The Women in Black (11 page)

30

Dawn was on the telephone talking to Joy.

‘Don’t you say
anythink
,’ she said severely. ‘Don’t you let on one word or I’ll never speak to you again. It’s Christmas after all.’

‘I don’t see what difference that makes,’ said Joy. ‘He’s gone, hasn’t he? Christmas or no Christmas. We have to know sooner or later, it might as well be sooner.’

‘Now you just listen to me, Joy,’ said Dawn sternly. ‘I promised Mum
faithfully
not to let on I knew a thing. She made me swear.

I’ve only told you because I reckoned you’d guess something was up anyway and cause more trouble trying to find out. So you’re not supposed to know a thing.’

‘Oh yes, typical,’ said Joy, ‘typical. I’m the youngest so I’m not meant to know anything that’s going on even in me own family. Typical. Well, I can always find out, I don’t need your help, do I?’

‘Honestly, Joy,’ said her exasperated elder, ‘have a heart. I’ve
told
you what’s going on, I’ve told you as much as I know. I just don’t reckon it’s a good idea to go blabbing about it on Christmas Day. And how would you like it? She’s trying to put a good face on, she doesn’t want to
talk
about it, it stands to reason. So just keep quiet, okay?’

‘Oh, if you say so,’ said Joy airily, admiring her smart new sandals which she had just bought at Farmer’s, bugger the Goode’s staff discount. ‘I don’t care, I just think it’s ridiculous to have to pretend, with your own family. I wouldn’t want to pretend, if it was me it happened to.’

‘No, well you’re different, aren’t you?’ said Dawn. ‘Everyone isn’t like you. Patty likes her privacy, doesn’t she?’

‘Patty likes her secrets, you mean,’ said Joy. ‘She always was that secretive. Well, she can keep her secret for all I care.’

‘Good,’ said Dawn. ‘So you won’t say anythink. And don’t say anythink to Mum either because she doesn’t know I’ve told you. She only told me because she was that worried. She said do you think he’s gone for good? And I said of course not Mum. Frank won’t get far. I had to say that to stop her worrying about Patty. But I don’t know. Frank’s a dark horse, I’ve always thought so.’

‘Oh God,’ said Joy, ‘Frank’s not a
dark horse
, Frank’s a drongo. Get far! He couldn’t get from here to Manly without a guide. He’s just buggered off somewhere in a stew, he’ll be back, worse luck. Poor old Patty.’

‘That’s no way to talk now,’ said Dawn. ‘Frank’s all right, he’s just a bit—’ ‘Stupid,’ said Joy. ‘Dim.’

‘Quiet, I was going to say,’ said Dawn.

‘And he’s being even quieter at the moment,’ said Joy, cackling with laughter.

‘Joy,’ said Dawn, ‘you’re awful.’

That was Joy all over: awful.

‘Anyway at least we know one thing,’ said Joy cheerfully.

‘What?’ asked her sister.

‘We know it’s not another woman,’ said Joy.

‘What do you mean, another woman?’ said Dawn.

‘What do you think I mean? I mean, it’s
obvious
Frank hasn’t left Patty for another woman.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Dawn, unsure on whose behalf she ought to take offence at Joy’s assertion.

‘For God’s sake, Dawn,’ said Joy scornfully, ‘just take a look, if you ever get another chance. Frank’s not exactly Casanova.’

‘Well, and a good thing too,’ said Dawn stoutly.

‘There’s no need to go completely in the other direction,’ said Joy. ‘Frank doesn’t hardly seem to know what women are for.’

‘And what are women for?’ asked Dawn.

‘I’ll draw you a picture,’ said Joy, ‘the next time I see you.

And you can give it to Frank if he comes back. Then you’ll both know.’

‘Joy,’ said Dawn, ‘you’re awful. And how come you know so much about Frank?’

‘I can just tell,’ said Joy, ‘and anyway you only have to look at Patty. Etcetera. I think she’s better off without him. She should buy some new clothes, have a good holiday, go to the Barrier Reef or somewhere, and start again.’

‘Yes, well, that’s one way of looking at it,’ said Dawn, ‘but I can’t see Patty doing that.’

‘No,’ said Joy, ‘that’s too true. Never mind. I won’t say anything tomorrow: we’ll all have a real happy Christmas. Now what—’ and the two sisters turned to one last conference on who was responsible for which viands on the morrow, when all her offspring and their husbands (where available) and their children (where present) were to converge on Mrs Crown bearing jointly and severally all the provender essential to a proper Anglo-Saxon Christmas dinner, with all the trimmings.

31

It was after six o’clock by the time Mr Ryder and Miss Cartright left Goode’s on Christmas Eve; they were among the last few to leave the great edifice and a lackey waited by the Staff Entrance with a bunch of enormous keys, ready to lock the door.

A Jowett Javelin was double-parked by the kerb and Miss Cartright turned to her colleague. ‘There’s my young man,’ she said. ‘Can we offer you a lift? We’re headed for Turramurra.’

‘Now that is very good of you,’ said Mr Ryder, ‘but I’m meeting some friends at Pfahlert’s for our annual get-together. Old school mates.’

‘Enjoy yourself then,’ said Miss Cartright, ‘and have a very happy Christmas.’

‘And you too Miss Cartright,’ said Mr Ryder, raising his hat as she stepped into the impatient automobile.

He walked along Castlereagh Street through the now-diminishing throng and turned into the vastness of Martin Place. He had a fancy (who does not?) to walk along the GPO colonnade, and a moment after he had ascended the steps and begun his progress he realised that the figure at the nether end putting a letter through one of the fine brass-clad posting slots was their own Miss Jacobs. Strange time to post a letter, he thought. She’s missed the Christmas post by several lengths. And there was something so sad about the picture she made—that lone, dumpy, self-contained figure, with her hair in a bun, with her half-empty string bag, posting her mysterious letter—that he almost wanted to run down the colonnade and catch her up, and then—well, it was futile. He could hardly hope to gladden what appeared to be such a lonely and indeed secret existence—he could hardly, for instance, offer her a drink. An ice-cream, perhaps. ‘Would you care to accompany me to Cahill’s, Miss Jacobs? We might have a Chocolate Snowball together.’ Then he remembered Pfahlert’s. Well, not tonight, he thought. But perhaps one day. Oh Miss Jacobs. You poor, poor dear. Have a very happy Christmas.

32

‘Now Lesley,’ said Mrs Miles, ‘I want you to eat a proper breakfast, you don’t know how long it will be before you get your Christmas dinner, you know what your Auntie Mavis is like.’

They were all to go this year for Christmas dinner to Mrs Miles’s sister and her family who lived at Seaforth; Mrs Miles’s large family took it in turns, more or less, to preside at the feast.

‘No, I don’t, we haven’t had Christmas there before,’ said Lisa.

‘Of course we have, don’t you remember? Four or five years ago, of course you remember. We didn’t eat until well past three.

So you want a proper breakfast. Do you want boiled or fried or scrambled?’

‘Ugh,’ said Lisa. ‘Magda says you shouldn’t eat eggs for breakfast, it—’ ‘I don’t care what Magda says,’ said Mrs Miles. ‘Magda doesn’t know everything. If you won’t eat your eggs for breakfast you won’t ever get fatter. You’ll waste away. You’re still growing. Just have some scrambled eggs now, I’ll put some bacon in with them the way you like.’

‘Oh, okay,’ Lisa drawled, ‘anything for a quiet life.’

‘That’s better,’ said her mother.

Mr Miles came in.

‘Three eggs,’ he said, ‘fried, runny yolks, and four rashers of bacon. Is the tea made yet? I’ll have some toast too while I’m waiting. I could eat a horse. I’ve seen horses that are fit for nothing else too come to think of it.’

‘Can we open our presents now?’ asked Lisa.

‘What presents?’ asked her father.

‘Dad,’ said Lisa, ‘do you know what day this is?’

‘Oh,’ said Mr Miles, ‘I suppose you mean Christmas presents. Well, I don’t know about that. That’s your mother’s department.’

‘We’ll open our presents after breakfast,’ said Mrs Miles. ‘First things first.’

The meal was at last concluded and they went solemnly into the sitting room where the presents were ranged at the foot of the Christmas tree. Lisa presented her gifts to her mother and father, the small and the larger, and her mother gave her father one large package and then gave her one small and two larger packages. An episode of unwrapping followed by exclamations of surprise and gratitude followed, at the end of which time it was suddenly apparent that Mr Miles had made no contribution to the exchange.

‘Now then,’ he said, ‘I suppose you’ll both be wanting something from me. I suppose that’s fair enough. It’s Christmas after all. Let me see what I can find.’

He fished in his pocket and found some coins.

‘That won’t do,’ he said. He fished in another pocket. ‘That’s more like it,’ he said. ‘Here now Lesley, you take that,’ and he handed her a ten-pound note. ‘And this is for you, Cora,’ he said.

‘Happy Christmas both.’

Mrs Miles looked down, bemused. He had given her a twenty-pound note. The sight of it alone was a novelty.

‘Gee. Thank you, Ed,’ she said. ‘That’s lovely.’

Lisa had been squealing with delight the while.

‘Gosh Dad,’ she said. ‘Thanks!’

‘All right then,’ said the paterfamilias, ‘let’s get going. Seaforth, eh? We might have a swim first. What do you reckon? We’ll catch the Christmas tide!’

33

‘Doreen’s bringing a big ham,’ said Mrs Parker to Myra, ‘and the pudding, and John and Betty are bringing the chooks, so they can go in as soon as they get here. I’ll just turn on the oven and have it ready. So if we can finish doing these vegies before they all arrive there won’t be anything more to worry about. Until the gravy.’

Myra was peeling five pounds of potatoes. There would be thirteen of them to dinner counting the toddler. Unlucky number, she thought. Better not count the toddler.

‘Did you and Fay finish setting the table?’ asked her mother.

They were going to squash around the ping-pong table on the back verandah to eat this feast; it was now covered with Mrs Parker’s best tablecloth, which she still had from when she was first married, but as it wasn’t quite large enough there was a double-bed sheet underneath it.

‘Sure,’ said Myra. ‘Fay’s just folding the serviettes now, in shapes.’

Fay had acquired this art in one of her cocktail waitressing years; she was making mitres. Mrs Parker put down her peeling knife and went to make sure for herself that everything was as it should be.

‘Now that’s just lovely,’ she said to Fay. ‘It looks real posh.’

Later on that day, many hours later, Fay was playing skipping games on the lawn with Myra’s nieces while her nephews did rough things in trees and the toddler slept exhausted on a rug. The men were drinking beer and Myra and her mother and sister and sister-in-law gossiped together in deckchairs.

‘You want to find a husband for that Fay,’ said Mrs Parker to Myra. ‘None of your nightclub riff-raff. Someone nice and steady.

Look how she’s playing with the girls. You can see she gets on with children. She wants to be married and have some of her own.’

‘Well, I’ve done my best,’ said Myra. ‘But she’s a bit particular.’ ‘So she should be,’ said Mrs Parker. The sorts of men you see these days.’

‘Now, Mum, what do you know about that?’ asked Doreen.

‘You’d be surprised,’ said Mrs Parker.

‘She means the sorts I go out with,’ said Myra.

‘Oh Lord,’ said Doreen.

She and Myra both laughed.

‘Do you still see Jacko Price?’

‘Oh, once in a while,’ said Myra.

‘I never want to hear that man mentioned again here,’ said Mrs Parker looking stern. ‘After what he did.’

‘Oh, he’s all right, Mum,’ said Myra. ‘There’s lots worse.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Mrs Parker. ‘But I wish you could find someone nice, for Fay. She’s a lovely girl. It’s a shame she hasn’t met anyone nice that she could marry. Poor thing, no family to speak of, she needs a husband.’

‘Yes,’ said Myra. ‘I guess you’re right.’

‘Of course I am,’ said her mother.

34

‘Bad luck Frank having to be away,’ said Dawn’s husband Bill kindly. Patty looked wan.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It can’t be helped.’

I wonder if they really know, she thought. I wonder what Mum’s really told them.

They were all out in the backyard where they had dragged two tables which put together (there was a drop of two inches halfway along the total length) made a board sufficiently large to accommodate them all. There would have been room for Frank too.

Patty wasn’t feeling frightfully well: she had eaten very little and she was further discommoded by the sharp-eyed glances she had been getting at regular intervals from Joy. She was doing her best, she was doing her bloody best, she just wanted to be left alone. She had to think. They had just finished the pudding and were about to pull the crackers; Dawn was bringing out a great pot of tea and Joy followed with the cups. They’re good girls, my girls are, thought Mrs Crown. I can’t complain. Oh dear, poor Patty. Dear me.

‘Pull this cracker with me, Patty,’ she said.

The bang was a terrible further strain on Patty’s nerves. She found herself with a tiny slip of paper in her hand on which something was printed.

‘What does it say?’ asked her mother. Patty read it out.

‘Laugh and the world laughs with you,’ she read. ‘Weep and you weep alone.’

Then she burst into tears and ran into the house.

‘Auntie Patty’s not feeling well,’ said Dawn to the children, ‘so you try and behave yourselves. When you’ve finished pulling your crackers you can get down and go and play. Yes, you can make a cubby house in the rabbit hutch. Or you can play Lotto with your new set.’

Having distracted the children she gave Joy a dark and pregnant look and followed her mother into the house. Joy, alone with her husband and brother-in-law lit a cigarette.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I told Dawn it’s ridiculous all this pretending. I knew it wouldn’t work. That Frank is a selfish bastard though. Poor old Patty. I’d divorce him if I was her.’

Bill looked uncomfortable; he wasn’t sure where his primary loyalties must lie. Joy’s husband Dave, who was doing very well and would do even better, offered his brother-in-law a cigar.

‘He’ll come back,’ he said. ‘It’ll blow over. He just has to sort himself out. Poor blighter. Did you put that beer in the fridge like I asked you to, Joy? Then let’s crack a few, I’ve got a real thirst after all that food.’

Joy went off to help with the washing up, and found Patty at the sink.

‘Never mind, Patty,’ she said. ‘He’ll be back soon. You’ll never know he’s been gone.’

Oh, that was the truth all right: that was the whole trouble.

‘I don’t know,’ said Patty. ‘I’ll see. I’ll see when he comes back.’