The Italian Romance (27 page)

She picks hers up, carefully wipes the base of the cup against the saucer's rim. ‘That's all right,' she says and sips at it. ‘Oh, that's good.' She takes a gulp.

‘So,' I say. I put my cup and saucer on my lap, hold them with both hands. ‘You're all right now.'

Over her cup, she glances at me.

‘I mean you made your own life, after all that.'

She nods. ‘Oh, yes,' she says. She has reassumed the authority over us.

‘That's good,' I say, and sip at my own tea.

Perhaps she takes pity on me. She continues, ‘Eventually I decided to do a degree by correspondence, New England uni. Got that, got a master's. Then decided to go for the doctorate. And, my kids are all okay. All four of them got to university.'

‘That's marvellous,' I say. It is. She has a steel backbone. She picked herself up. Dusted herself off. I am in awe of her. I say, ‘I admire you.'

Her eyebrows arch up. And I am put in my place.

However, she takes me by surprise. She says, ‘One of my girls writes.'

‘Oh? Any good?'

‘I think so. She's won a couple of awards, one at school, and one at uni.'

‘Perhaps she'll send me something to read,' I say instantly.

Her cheeks relax. She has decided she might as well get something out of me, and I am more than happy to give it to her. It's my way in to my grandchildren. She knows it. I know it. So be it.

‘I'll mention it to her,' she says.

So, she's a ferocious mother of her cubs. Had to be, I suppose. In spite of me.

‘Four of them,' I say.

‘Two boys, two girls.'

‘Ah.' I nod. I can hardly ask her for photographs.

She drip-feeds me information. I imagine it's as hard for her to give as it is for me to wait.

‘Sam, the writer, is twenty-four. She works on the local paper.'

‘You're not serious?'

She laughs. She's kept that one back. ‘Yeah. Ready to move on to Sydney.'

Here I am, a grandmother. Preening with pride. And that tug, narcissistic I suppose it is, or just plain nature, to the walking, talking replica of one's self. Oh, Nio, how I'd love to tell you all this. Only you know. Only you know.

And then she puts the knife in. ‘She's Bunny's favourite, though Bunny says she hasn't got one.'

‘Bunny,' I say. The whole scenario rises behind my eyes like the cut-out scenes popping up between the pages of a child's book. I don't even need to hear the rest of it. On the other hand, I want to hear the rest of it. To hurt myself with it. To satisfy the years and years of not knowing.

‘I believe you were a friend of hers, when she was young,' she says. She has quite a sadistic streak in her. Or maybe it's just fifty years of her own waiting. Now is the hour.

‘Yes,' I say. ‘We went to school together. The war came along, and changed everything. She went to Sydney, the last I heard of her.'

‘She came back,' she says.

‘I see.'

‘They didn't marry till I was about ten. He had ten hard years.'

‘Yes,' I say.

‘She was a wonderful mother to me.'

I sip at my tea.

‘And the kids adore her, as she does them.'

I am suitably chastened. And why shouldn't I be?

And, I want to pour hot bile all over Bunny's head. ‘The last time we spoke, she was going up to Sydney to catch herself a Yank. She had aspirations for Hollywood at the time,' I say.

Francesca lays her cup and saucer down. I've gone too far. ‘Yeah, well, she ended up being my mother, and my father's wife. Look at the time!' she says, after which she holds up her wrist.

‘I thought you might stay,' I say. I put my cup down, too.

‘Here? Oh, no. I've hired a car. I thought I'd mentioned that. I'm driving up tonight.' She stands, smoothes her shirt over her blue jeans.

‘It's very late, Francesca. And you're tired. Why don't you stay?'

‘Why don't I stay? Because I really don't want to.'

‘I see.' I did this. With my big, bile-filled mouth. If you were here, you would have stopped me. If you were here, there wouldn't be any bile. Not a damn thing I can do now.

‘Well,' I say. ‘Put your mobile phone on, just in case.'

‘Didn't bring it down with me, stupidly. But don't worry about me,' she says.

‘I can't help that,' I say.

‘What?' She has been walking towards the lobby. She stops, turns. ‘You can't help worrying about me? Is that supposed to be a joke?' Her voice is raised.

I shake my head.

‘You have the hide to talk about Bunny as if she's dirt. Well, she may not have your qualities, Lilian, your superior life, your great loves and all the rest of it. But I tell you what, I'd choose her over you any day. Any day. You're ice. Cold as ice.'

She turns again and takes long, quick steps to the apartment door. I follow her. She is speaking into the door. She's saying, ‘She wouldn't leave a child behind. No matter what.' She struggles with the handle. I try to help her, but she opens it herself and switches on the hall light. As she puts her hand on the banister, she says, ‘Cold as bloody ice.'

I watch her. She disappears around the return of the staircase. I can hear her punching at the elevator button. It cranks its way up the well. I wait as she slams the grill back, then the door, and slams them both shut again. The Barnardis are probably too awed by her rage, their ears stuck against the inside of their own door, to come out for a complaint lodgement.

I stand there for a minute or so. When I close the door, look back into the living room, Jane and her young swain are staring at
me. My shoulders slump. I shuffle into them. I say, ‘Are you going home now? It's a bit late.'

‘Yes, Signora. Buona notte.' His shirt tails are out. I don't like the look of that.

I say, ‘Tuck yourself in.'

His English isn't up to it. I lift my own blouse.

He stuffs the material awkwardly into his waistband.

‘Jane,' I say.

She is wide-eyed, silent.

‘Will you see your young friend to the door, and then hop into bed like a good girl. Your dad will be here tomorrow, bright and early.'

‘Yes, Lilian,' she says.

I look at her, surprised. Her pale blue eyes are hurt. I have a funny feeling that might be on my behalf. All I want is my room. ‘Goodnight, then,' I say. She nods.

‘You're beginning to show, Lilian,' Mae Malone said. She was checking her handbag and, apparently, found the recalcitrant object that had nagged at her. She snapped the bag shut again. It was only then that she met Lilian's eye. She was surprised by the ferocity there.

Lilian opened the back door and climbed in. Mae sat heavily in the front. Her blood was up now. ‘Did you hear me?' she said.

‘Yes,' Lilian said. ‘What would you like me to say?'

‘Well, you could start by at least acknowledging I spoke to you. My goodness, the young people today are so rude.' Mae peered out the driver's window as if something of great interest was happening. One of the sheep dogs, head pulled in, his back down, was circling behind his tail. He went around a few times, gave up, and flopped to the dirt. He rubbed his black snout with his leg.

Lilian's teeth were clenched together. Vince Malone let the screen door slam and bounce behind him. He came down the front steps two at a time. He pushed Mae's door closed, as she had waited for him to do. ‘All ready, girls?' he said. And he closed Lilian's, too.

As he slid into the driver's seat, Lilian said, ‘I thought Bernie was coming in this morning.'

Vince adjusted his rear-view mirror. She could see his blue eyes. ‘No, love. Didn't he tell you? He's driving with the boys over to my cousins' place, Pinaroo. Didn't he tell you?'

Lilian moved a few inches, so that he could not see her face in the mirror. ‘No,' she said.

‘He must of. They're helping out with the shearing. They'll be there a couple of days.'

Lilian's hand rested on her stomach. She watched the house as the car pulled away. There were three screened doorways onto the verandah. Eight years before, the darkness behind those quiet screens had warmed her, had led her imagination down into an unknowing peace.

Mae's voice cut at her. ‘You're telling me Bernie didn't even mention it to you, he was going over to Pinaroo?' She turned to her husband and waited for him to return her gaze.

‘Leave it,' Vince said quietly.

‘No, I won't leave it. This is ridiculous. If she'd stay at home like a normal woman, going out to work in her condition. You'll lose him, you know. And then you'll be happy, I s'pose.'

Vince put his foot on the accelerator. Dust blew up from the front wheels. Lilian reached for the window handle. She gripped it between her fingers. He drove fast down the avenue. Ahead of them, along the main road to town, a truck passed, piled with frightened sheep as it trundled towards the railway station. Vince braked hard at their gates. The stink of the sheep stained the air. He turned the car slowly, and they followed the truck all the way in.

‘Well, I suppose we'll get there some time,' Vince said.

Neither woman responded. Lilian watched one sheep clamber up on the backs of his companions. He stared out through the wooden slats.

Lilian was uncomfortable. The road was rutted after rain. She moved again, just a little so they wouldn't notice.

Mae's voice was low, as if she'd been murmuring to herself for some time and the others had just tuned in. ‘They come back from the war looking for a little bit of peace and quiet. A bit of normality.'

‘Mae, that's enough,' Vince said. He signalled right with his hand, and spun the wheels. As he poked the nose of the car out behind the bleating truck, he saw, in the distance, ant-sized, another car heading towards them. It seemed to hover on water. He pulled back in.

Mae looked at him. Her voice was louder. ‘I'm quoting your son. He told me himself, one day in the kitchen, when I sat him down and listened to him.' She hissed on the word, and cast a glance to the back seat. ‘“I just want a bit of normality, Mum”, he said. After everything he's been through. It's all right for people to think they know what it was like, writing up stories about it. Thank God for people like Bunny McFadden, bless her heart, who can put their money where their mouth is. At least she had the courage to go up to Sydney after young Billy...' She sighed. ‘Nursed all those poor wounded men.'

‘Mae, I'll stop this car,' Vince said. ‘Right now. Enough of this. I can't stand it.'

‘I'm only saying Bunny did what she could. And she lost her young man.'

Vince said, ‘You all right back there, love?'

‘Yes. Thank you, Vince,' Lilian said.

‘Not too bumpy for you?'

‘No, I'm all right, thanks.'

‘Right,' Vince said. ‘Now, I don't want to hear one more word. Out of either of you. I can't concentrate on the driving.' He leaned his elbow on the open window.

The truck rattled into Railway Street, and its sheep stink with it. Lilian wanted to unwind her window but she was frozen from Mae's onslaught.

Vince veered to the kerb, and pulled on the brake. Lilian
bumped herself over to the side of the car as Vince stepped out on the road. He'd opened her door before she could gather her briefcase and handbag. He leaned in and took them both from her. Mae was looking avidly through Vince's window, across to the draper's shop on the other side of the road. Lilian walked away.

Vince waited for her at the door of the newspaper office, handed her the leather briefcase. ‘It's Frankie, love, you know that, don't you?' he said.

She nodded, close to tears.

‘You just have to ignore her. She'll come good again.'

Lilian said, ‘Why does she have to take it out on me?'

‘Because you're there, dear.'

‘You're not like that,' she said, looking up at him.

Vince's forehead creased. He turned his head to look down the road. ‘Well, here's your bag,' he said. ‘Now, got everything?'

‘Yes, thanks. I'll get a lift home tonight, so don't worry about me.'

‘I'll probably be in, anyway, so I'll just see.'

‘Vince, you can't drive me in and out every day. I'm all right.'

‘Oh, no, I just have to be in town quite a bit lately, love. You go in now, and don't worry about Mae. She'll be right as rain one of these days.' His big, dark hand reached for the doorknob. Inside in the gloom, Arthur, in his ink-grimed overall, his weight on his good leg, stood over Mr Scanlan's desk. The editor's chair was balanced on its back legs, and Mr Scanlan's head leaned against the wall. When the door opened, Arthur turned his head, and the chair thumped to the floor.

‘G'day, Vince,' Tommy Scanlan said. ‘What's the news from the land?'

‘It's all go out there, Tommy,' Vince said. He put his arm across Lilian's shoulders and pushed her gently inside. She didn't look at the men as she walked to her desk, sat her briefcase on top of a pile of copy paper.

‘Yeah, same here. We were just saying that, weren't we, Art? All go in here.'

‘Got anything for the third, Art?' Vince said.

‘I reckon I'd put a coupla bob on Gameboy.'

‘If you had a coupla bob,' Vince said.

‘If I had a coupla bob.'

Tommy said, ‘With what he's squeezing out of me, he could bloody buy Gameboy.'

‘That's the unions for you,' Vince said. ‘That's your crowd doing that, you can't complain.'

‘Don't care whose bloody crowd it is,' Tommy Scanlan said. ‘Wish somebody'd set up a union for the likes of us, Vince.'

Arthur walked away. ‘You're breaking my heart,' he said. He went over to Lilian.

She had opened her desk drawer, and was laying her handbag flat inside it. He leaned in towards her, his back to Vince, and he said, ‘Come out the back for a few minutes, Lil, will you? Just a page I need you to look at.' He raised his brows.

She stared at him. ‘Oh. All right,' she said.

Arthur limped away, into the back room. Lilian said, ‘I just have to...'

Vince looked over to her. ‘Go on, love. I'll see you later, all right? One way or the other.'

Tommy hauled himself out of his chair and walked to the front door. ‘Well, listen, where will you be at about one, mate?' she heard him say. She closed the inside door over.

Arthur was already working on the stone. He peered down through thick glasses, which he would wear nowhere else but in this room, at the neat metal columns he'd laid out in the broadsheet forme earlier.

‘What's wrong?' she said.

He moved his glasses further along his nose, and kept his gaze down. ‘You got a phone call, about half an hour ago.'

‘Who?' she said. Her heart beat fast.

He glanced up at her, the spectacles glistening like sunlit water. He said nothing.

She nodded. ‘Will he ring back?'

‘At ten o'clock, right on the dot.'

‘They must be sending him back to Italy,' she said.

‘Don't know, Lil. He didn't say. Just said he was ringing from the camp. You all right?' He clopped around the bench to her.

Lilian had put her hand out to steady herself. Her fingers arched backwards on the wooden bench top. He put his hand under her elbow.

‘I'll get you a chair.'

‘No, I'm all right.' His face was close to hers. His eyebrows were thick; black and grey wires. Perhaps it was the glasses that made them stand out. ‘I am, really,' she said.

‘Maybe it's for the best, love.'

‘Maybe,' she said.

‘He's a family to go home to, Lil.'

‘He's not going home to them,' she said.

‘Oh. I see.'

‘That's what he says, anyway. He wasn't happy, you know.' She looked into the grey, lined eyes.

‘Yeah.' She was very pale. Her lips were shadowed with white. He said, ‘I think you'd better sit down. I'll get you a cup of tea.'

‘I'll go back inside, in case he rings early. I don't want Mr Scanlan to pick up the phone.'

He walked with her, opened the door into the main office. The two men were outside, now, in the winter sunshine.

At two minutes to ten, Arthur sang out from the back room, ‘Tommy! Got a minute?'

‘Be right with you,' Tommy Scanlan said. He didn't take his eyes off the sheet of copy paper rolled into his typewriter. His two digit fingers, perched above the keys, hesitated, distracted.

Lilian looked at her watch.

‘Ach,' he said to himself. He leaned back, scratched his head. Lilian glanced at him as he picked at his cigarette packet with his fingernails, slid one out from the silver paper, and stuck it between his lips. His hands felt their way around his desk, in search of his lighter. She looked at her watch again.

‘Got a light, Art?' he said, and the chair legs scraped on the bare wooden floor. He walked into the case room.

Lilian stood up quietly and tiptoed after him to silently close the door. The telephone rang before she had returned to her seat. It was sitting on the edge of Mr Scanlan's desk, precarious on top of an almanac. One of its studded feet was supported by nothing but air. She picked up the receiver. Her voice was full of breath. ‘Yes?' she said. ‘Hello?'

‘Lilian,' he said.

She closed her eyes. The sound of him struck a deep, serene chord in her, and calmed her instantly. ‘Oh,' she said. ‘Nio.'

‘Can you talk?'

‘Yes.' She wedged the black cradle into the crook of her arm and carried it to her own desk.

‘I won't have long.'

‘I know.' She sat down.

‘How are you?' he said.

‘I'm all right.'

‘Just all right?'

‘Yes. Except for now. Now I'm good.'

‘Lily, I've got news from Paolo. My friend at the university.'

‘Yes, I know who Paolo is. What is it, Nio?'

She heard him breathing into the phone. ‘What's wrong, Nio?' she said.

‘Lil, I ... need you here. I have some terrible, terrible thing.'

She leaned on her elbow. Her other hand held the mouthpiece, gently. ‘Bad news,' she said. She rested her mouth on her wrist.

‘My wife,' he said. His voice had sunk to a whisper. ‘My wife
was in one of the camps. They took her to one of their camps.' And he sobbed.

She cried with him, silent tears, and silently her shoulders heaved up and down.

‘They've killed her,' he said, though she could barely hear him.

‘And I don't know if my son ... nobody saw him.' She thought he might be wiping at his face with a handkerchief. Then he said, ‘Maybe he's safe. Isaac was there. Isaac Levi. He saw my wife.' His voice collapsed again, and he wept quietly. ‘Why?' he said. ‘Why, why?'