Time's Long Ruin (25 page)

‘Iron the boy's clothes, he's got school next week,' she replied, disappearing behind the Housemans' hedge.

‘Ellen?'

Silence. Then Bill, quietly, ‘Is she alright, Bob?'

‘Course she's alright,' Dad shot back. ‘You know she gets moody.'

Bill talked slowly, choosing each word carefully. ‘Used to be . . . just sometimes.'

‘It is,' Dad barked, but then stopped.

‘Can I help?' Bill offered.

I could imagine Dad pacing, and then sitting. I could hear him tapping his foot.

‘Dunno. Thinkin' maybe we could see someone, but she'd never go. What I mean is, it could be something . . . chemical.'

I could imagine Bill shrugging, and almost hear him sigh. ‘Used to be she'd have a bad day; now she has a good one.'

‘I know, I know.'

‘They got pills for it, eh?'

‘Yes,' Dad growled, as heat rose almost audibly from the earth. ‘And other things . . .' I imagined my mother locked up in some sort of dungeon. ‘I don't know, Bill, some things get better by themselves, others . . . could you imagine me saying anything to her?'

‘Liz could try.'

Silence. Dad's brain creaked as it cooled. ‘I was thinking, the police have doctors. Some fellas lose the plot. I could see if . . .'

‘Do you want me to ask Liz?'

‘Well, then Ellen would say I put her up to it, then she'd hate the both of us.'

‘No.'

‘I should try first, Bill.'

‘But will you?'

No reply. They parted without saying a word. Perhaps they shook hands. Dad walked across to our yard, stopped at the front door and looked up and down the street. Eventually he came into my room and stood with his hands in his pockets.

‘Did you check that rego?' I asked, unsure of what to say.

He patted his pocket. ‘Tomorrow.'

Then he sat on my bed, and held me. ‘Man of my life,' he said.

And I repeated our mantra. He messed my hair, went into the lounge and switched on the television. I returned to my window and I could still hear Bill, singing. A lone figure approached, along the footpath. He waved to Bill and said, ‘Beautiful evening.'

‘Wouldn't be dead for quids,' Bill replied.

The man walked past our house and seemed to look in my window. I shot back out of sight. Then, when he'd passed, I looked again and realised it was Doctor Gunn. By now there was nothing but the sodium light from the Stobie poles, but I knew.

He was saying, I could get you, Henry.

I could go out and tell Dad now. I should. I will, perhaps, somehow. Dad, you know Doctor Gunn? Well . . .

But then Mum came home. The door slammed and she was standing in my room, saying, ‘Henry, find your school shirts, I need to iron them.'

PART TWO

Chapter One

Australia Day (although no one seemed to know what we were celebrating). Still, it didn't matter, our version of Australia Day was Mum up early braising steak we wouldn't eat for another twelve hours, a cat rubbing itself on the flywire of my window, ants trailing up my wall and into an air vent, and a crow screeching, filling the warm morning air with drama. Then there was Bill, starting his car (which he'd hosed down) and revving it for a good five minutes. Bill, in his suit. Freshly shaved. Heading off on a tour of the Mid North, his boot packed with samples and warm beer. His wheels skidded on the gravel. Then his car almost rolled to the end of the driveway, dropped to the road with a little hmph of the shockers, and started through the gears down Thomas Street.

Janice came running from her front door, stopping at the street fence, hanging over and waving to her dad as she shouted, ‘See yer.'

But he was gone. She jumped the hedge to our front yard and wandered over to my window. ‘You awake, Henry?' she asked, cupping her hands to peer in.

‘I'm awake. What y' in bathers for?'

She used a single finger to loosen the elastic around her bum. ‘Mum's takin' us to Semaphore. Wanna come?'

‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘It's too hot.'

‘That's why you go to the beach.' Her eyes adjusted to the light and she could see me, still in bed, holding a sheet over my head.

‘Why y' doin' that?' she asked.

‘Your dad's car stinks.'

‘You don't have to go swimming.'

‘I gotta get my stuff ready for school.'

‘But that's next week.'

I sat up in bed. ‘You go. I don't feel like it.'

She paused. ‘I got money.'

‘So?'

‘I'll tell Gavin and Anna then. They were looking forward to it.'

‘Gotta cover my books.'

And then she was gone, skipping across our yard and in her front door, I imagined, fetching three beach towels from the linen-press and stuffing them in a bag, helping Anna pull on her bathers and a loose green, red and yellow poncho. Then she found her mother on the phone in the kitchen. ‘When we going?' she asked.

Liz turned away and swatted her like a fly. ‘Ssh.'

Janice found her brother in his room, sitting on the floor attempting a 500-piece jigsaw that was mostly blue sky and green pasture. It had been a good six months and he'd got all the edges, mostly with Janice's help. ‘Hurry up,' she said. ‘We're going.' She started pulling off his pyjamas. ‘Sit still, don't wriggle.'

‘Is Henry coming?'

‘No.'

‘Why?'

‘He's busy.'

A few minutes later she had his bathers on. She helped him with his shorts and a T-shirt and found his thongs under a pile of Lego and broken toys. ‘Where's your hat?'

He shrugged.

‘Find it.' She returned to her mother in the kitchen and stood with her arms crossed, staring at her. Liz covered the phone with her hand and said, ‘Don't look at me like that, it's important.'

Janice put their bag of stuff on the table, found the zinc cream in the pantry between the sauce and pickled onions, and put it in the bag. She made up cordial in an old Coke bottle and packed a dozen Arrowroot biscuits in a Tupperware container. Then she went to her bedroom and slipped on a frock and sandals. She returned to the kitchen but her mum was still on the phone. She sat at the table, resting her head on her arm, sighing and occasionally looking up at her.

Liz hung up. ‘We can't go,' she said.

‘Why?'

‘Aunty Sonja's bleeding again.'

Janice didn't say a word. She knew what that would invite. Instead, she just rolled her head in a full 360-degree orbit.

‘I'm sorry,' Liz said, searching for her purse and keys.

‘Can we go later?'

‘She's gone to the hospital.'

‘So?'

‘Probably not.'

‘But it's hot.'

‘Think of others for once, Janice.'

‘I am, but . . .'

‘You've had a good run these holidays.'

Janice didn't reply. She sat up, thinking. ‘We could go.'

‘Who?'

‘Me and the little ones.'

Liz was unsure. She started pulling on her shoes. ‘No, I don't think so.'

‘I watch them every day, don't I?'

‘This is different.'

‘How?'

Liz's shoes were too tight. ‘Damn it.'

‘I've taken them on the train before. Remember, to Woodville.'

‘Yes, but Dad was waiting at the other end.'

‘I'll tell you which train we'll be on.'

‘I don't know what he'd say.'

Janice stood up. She put her hands on her hips and said, ‘It's all very simple. I'll ring you from Semaphore if you like.'

‘I won't be here. I'll have to wear my sandshoes . . .' She disappeared into her bedroom, calling, ‘Janice, make sure the gas is off and the back door's locked.'

‘Can we?'

Janice could hear the sound of her mum throwing shoes around the room. A moment later she stormed back into the kitchen. ‘No time for make-up. We can leave those dishes.'

‘Mum?'

‘What?'

‘Can we?'

‘You can come to the hospital.'

‘But it's hot.'

‘Janice!'

‘She's okay, she's always bleeding.'

Liz stopped and shook her head, looking at her daughter. ‘I can't believe you're so . . .'

Janice just shrugged, and then smiled. ‘Can we?'

The house was hot. Liz was sweating. She could feel her armpits damp and sticky. ‘I wish Dad was here,' she said.

‘He'd encourage it. He's always on about independence.'

Janice took a train timetable from her bag of stuff and opened it. She laid it on the table and used her finger to search. ‘See here, to Semaphore . . . leaves Croydon at 9.05 . . . and here, from Semaphore, arrives Croydon at 2.05. Write that down.'

‘Janice.'

Janice found a pen under a pile of bills and wrote the time on the corner of a docket. ‘If we miss that, which we won't, 2.35, okay?'

Liz sighed. ‘Okay, straight there and straight back. Hats, zinc cream, don't talk to strangers.'

‘Mum . . .'

‘Is Henry going?'

‘He's covering his books.'

‘That's what you should be doing.'

‘There's plenty of time.'

I watched from my room as Liz emerged from their house and walked towards Government Road.

‘Bus pass,' I heard her say, and she quickly returned to 7A. A few minutes later she was gone again, dropping her purse on the footpath and bending over to pick up cards and change. Not long after, at about ten to nine, I heard Janice slam her front door and say to the kids, ‘Have you got everything?'

‘I need the toilet,' Gavin replied.

‘We'll miss the train,' Janice said. ‘Can't you wait till Semaphore?'

I didn't hear a reply.

I saw them walking down Thomas Street, towards the station. Janice, in the middle, was holding their hands and leading them. I wanted to call out and say, Have fun, but something stopped me. Janice was probably angry with me anyway, leaving her with all the work: two kids to watch, sunburn, broken glass on the beach, trains that never ran on time, and an over-full beach bag that she struggled to carry, hitched across one shoulder, pulling her down at a thirty-degree angle.

Wait for me, I thought of calling out, but I didn't want to go. I'd just end up sitting under the jetty, using a shell to carve someone's face into a piece of cuttlefish, collecting shells for Con, watching other kids, tall and lean and brown, as they threw themselves onto white-tipped waves.

‘Hurry up,' Janice said to her brother and sister. ‘If we miss this one we can't go.'

Mariel Johns came up behind them on her bike. ‘Where you goin'?' she asked, as she moved just fast enough to stay upright.

‘Semaphore.'

‘Can I come?'

‘Train leaves in five minutes.'

Mariel was off, to the end of Thomas Street, turning into Day Terrace and nearly collecting a man standing reading a newspaper on the corner.

Janice's shoulder was tired. She dragged the bag along the footpath and stopped. ‘Shoulda just brought one towel,' she said. Then she had an idea. She wrestled two towels out of the bag and threw them over the Housemans' hedge. ‘We can get 'em later,' she said, putting the bag across her other shoulder and continuing.

Soon they were standing on the platform.

‘Where you going?' Con called to them, through cupped hands.

‘Semaphore,' Janice replied.

Just then Rosa crossed the road and appeared beside Con. He said something to her and pointed at the kids. ‘Have you got lunch?' she called to them.

‘Mum gave us money for a pasty,' Janice replied.

‘Where is she?'

‘Aunty Sonja's bleeding again.'

Rosa turned to Con and muttered something else. Then she looked at them again. ‘Are you alright by yourselves?'

‘Yes.'

‘I could come.'

‘No, it's all organised. We're learning to be independent.' She waved at them and looked down the tracks. The train had just pulled out of Brompton Station. Con kissed Rosa on the cheek and started to close the gates. Rosa noticed the kids were preoccupied, chatting among themselves, as Janice made sure they stood behind the yellow line. Rosa crossed the road and looked back again. Janice had picked up her bag and was counting out some change.