by Joy Dettman
Vinnie’s red curls are all on the floor and Henry is looking for another head. Mick isn’t around. He’s never in the kitchen, except when he’s eating, so Henry starts on Neil.
Then Mavis gets up and everyone flattens against wall, table and cupboards, making space. She gets the custard powder, goes to the fridge, which is in the southwest corner, between the louvres and the west window, and she takes out three eggs, and the milk; she gets her favourite saucepan from beneath the sink, pushes between the brothers to the stove where the milk goes into the saucepan, then she stands cracking eggs, spilling their golden brains into a basin and bashing them to death with a fork. She gets a cup, mixes custard powder with a pile of sugar and a dribble of milk, adds vanilla, but all the while she’s watching that saucepan, waiting for the milk to boil, sort of impatient.
And just as the milk is ready to go over the top, she pours in the custard powder stuff and stirs, stirs until it boils again, then sort of lovingly she pours what’s in the saucepan over her eggs, stirring slow, stirring lovingly. Her custard tastes of love and Lori’s mouth is watering for a bit of it. She won’t get any. Mavis takes her bowl and spoon back to her couch and she flops down without spilling a drop. The poor old couch thumps back against the wall, making a deeper hole through the plaster.
One day that wall will fall down on top of her, but she’ll just reach a hand out of the rubble, push the wall off and keep on eating her custard.
Aunty Eva
‘Stop your staring at me,’ Mavis says. ‘Every time I look up, you’re staring at me.’
‘I’m not. I’m just . . . looking at the wall, thinking. Aren’t people allowed to think in this house nowadays?’ Lori replies.
Henry is in the shower and Donny’s waiting to use it next. He looks more like Mavis than Henry, but he doesn’t act it. He goes off to work every day, never forgets to bring the shopping home and never says much to anyone, just leans, waiting to use something.
Mavis is spooning up the last of her custard, and the scrape of that spoon is sort of tantalising. Lori’s tongue escapes, does a circle of her lips.
‘You’re getting to be a cheeky little bugger lately, Lorraine. And who said you could go to McDonald’s with your friend, anyway? You’ve been told to get yourself straight home from school. I’ve told you. Your father has told you a thousand times. We were damn near ready to send a search party out after you. You could have been kidnapped for all we knew.’
‘Who’d want her? She can’t even iron,’ Martin says, walking through one doorway and out the other. The loo is an outside one, down the back behind the old laundry, and as the back door is also the kitchen door, there is a lot of coming and going through this room.
Lori is thinking about McDonald’s, thinking that her lie about going there might be a good way to mention those tourist ladies and those boys, like maybe they were at McDonald’s too and that’s how she saw them. She’s trying to make another lie come out, but Mavis has lost interest. She’s watching Timmy, who is watching that new baby sleep, and maybe considering stealing his dummy; Mavis stole his only a few months back.
‘Timmy, come here,’ she says and her chin bump wobbles. ‘Come to Mummy and get some custard.’
Timmy used to be a tub of lard but he sat up at five months, crawled at six and by twelve months he’d started leaving home. He’s doing everything fast, though he walks slow to Mavis. He doesn’t trust her since she got that new baby, but he gets a spoonful of custard.
Lori doesn’t, and it’s her birthday.
Timmy gets to crawl up on the couch, gets his face kissed, gets a cuddle.
Lori doesn’t.
And Mavis has got the nerve to keep saying she wants another girl. What for? She doesn’t want the one she’s got. She doesn’t even know that Lori hasn’t got any friends to go to McDonald’s with, doesn’t care that she’s had the most rottenest, stinkiest, longest day of her entire life. She can’t even see those pink boils growing under Lori’s T-shirt that are probably going to explode into giant boobs tomorrow.
The custard bowl now on the couch beside her, Timmy on her lap, Mavis flicks the remote, trying every television channel. It’s all commercials, except the ABC; she settles for that. There is nothing worth watching until the movie starts, so she flicks down the volume and does her own show, like putting her own words into the mouths of the interviewer and the woman he’s interviewing.
Lori giggles. You can’t help but giggle, though Mavis keeps checking that brown curtain, making sure Henry isn’t coming through; she’s not game to do her comedian act when he’s around. He never laughs at her, just looks startled, due to she’s not too fussy about her language and being politically correct – actually, she prefers to be politically incorrect.
Then someone starts knocking at the front door.
Jamesy and Neil run to see who it is. Timmy wriggles down to the floor and goes after them while Lori looks at the back door, thinking maybe it’s nicking-off time.
‘Henry. How lovely to see you. So pleased to find you in. Just thought I’d pop around on the off-chance.’
‘You’re looking well, Eva,’ Henry says. ‘Come through.’
And the wire door slams shut and Mavis’s jaw drops open. She thinks about standing, changes her mind, pushes the custard bowl beneath her couch, runs her fingers through her hair and pulls her tent dress down to cover her giant knees as that anorexic tourist lady comes stepping slow into the kitchen, stepping high, as if the whole house is full of used condoms. Henry is behind her wearing his old tartan dressing gown, which makes him look about eighty years old. He turns the television off.
There is a rare silence for a second or two, then Mavis says, ‘Well, look what the cat dragged in. If it’s not the little mother herself.’
‘Goodness me, darling.’ The tourist lady’s eyes bulge, nearly pop out of their sockets. A lot of people stare like that when they see Mavis.
Martin comes back from the loo. ‘How’s life, Aunty Eva?’ he says. ‘Long time, no see.’
Eva has stopped her staring. She’s stretching her lips in a fake smile, offering her hand to Martin but not wanting him to take it, while Henry starts listing names – as if she’s going to remember who is who. As if she’s interested, even. He says Lorraine, and Lori gets pushed in almost close enough to shake Eva’s hand. She’s wearing a huge diamond ring that is probably the one Henry bought in England. It probably cost as much as a new roof and a new fence, and even someone to paint the house.
Eva’s eyes fix on Lori’s face; she frowns. She’s going to dob. Now. She’s going to say, ‘Didn’t I see you down at the tourist centre?’ Lori steps back fast, behind Martin, steps back again and keeps going until she’s outside the back door. She’s learned a lot from listening at open doors. That’s how she knows Mavis and Henry ran away together and that’s the reason Mavis got written out of the will. Eva got everything when her mother died. That’s how she knows that when the twins needed an operation and needed a place to stay between hospital visits, Henry went to see Eva and ended up making peace with her and making a deal. Eva said she’d look after the twins until the doctors had fixed up their hearts and then she’d give them back.
Only one problem with that plan. Eva married Henry so she could be a respectable married lady and have his baby, so now she had two of them. She reneged on the deal, and since about two years ago, when she sent money to soften Mavis up, she’s been begging to adopt those twins, which, due to her and Henry never getting divorced, would only be a formality – or that’s what Eva’s solicitor wrote in the letter that came with the cheque.
As if Mavis would ever agree to that!
‘Put the little ones to bed, boys, then go outside,’ Henry says, wanting some privacy now that the small talk is over. That’s funny. As if anything is private around this place.
Lori, already outside, gets the best listening spot, below the open window on the west side, close to the table. When Donny and Martin come, they crouch
down low behind her. Greg hasn’t come back since he went out to get the wood, but Vinnie, the moron, tries listening at the louvres, which aren’t even close to the action. He won’t learn much over there.
‘What’s she doing up here?’ Martin whispers.
‘It’s about the twins again,’ Lori says. ‘She’s talking about her solicitor. Shush.’
Then Mavis shocks everyone. ‘Of course Henry and I have no desire to disrupt the twins’ lives. What do you think we are, Eva? Thanks to you, we’re strangers to our own sons.’
‘Christ,’ Donny says. ‘She’s going to sign.’ Now Martin shushes him.
‘You’ll allow me to adopt the boys? You’ll sign the papers, darling?’
‘Did you bring them with you?’
‘The twins?’ Eva says. ‘No. No. No.’
Liar. She did so. Not that Lori can tell anyone. She was supposed to be at school.
‘I’m talking about the adoption papers, Eva.’
‘You’ll sign, darling?’
‘What’s the alternative? We’ve got nothing to offer them up here. You got all the old bitch’s money.’
‘Oh, darling, darling, darling. Thank you. How can I ever thank you?’
‘Oh, I could think of a few thousand ways – if I put my head to it.’
Eva ignores that one, but she pats Mavis’s hand. ‘You don’t know what this means to me. You’ll never know, darling.’
‘I’ve got a fair idea. However,’ Mavis says. She likes howevers, and everyone in this house knows that when she gets started into her howevers, some good fiction is getting ready to come out of her mouth. Henry should know it too but he’s sitting there, nodding, smiling, letting his wives talk. ‘However, Henry and I both feel it could be detrimental to the twins’ future wellbeing for them to grow to adulthood not knowing that they have brothers. We want them to know their family, don’t we, Henry?’
Then Vinnie sneezes, and when he sneezes, half of Willama knows it. The listeners skedaddle down behind the old laundry where they wait a while before creeping back. But it’s all over bar the shouting. Eva is mock-crying, like dabbing at her eyes with a proper handkerchief and saying a lot of junk about how many years have been lost.
Then Mavis does it again. ‘However,’ she says. ‘The papers will have to be signed up here, Eva. As you can no doubt see, there’s no way I can get to a solicitor’s office.’
‘Yes, darling.’ Eva nods, attempts to look concerned. ‘Mr Watts could drive up in the morning and bring the papers,’ she says, dabbing her eyes again, just so no one will see what is going on behind those eyes.
‘Get him to bring the twins with him, Eva, and bring them around for dinner tomorrow. We’re having a birthday party for Lorraine. It would be the ideal opportunity for them to meet everyone in a social situation.’
Eva pushes her cup of tea back, stands. ‘It’s such a long trip for them, darling. You know that they are still not well boys.’
‘Those two are going to know they’ve got brothers. It’s our one stipulation, isn’t it, Henry?’
‘Certainly better for them, Eva,’ Henry says.
‘Then I dare say we will have to arrange it.’
Arrange what? Those twins are already in Willama. She’s a cool liar.
She’s got a mobile phone in her purse. She uses it to call a taxi. Mavis’s eyes want that mobile. She can’t have it. Henry won’t let her have the phone reconnected; he won’t even let Martin and Donny have mobile phones – for various reasons, such as pizza shops that do home deliveries and taxi drivers who will buy takeaway then taxi it to the house. Anyway, eventually Eva drives off and Mavis turns on the television and starts looking in the fridge. Lori and Jamesy walk in and lie on the floor to watch the movie.
‘You kids get to bed now,’ she says. They don’t move. ‘Henry! Henry!’
‘I’m in bed.’
She’s getting niggly. There is nothing much in that fridge except green stuff; there are eggs but no more milk to make custard. ‘You’re like a bloody old chook,’ she yells, slamming the fridge door. ‘You stick your head under your wing and snore. I want to talk to you.’
‘Keep your voice down. You’ll wake the baby.’
‘Wake the baby? He’ll be awake again in five minutes, the bawling little bugger. Greg!’ She walks to the back door, sticks her head out. ‘Greg, love. Greggie! Where are you?’ She’s not going to find him, and maybe she knows it. Her tone alters when she calls Vinnie’s name. ‘Vinnie. Where the bloody hell are you?’
‘He’s gone to find Greg, and Martin went to Nelly’s to call Karen and tell her he can’t come out tonight because something came up,’ Lori says. ‘Me and Jamesy will go to the shop for you.’
‘It’s too late for you to be wandering around, and I told you to get to bed. Get your shower and go. Now!’ She walks off to her bedroom to talk to Henry.
Lori and Jamesy have got the television to themselves until the bawler starts bawling and Mavis comes back, unbuttoning her tent, just at the most interesting part of the movie. The girl has got naked and the man’s head is –
‘What are you doing watching that thing, you disobedient pair of little buggers?’ She reaches for a long electrical cord that has been hanging on a nail behind the back door for all of Lori’s life. Mavis can crack that cord like a whip when anyone gives her big strife, and if she doesn’t hit the one she’s aiming at, she gets close. Someone yells. A calendar also hangs behind the door. It is beautiful. Blue water, yellow sand, sailboats gliding, seabirds soaring. Cool. It makes the room hotter, and the whip harder.
Jamesy dives under the table and out, he’s through the brown curtain door. Lori goes the other way. She’s on the back verandah. They’ve got a pact, these two; divide and conquer.
The two big globes in the kitchen are bright enough to cast their light on the verandah where Mick is building a bike. He’s been out there all the time, sitting on a box, surrounded by bits of bike, his bad leg with its brace stuck out in front. When he takes the brace off his leg is rubbery, so Greg and Vinnie call him Pullit, as in ‘pull the other one, it’s made of rubber’. His arms and his right leg are strong, which make up a bit for his left leg; he can swim okay, but he usually only swims at night so people can’t stare when he takes that brace off. He’s one of the redheads, but not carrot red, sort of dark and quiet, like the inside of his head is quiet, like his eyes are quiet.
No one is allowed to thump Mick, due to he’s got no balance. Not even spoilt-rotten Greg thumps Mick, which might be the reason why Mick got to be so lovable. Also, he never does anything to get thumped for, so it’s like this circle of good just keeps wrapping around and around him. Summer and winter he stays close to the house, except when he’s at school. He fixes things, just loves screws and nuts and nails and he collects them, picks them up from everywhere. All the bikes and bits of bikes the brothers bring home are treasures to Mick – bikes being his favourite things to fix, even if he can’t ride them. It’s like he enjoys the freedom they give his brothers, so maybe fixing them gives him a bit of borrowed freedom.
‘Lorraine. I said, Get. To. Bed. And you too, Mickey.’ He doesn’t like being called Mickey and he doesn’t want to go to bed, but he packs up his spanners and takes them with him, leaves the bike bits there. ‘You’d better move it, Lorraine.’
She doesn’t move. When she was ten, she was afraid of Mavis’s whip, but now she is eleven she’s not afraid at all. She walks back to the open door as soon as she hears that couch groan and the wall moan.
‘Mick hates being called Mickey and I hate being called Lorraine. I said for everyone to call me Lori.’ She thrusts out her chest. There are no brothers around to see her twin boils. ‘I’m eleven now, and it’s Friday night, and me and Mick shouldn’t have to go to bed with the chooks.’
‘If you make me get up from this chair then you won’t live to see twelve, you cheeky little skin-head bugger. And if you ask your father to cut your hair again, I’ll shave the lo
t off.’
Lori shrugs and gets.
The lounge room is big, which is lucky. It’s got three beds and a cot in it, also a chest of drawers and huge old-fashioned wardrobe. Matty’s bassinette will probably be moved in soon. All the babies get put in this room because its door is just across the passage from Mavis and Henry’s door. Lori’s bed is the one nearest to the door so she can hear Mavis and Henry talking some nights when the heat is too bad to sleep. She has learned a lot in that bed, like why Henry never got a divorce from Eva, which isn’t due to divorces costing heaps of money but to Mavis finding out something about her father which put her off wanting to marry Henry. Some nights Lori hears Henry saying, ‘For the boys. It would be better for the boys.’ He never says, ‘Better for the girl.’ He’s probably forgotten he’s got a girl. He used to know. Mavis used to know too. She used to buy pretty dresses and dolls and girls’ things.
Lori yawns, rubs the sore spots on her chest, scratches her head and hopes she hasn’t got nits. Henry hates nits. They are definitely not God’s creatures. Lori had long hair until she was five and Mavis would curl it, but the first year she was at school she got nits, so Henry gave her a boy’s haircut. She can still remember her curls, remember Mavis fussing with her, dressing her like a girl, almost remember Mavis when she used to wear a tickly maroon cardigan with a pattern on the bottom. Almost. Almost remember Henry’s twins living in this house too, or remember the blur of one of them nearly dying one day and Mavis having to give it mouth-to-mouth.
There’s lots of stuff she can remember from when she was little, like the day Mavis and Henry took her and Mick and Jamesy to Melbourne so they could bring the twins home. It was about four or five years ago, but to Lori, that memory is as clear as if it were yesterday, like it was something so precious, it just got embedded in her brain so even a lobotomy could never get it out.