The Fine Colour of Rust. P. O’Reilly A.
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cousin’s poem?’ I ask sweetly.
Melissa smirks into the magazine she’s picked up.
My other sister, Patsy, visited with her friend. Mum thinks that Patsy’s friend would look so much nicer if she lost some weight and started wearing more feminine clothing. And took care of that facial hair, for God’s sake. Then she might be able to get a man.
‘Speaking of which, have you heard from thingo?’ she asks.
‘Nope,’ I say. ‘So when do you get out of here?’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘We’re in a motel.’
‘It’s horrible,’ Melissa says. ‘The bedspreads smell of cigarettes. And they’re baby-shit yellow.’
‘Melissa!’ I protest, but she gives me the as-if-you’ve-never-said-it-yourself look.
‘You could always stay with Tammy. They have a six-bedroom house.’
They do have plenty of room at the house and we did try staying once, but Tammy and I discovered that these days we can only tolerate two hours of each other’s company before sisterly love turns sour. It became clear that she thinks her wealthy lifestyle exemplifies cultured good taste and mine has degenerated into hillbilly destitution, while I think Tammy is living a nouveau riche nightmare while I represent a dignified insufficiency.
Tammy’s husband rarely comes home because he’s so busy being successful. When he does arrive he’s late, and Tammy’s favourite nickname for him is ‘my late husband’. ‘Allow me to introduce “my late husband”,’ she announces to startled guests. Her husband smiles distantly and gives her a shoulder squeeze like she’s an athlete. Last time the kids and I came down we ate luncheon – not the meat but the meal – at their place on the Sunday. Jake swallowed a mouthful of the smoked trout and dill pasta and before it even reached his stomach he had puked it back into the plate. It looked much the same as before he had chewed it, but the sight of the regurgitation had Tammy’s delicate children heaving and shrieking. ‘Haven’t they ever seen anyone chunder before?’ Melissa remarked scornfully on the way home.
My mother turns her attention to Melissa. ‘And you, young lady, are you doing well at school?’
Melissa looks at her grandmother with an arched eyebrow.
‘Yes, Grandmother,’ she answers.
‘I won’t have any granddaughter of mine being a dunce.’
Melissa turns her head and gives me a dead stare. I can’t believe she’s only eleven.
‘All right,’ I intervene briskly, ‘let’s talk about you, Mum. How are you feeling? When do you get out?’
‘I’m yellow, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Can I get a packet of chips too?’ Melissa says, so I give her some money and tell her to find Jake while she’s at it.
‘Good.’ My mother pushes herself upright in the bed as soon as Melissa has left the ward. ‘Now the children are gone we can talk. I’m going to sell up and move to Queensland, the Gold Coast. Albert’s bought a house on the canals with a swimming pool and a sauna. My liver’s packing up. I don’t know how I got this hepatitis thing, but I can only guess it was from your father all those years ago. That lying cheat. Apparently it’s contagious. You and the kids had the test like I told you?’
‘Yes, we’re fine. Who’s Albert?’ I am incredulous.
‘He’s from the bingo. He’s no great catch, I admit that, but who else is offering me a house in the sunshine?’
‘Not the one with the five Chihuahuas? The one you used to make jokes about?’
‘Having those dogs doesn’t actually mean he’s homosexual. He’s quite virile for an older gentleman.’
‘Oh, Mum, enough detail. And why can’t you say this in front of the kids?’
‘You need to tell them in your own time. I know they’ll be upset I’m leaving, but when they get older they’ll understand.’
‘I’ll break it to them gently.’ I don’t want to point out that we only come down to Melbourne at Christmas and her birthday anyway.
‘Tammy and Patsy’ll miss you,’ I say. ‘And the junior poets.’
My mother almost smiles before she says, ‘I love Tammy’s children dearly, you know that, Loretta.’
‘I know.’
‘Anyway, when I sell, I’m giving you a few thousand dollars. Don’t tell Tammy or Patsy. You need it, they don’t.’
From down the corridor comes a long howl, followed by grievous sobbing.
‘They torture people in here, you know,’ Mum says. ‘The nights are hell. The screaming and moaning, it’s like being inside a horror film.’
I have a bad feeling that I recognize that howl. But rather than spoil the moment, I think about the good things.
‘A few thousand dollars?’ I say.
‘Depending on the price I get for the flat. You’ll get something, anyway. Five or six thousand maybe.’
A holiday for one – or two? – in Bali, I think. Or an air conditioner. Or both! A proper haircut and blonde tips! A bra that doesn’t creak! Champagne and sloppy French cheese and pâté! Silk knickers!
‘I expect you’ll want to spend it on the kids, but keep a couple of dollars for yourself, won’t you. You could use a bit of smartening up. Any men on the horizon?’
‘Actually,’ I say, ‘there’s a rather good-looking mechanic who definitely has eyes for me. He keeps himself quite clean, too.’
‘As opposed to that grubby old junk man you hang around with?’
‘Yes, as opposed to Norm, who has his own special standard of hygiene.’
‘And has this bloke asked you out?’
‘Not yet.’ Needless to say, he hasn’t recognized yet that he has eyes for me. I wonder if I am talking about Merv Bull? Have I developed a crush? Am I becoming Helen?
From down the corridor, the howling and sobbing is growing louder. I can’t avoid it now.
‘You need to look for your mother,’ I can hear a woman telling Jake. ‘Open your eyes, dear.’
‘Loretta, you should give up that political hocus-pocus you’ve got yourself into. Put your energy into finding a partner and a father for those children.’
‘The Save Our School Committee is precisely for “those children”. Anyway, we’ve had a win. The minister for education’s coming to Gunapan in a few weeks. We’ve got a chance to change his mind about closing the school.’
‘Is he married?’
Jake’s sobbing, very close now, startles awake the man in the bed across from Mum. He raises his spotty head and shouts, ‘You buggers! You buggers! Get out of it, you buggers!’
‘Shut up,’ my mother calls over at him and he stops immediately.
‘Nutcase,’ she says to me. ‘Every time he wakes up he thinks the Germans are coming for him.’ Mum lets her head drop back on to the pillow and stares at the ceiling. ‘The Gold Coast. I can’t wait.’
‘So when do you go?’
‘Mummeeeeeeee,’ Jake screams as he runs into the room and flings his round little body on to my lap. He buries his face in my shirt, covering me in snot and tears. Melissa strolls in behind him eating a chocolate bar.
‘The lady says she’s going to clean up Jake’s chips.’
With Jake in my arms I stagger out