, and went out alone.

  The heat was unabated. Somehow, the soot-engrimed buildings made it appear even hotter.

  The telephone box was indeed not far away. Acquiring the number, Oriel listened to it burring at the other end of the line, wondering whether she would be able to hear the speaker properly, for a steam train was passing over a nearby railway bridge. The ringing stopped, Oriel pressed her ear to the receiver in readiness for the hello – and was shocked to hear a child’s voice answer.

  ‘Hell—’ Her voice faltered, heart bleeding. ‘Hello, Dorrie, is that you? Shouldn’t you be in bed?’ How wonderful it was to hear him, but how sad too.

  The little voice responded. ‘I’m allowed to stay up later now – who is it?’

  She laughed. ‘It’s Mummy.’

  ‘Mummy Jean or our other mummy?’

  Oriel felt a knife thrust into her bowel, ramming right up through her heart and into her mouth. Her hands gripped the receiver as if glued there. Dorrie was chattering away but totally overwhelmed by horror she did not hear the rest of his words, only those two. The little boy stopped talking and waited for an answer. She tried to speak but nothing emerged. Dorrie’s father took command of the phone and made a series of hellos. After a moment of puzzled silence she heard a click. The line had been broken. Drained of colour, she lowered the receiver and rested it in the cradle, then turned and walked away as if in a trance.

  When she got home Daniel studied her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘What – oh, yes!’ Oriel summoned life, wiping the sweat from her brow. ‘Clive wasn’t in.’ She could not voice the dreadful news for fear of crying, and there had been too many tears. ‘It doesn’t matter, anyway. I know what day they’re arriving. If I have to wait for every single train, I will.’ Adopting nonchalance, she flopped into the chair beside his and leaned her head back against the fusty moquette. Mummy Jean.

  Relaxing in similar pose, Daniel studied her. Neither of them was the same person he or she had been a year ago, their laughter interspersed by long bouts of solemnity such as he witnessed now, but he knew her well enough to detect an underlying reason for her preoccupation. She did not want to worry him. It was no use grilling her, she would deny it to the end.

  ‘D’yer want me to come with yer, Kooks? Should be at work, but if you need me—’

  ‘What, and get the sack two days after you’ve started? No thanks!’ She smiled but was soon looking thoughtful again. ‘No, I have to do this alone.’

  ‘Course you do.’ Concerned at her mood, and still wanting to be helpful, Daniel tried the opposite tack. ‘I been thinking, I’m not gonna be very popular with your mum and dad when you break the news. You’ll probably have to bring them here and there’s things you’ll wanna say to them. Might be an idea for me to get out o’ the way for a day or so and come back on Christmas Night. By then yer should have it sorted out.’

  ‘There’s no need. You’ve been evicted from your home once—’

  ‘No, I don’t mind – if yer think you can do without me. Thought o’ going up to take the kids’ presents on Christmas Eve if I can get away from work soon enough to catch the train. No point me being here if you’re not. There’ll be no train back but I can get a lift off somebody – but don’t go worrying if I can’t get back the same night. Might have to bunk at a pal’s. Buy a nice piece o’ meat and I’ll definitely be back to share it with yer Christmas Night. Yer never know, yer mum ’n’ dad might come too.’

  Mummy Jean. Oriel shoved the voice from her head and agreed to his proposal. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, though – God, what a Christmas this is going to be. Even worse than the last.’

  * * *

  ‘Won’t our Oriel be surprised when we tell her we’ve come on an aeroplane!’ Bright had recovered from her initial fear on takeoff and now felt brave enough to look out over the clouds. She had not divulged her mode of travel in her letter, wanting to make this grand announcement in person.

  ‘She will that.’ It had taken little for Nat to persuade his wife to adopt this daring form of transport. She hated the gruelling journey by rail or road, and ever since watching the warplanes take off from her bedroom window in York had expressed an interest in flying. ‘I wish we’d been able to do it sooner.’ The passenger route had not been in existence for long.

  ‘Never mind, I’m really enjoying it now, aren’t you, Vicky?’ The child sat between them. ‘Your father’s such an adventurer.’

  ‘I don’t know about adventurer,’ said Nat, though feeling rather smug at his own bravery. ‘But why take days when you can get there by teatime?’

  Bright forgave his exaggeration – they had had to make the journey by rail down to Brisbane, but certainly the onward trip to Melbourne would be drastically reduced, their only stop Sydney. ‘Unbelievable,’ she sighed. ‘I feel like Father Christmas on his magic sleigh.’ They came bearing many gifts.

  ‘There is no Father Christmas.’ Vicky had outgrown the pretence.

  ‘You might not believe in him but there are people who do,’ warned her mother. ‘Don’t spoil it for the little ones.’

  ‘Aye, I’m looking forward to seeing their faces when they open these.’ Nat twitched his mouth.

  His wife noted with satisfaction that he used the plural. ‘I wonder what Dorrie will have up his sleeve this time?’

  ‘Aye, he’s a right comedian.’ There was affection in Nat’s praise.

  Bright smiled. ‘You really got to know each other last time, didn’t you? He’s a lovely little chap.’

  ‘Don’t think I’m weakening! I’m only getting well in with him so he’ll let me play with this train set we’ve bought him.’

  Bright delivered a scolding grin over Vicky’s head. ‘Aw, come on, admit it, you’ve got a soft spot for him.’

  ‘Aye well, mebbe you’re right.’ He looked grudging, then gave her a genuine smile. ‘I just hope I’ll feel the same by the time he’s ten. I still say there’s nowt so obnoxious as a ten-year-old boy – except maybe an eleven-year-old boy.’

  His wife berated him, then handed round a bag of toffees and the conversation petered out, replaced by the drone of the engine.

  * * *

  Afraid that her parents might arrive early, Oriel had been waiting at Spencer Street Station since after lunch in tremendous heat, watching the interstate trains come in, watching them go out. Now, by late afternoon the muscles in t
he back of her neck felt as if they were on fire. Her shoulders had begun to droop, not merely from the hours of waiting, nor from missing Daniel, but from the weight of all her problems which seemed to increase by the second.

  Mummy Jean. Tears came to her eyes as she put herself in her children’s place, feeling helpless, knowing she was a useless mother, and above all fearing her parents’ reaction. Where on earth had they got to?

  From Essendon Aerodrome, Nat and his family had gone to the nearest railway station and made the rest of their journey across Melbourne by train to Flinders Street Station then, via a city rank, completed the last festively decorated stretch by taxi. Grumbling over the cost, he was now hefting the suitcases through fading light down the path of his daughter’s house.

  Ahead of him with Vicky at her side, Bright frowned at the For Sale sign. ‘Oriel never told me they were selling.’ She proceeded to the house, catching a movement at the window where two small faces had appeared.

  Hearing the click of the gate Jennifer and Dorrie had hoped for a glimpse of Father Christmas but instead saw their grandparents and before Bright could reach the door the two children came bounding out.

  ‘It’s Nanna and Grandad Grumpy!’ Dorrie leaped around like a sprite.

  ‘Now then, Dorrie!’ Encumbered by luggage, Nat merely gave vocal greeting, but for once put the boy before his sister. ‘Have you got some zelaba for tea?’

  His memory short, the five-year-old wrinkled his nose that was peeling from sunburn, and giggled. ‘Silly old bugger.’

  Nat affected shock but was highly amused. ‘I beg yer pardon!’