by Belle Brooks
“Your thongs match your board shorts and your sunglasses.” My eyebrows rise high on my forehead. This is too good.
“Can you tell Sammy has taken over my wardrobe and is dressing me now that I live with her?”
“I can. This is really funny. Maybe you might have to give her a little Mosby baby to care for so she has another project to work on.”
Lifting his sunglasses onto the top of his head, Mosby flashes a crooked grin. “I think you’re a big enough project right now, don’t you, Abi? To be honest, I’m not sure she could handle much more than you right now.” Mosby shoots me a playful I-hate-you look before quietly chuckling to himself.
“Hey!” I scoff, slapping at his chest.
Jackson darts left then right like a boxer warming up in the ring. His chuckle rings loudly as he turns his back to me. “Breakfast. Awesome. Mrs. M, is there enough for me?” His voice bounces from the walls in an echo.
God, my friends are much too comfortable here.
“I’m getting a juice. You want one?” he asks.
“Nope.”
Mosby goes about setting an extra seat for himself at the table, but not before he gives Mum a light peck to the cheek. “Eggs Benedict, with a side of bacon. You beauty,” he celebrates as Mum slips a loaded plate in front of him. “Thanks for the chow, Mrs. M.”
“Seriously, are you trying a new hipster lingo to match this interesting get-up you’re sporting?” I snort.
“Hey,” he scowls.
“So what brings you around on this fine day?” Mum says before scooping a forkful of food to her mouth.
“Returning a missing suitcase. Abigail lost her luggage on the way to Sydney. It’s back.”
“Oh, yes, I see. And you have it because?” Mum’s expression screams disapproval, but why?
“Sammy asked me to drop it around. Marcus brought it to her early this morning. He seemed a mess, quite the mess actually.”
“Oh also, while I remember, Abs, I have a message from Sammy.” The sound of Velcro ripping tells me he’s retrieving something from his pocket. Pulling out a piece of paper that’s folded into four, he opens it out and with a clearing of his throat Mosby begins to read what’s written. “And I quote…Dorothy, answer your goddamn phone. Seriously, what’s the point of having one if you’re not going to use it for its intended purpose? You are driving me insane. Absolutely and utterly insane…and that’s it.” The corners of his mouth turn upwards as he throws the note onto the table.
“Oh, Ginger.” I cackle, causing a piece of chewed toast to fall out of my open mouth.
“You’re gross.” Mosby’s nose screws up.
“Well, you’re dressed in fluorescent teenage clothing, so...”
“Now, now, you two. Stop bickering and eat up. We have to hit the frog and toad soon.”
“The what?” I retort.
“The road, Abigail. It’s cockney slang.” Mum rolls her eyes.
“One that doesn’t make sense,” I sing.
“What are you two up to today?” Mosby asks as he takes his plate that looks licked clean to the sink.
“The Capricorn Coast. We’re going to visit Abigail’s grandmother.”
“Cool. You better let Samantha know, though. She gets a little pissy when she’s kept in the dark, especially when it comes to you.”
“Yeah, I will shortly, don’t sweat it.”
“After twelve p.m., though. She’s in filming this morning.”
“I’ll ring her on the road. Hang on, why is she filming? It’s Saturday.”
“Big story.”
“I see.”
“Call her.”
“Dude, I will. Take a chill pill already.”
“Good.” Kissing Mum’s cheek once more, Mosby heads off towards the front door. “I’m off then. Have a safe trip. I’ll see you when you get back. Hey, when will you be coming back?”
“Whenever I feel like it—”
“A week,” Mum interrupts.
“Okay. Have a good one.”
The sound of the door latch clicking into place makes me wonder why Marcus didn’t bring the case himself. I guess he doesn’t love me after all.
Road Trip
“What do you mean it’s flat?” My cheeks inflate with air that sits compressed behind pursed lips.
Frustrated.
“I don’t understand how you are not getting this. The tyre is flat. We must have hit some debris on the road.”
“No, that I understand. What I’m not getting is why we have to be towed. There is a spare tyre in the boot.”
“It’s flat, Abigail.” Mum stresses through pinched lips.
“But how?”
“I’m guessing you have already used the spare and didn’t think to get it replaced with a new tyre after.”
“Oh. I get it now. Whoops.”
Mum’s head shakes as her eyelids crinkle shut. “You are going to be the death of me, child.”
“I’m not a child,” I spit out like a bratty child.
“I’ve called Grizzly’s. They won’t be long.”
“Who’s Grizzly?”
“The flippin’ tow company.”
“Why?”
“Abigail, just shut up, please.” Mum’s hands chicken wing out from her hips.
“Fine.” I cross my arms defensively over my chest, choosing to stay seated with my legs hanging out from the open passenger door of Bertha.
Vibration spreads across my lap. I pick up the ringing phone, putting it to my ear.
“In other breaking news, Dorothy runs away like a chicken shit.”
Sammy’s pissed.
“In more breaking news, Dorothy learns that Marcus is a dipshit and now she needs space so she can fucking breathe.”
“In even more interesting and breaking news, Dorothy should stay on the Coast and sort this out so she can get on with her life before her best and most amazing friend Sammy kicks her skinny arse.”
“In even more interesting, yet breaking news, Ginger should shut the hell up and go suck a dick.”
“Hey!” she scolds.
“Well. I’m hurt, okay?” My head drops.
“It’s understandable. But this, what you’re doing is irrational.” Her tone is still clipped.
“No, it’s not. You have no idea.”
“I do.”
“What?”
“Marcus told me what happened. He told me about what occurred between the two of you yesterday. He told me about Mike.” Her voice softens.
“And you’re on his side. Great friend you are.” My head lifts up, tilting into the headrest.
“Hey. No, not at all. It was a horrible thing Marcus did. But I can see why he did it.” These words seem forced. Does she even believe them?
“Well, you go sort it out with him and love him then. Because I won’t.”
“Child,” she growls.
“Bitch,” I scoff.
“Cu—”
“Stop!” I scream. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I’m on the edge, my friend, and I’ll say it. Dare me.” When Sammy gets threatening you know it’s time to back down. She might be all smooth and sweet, but there has always been a part of her soul dripping in pure evil.
“Don’t.” Taking a mouthful of air, I close my eyes tight. “Let’s start over.”
“Fine. Where are you?”
“On the side of the road about seventeen kilometres out of Rockhampton.”
“What are you doing on the side of the road?”
“Waiting for a tow truck. Bertha has a flat.”
“Well, use the spare in the boot.” Common sense right there.
“You don’t think I already thought to do that? I’m not a moron. The spare’s flat. I forgot to replace it.”
“Moron.” She giggles.
“Shut up,” I snap.
“Who can I hear talking? Who’s with you?”
“Mum. She’s talking to the driver of the tow truck. He just pulled up.”
/> “Mrs. M is with you?”
“Yeah. We’re going to see Mar-Mar. Didn’t Mosby tell you that?” My eyebrows cross inwards.
“He said you were going to the Cap Coast. Didn’t say who you were going to see or that you were going with Mrs. M.”
A satisfied smile leaks across my face.
“Well, if you’re visiting Mar-Mar and you’re not alone, I guess it’s a good thing.”
“Go on, say it.” My lips curl.
“No.” Pure determination in one word.
“Do it,” I sing.
“You’re not right.”
“I’m always right.” I laugh short, but hard. “Weren’t you supposed to be finishing up work at lunch?”
“Yes. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I got sidetracked.”
“Doing what, watching trees pass by?” She sighs heavily.
“Touché.” I snicker. “Hey, Sammy, I’m going to have to go. Mum is signalling for me to come like a stray dog. I’ll ring you as soon as I’m settled at Mar-Mar’s.”
“Okay. Give Mar-Mar Ilish a hug for me and I’ll talk to you later tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Love you, butt face.” She giggles.
“Ditto, butthead,” I deadpan.
“Abi, before you hang up, I have one more thing I needed to tell you.”
“Yeah…”
“Leza had the baby.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, a girl. They called her Tully. You need to reach out to her. I was told it was a super quick, but a horribly rough delivery.”
“Is she okay?”
“I think so. I’m going up to see her tonight.”
“Well, let me know.”
“I will.”
“I have to go, Sammy.”
“Okay.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
The line goes dead, so I toss it to the floor like discarded rubbish. Stomping my feet in annoyance, I stand at my mother’s side. I just want this trip to be done. The drive on central Queensland highways is as boring as horse shit. Mum smiles kindly before nodding at the tow truck driver, who tells her the price. He’s tall, with long dark hair and a thick fuzzy beard. I guess that’s why he’s called grizzly, like the bear.
“Yeah, I’ll take you into town and drop the car off at the auto repair shop. Where you heading?”
“Emu Park.”
“Can you get there?”
“Sure,” Mum says, still with her kind smile plastered on her face.
“Well, hop in.”
The drive is bumpy. Who knew trucks bounced so much. Sounds of cracking and creaking have my head rotated to my shoulder.
“It’s all good. You’re safe.” His tone is polite.
“Oh. Hey, is that a picture of your kid?” My finger outstretches to a photo pinned to the dash.
“Grandson,” he mumbles through a half-smile.
“He’s cute.”
“And cheeky. Nah, he’s a good kid. My girl does an all right job, I reckon.” He winks.
“Your daughter.”
“Yeah, I have two of them. Ten years’ difference, though, so my youngest is in high school. This fellow’s mum is a teacher.”
“Nice.”
Grizzly continues to talk about his family in a friendly, but proud way. You can tell they’re his world and he does this job to keep everyone taken care of.
“So is Grizzly your real name?”
He tips his chin and smirks. “Nah, it’s Mike. Michael actually, but my wife calls me Mike.”
“Terrible name,” I reply smugly.
“Yeah, Mikes are bastards.”
He’s not wrong.
Pulling into the town of Rockhampton, Grizzly asks if we would like his wife to drive us to Emu Park. Mum thanks him for his kind offer, but tells him we’ll take a bus. He grabs his phone from the dash and searches the bus timetable before delivering us outside a shopping complex to a blue enclosed bench.
“The bus is about fifteen minutes away. I’ll jump on the back of the truck and get your bags.”
“Please,” Mum replies.
“My phone’s on the floor of the car, passenger side. Could you grab that for me as well?”
“Unfortunately not. The car’s tied down. I can’t get access to the front until I unload it in the morning at the mechanic’s.”
“Nah, that’s okay. I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“Right.”
Passing over our luggage, he gives Mum a card for the place she needs to go to tomorrow and tips the baseball cap he’s worn the entire trip in farewell. We wait at the bus stop, too exhausted to say a word to one another. It seems to take forever for the bus to arrive, but when it does, I’m happy to find it’s a coach because the seats are so much more comfortable.
By eight p.m. we finally arrive at Mar-Mar’s house. The clock in the taxi we took from the last bus stop drop off tells me the time. We’re delayed, sure, but when you’re hexed it’s to be expected. Nothing ever runs smoothly.
“Mar-Mar,” I call out, running down the long gravel path with my suitcase flipping out of control behind me and my carry bag slipping off my narrow shoulder. As I get closer to her small cottage by the sea, I call out again, “We’re here.” My footing slips, and at first I manage to regain my balance, but the life of the cursed means it’s rare for one not to go down, and I do go down, barrelling with a thud against the ground. Stinging flesh on both palms causes my fingers to curl over in an attempt to lessen the pain. Great. Shaking my head out from under my carry bag, I blow blond strands away from my eyes. Slowly standing to my feet, I dust myself off and check the collateral damage done to my lower extremities. I suspect a minor gravel rash at my knees below my dress, but it’s hard to see by moonlight. The sound of booming laughter wafts from behind me.
“Muuummm.” I draw out the word in displeasure.
“Abigail, my girl, your clumsiness never ceases to amaze me.”
“Not funny, Mum,” I gripe.
“Oh, I love you, petal.” Mum’s hand plants softly against the side of my face. “I’ll pull this along, shall I?”
I feel her tugging at the handle of my suitcase.
“Be my guest.” Tipping my head back and puffing out my chest, I hobble injured yet proudly towards Mar-Mar’s front door while listening to the sound of combustive laughter still coming from behind.
“What’s so funny?” Mar-Mar Ilish.
The sound of her voice causes my stomach to flutter. I can’t quite see her yet, but as an outdoor light flicks on there she stands on her little wooden deck with the bright yellow chairs and the figurines of cats. A shawl wraps around her shoulders and her hair is in curlers. Nothing’s changed.
“Mar-Mar,” I cry out, dropping my carry bag as I awkwardly jog the few short remaining steps. Visions of me running up the paddock at my grandparents’ farm when I was a child come flashing back—good memories, safe memories, pure happiness.
“Miss Abigail.” Her hands wrap around me like the security blanket no child ever wants to give up. The smell of Red Door perfume coats my nostrils. “I’ve missed you so much,” I confess.
“Oh, I’ve missed you too, beautiful girl.” Her wrinkled lips press to mine and I will for them never to part.
“Hello, Ilish, it’s so good to see you.” Mum bursts into tears and hurries up onto the veranda, tucking herself right beside me in Mar-Mar’s embrace.
“Oh no. What’s going on, you two?” Her gentle tone is honest and caring just as it’s always been. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’m sure it’s nothing a cuppa and a Monte Carlo Bickie can’t fix. Come on now, no more tears.”
“Okay,” Mum sobs.
I stand shocked as Mar-Mar releases us. Why is Mum crying? I’d never expect such an outburst like this from my mother. She’s always so strong and put together. I wonder if it’s because seeing Mar-Mar Ilish brings back such strong memories of Dad.
“It’s okay, Mum.” I
place my hand to her shoulder.
“I know.” She wipes frantically at her eyes. “Come on, grab your stuff. I need a cuppa.”
“All right.” My voice is subdued.
This is the first cup of tea I’ve had since Marcus came back into my life. Well, I guess it was more like reunited under false circumstances and pretence. I’m still wild about the whole situation. Fire burns in the pit of my belly as my lips sip at the hot brew that slides down my throat like liquid heaven. Nobody makes a cuppa quite like Mar-Mar does.
“Well, what has brought you two to my neck of the woods?” A sweet smile lifts Mar-Mar’s lips. Her hazel blue eyes have dulled since the last time I saw her two years ago and she has even more blotchy brown discolouration marks on her face. Mar-Mar calls them her beauty spots. She said with age come these marks of wisdom and beauty. They should never be frowned upon by their owner or removed, only truly valued for their existence and their gifted life. Mar-Mar is wise beyond her years. And even though she is eighty-six now, she still finds time to share this wisdom with me.
“Well, I’m here because my life sucks. I guess Mum’s here because I’m making her life suck. It’s really just a pile of poop.”
Mar-Mar snickers. “Poop, I see. Well, life can become a rotten pile of shit at times. That’s just part of livin’.”
“Mar-Mar.” Mum’s eyes grow wide as her mouth gapes open in shock.
“Pamela, don’t pretend you’ve never cussed. Sometimes life needs a little cussing. Close your mouth, dear girl.”
“See, this is why you will always be my most favourite person in the whole wide world, Mar-Mar.” My pride shines proudly as I take another sip of tea.
“You’re my favourite, too.” Her shoulders lurch forward and she winks.
“Okay, you two, there’re no favourites.” Mum finally smiles, and I see the tension she’s been holding melt away. Each Monte Carlo biscuit I retrieve from the pig snorting cookie jar I brought Mar-Mar in my early teens is better than the last. I eat four. I’m that starving. We never did get to have dinner after the flat tyre.
“I’m so hungry. Mum, are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“I’m guessing you haven’t had dinner. Who wants spaghetti and meatballs?” Mar-Mar pulls herself to her feet, and I hadn’t noticed until she stood up again that she’s lost a little weight since I was last here. What is it with the women in my family losing weight? I wish I could drop a few pounds. Geez. Mar-Mar is not a petite woman, but nor is she heavy set. I guess she’s curvy in all the right places with a few extra rolls thrown in for good measure. Well, that’s how she would describe herself if asked. I know this because I’ve asked before.