Brian stood on the front veranda and pointed up the street. “The ice-cream man’s coming.”
“Mum, can we have an iceblock?” I yelled.
“Ask your father,” she replied, “I’m broke.”
Dad must have heard her from out the back, because he walked up the side of the house jingling the change in his pocket. “Who wants an iceblock?” he asked.
“Me!” We all yelled at once.
“Brian, go and see if your sisters want one too.” He stuck his head against the screen door. “What about you Mel, you want an iceblock?”
“No thanks, I’m too busy.”
Huh? How can you be too busy for an iceblock? I wondered.
Brian came back out with instructions to get Kate a red one and Tracy a green one. “That’s keeping with the Christmas spirit,” Dad said.
It took me a while to work out what he meant. He has a sick sense of humour sometimes.
“Righto, let me see,” Dad sorted through the change in his pocket. “How many do we have?”
I counted the number of iceblocks we needed. “Seven,” I said, “unless you want one too.”
“Mnh-mnh; none for me, thanks, it’ll ruin my beer.” He gave me a hand-full of change and a wink. He was only joking. Dad doesn’t drink that much beer. He mainly drinks it when there’s a special occasion, not every day like Uncle Dennis.
I walked with Tom to where the ice-cream truck was parked three doors down. Brian insisted on following us, the little pest. My thongs were dangerously slippery from all the water dripping off me, but it was too hot to walk on the road and there were too many bindies to walk on the grass, so I had to keep them on. We had to wait in line while everyone else got served. Dianne was there as usual, buying herself a water iceblock and her mum a Golden Gaytime and some Bex powders. It’s the same thing she gets every time. I heard Mum tell Mrs O’Reilly once that Bex weren’t as good as they used to be. She reckons people are too hooked to realise it. I bet the Gaytimes were still as good as ever, though. Mum never buys us Gaytimes. She says they cost too much.
I bought seven iceblocks in various flavours, giving one to Brian so he would hurry up and leave us alone. I handed one to Trevor and Raelene and stood at the front door yelling for Kate and Tracy to come and get theirs. Mum would have a cow if I went in the house dripping wet. She’d spent the whole day cleaning up and getting things ready for tomorrow. If I came in and messed it up, there’d be hell to pay.
I walked around the back to give Dad his change. Mum and Dad were in the back yard arguing. Mum was leaning forward with her hands on her hips. That’s always a bad sign. I didn’t want to intrude, so I walked back the way I’d come. I could hear Mum yelling at Dad all the way up the side of the house. Apparently, he forgot to pick up the pork from the butchers and now they were shut.
I couple of minutes later Dad came out of the house with his car keys. Mum yelled from inside the house. “Where are you going?”
“To the Bottle-o,” he yelled back, as he got in the car and drove off.
I could hear Mum mumbling to herself behind the screen door. “That’d be bloody right. He can’t remember to get the meat to feed everyone, but getting the beer; now that’s another story.”
“Looks like Dad’s in trouble.” I said to Raelene who was standing beside me.
“That’s nothing,” she said, “my dad’s always in trouble.”
***
Dad got back about twenty minutes later. He carried a carton of beer under one arm and a cask of moselle under the other. Brian came through the front door and left it open for Dad. I knew he was running the risk of being roused on by Mum for letting flies in the house, but I never said anything.
Dad staggered inside with his arms full. “Hey Blondie, grab the other bags out of the car will you, love?”
There were two bags on the front passenger’s seat. I peeked in the first one and saw a huge leg of pork. There were two chooks in the other one. I handed Tom a bag to carry. At least Dad would be in Mum’s good books again. I followed Tom in and shut the door behind us. “I thought the butchers were closed,” I commented to Dad.
“They were, but I went round the back and knocked on the door, Mr Jaeger served me anyway.”
“That was nice of him.”
“I think he was more worried that he’d be stuck with the pork your mum ordered. It’s quite a big piece.”
I saw Grandma give Mum some money for the pork at my birthday party. Mum didn’t want to take it, but Grandma insisted. She said Mum should think of it as an early Christmas present. I thought a leg of pork was the weirdest present I’d ever heard of. Apart from Dad’s car, that is. In the end, I think Mum was relieved Grandma made her take the money. I heard her tell Dad the other day that she couldn’t put food on a Waltons account, and that she had no idea where she’d get enough to feed everyone.
“He also gave me two chooks, real cheap.” Dad said, laughing at his own joke.
“Aw Dad, that’s sick!” I protested.
“What?” he feigned surprise, “What did I say?”
Mum was not yet ready to let Dad into her good books after all. “Now look,” she swiped at the air with a tea towel, “you’ve gone and let a dirty big blowie into the house.”
“Better fly away and hide, Louie,” Dad joked, “here comes the man with the can of Mortein.”
Mum was not impressed.
It was too hot in the house and Mum was in a foul mood, so we walked back outside. Tom noticed the clock on the wall on the way out. “Shit,” he swore, “I’m late.”
Tom hasn’t been late for church since the time he hid in the garage so he wouldn’t have to go. It was so late by the time his mum found him, church was almost finished and they had to stay home. He copped such a hiding from the Undertaker, he hasn’t been game to do it since. He even showed me where the Undertaker hit him with his belt. He had big red lines across the back of his legs and he couldn’t sit down properly for days. He reckons his mum tried to stick up for him, but the Undertaker pushed her away and yelled at her to mind her own business.
I felt so sorry for him. I nearly cried when I saw his bruised legs. He wouldn’t show anyone else, just me. He wore trousers for days, so no one would see. Tom said his dad was pretty drunk at the time and that’s why he did it. I reckon that’s a load of crap. He’s just a big bully, that’s all. Uncle Dennis gets drunk all the time, but he never hits anyone, especially not his kids.
Tom said that if his dad ever hit him like that again, he was going to run away from home. I said I’d go with him, but I hope it never happens because my parents would be sad if I ran away. And I’d be even sadder if the Undertaker did that to Tom again.
***
The stinking heat of the day had mellowed to a bearable humidity. At least, that was the case from where I sat on the front veranda with Kate and Tracy waiting for the fire truck to arrive. Mum, on the other hand, might not agree. Having spent the afternoon cooking, she’d managed to generate more heat than the dwindling sun, making it hotter inside the house than out. She said she’d have no room in the oven tomorrow to cook the chooks, so she cooked them this afternoon instead. Not that it mattered. She said everyone liked cold chicken. She also made the apple crumble; it just needed to be reheated tomorrow. She told me that all she had left to cook now was the roast pork and vegies; everything else was already done.
Apparently, Aunty Audrey is bringing some drinks for the kids and some mince tarts. Aunty Joanne said she’d bring some coleslaw, and Clare said she’d make some caramel slice and White Christmas. I love Clare’s caramel slice, it’s my favourite. Grandma said she’d bring paper plates and cups to cut down on the washing up and some bread rolls if there were any left after Eddy’s Corner shuts today.
Mum’s brother, David, said he might call in if he has time. Uncle Dave just got married and Aunty Sharon is making him have Christmas dinner with her family. I hope he calls in, I haven’t seen him in ages. He used t
o live in Sydney, but Aunty Sharon didn’t like it there, so they moved back to Speers Point.
He might even bring us presents.
I was getting so excited about Christmas. Every year we leave a pillowcase under the tree and every year it gets filled with presents. Now that I didn’t have a bike to wish for anymore, I wondered what I might get instead. Every Christmas Brian and I spent ages pouring over the toy catalogues, making a list of all the things we wanted. We didn’t expect to get everything on the list, but we usually got a few of them. The only things I could remember writing on my list this year were a bike, an Etch a Sketch and Creepy Crawlers.
“Here he comes.” Brian jumped up from where he squatted in the gutter and ran onto the road.
The fire truck was coming down the hill so slowly it looked as though it hardly moved. All along our street, people could be seen impatiently waiting for the truck to arrive. The kids following it down the hill ran alongside it with more energy than I could muster. Dozens of hands reached up for the white bags that Santa and his helpers tossed over the side. By the time the truck got to the bottom of the hill and turned into our street Brian already had a handful of lollies and was running back to show us.
The rest of us stood on the footpath and waited for the truck to get closer. As it got near us, Santa’s helpers showered us with bags of lollies. We must have looked like a pack of seagulls scurrying after hot chips. I managed to get four bags before they were all gone, Tracy got five and Kate got three. Brian had already run off with his, so I had no idea how many he got. No doubt he’d be hiding somewhere, stuffing his gob full of lollies and making a pig of himself.
At least it’d keep him quiet for a minute or two.
***
We sang with such gusto, half the street came out to see what was going on. What began as a handful of kids singing along to Mum’s Christmas record, soon became a gathering big enough to rival the crowd at last week’s carols by candlelight.
Dianne was the first to join us, followed by Shane Brighton and Tracey Leonard from across the road. Tracey’s a friend of Brian’s and whenever she comes to play, we tell Brian his girlfriend’s here to see him. It’s the most reliable way I know to instantly send him ape-shit. It’s hilarious, in fact. He does his lolly and gets into trouble for it every time. Serves himself right if he’s too dumb to work out he’s being set up.
Gregory and Max from next door also came over when they heard the singing and saw the growing number of kids. Nobody actually liked them enough to want to invite them, but there were so many of us there by the time they joined in, nobody thought to ask them to leave.
The singing started seriously, but the number of people involved had an obvious effect on the mood. The more kids that joined in, the sillier we got. “I know one.” Max broke into song before anyone could stop him.
“Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin flew away.
Wonder Woman lost her bosom, flying TAA. Hey!”
“I know a better one,” Shane said, eager to outdo Max’s version of Jingle Bells.
“Deck the halls with gasoline,
Falalalala lalalala
Strike a match and watch it gleam,
Falalalala lalalala
Burn the schoolhouse down to ashes,
Falalalala lalalala,
Aren't you glad you play with matches?
Falalalala lalalala.”
We all sang along to the chorus at the top of our lungs.
“Falalalala lalalala.”
Mum eventually put her hands up in surrender. “Enough! Enough! I think that’s more than I can stand for one year.” She sent all the kids home and made me and Brian get ready for bed. She always makes us go to bed early on Christmas Eve. I’m sure it’s more for her benefit than ours, though. If every other Christmas is anything to go by, she knows we’ll be knocking on her door at the crack of dawn asking if we can open our presents.
***
It was almost impossible to get to sleep. It’s the same every year. I lie in bed trying not to think about Christmas morning, yet finding myself thinking of nothing but. I was sure I’d be awake all night.
“Jenny?” Brian whispered. “Are you awake?”
Surely it wasn’t morning yet; it was still dark. I must have fallen asleep without realising it. “What?” I whispered back.
“Santa’s been, come and look.”
I got out of bed and crept into the lounge room. Neither of us was game enough to turn the lights on in case we woke someone up, so we knelt down near the tree and started fossicking through the pillowcases in the dark. I found the one that I thought was mine and pulled it over closer to where I knelt. It was too hard to see in the dark, but I picked something up that felt like a bug catcher. Come to think of it, I was sure I put a bug catcher on my list this year. I think I asked for an ant farm also, but I couldn’t tell yet if I’d been lucky enough to get both.
“Look Jenny,” Brian said, “Luke Skywalker.”
He’d obviously found his pillowcase.
“Who’s out of bed?” Mum called from her bedroom. We must have been noisier than we thought.
Brian and I froze. Neither of us answered her. “We better go,” I whispered to Brian.
He got up and followed me back into the hallway. The clock on the wall said four thirty-five. That meant we had at least two hours to wait until it was time to get up.
Chapter 43
Saturday, 14 December 1968
“You fucking bitch,” Peter spat the words in Jane’s face and, without a trace of concern, shoved her aside and ran into the house. He sprinted into the bedroom, almost knocking Maggie down in his haste. “Babe, I’m so sorry…”
She put her hand up defensively and took a backward step. “Don’t,” she warned. “I’ve heard enough for one day. Please don’t say another word.”
“Please, Maggie, let me…” she shot him a fleeting look before averting her eyes downwards again, almost as though it hurt to see his face. The magnitude of pain he saw in her eyes in that split second was sufficient to stop him mid-sentence.
She turned her back on him and stared out of the window. Her silence was deafening. He couldn’t stand it. Why wasn’t she yelling and screaming at him, he wondered; he wished she would. God knows he deserved it. It had to be better than the excruciating quiet she was inflicting. A couple of times he opened his mouth to speak then remembered the way she had looked at him, and kept quiet.
After what felt like an eternity, the silence became so unbearable that he had to give it another try. “Maggie? Please say something.”
She slowly turned and looked at him. A single tear slid down her face and landed on the floor. At that moment Peter had never been sorrier for anything he’d done in his entire life. Her face, which was usually so bright and alive, was haggard with grief. The transformation that had taken place in such a short time winded him like a physical blow and he had difficulty breathing. What had he done to his beautiful, sparkling Maggie? She was gone. In her place was a broken soul who wore a tortured mask for a face; deathly pale and full of sorrow.
“Babe, I’m so sorry,” Peter took a step towards her.
She cringed away from him. “Please don’t,” she pleaded. “I can’t do this Peter, I just can’t.”
Peter didn’t know what to say. It was obvious that the situation was more than she could endure, but he so badly wanted to tell her that he was sorry, and that he loved her. “Babe? I know you’re hurting, and angry, but don’t you think we should talk about it?” he suggested.
Maggie ignored him.
“Do you want me to leave? I can go back to Roger’s and we can talk about it later if you prefer?” Peter waited patiently for her to say something. When she did, he immediately wished that the unbearable silence had continued.
“You can go to hell as far as I’m concerned,” her angry face looked through him as though he were a phantom. “You’re the last person I want to be around right now.”
/> “Are you telling me you want me to leave… for good?” The fear he heard in his voice came as no surprise to Peter. He was terrified. He could see everything that he held dear; his precious Maggie, his soul mate, slipping away from him. She was already beyond his reach, in the shadows, obscured from him, and he was petrified. He knew that a life without Maggie meant a life of darkness and he hadn’t realised until then that he was scared of the dark.
“No, I’m not saying I want you to leave for good; I haven’t figured that out yet for myself. I’m simply saying that I don’t want to be around you right now. It hurts just to look at you and I’m scared that what I feel for you will interfere with my ability to think straight. And I want to think straight. I want to think about what I just heard out there,” she jabbed her finger angrily towards the back door, “and what it all means.”
Peter was about to reassure her that it meant nothing. “Let me finish,” she silenced him. He pursed his lips to let her know that he was not going to speak. She continued. “I thought we had something special.”
“Babe, we did; we do...”
“Please! Let me finish.”
“Sorry.” He hung his head.
Maggie sighed deeply. “As I was saying, I thought we had something special. But, what I heard just now tells me that I must have been wrong about that. If what that little trollop was saying is true – and the guilt that I see on your face confirms that it is – then I need to rethink just how special we are.”
“What does that mean?” Peter asked cautiously.
“It means that I’m going to the cottage. Alone. Today. I don’t want you to come with me, Peter; I want to be by myself.”
“For how long?”
Maggie got a small amount of satisfaction from the thought that he sounded like a little boy who was about to lose his mum. “I don’t know; a couple of days maybe.”
“But, what about our holiday?”
“What about it? Holidays are for happy families, not cheating husbands.”
Peter flinched at Maggie’s bluntness. “Babe, it’s not like that. I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you think.”