‘Just take care of yourself,’ said Lindy.
The regular thrum of the wheels on the track rocked Molly. She opened her heavy eyelids to see the calm waters of the Hawkesbury when the train crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. Her conviction she was doing the right thing grew with every stop she was closer to Joe.
Reality set in when she hauled herself up from the sticky train seat and struggled to the bus stop across the road. There wasn’t time to grab some food for the three-and-a-half-hour bus trip and Molly’s stomach grumbled as she squeezed into a seat near the front by a window. A teenager with a snotty nose plonked down beside her. She longed to tell him to blow his fuckin’ nose.
The bus engine growled into action and the driver swore when a car pulled out in front, making him swerve. Molly felt the jolt in her ribs when the wheels ran over the curb and every bump as they headed north through Raymond Terrace, then west to Tea Gardens. She had always loved that name; it sounded so English. She spied a wooden cottage with a rose garden as they rolled into town and imagined living there with Joe and the kids. The bus pulled to a halt, the snotty-nosed kid got off and Molly spread herself across the seat.
Molly almost forgot her pain when the bus wound around the Myall Lakes and a pelican landed on the glassy water. It was amazing that such a gawky bird could look so elegant floating on the water. The pelican seemed to grin at her and she grinned back. She remembered visiting the Green Cathedral with her mum and grandma. Maybe if she’d been married there, things would have been different. When they passed the sign to Seven Mile Beach, Molly remembered Grandma saying it was called that because it was seven miles south of Forster. Seven Mile Beach sounded much better to Molly than Eleven Kilometre Beach.
Ten minutes later the bus pulled up at Little Street in Forster. Molly’s knees were stiff and her ribs ached. Perspiration seeped into her black T-shirt. She longed to be with Joe – to look into his dark eyes and to know everything would be all right. He hadn’t meant to hurt her – it wasn’t his fault he’d felt so bad and had to run away. She’d forgive him and hold him and everything would be back to normal.
The afternoon sun hurt her eyes and she squinted at the dazzling water of Wallis Lake across the road. She made her way along the hot pavement to the hotel where she had stayed with her grandma and mum on a holiday when she was five. The hotel had been fancy then. Grandma had fussed over her hair and put her in a fresh, pretty dress each evening for their meals. It was the best holiday of sun, sand, sea and ice creams, until her mother met someone, stayed out all night and slept all day.
The hotel was a dive now. Paint flaked from the wooden windowsills and graffiti covered the walls. A group of bikies were lounging on the beer garden wall with a line of beers beside them.
‘Hiya. Do any of youse know where this place is?’ She handed the closest one a scrap of paper with the address Lindy had wangled out of Joe’s blond bikie mate Greg.
The bikie looked Molly up and down.
‘Who yer afta?’
‘Just a mate,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘He was s’posed ta meet me at the bus. Probably still sleepin’. Y’ know how it is.’
They laughed.
‘No skin off my nose,’ said the bikie. ‘Along the river, just past Vinnies. Y’ won’t miss it.’
Molly crossed the road and followed the boardwalk along the lake. A light breeze touched her sweaty face and provided relief from the heat. The clinking boats reminded her of the time Grandma hired a boat and they tried rowing it. They laughed so much that the boat rocked wildly and Molly fell in the lake.
Seagulls shrieked overhead and children splashed in the pool on the lake’s edge. Molly promised herself she would bring her kids here for a proper holiday with Joe one day.
She passed a cafe and remembered she hadn’t eaten, but the food was too expensive and she was desperate to see Joe. Across the road was Vinnies. Molly flicked through the rack of two-dollar clothes out the front and found a large top and some leggings, which she stuffed into her bag without paying for them. She walked back across the road to the shower block where she washed, changed and tossed her old clothes in the bin.
The house would’ve been impossible to miss. It was unpainted, with holes in the walls and bike parts strewn across the front yard. The screen door was off its hinges and squeaked when Molly opened it to knock on the front door.
A muffled groan sounded from the other side of the door. Molly knocked again. The door opened a little. Molly smelt fresh sweat from under her armpits. She brushed her dank hair back from her forehead.
‘Anybody home?’ she called.
‘What d’ ya want?’ A male voice came from inside the house.
‘Joe. I’m here to see Joe.’
The door opened and a large figure filled the entry.
‘An what’s ’e to yer?’
‘He’s my husband and we … we arranged to meet here,’ said Molly, crossing her fingers.
The man laughed.
‘Who is it?’ A woman appeared at the door.
‘It’s Joe’s missus lookin’ fer ’im. Looks like she’s been through shit.’
‘Get outta the way, you slob.’ The woman opened the door, and in the dim light, Molly saw a skinny woman with tousled crimson hair.
‘You poor bitch, come in for a sec,’ she said. ‘Joe’s gone. Left yesterday. Hooked up with some mates and headed further north.’
Molly gulped. The woman must be wrong or lying. Molly couldn’t have missed him by a day.
‘Are y’ sure?’
The woman nodded.
‘Y’ callin’ us liars?’ said the man.
‘Do youse know where he went?’
‘Mebbe Coffs,’ said the woman.
Molly put her hand on the screen door to steady herself.
‘Take it easy, girl.’ The woman helped her inside and to a rumpled mattress. ‘I’m Trace, by the way.’ Molly sat and looked at the older woman. She reminded Molly of a lizard, with leathery skin and protruding cheekbones. ‘’E do that to ya?’ she asked, pointing at Molly’s face.
Molly gave a slight nod.
‘Typical. And y’ still followin’ ’im?’
‘Wasn’t his fault,’ Molly stuttered.
‘Never is, love. But we never learn, do we? Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em. Ya got kids?’
‘Yeah, four. There’s Matthew, who’s almost four, and Daniel is nearly three. An’ me beautiful girls, they’re eighteen months old now.’
‘An’ they’re all Joe’s?’ Molly nodded. ‘Jesus, no wonder y’ got trouble.’ Trace shoved a lukewarm cup of tea into Molly’s hand. ‘Git this inta ya. I think the milk’s OK. Don’t smell it though, just in case.’
At least it was sweet, the way Grandma made tea, thought Molly. Oh no, Grandma.
Molly inched her way along the mattress, trying to ignore the grey sheets and not think about who else had slept in them or what they’d done. She pulled out her cheap mobile. It was flat, besides she’d used the last of her credits talking to Lindy and didn’t know where the shop was to buy more credits.
‘Trace, can I use your phone?’
‘Sure. Don’t pay for it anyway,’ said Trace, tapping the side of her nose. ‘I’m just duckin’ out for some food.’
Molly called Grandma on Trace’s phone.
‘Hello, who’s this?’ Grandma sounded sharp on the phone.
‘It’s me. Molly, your …’
‘Where the hell are you? And what were you thinking running off?’
Molly had never been so harshly talked to by her grandma.
‘But, Grandma …’
‘Don’t you “but, Grandma” me. You’ve really done it this time. To run off and leave me with all the kids. Molly, it’s just too much.’
‘It’ll be all right. I’m going to bring Joe back.’
‘You’re what? Have you gone stark bloody raving mad?’
Molly shook. Grandma had never used swear words, had never said a bad word about
Joe. She’d always been a real lady and Molly had tried to copy her.
‘Can I talk to the kids?’
‘You’re joking. They’ve been crying ever since you left and I’ve just got them settled. Get yourself back here immediately and you can talk to them then.’
After the call, Molly sat on the mattress and tried to work out how she’d gotten to this point. How had things got so bad that the one person in the world she could rely on had turned on her?
Molly sobbed.
‘That won’t git yer anywhere,’ said Trace, entering with a packet of hot chips. ‘’Ere, git these into yer.’
Molly took one of the hot, greasy chips. She hadn’t eaten since she left the hospital. She wanted to gobble up the whole packet, stuff them into her mouth so she couldn’t speak or think or feel. But the first chip stuck in her throat.
‘Got some good news for ya,’ said Trace, licking the chip grease off her fingers. ‘Ran into Dickhead Dave at the fish shop. He’s a real idiot, but OK. Says he knows ya.’
‘Yeh, he was best man at me and Joe’s weddin’ four years ago.’
Molly managed to swallow her chip and tried another one, taking small bites and savouring the hot, salty taste.
‘No shit. Four years an’ four kids?’ Trace took a handful of chips. ‘He’s goin’ north today, said you can go with ’im to Coffs. Keep ’im awake an’ all.’
The setting sun flared through a hole in the blind. Was it a sign?
‘But ya gotta go now,’ said Trace.
Molly faltered. She was desperate to see the kids and she wanted to make it up to Grandma.
‘So, what are ya waiting for?’ asked Trace, who seemed to be sick of having Molly around.
Molly heard the familiar throb of a bike. It would only be another day, two at the most, she reasoned, and anyway she didn’t have the dough to go straight back. She grabbed her bag, said goodbye to Trace and climbed onto the bike behind Dickhead Dave.
*
About half an hour up the highway, just past Taree, Dave turned the bike and headed inland. Molly tried to ask where he was going above the noise of the bike.
When the last of the light left the sky, the weather turned cold and Molly shivered. Over the next couple of hours Molly’s fears grew. When they turned onto a dirt road, Molly held on tight so as not to fall off and buried her face in Dave’s back to stop choking on the dust. She almost lost her grip when they hit a massive pothole and the bike screeched to a halt.
‘Is Joe here?’ gasped Molly.
‘Na. Just gotta see a mate about somethin’. Git the gate, will ya,’ he ordered.
Molly fumbled in the dark to find and unbolt the gate. When she swung it open, Dave raced the bike over the cattle grid and up the hill. Molly stood for a minute wondering what to do before closing the gate and picking her way along the track towards a light at the top of the hill.
As she approached, a farmhouse with a garage came into view. Between the garage and the house a fire was blazing. About a dozen figures stood around it, drinking and watching something large on a spit that had been set up beside the fire to catch its heat. There was the smell of meat cooking.
Molly stopped when she realised all the figures were male. She was desperate to pee, and scoured the dark building shapes for something that might be a toilet. She hopped from one foot to the other while she found the courage to ask.
‘Excuse me,’ she said in a small voice. The figures ignored her. She coughed and several spun around. ‘Is there a toilet here?’ she squeaked in the loudest voice she could.
‘A toilet?’ one of them laughed. ‘A toilette?’ he pranced around her. ‘Who belongs to this toffee-nosed bitch?’
‘She’s Joe’s missus,’ grunted Dave and took another swig of beer.
‘Not Blow-job Joe?’ laughed the bikie.
‘Ya know him? He’s here?’ Molly felt a rush of hope that Joe, her dear Joe, was near.
‘Na,’ said Dave. ‘Told ya, he’s up Coffs way. We’ll head up there t’morra.’
Molly walked towards a small lone building, which she assumed was the outhouse.
‘Watch fer the snake,’ called the bikie.
Molly was terrified of snakes, but she opened the door into the dark space. When she had finished, she groped her way back towards the fire and found a log to crouch on. It was far enough from the group to be out of sight.
One of the bikies swaggered over to her.
‘Not bad at a distance in the dark,’ he laughed, and threw a beer at her. Molly fumbled it and felt the jolt of cold in her hands. She was thirsty and hungry. She pulled the top open, took a gulp and felt the tart liquid slide down her throat.
‘Just be careful of them snakes back ’ere.’ He laughed. ‘Bet ya love to chew on meat.’ Molly missed the chunk of meat he threw and it fell on the ground. She scrambled and picked it up, brushing as much dirt from it as she could. It was hot and tasty and she comforted herself with Grandma’s saying that a bit of dirt never hurt anyone.
The bikies threw their empty beer bottles at the tank, smashing the glass and laughing. One of them went into the house and returned with a case of vodka. Another rolled a joint, which Molly declined when he passed it to her.
‘Stuck-up and straight,’ he sneered. ‘No wonder Joe ran off and left ya. Bet y’ frigid as well. ’Ave to sort ya out later.’
Molly ached for Joe, for his presence and his protection. Dave had disappeared and she felt alone and exposed. She’d have to do something soon, to find somewhere safe to hide. Not the house – that would be asking for trouble. She peered into the dark and could just make out a barn behind the garage.
Molly hugged her T-shirt around her as the bikies slashed the meat carcass and chucked the bones at each other. She took the chance to slip away to the barn. The corrugated iron door squealed when she pushed it open and squeezed through. It was dank and smelt of possum poo. She pulled the door closed and dragged a chest of drawers against it. Carefully making her way to the back, she tried not to think about what might happen.
In the dim light, she found some material in a trunk and threw it across an old sofa. She rummaged in the trunk and found a moth-eaten army blanket, which she lay under, listening to the sound of bottles being smashed against the iron wall.
If she didn’t think about what was outside, she could pretend she was back in the garage with Joe. Finding pieces of material in charity shop bins to throw over the worn chairs. Repairing the ripped leather of the lounge they’d found at the side of the road. Rearranging the furniture when the children were born. She could smell the daisies Joe had picked from an empty lot and stuffed into a jam jar.
More bikes arrived. The bikies grew louder and rampaged around the yard. Molly tried to pretend she’d eaten a roast dinner followed by strawberry ice cream.
She remembered eating ice cream for breakfast the morning she waited for her mother to come home. They were to go to the school to meet Molly’s teachers. She waited until noon, then went to school and told everyone her mother was rushed to the hospital. Her mother arrived home the next day full of stories about the bloke at the club who’d taken her dancing and to a swish hotel. She gave Molly a handful of soaps and shampoos as if it would make up for her absence. Molly swore when she had children, she would not leave them even for one night. And yet here she was, more than 300 kilometres from her darlings, in a cold shed, too frightened to move.
The bikies became more raucous as the evening wore on.
‘Where’s Joe’s bitch?’ one of them yelled. He sounded close. ‘Bet she’s hidin’ in the shed.’ He shook the door.
Molly leant on the chest with all her weight and strength against it. She was thankful she wasn’t the slim girl who had first met Joe – that Molly would never have had the strength to hold the door closed.
He kicked the door, saying, ‘Fuckin’ bitch, open up.’
Her whole body was shuddering.
‘Come on ’ave another drink,’ called Dickhead Dave.
‘She’s not worth the trouble.’
Molly pulled the sofa against the chest and sat down. Not worth it. How had she ended up here? A filthy, fat cow shivering in a barn. What had she done to stuff up her life?
Molly went over the events of the last five years. Meeting and marrying Joe. The birth of her boys: Joe’s ‘pride and joys’. They were happy in the garage, their safe place away from the violent tantrums of Joe’s father in the house. And then the twins were born. She loved them so much but wondered whether she should have waited.
She had pushed Joe to his limits. He never meant to hurt her and said so, many times. He loved her. It was an accident, the first time – she was just too slow. He was sorry afterwards and making up had been fun, as if a burden had been lifted and they were meeting for the first time. Joe did silly things to make her laugh – like the time he put his leather jacket on backwards and pretended to be a gorilla. The boys heard them and raced into the bedroom, screaming with delight.
*
Next morning, shards of light beamed through holes in the corrugated iron walls, highlighting the piles of furniture and boxes in the shed. Molly’s ribs ached, her head pounded and her stomach grumbled. She was hungry, cold, thirsty and filthy. A chook clucked and a fly whizzed around the shed. She couldn’t hear any human sounds.
She pulled herself off the sofa, crept to the door, dragged the chest away and peeked outside, standing for a few minutes in the dazzling light, then made her way past strewn bodies to the tank. She gulped water from her hands and splashed it onto her face and arms.
The sun beat down on the bodies lying around a wasted fire with the remains of a sheep carcass on a spit. Smashed beer bottles littered the yard. One of the sleeping bodies was Dickhead Dave and Molly crept over to wake him up.
She tapped his shoulder and shook him. He was a dead weight, out cold. Molly poured beer from a half-empty bottle on his face, but he put his arm over his eyes and snored. His jeans were halfway down his backside and his mobile phone slipped out of his pocket when she tried to roll him over.
There was no reception, even when Molly held the phone above her head. She walked up a hill behind the shed. At the top, the phone beeped. It was eleven o’clock.
The Changing Room Page 6