Bitin' Back (3 page)

TWO

Gracie's face creases into a map of worry lines. ‘Haven't seen him since yesterday, Mum. I'm startin to wonder what happened to him.' Tears gather at the corners of her eyes.

‘Gracie, love, don't you worry, he'll be right. Ya know our Nevie, just ups n offs, don't worry bout no one but hisself.' I turn away from her, the lies sittin uneasy on me tongue.

‘Are you sure he never said where he was goin?'

‘I reckon he'll be home tamarra. Now stop all this worryin, ain't no good for ya.'

‘Another woman. That's it. He's got another sheila, hasn't he?' she asks, lips puckered, her watery brown eyes screwed into mean slits.

‘Oh, come on, love. Nev's faithful. Ain't no other woman. He just needed to, um ... find a friend a his.' Another lie forces its way out smooth like.

‘Mum, you'd tell me, wouldn't ya?' she asks, a suss sneer washin over her dial.

‘Yeah, of cour...' I stop. Sounds of singin are comin from Nevil's bedroom. I stand rooted to the spot, me shoulders tense.
Here we go.

Gracie cocks her ear toward the noise. ‘What's that? Sounds like a woman singin?'

‘Oh, that's Missus Warby, the lonely ol piece next door.' I smile weakly. ‘Well, love, I've gotta go to bingo now. See ya some other time, eh?' I grab her arm and push her towards the door.
Gotta get the girl out.

‘Oh, right. Well ... tell Nev I was here, okay?' She throws a suss look past me shoulder.
Like she knows.

‘Sure will.' I watch her as she walks down the street, then I turn round and start back into the house when I hear: ‘Missus Dooley, Missus Dooley!'

I glance up towards the street corner and see Big Boy n another fella joggin along passin a football as they come towards me.

‘Hey there, whatcha up to, Big Boy?' I smile at him, eyein the dirty black and orange guernsey he wears.
I wonder if the boy ever changes it. He smells like piss n ol sweat.

‘This here's Grunt. Grunta the Punter, down here for the match next week,' Big Boy motions to his friend.

‘How ya doin, Grunt? Reckon yous'll win the match?' I watch the way he flexes his arm muscles as he jogs on the spot.

‘Yep. See, they got ol Grunt down here cos these mob a wussies'll get whipped whitout me.' His pockmarked face creases up into a toothless smile.

‘Talkin outta ya arse!' Big Boy nudges him in the ribs, then looks shameface. ‘Ooh, gee, sorry, Missus Dooley, a man forgot hisself there.'

‘Woman's heard worser than that. Anyway, who's the coach this time round?' I'm tryin to put off the sure-as-shit question bout Nev, as I edge inside the house.

Big Boy answers. ‘George. George Spiros—you know, the old Greek dude owns the pub. Well, he only just bought
it. You seen em yet? Him n his mob? Geez, he got some daughters.'

‘Daughters, eh. Nope, ain't seen em.'

‘Yeah, well, we lookin for the Nev. Can I go n see him or what?' Big Boy's got one foot jammed in the doorway.

‘Oh no, love, Nev's really crook n ya might catch that flu thing off him. Wouldn't be no good for the whole team to come down whit it, eh?' I shake me head vigorous like, purse me lips and drop me shoulders to let him know I'm deadly serious.

‘Shit! Never knewed it were that bad!' Big Boy takes a quick step back as though the house itself has some poxy disease.

‘Yeah, that's right. Be shame if youse couldn't play cos ya got it too. Nah, Nev'll get over it pretty soon.'
Can only hope.

‘What sorta flu?' Grunt questions, his arms crossed.

‘Well, I ... I don't rightly know. But a bad one! Yeah, real bad. Like it make him delirium n all, see.' I look at the geranium bush near the corner of the house.
I don't like the way that boy lookin at me. Like he know I'm lyin. That's the problem whit tellin big ones—ya jus dunno who gonna be sussin on ya.

‘I had somethin like that. I ain't heard a no flu makin a man delirious but.'

‘This one's diffrent. It's a ... a ... Geranium's Palsy flu!' I throw out.
Now where the hell a woman get that from! Geranium Palsy, geez.

‘Orh, that sounds real rugged.' Big Boy's face screws up like he doned shit his pants or somethin.
He looks disgusted.

‘Sure is, son. Anyway, I gotta go down to bingo. Ya want me to tell Nev anything?' I hold the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut right in the boy's face.

‘Yeah, tell him he'd better get on his feet soon. The other
fellas are startin to worry bout him not bein able to play at all.'

‘Doncha worry, Nev'll be right for the game.' I look at both of em. For a fraction of a second I wonder what they'd do if I told em the news Nev's in the bedroom wearin women's clothes and make-up all over his face. Yeah, n he thinks he's a woman writer called Jean Rhys. I almost burst into laughter at the thought.

‘Right then, Missus Dooley. Thanks anyway.' Big Boy waves as he goes out the gate. I watch em as they amble back down the street. Two solid footballers, all muscle, all man.
Why couldn't Nev be like those normal boys? Jus havin a normal life playin football n worryin bout girls? Nah, not our Nev! Oowhh nnoo, have to be a friggin woman.

I turn and go back inside, slammin the door behind me. I put the kettle on the stove and sit down. Cockin me ear toward Nev's room I hear no noises, no singin or screamin. Thinkin bout him locked in there makes a woman feel like a ton a shit.
I mean he's not a kid is he, Mavis Dooley? He's a grown man. Go down n let him out. Gorn, gorn.
I jump off the chair and go down to his room.

‘Nev, love. Nev, ya awake?' I put the key in the latch and turn it. Then I hear a clatterin comin from behind the door. The same clatter I've heard many times before.
Clickclackclickclack ... Now what that noise is?
I push open the door and take a swift step inside.

‘Nev, love, are ya shitty whit ol mum?' I use my best crawlin voice.
Course he shitty. Whatcha think. Locked away like some sorta mad animal.

‘Don't call me Nevil! And don't barge in like that, Mother,' he growls.

‘Sorry, Son, I ... um. Want Mum to get ya a feed?' I offer in a con type a voice.

‘I'm right. Anyway, I'm not hungry.' He snaps.

I move closer into the room. He sits up on the pillows. There's a typewriter beside the bed and papers scattered all over the room.

He still wears the make-up and the dress but he look raggedworn and pissed out. I notice the beer on the floor, a half-opened carton of tall necks.

‘Love are you drinkin those hot?'

‘Yeah. Unless you want to let me out of this room so I can put them in the fridge. Is Booty gone?'

‘Yep. But he said you gotta behave otherwise he'll be back.'

‘Ain't done nothing wrong,' he sulks.

‘Son, what ya doin whit all that paper n stuff?'

‘Nothing. Don't ask, you wouldn't understand,' he whines back.

‘Oh, like that is it? Can't tell ya own mother anythin now?' I sit down on the floor and stare at him.
Friggin kids.

‘There's no use, is there? Wouldn't matter, Ma, you just—ahh, never mind.' He shakes his head.

‘Hmm, not gonna tell Mum, eh?'

‘Ain't nothin for you to worry about.'

‘Big Boy and Grunt, a new player up from Currajong Creek, was here. Lookin for ya to go to the trainin for the game next week. Ya goin?' I watch a flicker of somethin cross his face.

‘Football, well ... Gee, I don't know any more, Mum. It's like that's all they know around here.' He turns his face to the window.

‘Nev, I thought ya loved footy. They sure need ya on that game, so Big Boy reckons.'

‘Yeah, I love footy, Ma. But shit, there's other things to do in life, aren't there?' He sounds real serious.

‘Spose ya got a point there. Well, are ya playin or not? I don't want em mob comin here askin all sorts a things.'

‘I don't know. Yeah, I will,' he says, holdin up a piece a paper and starin at it. ‘Mum, do something for me,
pleease.'

‘Yeah, what?' I ask, suss, not liking the conjob tone of his voice.

‘Just call me Jean, okay?' He looks across at me, his face bolted serious like.

‘If that's what ya want. But, look, Nev, if ya got a boyfriend ya can tell ol Mum here.' I offer me best ‘see-I-understandmany-things' look.
But I'm not standin nothin. Homo—gay—Nevil—nogood nogood nogood.

‘Hmm, yeah, yeah.' He answers, his eyes glued to the page, his fingers tracin a line up and down the paper.

‘Well ... Jean ... I'm off to bingo, now.'
Geez, seems like a woman's been tryin to get over there all bloody day.
‘Jean, love—'
that'll scrap him,
‘if anyone knocks on the door promise me ya won't answer it, okay?'

‘Why, Mum? Is it the way I look?' He brings his head up, chewin on his bottom lip.

‘Love, ya know what they're all like. I don't want em here tryin to bash ya. They'll kill ya, love. Ain't nothin Uncle Booty can do bout that.' I sigh, wonderin if it's safe to leave the house at all. Dreadin the possibility of Big Boy and his mate returnin.

‘No, you go, Mum. I promise, cross my heart hope to die, that I won't, okay.' He smiles true like. I decide to believe him. Nevie never makes promises he don't keep.
He don't tell lies.

‘Righto, Jeanie.' I turn toward the door. ‘Oh, n none a that bloody singin, right?'

‘Right.' He reaches into the beer carton and pulls a long one out.

‘Legs eleven, forty-four out the door, twenty-eight don't be late, fifty-two a red shoe.'

‘Bingo!' I hold up me card and jump to me feet, me heart thumpin with excitement.

‘Missus Dooley takes the jackpot!' Hettie Bennet yells, as she reaches for me card. I offer a weak grin to all the losers.
Yeah, finally a woman's won somethin. After all this time n now I win.

Dotty Reedman gives me a sour-as-curdled-milk look while she tears up her card then flings the pieces across the hall.

‘Cheat,' she mutters, glarin at me whit small, you-totalbitch eyes.

Pretendin not to hear her I tap Hettie on the shoulder. ‘Any tea n biscuits today?'

‘Oh yes! Come on in the tearoom.' She laughs and offers her hand to pull me up out of me seat. ‘Good win, Mave. The jackpot's gone up to five hundred dollars today!'

‘Mavis, Mavis.'

I turn towards the voice. ‘Hello Dotty.' I flinch from her spiteful green gaze.

‘Where's Nevil? Keeping out of trouble, is he?' She offers a smartarse smile.

‘He's sick. Anyway, what trouble ya mean?' Me hands start itchin, I curl me fingers into em.

‘The usual. Smoking drugs, drinking, and annoying some of the better people in this town.' She smirks, her eyes doin me from head to toe.

‘Nev's not like that,
Dotty!
He's one a the good fellas. Spose you heard that from the gossip, did ya?' I tap me foot on
the wooden floor, each tap buildin as I watch her sharp eyes.
Taaappp. Tappppp. Dotty an ugly bat.

‘I don't gossip, Mavis Dooley. I saw him last week down at the hotel drunk as hell. Yep, swearing and acting up a real riot.' She curls her lip back, runs her eye over me faded ol dress, then shrugs.

‘And the others in this town don't do that?' I rip in, feelin Hettie's grip tighten round me shoulder.

‘Not as bad as
your
son. You should keep a leash on that
menace!'
As she barks her face turns blood-red.

‘You ... you bitch!' I scream. ‘My son's not the only one!'

‘He's
a queer bird
that Nevil. Always thought he was a six pack short of a carton. Few things up here missing.' She points to her horse head, a wide smile runnin cross her face.

‘Fuck ya! Ya cow, ya dirty white bitch!' I yell, bustin a seam, and lunge at her.

‘Missus Dooley! Missus Reedman! Ladies, stop! Oh my God!'

Me hand smacks Dotty hard cross the head. Her big high hair collapses as she reels back in her chair. Her face colours up bright red n her gob drops open as she glares up at me—green eyes full a spitty fire.
Sayin em rotten things bout me boy. Who she is!

‘Oh God! Ladies, now that's enough!'

Suddenly I feel an arm round me shoulders, a pair a strong hands grips me tightly.

‘You right?'

I turn round and see Terry Thompson, the groundsman for the bingo hall.

‘Um, yeah.' I watch as one of Dotty's big-notin mates wraps an arm round her.

‘Mavis, you okay?' Hettie asks, leading me to the tearoom.

‘What's wrong whit her? Gee, she's a real cow that one.'

‘A bad loser. Don't worry bout her, Mavis. She's the biggest stickybeak in the whole town
as we all know.'
Hettie laughs as she sits me down.