by Rosalie Ham
Neralie poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the other end of the kitchen table to eat a stack of toast with spoonfuls of the Bergens’ honey.
Stacey ate his surprisingly tasty seedy slosh, suspecting he’d never, ever get a warm reception from anyone around here, and that’s when the conversation turned to preparations for the grand opening that night.
‘Should be good,’ he said.
‘Yes, about time something good happened for the locals,’ Neralie said.
Stacey gave up. He got in his car and drove the twenty metres to his office. There Cyril and Stacey greeted each other loudly and shook hands firmly and Cyril rubbed his hands together and said, ‘How’d we go yesterday?’
‘Pretty good – got a couple of handshake deals.’
Cyril nodded knowingly. ‘I had a shit day too, but I have a plan. We’ll write a letter.’
‘They don’t like letters.’
‘They’ll like this one.’
o0o
‘I don’t think those earrings are right, Lana. Try the pearl studs.’
Lana changed them.
‘Good,’ Jasey said, crossing her arms. ‘I just need to say this, alright?’
Lana stood to attention.
‘With regards to our plan . . .’
‘Right.’
‘Lana, I love you but it’s time you had a boyfriend of your own.’
‘I know.’
‘Do not drink too much too early or you’ll start dancing on your own –’
‘I won’t, Kev hates it.’
‘And don’t smoke, do not leave the table to pop out for a ciggie.’
Kevin’s van slid into place at the front verandah. He tooted, and they picked up their handbags and went out. Their boyfriend’s hands were scrubbed clean of grease, and his bright red hair was wet and flattened. ‘Don’t we all look lovely?’
‘We do,’ they chorused, and Lana put her earrings back in while Jasey turned the radio up very loud and they sang on their way to the pub.
o0o
Levon climbed the stairs to Neralie’s room and found his sister sitting on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a damp towel, with a shoe in each hand.
‘You right?’
‘Yep.’ But at some point tonight, Mitch was going to step through the door with his wife.
‘Well, why are you staring at a wall?’
‘I’m not,’ she said, putting on a shoe.
Her brother leaned down and looked into his sister’s worried eyes. ‘You just keep your mind on your job, Nelly. There’s more than one customer in town and we want Steve and Wanda, our investors and partners, to be happy with their opening night, even if we’re not.’
When Neralie finally walked down the stairs, she felt hot yet cold, and like she’d swallowed a cup of marbles. But after a few minutes in her funky new bar, with its edgy though understated decor, she started to feel proud. And the menu was perfect – the same but better, with something for everyone. She would smile at her true love and his wife when they came through the door. She smoothed her new skirt, pushed her hair into place and smiled. Steve and Wanda unlocked the front door and looked ruefully at the regulars spilling in, combed and smiling. Levon offered them a complimentary beer of their choice but they told him they’d have a single malt whisky and took possession of their new stools in Neutral Bay. Their view across the bar to the door was clear and the TV was brand-new with a bigger screen. The ‘frosted’ windows, which were always just plain filthy, had been replaced but still prevented passing wives from spotting their husbands. Larry Purfeat came in and put the exact money for three beers on the bar. Neralie pointed to the bar taps and the bottle fridge and said, ‘Take your pick.’
‘Just the usual.’ Larry allocated himself three beers each pub visit, four nights a week, a ritual constrained by his meagre pension.
‘First one’s on the house.’
‘Well, I might try one from another country, if I may?’
She turned to the fridge, searching for a beer that had no adverse religious, military, cultural or political reverberations. She reached for a Tsingtao, but remembered the rumour about Chinese investors inspecting local properties with Joe Islip. ‘Belgium?’
Larry looked doubtful, so she whipped the top off a Westmalle and put it on the bar with a chilled glass. ‘Suck it and see.’
Then the locals came dribbling through the door, took their complimentary drink and stood about like they always had in the same places they always had and got on with having a nice time. It was like Neralie McIntosh had always been there. She positioned Steve and Wanda in Neutral Bay, knowing the regulars would point out the factions – townies, farmers and riparians. ‘It comes down to where your spiritual home is,’ they explained.
‘Where’s your spiritual home?’ asked Wanda.
‘You’re sitting on it.’
Neralie’s world became a steady circle of filling beers and pouring wine and mixing drinks and keeping an eye on the kitchen, from which meals came at a regular pace. It was like her whole life had been a road to here, and she was loving it, but fifteen minutes later she wanted to cry. ‘They just won’t stop coming,’ she hissed to Levon, and he told her that people were meant to come and buy beer and food, ‘the more the better’.
Finally, Callum’s fingers appeared around the door and a gust of cold air swept through the bar and there were Callum, Mitch and Mandy, smiling. Tonight they had Happy Mandy. In the ensuing lull, the kiddies in the beer garden squealed and all eyes went to Neralie, but the barmaid just smiled and waved. Behind Neralie, the regulars threw kisses to Mitch, who was dressed like a boy in his Sunday best for a family photo.
To Mandy, it was as if someone had tugged an invisible cord and the people turned like vertical blinds, presenting their shoulders to her. It was only the dickhead drunks who acknowledged her, waving like mad men and blowing kisses. And there was Lana, on her skinny legs, and beside her Jasey with her fake blonde hair and flowery dress, looking like an upholstered chair. Mandy clung to her husband. She was still Mrs Mitchell Bishop and she would be so until she decided otherwise. Her husband asked the barmaid for two beers and a glass of wine, and she put her arm around his waist and rubbed his back, because she wanted the barmaid to suffer.
‘Red,’ she said, ‘a double,’ so Neralie filled her glass to the top with one of Bergen’s best shiraz. ‘On the house,’ she said, and Mitch wanted to reach over, grab her and drag her to the storeroom or somewhere.
Levon turned the music up a decibel and the bar resumed its hum, then Stacey and Cyril stepped in and for two heartbeats it went quiet again. Cyril asked for four beers – ‘Always have one on hand to give to a potential client’ – and Stacey became conscious that his swimming hole stalkers were there, the neat and tidy ones with swinging ponytails and the older ones with their dogs or frail spouses and the fat-bummed cast from Single Mothers Street, wearing snug outfits that afforded no speculation, but should have. A display of twenty-somethings occupied the table near the door so that the eligible bachelors had to pass them to go outside for a smoke, and one sad bloke wore a T-shirt with a picture of what looked like an inflated pufferfish and the caption missing: spot, and in the middle of it all was the bottle-blonde check-out chick, the red-headed mechanic stuck to her like wet tar to a thong. And there was Lana, the lithe and raven-haired meeting moderator, and she was pretending to ignore him so it was only a matter of time before her big, longing eyes would be looking back at him from between the backs of her knees, her toes touching the bedhead. And there was his and Cyril’s new friend, the loosely upholstered newsagent, walking away from her tall husband and ancient father-in-law, towards him, smiling.
‘My husband will maintain the channel if you double his water allocation for next season, making it forty percent of the total.’
‘Funny.’
‘You can take the Det
hridge, too, install all his new pumps along the river.’
‘I can’t do forty percent.’
‘You can agree to it, at least.’
The hairdresser, whose dyed hair made her look like a rainbow lorikeet, cried, ‘Oh my God, Mandy! The torlets! Awesome.’
‘Someone’ll spew all over them before the night’s out,’ Mandy said, and turned back to Stacey. ‘Just tell him you will, that’s all. I don’t want him to lose water just now. He knows it’s either the channel or lose everything.’
The plump hairdresser was beside them now and she handed Stacey her card. Each of her fingernails featured a landscape: a pastoral scene, a mountain range, an island with a palm tree, waves on a beach. ‘Did I tell you that when anyone moves to this town they get a complimentary haircut, shampoo and trim included? I can do a style that means you won’t have to use product.’ She sucked a yellow drink through a clear straw.
‘You use product, why can’t I?’
‘You can if you want to, but I could just cut it so you can’t see your bald patch.’ She lifted his fringe. ‘You’re receding at the temples too.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, and looked at Lana sitting on a stool, being demure and poised. He imagined her breasts standing up, smiling at him.
In the dining room, Isobel, a green drink in her hand, kissed her father and settled next to him at the table she’d reserved for dinner; she decided there were too many seats. Then Mandy plonked down next to her. ‘I got Levon to sit us all together. Seen the prices? Hope the food’s worth it.’
Isobel turned her attention to the menu.
Mitch arrived. ‘What’s the green drink?’
‘Darryl’s giving them out. He told me it would put hairs on my chest.’
Mandy said, ‘I didn’t get one,’ and Digby said, ‘You’ve probably already got hairs on your chest,’ and was surprised when no one laughed.
Isobel handed her father the menu then took his glasses from his pocket and gave them to him; he told her to stop interfering, and Digby said good job no one had a crop because the rain meant they’d be harvesting Christmas Day, and Mandy pointed to the notice on the fine old restored mantelpiece – dining room open for christmas lunch – and said, ‘It’s our turn to host, so since we’re all here I’ll make it official: we’ll have Christmas at Bishops Corner this year. Mitchy and I are really looking forward to having you all back at your old home. For a change.’ She was beaming at them, really overdoing the Happy Mandy act, Isobel thought, so she told her that they couldn’t possibly, there were seven of them, including Digby’s parents and Aunt Opal. ‘But thanks anyway.’
Mandy’s cheery voice cut right to the end of the table. ‘We won’t take no for an answer. We’re doing Christmas lunch and everyone’s coming. I’ll even fire up the AGA.’
Isobel said, ‘There’s no air conditioning, so it’s impossible for the oldies.’ Then she turned to Mitch. ‘Did you get my email about harvest?’
‘No.’
She looked at Mandy. ‘It was probably deleted.’
Mandy folded her napkin across her lap. ‘No need to bring anything,’ she said. ‘I’ll cook. It’ll be traditional – turkey and ham with the lot.’
‘We’d have to take two cars,’ Digby said, suddenly realising he’d have to minimise his wine consumption.
Mandy said, ‘That’s okay, plenty of parking. That’s settled then.’
Callum, who’d missed the whole conversation because he didn’t have his hearing aids in, started to give a talk on forward-selling as a ploy for international corporations to hold the world to ransom and those present knew this speech would segue into the loss of the single desk system; thankfully their meals arrived.
Mandy sent hers back, telling Elsie, ‘I asked for a well-done steak.’ By the time the steak came out again, everyone else had finished eating.
Callum put his knife and fork down. ‘That was a jolly good steak.’
Isobel said, ‘It was rabbit, Dad.’
Everyone agreed the food was excellent and drifted to the bar.
Mandy was left chewing her hard, brown T-bone with Callum, who was explaining the crippling effect the loss of the single desk policy had on the wheat export industry but she could see what was going on in the bar, and she could see Stacey.
Cyril was digging the remnants of his steak from between his teeth and telling Stacey that he had old Glenys right where he wanted her, and that his company, C. & P. Water, was in a prime position to unload all the pumps and meters he had in the wife’s shed. He put his toothpick carefully in his blazer pocket and gazed across the bar to Mandy, eating with the old man in the dining room. ‘They’re all the same with a paper bag over their head, but happy wife, happy life.’
Stacey followed his gaze to Mandy and thought about his new red Ford 290 HP 3.5-litre V6, his new bike, his hair transplant, the money they’d make selling pumps and water, and the promotion he’d get from Glenys. He decided it would be best to shag the newsagent with her clothes on. But Stacey needed to get to Lana first. She had maintained her tactic of sitting with her back to him. He’d make a move before closing time. Then she turned and smiled at him and Stacey’s sense of manhood swelled with hot hope; he told himself that since he was a mover and shaker, a modern man in a cutting-edge industry that would change the world for good, he could have both women, as long as they didn’t find out about each other too soon. And when they did they could just fight it out. The music was good, the barmaid was working the crowd like a professional and his future looked set. And then, the blonde shopkeeper went to the bar to buy another Fluffy Duck, so he stood up and took two big steps and sat in her spot between Lana and Kevin. He said hello to Lana but addressed Kevin. ‘Our fuel account’s with the top servo, eh?’
‘Apparently.’
‘I’ll change that.’ He gave Kevin his card, but Kevin gave it back. ‘I know where to send the bill.’ They shook hands and Kevin looked over to Jasey and she beckoned him to join her.
Stacey smiled at the lovely Lana but at that moment the newsagent settled herself on Kev’s chair. ‘Drought nearly ruined this town,’ she said loudly. ‘The best thing for the whole district were the restrictions your company put into place.’
‘Bullshit – my grandmother’s roses died,’ Jasey called.
Mandy replied, ‘So did your grandmother; old things die.’
Lana said, ‘I’m surprised you weren’t killed years ago.’
‘What about you? You can’t tell me you’re not dreaming of sitting on top of him later tonight.’
‘In my role with the shire, I maintain a neutral position.’
‘You live on the river and you think you own it and so do the farmers. You’re the reason everyone in town’s sniping at each other. The Water Authority employs people.’
Neralie came out from behind the bar and everyone turned to watch as she walked over to stand in front of Mandy, hands on hips. ‘You want to start a fight, don’t you?’
Mandy leaned in. ‘It’s the perfect time: everyone’s here.’
Neralie pointed to Stacey. ‘The argument is with Don Juan here.’
Mandy stood up. Mitch put his beer on the bar and took a step towards his wife. Levon called, ‘Last drinks,’ and the crowd took the warning and the general hubbub recommenced and the sniping women were forgotten, though Mandy was reasonably pleased with the disruption she’d instigated.
When Mandy returned from checking out the new torlets, she joined her husband at the bar. Kevin was boasting to Mitch that his future was set now that he’d scored the Water Authority’s petrol account. ‘That’s the water-meter men, the maintenance workers, Cyril and his wife, Bennett Mockett. I’ll shout you a beer, Mitch.’ Kevin held up his empty glass to Darryl and gestured for two more, then Mandy said she’d have another one too, so Kev yelled, ‘And a wine for Bicycle Mandy . . . I mean, Mandy Rop
er . . . Bishop . . .’
Neralie threw her hands in the air. Mandy calmly walked out the door. Mitch drank the rest of his beer in one gulp and put his hand on the shoulder of his best mate, who was white with terror. ‘Thanks, Kev.’
‘I’m sorry, mate, it just came out.’
Mitch turned to Neralie. ‘Thank you, I’ve had a mostly lovely evening, but my fate awaits and I must go and drive it home, so to speak.’
The regulars explained to Wanda and Steve that Kevin had unintentionally insulted Mandy and made his best mate’s life either better or worse, which meant that Neralie’s life was either better or worse.
o0o
In the car Mitch said, ‘I do not want to live like this. Surely you can’t be happy either?’
‘I’m not,’ said Cal from the back seat.
‘I was fine until a few days ago,’ Mandy snarled.
They drove the rest of the way in loud silence, then Mitch went to lie on his sister’s narrow bed and search his mind for a solution to the current mess.
His wife entered the room. ‘People in this town think you’re nice but you’re just a prick, you’re weak as piss. I have done everything to fit into this family – your father sits around all day sulking and watching everything I do, I can’t move anything, I can’t even have my own stuff in this house. You could have stuck up for me tonight. There’s not one single person in that entire town who hasn’t got something in their past to regret. Like I said, weak as piss.’
She had a point, he knew, but as she stood there he understood that she was never going to fit. Pick a suitable wife, his mother had said. ‘You’re right, I could have stuck up for you.’ He would have defended anyone else but he didn’t defend her, so why was she still standing there? Why didn’t she pack her bags and leave?
‘You can fuck off,’ she said. ‘Just fuck off.’
‘Fine,’ he said. I am free.
‘Fine,’ she mimicked, and the plump, sneering girl who’d hogged the swing at school left to go to her end of the house, far away from the dispossessed men’s end. Could he really be free to go to Neralie? How could he leave Cal there? What about the donkeys? The sheep? Well, fuck it. He would sell his half-starved bloody sheep. Then a memory of Neralie walking through a flock of scattering ewes and lambs came to him. She was carrying a picnic basket, her smile as wide as the sky, and all around her sheep bleated and fled back to the plains, Tink scrambling to retrieve them. He’d spent all morning herding the ewes and their unsteady lambs towards the stubble, good stubble in those pre-drought days, and then his kind and lovely girlfriend brought lunch, scattering all his work for miles. They ate lunch sitting on a log beneath the eyrie, then they rode away to gather the sheep again, Neralie clinging to him, Tink leaning on Neralie. During that week, their final week together before she went to Sydney, he discovered many more things about his childhood sweetheart. Her life on the banks of the river had taught her about birds and trees, water and fish, yabbies, leeches and turtles, spiders and snakes, flood plains and wetlands, and he learned she could also open any configuration of gate. He had always known that she was excellent company and that she liked to win, especially at Strip Scrabble, but the thing he liked best about her was that she was happy to drop anything she was doing for a shag, almost anywhere, almost anytime.