Fire Song (9 page)

‘May I ask you something, Mrs Harry Williams?’

‘Of course, dear, anything you like. I know what a worrying time it must be for you.’

Ingrid cleared her throat. Out in the kitchen she could hear Gracie dragging a chair to the cake cupboard and she could picture Pippa sticking close by to her, quite another child in this cheerful house. She’d be licking her lips in anticipation, while Gracie cut those careful slices. Cake was a rare treat in their house.

Ingrid looked at Mrs Harry Williams and knew she had to just come out with it.

‘If you were to do something bad, Mrs Harry Williams, something you knew was very wrong, because you knew it would help the people you loved, would that really be wrong? Do you think God would still love you?’

‘Well now, Ingrid, you know that God loves everyone and that means sinners too – them maybe more than anyone else. As long as they saw it was wrong, what they were doing. And it would depend on what
kind
of wrong.

‘Just what exactly do you mean anyway, when you say “do something wrong". Like what?’

Ingrid cast about for something that would never lead to Mrs Harry Williams knowing she had to burn down a house for her mother’s sake, and for her father’s sake as well. What wrong thing could she say? Then she thought of a
conversation at school the other day about convicts being transported to Australia, some of them for as small a reason as stealing a loaf of bread!

‘I’d steal for my family, for sure,’ Dom had said in a playground conversation after that lesson, as he studied his sandwich. ‘If they were hungry and that – starving to death for a piece of bread – course I would!’

‘So would I,’ Ingrid said.

Evan Evans said he would too.

‘I wouldn’t ever let my family starve to death,’ Robyn Smithers said. ‘I’d get them bread any way I could. If that meant stealing, then so be it!’ And she’d taken a big decisive bite out of her own sandwich, as if one of them was going to tear it out of her hands.

‘What about you, Goody Two-shoes Gracie? Would you steal for your mum?’ Robyn asked, munching away, because Gracie was looking at the ground.

Then the bell rang and nobody ever heard her answer.

In the Williams’s lounge room, Ingrid cleared her throat again and said, ‘I mean like someone stealing bread or medicine or something so that their child might live.’

‘Well, that’s something every mother might do for a child, certainly. And I think God would understand. You might like to talk to Reverend Parsons some time on all this. He’s a good man to talk to about such things. And clever! He knows such a lot.’

‘I hate Reverend Parsons. He wouldn’t know what it’s like to be a child whose mother wants him to burn their house down! Now would he?’ she wanted to say to Mrs Harry Williams. But she didn’t dare.

‘And how about what a
child
was prepared to do for her mother?’ she wanted to ask, but, again, she didn’t dare.

‘Thank you, Mrs Harry Williams,’ she murmured. She wanted to go now. Up to the hospital and tell Mum the news about Freddy, for one thing.

‘Hmm.’ Mrs Harry Williams hadn’t budged. ‘There’s something I want to say to you, Ingrid.’

Ingrid sank back, engulfed in tapestry. Did she know something? Could she possibly have guessed at something about the kero and Mum’s dark plans?’

‘Yes?’ her voice was small. But when she looked up, Mrs Harry Williams was smiling at her.

‘Gracie and I have had a talk. I’ve explained a few things to Grace – family matters that we don’t need to go into right here. Private stuff, really. But I’ve decided that I’m not to be called Mrs
Harry
Williams anymore. You see, I’m really Mrs Winnie Williams, so that’s what it will be from now on. In fact just plain Mrs Williams. There. But you can call me Auntie Winnie, if you like – seeing you’re such a good friend of my Gracie’s and you’re staying here with us for the time being.’

So everyone had family matters that were not to be gone into, private things that were difficult to talk about. Even the Williamses. Ingrid felt relieved.

‘Oh!’ She didn’t know quite what to say, but she knew one thing. She certainly couldn’t call Mrs Harry Will – Mrs Winnie Williams – ‘Auntie'. Not when she thought of Auntie Ivy and her favourite Auntie Marj.

‘Well, now,’ Mrs Williams said, ‘I think it’s time for cake! You’ll need a coat. It’s cold and it’s coming up a bit windy out there.

‘And maybe we’ll walk part of the way to the hospital with you – just for company, lovey. Don’t want you to feel all alone, pet.’ And then she was on her feet and giving Ingrid a hug as if she were little like Pippa.

‘C’mon, we’ll get through this all right. You’ll see.’

She blinked away her tears at Mrs Winnie Williams’s constant kindness to her.

‘Thank you,’ she said. And she meant it.

T
hey’d all gone out into the night and, just as Mrs Williams said, a wind had come up and they were buffeted through the streets. They clung together, Gracie and Pippa giggling a bit as they swung along the pavements. Ingrid felt a strong arm around her, a protective hand holding hers.

‘My goodness!’ Mrs Williams’s sou’wester was swept from her head and Ingrid found herself laughing along with the others as they went helter-skelter to retrieve it and then marched on into the wind. She would hate seeing them turn back, when the hospital came into view. Pippa would cling and make little laughing sounds in her throat. It would be like tearing her away from something solid and good that she didn’t understand, but knew she needed. It would be like tearing her away from all safety.

‘I’ll be fine from here, Mrs Williams. Honestly.’ She had to say it. ‘The dog won’t leave my side on the way back home.’ She was beginning to panic that she’d never get the time with her mother that she needed, let alone any time after.

‘We’re going back home now, lovey. No worries.’

‘We’re
blowing
back home, Mum!’ Gracie yelled.

‘Pippa’s shivering a treat, aren’t you, little one? You look after her, good old black dog, won’t you?’

‘Bye bye, Ingrid,’ Gracie said, as if Ingrid were going on a long voyage and Pippa hugged her hard. To her surprise, Mrs Williams kissed her goodbye, too. She wasn’t going to war or anything. But they were clearly a huggy, kissy family.

‘I’ll only stay a little while,’ she promised them. ‘See you real soon.’

After the cold crispness of her windy walk, the warmth and antiseptic smell inside the hospital made her feel a bit sick. She knew she’d better not think about baked dinner, the way her tummy was heaving. The duty nurse smiled at her, as if she were an old friend and, yes thanks, she knew the way to Ward 3 Bed 3.

‘Your mother already has a visitor, dear,’ the nurse called after her and Ingrid almost stopped in her tracks.

A visitor? Mum didn’t have many friends in this town. Surely Freddy hadn’t got here already? But no, that was impossible. She’d spoken to him only a few hours ago. Maybe Uncle Ken had been told. But he was far away in Queensland and both her aunties were in Kyogle. So who on earth could it be?

The ward was almost empty, except for a grey-headed woman, pretty in her pink floral bed jacket with its floppy silk bow, leaning back on the pillows, fast asleep. And there was Mum’s bed at the end, with the curtain drawn and the sound of a voice, low and quiet – a man’s voice, definitely.

Daddy! She had to stop herself running the full length of the ward, tearing back the curtain and jumping into his arms. Daddy had come home! But even as she passed by the old
woman’s bed, she heard the accent. It was the da – it was Mr Fratelli, Dom’s dad. She stopped, sick with disappointment, and about to turn away and go, until she heard him say things that made her stay, however guilty, listening to every word!

‘There’s no bride coming here, Elizabeth. And there never was. I have been running away for a long time, and now I want you to know everything. I want to stop all this – this running. I want to be here in this town. To see you again, perhaps?
Per favore?

Ingrid was astonished. Running away. Staying put. Seeing Mum again. What on earth was Mr Fratelli going on about?

‘No you don’t.’ Mum’s voice sounded slow for her, as if she were medicated, but still on the edge of angry. ‘You can’t do that. And you won’t want to be near me, not looking the way I do. Don’t be silly!’

‘I like the person you are, Elizabeth, despite what you are thinking. To me you are
bellissima,
a beautiful woman.’

‘Look here, my face might take months, a year – might
never
–’

Never?
Mum, no! A snapshot of her at the blond wood dressing table, fussing over her beautiful face, peering into its flawless beauty, and always, always finding fault. And now. Ingrid shrank back from the curtain.

‘Non importa
.’ As he went on, his voice was getting louder. ‘And never say never. Look how you are using your hand tonight to eat your meal. Look how you can move – better than this morning. Think what tomorrow will bring. Look at me, please, Elizabeth. Right. Now, look into my eyes, please.’

Isn’t this what Mum had said to her this morning, to look into her eyes, even the wonky one, when she’d made her promise to carry out her dreadful mission? Mr Fratelli
wasn’t putting anything like that on Mum. Not at all. There was that squeaky little sob in Ingrid’s throat again, it was so unfair. She had to get out of here. But she didn’t move.

‘I want to tell you something,’ he said. Ingrid was sure he’d taken out his handkerchief and was mopping his eyes, for his voice had become husky. ‘I want to tell something of my story.’

‘Mr Fratelli.’ Mum’s voice was stronger than when she used to say his first name, Sergio. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything. God knows we all have our damned sad stories to tell. You don’t need to tell me yours. Anyway, another sad story? I don’t want hear it.’ But there was not the usual bite in her voice, she was trapped in that bed, and he went on.

‘My story is long and too terrible, but I will make it short. I am innocent of the crime they said I did. Just one person started the rumour, and then it grew. One newspaper took it up, then another, and then it became fact. The rumour blew up, more and more fantastic, about my business, about my stealing from others. I’m telling you I was being damned, though not in a court case. I was being judged by the people who were reading the print and I was found guilty.’

‘There’s no need, please.’ Mum had recovered enough to say that.

‘But there is need.’ And then a miracle. Mum made no comment. Mum was
listening
to someone – for a change.

‘When you see something in the print, a lie for you and your family – the shame is terrible. I had no money, you know, to fight by the law, no will left when my wife passed away. So I ran when I had the chance to migrate. Not from the law, because there was no case against me, but away from my town and my country.’

There was a brief silence between them.

‘We were broke. So I came here to find a better life. I am happy that my son is settled in so well, to get an education that I never had. My greengrocer business is successful here – beyond my dreams.’

‘When I met you, I said to myself I might find some happiness again, too. Then I got scared I’d drag you and your family into the messy life behind me. And that’s why I told you I was having a bride coming from Italy sometime. But now –’

A longer silence.

Why was he telling Mum this stuff? Why on earth did she need to know all this right now? And why was Mum not saying a word?

‘I am going soon, because I see you are tired. But I wanted you to know this. I’ll sit here a while, and no more talking, Elizabeth.’

He said her name like it was a song.
Eleezabet
– all drawn out in a singsong way that made her want to leave immediately. She had her own song, didn’t she? Her fire song that was still dancing and burning in her head, while Mr Fratelli spoke to her mother in soft words.

And Mum just lay there, being quiet. It was amazing and had to be the medication, because Mum always had an opinion. Something to say about everything and everyone. A criticism, a comment – anything! She must have fallen asleep, he was sitting there like an idiot and Ingrid couldn’t get to her mother, to say what she wanted to. It was all spoiled.

‘Yes, Serge, I feel very tired,’ she heard her mother say at last, ‘but I want to tell you something now, about my life.’

Mum always said that you couldn’t trust a man. And yet Daddy had loved her to pieces, or that’s how it seemed. But she didn’t trust him. So she wouldn’t go and trust Mr Fratelli for telling her some silly story. Mum never stayed with anyone very long and she wouldn’t stay with Mr Fratelli, just on account of his sad story.

No. She knew underneath her silence or her words and that ‘Elizabeth’ word, playing like a song from Mr Fratelli’s lips, that her mum would still be waiting for that house to go up in smoke, exactly as she’d planned. She’d be listening for the sound of the fire engine clanging past the hospital, the way she said it would, so that she’d know that her daughter had kept her promise and the deed was done.

And then there was this awful realisation that had been tucked away in the back of her mind, but there all the long day, no matter what she did: if she didn’t do this thing, if she didn’t burn the house down tonight, where was the money going to come from to save Daddy? Not from Mr Fratelli, she was sure. So who would save Daddy, who Mum said was in so much trouble in the city right now, if she didn’t do it? There really was no choice – hadn’t been since this morning. There was no discussion with Mum now or Mr Fratelli or Mrs Williams or anyone. Even Freddy, should he be waiting outside for her.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders the way she’d seen soldiers do at the pictures, the moment before they went to the front line, because she was going into something close to war. She walked back down the ward, even though Mum was murmuring something again. She caught the words ‘Frederick’ and ‘in Queensland', but she didn’t want to
hear another sound from either of them. She just wanted to get out of here.

But that was when she felt someone’s eyes on her and in the bed closest to the door, she saw the old lady in the pretty pink bed jacket, whose name she hadn’t even bothered to learn, wide awake now, nodding and smiling encouragement.

‘The eldest daughter, Ingrid, isn’t it?’

She nodded assent, not wanting to stay, but the woman went on and she was stuck.

‘Your mother and I had quite a chat this afternoon and she told me you are such a help to her.’ Ingrid managed a twisted sort of smile. Mum telling lies again. ‘And that you’ll soon be thirteen.’ She realised with a thump that this at least was true. Only a few weeks to go until her thirteenth birthday. Dom had said they’d go to the new milkbar in Katoomba, a few of them on Saturday afternoon, because it had a jukebox with songs by Fats Domino and Chuck Berry and this new singer he loved called Elvis. She hadn’t mentioned any of this to Mum yet, but she had told Dom she thought it would be a great idea.

‘I told your mother not to worry about the teens. Once they reach their teens your children are really adults in my book. That’s how I treated mine, you know – more or less as equals – and that’s how they treated me. And they turned out all right, the whole four of them! ’

‘That’s good, Mrs – ’

‘Mrs Roche, dear.’

‘Roche.’ She spoke softly so that Mum wouldn’t hear, but Mr Fratelli’s voice began again. Good. They were probably exchanging more secrets by this and she didn’t want to know any of them.

‘Good night, Mrs Roche.’

‘Your mother’s going to be all right, you know, dear. She’s determined and the nurses are sure of it.’

Another forced smile and Ingrid could leave.

She fled back up the hallway, glad that no nurse was on duty near the door, and went out into the windy garden to be with Blackie. This time she didn’t cry a storm of tears like she did this morning, but sat huddled against his rough black coat, his heaving chest, trying to sort out the thoughts that were racing through her head. What exactly to do when she got home to Mrs Winnie Williams’s? She should have been feeling relief at the thought that Freddy and Charlie were getting closer and closer, but even that was not enough.

It seemed there was no need to tell Mum the good news about the boys. And, as she’d just worked out for herself, no need to ask Mum anything at all. Nothing much had changed since this morning, had it? Things might even have got a bit worse. Mum and Mr Fratelli. He seemed keen on Mum again and she wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. It left Daddy out in the cold, even though things never lasted long with Mum. All she knew was that there was no miracle for her. No one was listening. And she still had a promise to keep, whatever happened.