The Changing Room

by Christine Sykes

  ‘What the hell ya doin’ out there?’ called her mother. ‘Will ya stop daydreamin’? Come an’ get ya poor old mum a cuppa.’

  *

  The following Saturday, Molly turned to scoop the last of the chips from the tray for a customer in the fast-food takeaway when she heard the bike. The unmistakeable sound was etched in her memory. She breathed in, pulled the front of her apron down to show her cleavage and finished the order.

  Molly worked on the weekends to make extra money, most of which helped pay for her school costs or household bills after her mother had drunk half her pension away. The takeaway was greasy and smelly and Molly wore a full apron, which used to be white but was now a dull grey despite soaking it in bleach. Molly hated grey. She loved pastel colours. They reminded her of the spring flowers in her grandma’s garden. She adjusted the grey cap and pushed the stray strands of her long hair underneath.

  The door at the front of the takeaway opened and two of Joe’s mates sauntered in, acting like they owned the place. The tall, blond bikie who’d made the comment about ants pushed over a chair. The other one put it back and Molly noticed he had a penis tattoo above the words Dickhead Dave on his arm. Customers moved aside to let them through.

  Molly held her breath, hoping Joe would come in to buy his own burger, but also hoping he wouldn’t see her. She wiped the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand.

  ‘You gonna serve me or not?’ asked the next customer. She briskly took his order and filled it, spilling some of the chips onto the tray in her haste. ‘Geez, you’re in a right hurry. No tips for you today.’

  Not that you ever tip, you stingy old bastard, thought Molly.

  The door opened again, and there he was. Suspended in time for a few moments. Like a statue. Blocking the doorway so Molly’s customer couldn’t get out but had to go to the side exit. Joe took up the whole space, the queue parted and he stood surveying the menu above her head. She waited, barely able to breathe.

  His eyes lowered and he saw her. She saw a flicker of recognition in his face, the tiny lift of his mouth. Warm breath flooded her. She smiled brightly and he loped towards her, taking long, slow steps to the front of the queue. No one stopped him and everyone in the queue moved to let him through like it was his right.

  ‘What ya doin’ tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘My friend Lindy’s havin’ a party at her place on Atkinson Street.’

  *

  A few hours later, Molly looked at her pink-and-yellow dress with tiny roses, the one she’d saved her money to buy. She’d prayed each day it wouldn’t be sold until she had enough, and now it hung in her scantly filled wardrobe. She tried it on over her lacy underwear and scanned herself in the cracked wardrobe mirror. There was something not quite right. Molly looked young and fresh. The dress skimmed her curves like butterfly wings, but the prettiness didn’t seem to fit her anymore.

  She realised she didn’t want to look young. And she certainly didn’t want to look fresh and … and innocent. She wanted to look older and experienced.

  Molly pulled all her clothes out of the wardrobe. They scarcely covered the bed and there was no alternative. She’d have to wear the dress. Then she spotted her old black boots with the scuffed heels and toes. They looked kind of angry. She put them on and thought she looked much better. But there was something missing. She found her denim jacket. She’d patched it with flower emblems, which she pulled off so the frayed, worn bits showed, and tried the jacket over her dress. It was tight on her but would have to do. She refreshed her black nail polish and left the house with a quick ‘see ya later’ to her mum, who was dozing on the lounge.

  She needn’t have bothered. There was only the usual crowd at the party. They stood around Lindy’s backyard sipping soft drink and pretending they were having a good time. Some of the boys had smuggled in a bottle of vodka and were topping up the drinks. They teased Molly about her outfit, but soon went back to talking about the footy game. The girls talked about the boys and clothes. Molly was so bored she decided to go home early.

  She was standing at the front gate saying bye to Lindy and explaining her mother had insisted she come home early when she heard the sound. In the distance and getting louder.

  Joe and his mates rumbled down the suburban street, did a wheelie and stopped beside her.

  ‘Goin’ already?’ he asked. Molly was flustered. Should she tell him she was leaving or go back inside. Would he follow her?

  ‘Molly’s mum told her she had to be home early,’ said Lindy. ‘But youse can come inside with me.’

  Molly glared at her supposed friend. Joe looked at them both and grinned.

  ‘Pity,’ he said. ‘Thought we’d make a night of it.’ Molly could feel her heart sinking right down to her scungy boots. ‘Well, Miss Molly, let’s get ya home.’

  Molly scrambled onto Joe’s bike as fast as she could in case he changed his mind, praying he’d take the long way to her place.

  She relaxed into his back, letting the motion of the bike and his warmth penetrate her and trying to hang onto every nano-second she was near him. He pulled up at her house too soon. She sat on the bike, hanging on for a few more moments.

  ‘This is home, yeah?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m home here on your bike,’ she whispered.

  ‘Right then,’ he revved the bike up and sped off.

  They rumbled through the streets of the suburb, up the main drag past the closed shops and open cafes. They passed the school and the new shopping mall. On and on, where the houses were sparse and the street lighting faded, into the bush. Molly didn’t want to stop or let go of Joe’s waist.

  There were six other bikes in the group. Molly had been too overwhelmed at first to notice them, and now she pushed them out of her mind. She focused on Joe and the rumbling of his bike.

  The bikies spent the night racing around the track, doing wheelies and spinouts – daring each other to go faster, to rev louder. They drank beer from bottles in paper bags and smoked rollies with weed. Molly knew the smell of dope. Joe didn’t offer her any and she was relieved, as last time she’d choked on it and she hated the taste of tobacco.

  All night, Molly stayed as close to Joe as she could. The skinny, blond bikie with the mullet brushed past her in a way that felt deliberate while Joe was busy tinkering with a bike, and when she looked at him, he mouthed ‘hot’ at her. Molly was about to say something but Joe looked up from his bike and called out to him, ‘Greg, c’m’ere!’ and the moment was gone. She never looked at any of the others, fearing what else might happen if she made eye contact. All the while she longed to be alone with Joe.

  When the sky lightened, Joe drove her home and left her standing at the front gate. Her whole body felt ravished, even though he hadn’t touched her. She went inside and crawled into bed.

  *

  For her sixteenth birthday, Molly’s grandma gave her money to buy and wrap a present for herself.

  ‘That way, you get a present you want and I get the fun of giving it to you without all the hassle. Just make sure you act surprised when you open it.’

  ‘Always spoilin’ that girl, aren’t ya,’ Molly’s mum said to Grandma. ‘Tryin’a make up for ya mistakes with me.’

  Molly blocked out the familiar tirade that followed. How her mum was ignored as a child. How Grandma spent every day writing letters to the authorities about the bloody war in Vietnam and every night crying for her dead husband.

  At the discount store, Molly bought a large, glossy book on Harley Davidsons. She read it from cover to cover, identifying which model and make was the one Joe had, before wrapping it.

  Molly’s mum made a lopsided birthday cake with pink icing and went through the ritual of finding last year’s candles in the dresser. Molly blew them out and wished Joe would come soon and take her away. He’d grunted when she’d let slip it was her birthday.

  Molly pushed a second piece of cake down her throat with the sickly sweet sparkling wine her mother insisted s
he drink as a birthday toast. She heard the rumble of the bike and quickly swallowed the rest of the wine.

  ‘I have ta go,’ she spluttered.

  ‘What, already? Ya grandma’s come all this way on the train to see ya.’

  Molly gave her grandma a big hug and pulled away from the cuddly flesh of her strong arms. ‘Have ta dash.’

  ‘Can’t ya young fella come an’ say hello?’ asked her mum. ‘You been knockin’ round together for months.’

  Not in a million trillion years, thought Molly as she slammed the front screen door behind her and raced to the corner of her street. Joe stopped the bike at the curb and she jumped on the back, throwing her bag with the book over her shoulder.

  ‘Someone’s in a hurry,’ said Joe, laughing. ‘Spose ya better have this now.’

  He handed her a package wrapped in newspaper and tied with a string. Molly stared at the parcel, her first present from Joe.

  ‘Well, ya gunna open it or do I have ta wait all night?’

  Molly untied the string and pulled the paper apart. It was a black leather jacket. She picked it up and saw the Harley Davidson emblem on the back. Molly felt warm and safe and special. It was her best birthday present ever.

  ‘Ya gunna wear it, eh?’

  Joe took her to a bar where several of his mates were already drinking.

  ‘Ya sure yer eighteen? Don’t look that old,’ he smirked when she showed him the identification card she and Lindy had made. ‘What’ll ya have ta drink?’

  ‘Same as you,’ said Molly.

  She almost gagged when the strong liquid reached her throat.

  ‘Take it easy there, Miss Molly.’ Joe wiped the liquid from her chin with his forefinger. ‘Don’ waste a good drop.’

  She sipped the drink and stood close to him. Her head nestled under his arm. She smelt the new leather on the soft sleeve of her jacket. She vowed to wear the jacket every day for the rest of her life, come rain, hail or shine, and fished in her bag for her phone to take a photo. It wasn’t there and she realised she’d left it at home charging.

  ‘I don’t wanna go home,’ Molly whispered when she climbed onto the bike to leave.

  Joe drove off in the opposite direction. Molly felt dizzy and closed her eyes while clinging onto Joe’s waist. He stopped the bike at the end of a street and clambered off.

  ‘No use waking me old man up,’ he grunted and Molly hopped off to help him push the bike up the driveway, past a dark house to a garage. Inside was a workshop where Joe parked the bike. He pulled open a makeshift curtain to reveal a sleeping and sitting area. At the back was a peeling kitchen cupboard with an old kettle and microwave.

  ‘Make yaself comfortable.’ Joe disappeared through a door. Molly lay down on the bed and heard the flush of a toilet.

  When she woke, Molly was under a quilt. Her jacket was folded on a chair and her boots were lined up on the floor. Otherwise, she was fully dressed. Sunlight streamed in through a gap in the curtains. When she poked her head out, Joe grinned at her.

  ‘Afternoon,’ he said. ‘Ya slept like a log and snored like a hog.’

  Molly straightened the bed covers, put her boots and jacket on and joined Joe in the front of the garage. She knew her mum would be hungover and assume Molly had been home and gone out again by the time she woke up.

  They spent the rest of the day tinkering with the bike. Molly tried to impress him with her new knowledge of the names of all the parts. Some of Joe’s mates dropped by for a beer and stayed until the evening. Molly felt like she was a spare part, the way they barely acknowledged her. Except that Greg, the tall, mullet-headed one, kept leering at her when Joe wasn’t looking. Joe sent out for pizzas, which they ate with their hands and tossed the cardboard boxes onto the garbage heap at the side of the garage.

  ‘Wanna stay?’ Joe asked when his mates had left.

  Molly vigorously nodded. ‘Can I use ya phone?’

  Molly rang her mother and left a message to say she’d forgotten her own phone and was staying at Lindy’s.

  When they were settled on the bed, Molly opened her bag and proudly showed him her book. She read what it said about his bike and he explained the advantages and disadvantages of each model. He fondled her as they talked. Her thighs, her hips, her breasts. She wanted him so much she thought she’d faint. He turned the lights down and undressed her.

  ‘Y’ safe?’ he asked.

  ‘’Course.’

  Molly tried not to scream when he entered her. It hurt so much, Molly thought she might die right there on his sofa bed. He stopped.

  ‘Oh shit,’ he said. ‘Yer a virgin, aren’t ya.’ She nodded.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’

  Molly froze, willing him to push through her pain, to finish what she’d started. To make her his and his alone.

  ‘I swore I’d never do this,’ he muttered. ‘Well, guess it’s too late now.’

  He continued, pumping her until he came. Molly lay still, letting the fluid ooze out of her and waiting for the pain to subside. He rolled over and fell asleep. Molly rose, washed herself with cold water and climbed back into bed where she nestled into his back.

  ‘You’re mine, mine alone,’ she whispered.

  *

  Molly was four months shy of seventeen when she found out she was pregnant with Matthew. The doctor had taken forever getting her details into the computer, doing a blood pressure test and taking her temperature as well as listening to her heart. Molly was too nervous to ask why it was necessary to get up on the table for an internal examination to get a script for contraceptives.

  ‘Is this really your date of birth?’ the doctor asked. Molly had used her fake ID, thinking it’d be easier if the doctor thought she was over eighteen.

  ‘’Course. What you take me for?’ Molly felt hot and nauseous.

  ‘I take you for a young woman who is already pregnant,’ said the doctor. She took off her plastic gloves.

  ‘What? I can’t be – we use condoms.’ Molly lied. Joe had left the contraception to her and she had told him she had it covered.

  ‘Unfortunately, they’re not fail-safe. We’ll need to do more tests but you are over two months. Haven’t you noticed any symptoms?’

  Molly shook her head, barely able to understand what the doctor was saying. She put her clammy palm on her knee to stop her leg from shaking.

  ‘So, how do you feel about being pregnant?’ asked the doctor. ‘Do you think you can look after a baby?’

  Molly wasn’t sure of anything.

  ‘What about the baby’s father? Can you rely on him?’

  Molly’s head buzzed with thoughts and she stayed silent.

  ‘You don’t have long to decide what to do about the pregnancy,’ said the doctor. ‘I have some information for you to read should you wish to have a termination and I can give you a referral to a counsellor. But you must move quickly. You might want to talk to your boyfriend.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Molly. Joe. What would Joe say? ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ The room looked fuzzy. She had to get out into the fresh air and tried to climb off the table.

  ‘Whoa. Not so fast – you’ll fall.’ The doctor took Molly’s arm. ‘Come down slowly. That’s it. Sit here while I get the pamphlets and we can talk some more about your options.’

  As soon as the doctor left the room, Molly grabbed her things and left.

  *

  The hastily organised wedding was held on the last day of spring, just over a year after Molly and Joe met. It was over-cast, which Molly took as a good omen. Better to start under a cloud and have the sun shine later, she told herself. Besides, it would be cooler and she was worried she’d sweat in the polyester satin wedding dress. She hung the horseshoe from her wrist and pulled the sky-blue garter up her right leg.

  Molly had insisted on a church wedding. She didn’t care which church, but she wanted to fulfil her fantasy. It was the one thing she felt she had left which she stood up for, one line she couldn’t cross.

  J
oe didn’t argue about it. Just as he didn’t argue about having the kid and didn’t argue about getting married. He shrugged his shoulders, mumbled that he couldn’t care either way and left it to Molly. Her mother told Molly she was on her own. She wouldn’t help, but she wouldn’t interfere either, Molly reasoned.

  She had no money for a wedding. Lindy did Molly’s hair and makeup and they found a wedding dress at the op shop that didn’t need much altering. It was cream with an empress bodice to cover her rounded stomach. Her grandma helped with the alterations.

  When Molly had her fittings, she noticed how Grandma’s house at Erskineville smelt terrible, the rooms needed painting and the front yard was a mess. She hated when her mum said Grandma should sell it and move into a retirement home. Grandma should be able to stay in her own home for as long as she wanted. After all, she’d lived there for nearly fifty years. Molly silently swore to help Grandma fix up the house one day soon to repay her for all her help.

  A church with an old hall was available in Mt Pritchard and the pastor agreed to let her have the wedding and reception there for a donation and the promise she’d clean the hall. Her boss at the takeaway let Molly have the leftovers from the night before and sold her soft drinks at cost price. He threw in freshly cooked chips as a present. Not that she needed much food for the people who came. There was Molly’s mum, with her new boyfriend, and Grandma. Lindy, the only friend who’d stuck by Molly when she got pregnant, was her bridesmaid. Joe’s bikie mate Dave was best man and the tall, blonde-headed one, Greg, offered to drive Molly and Lindy in his black car to the church.

  All Joe’s other mates had turned down the invitation, through indifference and to save coughing up for a present. Joe’s mum and dad decided to come at the last minute, and Joe’s dad reluctantly agreed to walk Molly down the aisle.

  Small is good, Molly told herself as she rummaged through The Reject Shop for decorations. She slipped a satin and lace covered horseshoe into her bag, vowing to return it after the wedding.

  Joe refused to wear a suit, saying his leathers were good enough, and insisted on arriving on his Harley. Greg was only half an hour late when he turned up and he only tried to touch Molly’s boobs once.