The Serpent's Skin

by Erina Reddan

  I jumped to my feet, facing off. ‘Who told you that?’

  She took a step towards me and opened her mouth to say more.

  ‘Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.’ I grabbed my bag on the way out and I slammed the door behind me.

  WHAT JACK ADMITS

  Back at my place I took the red texta in hand. I hesitated. What exactly was the fact I thought Philly had given me? It was so tempting to write that Mum knew she was going to die as a stone-cold fact. Instead I swapped the red out for memory-blue.

  I collapsed back to the bed and my eyes went over and over all the things on my wall and across my floor. Waves of hopelessness washed through me. Even with all this revelation there was still not one single fact that accounted for why Mum had left and where she’d been.

  My eyes kept snagging on that address Tim had given me. It was in grey for miscellaneous since it might not have had anything to do with anything, but it was all I had. I turned off the light, wriggled out of the dress and burrowed under the doona. I was too done to even do my teeth.

  In the morning, though, it didn’t feel like I was any less tired. And there was something more, a kind of queasiness like I’d eaten something bad. I lay breathing in the dark under the covers, but eventually I needed to pee. I took my toothbrush and gave my teeth a thorough going-over in the bathroom. Then I spewed in the toilet bowl and had to clean them again. I sank back against the wall. Days were passing. I really needed to talk to Tye. If he’d talk to me. ‘He has to,’ I said aloud to the air, my hand on my belly.

  Back in my room, I took the Map of Mum down, folded it again and shoved it into my backpack, along with an apple and a bottle of water. I considered going back to bed, but instead tugged the bedding up so there was no more temptation. That doona cover was a bloody ugly thing. Only old men didn’t mind puke brown. Even Rocco had stuffed his under the bed. Although Star Wars wasn’t much of an improvement.

  Outside, the Austin was waiting for me in the street and I got in and pulled the Melways onto my lap. I figured out the idea of where to go and headed in that direction, pulling over a few more times to figure out lefts and rights because with all the other jangle in my head I could only hold a few streets in my mind at a time.

  Hope and dread all twisting together in me. This address might be nothing. Could be something. Maybe I was about to find out where my mum had been. Why she’d really left. Maybe she had a bloke. Could I really handle that? After Jack and Peg?

  It could flick Mum’s light off in me. And I’d be alone and she’d be alone and that would be the end of it.

  Who was I without the bloody great mystery clanging in the heart of me?

  Then I knew it. As sudden as shit. That was fucked-up thinking and my life was all angled out because of it.

  A couple more corners brought me into Righton Street. The normal of it was an affront to the adrenaline my heart was pumping. I cruised to the far end and stopped at the milk bar. I bought two Mars Bars and stuffed one straight down and put the other in the glove box for later. I got the car back down the right end, parked a few houses away from Number 95 and turned off the engine. The houses were jaw by jaw with short strips of green behind picket fences. Number 95 was not much different from any of the others, although there was a bush of camellias and a spray of impatiens, and the grass was manicured back to a crew cut.

  I was glad it was me and not Tim, after all. This kind of thing hollowed you right out. I tried not to let the camellias and their missing-somebody-so-badly get inside me. Instead I tried to fill up with Mum, the feel of her, but there was too much swirl going on. Not being able to get at her dialled the panic up. I put my head down and tried to get more air in and out of me, nice and slow. Even then, my breathing sounded as if I’d galloped the last paddock home.

  A bird called and I looked up with the surprise of it. I couldn’t see the bird, but the impatiens in the garden of number 95 caught me. Their purple and pinks were so sure of themselves. Mum always stopped at their page in the flower book. Motherly Love, she said. Maybe Mum was in me after all trying to connect in the only way she could through this swirl. I opened the car door.

  The front gate creaked as I clicked it open and left it wide after me. I went up the steps and on to the verandah, hearing the hollow of my footsteps against the wooden slats. The doorbell was tarnished from use. I pushed on it. The dring of it loud in the silence of the street. I took a step back and the adrenaline got to roaring in my ears. A kid about twelve opened the door.

  ‘Is your mum or dad home?’

  The kid shook her head. And a girl a few years younger than me came up behind her and put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. ‘What do you want?’

  I looked at the sky through the branches of the tree next door. Too blue. And then I realised I hadn’t said anything and I hadn’t said it for too long.

  ‘How long have you lived here?’

  ‘None of your business,’ said the older one.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, shaking myself back into my body and telling myself to be less strange. ‘My mum died a while back and she had this address, and I just thought your mum or somebody here might have known her. My mother’s name was Sarah McBride.’

  The little one shrugged a shoulder, while the older one was all concrete wall, giving nothing.

  I cast around for something less confronting and aimed it at the kid who was the friendlier one. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Louise Bridgton,’ she answered before the older one could shush her.

  ‘When’s your mum back?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ the kid got in again.

  ‘That’s enough.’ The older girl skitted the little one behind her. ‘You’d better go.’

  I turned. Then I remembered. I took a strip of paper out of my jeans pocket. ‘Can you ask her to call me? Just in case she can tell me anything about the people you bought the house off?’

  ‘Sorry about your mum,’ said the little one.

  The older girl took the paper but scrunched it up as she closed her hand. That single thing, on top of everything else, was so pointy. She started to shut the door with me still standing there. The pointy thing began to spin and it exploded up and out of me. I stuck my Doc in the door.

  The girl pushed the door against my foot.

  ‘Get away,’ said the kid, her voice all high and quick.

  I came to my senses and pushed the door forwards enough to get my foot out. It slammed shut.

  ‘Who was that?’ asked a woman’s voice from far inside.

  ‘One of Dad’s country cousins.’

  So there was a woman-slash-mother in there, after all. Which was more than weird. Why did they lie to me? And then to her. I never said I was from the country. The world was bent out of shape. I was so over all this bloody lying. I tried the handle, but the door was locked. I knew it was no use, but the red was out and whipping about, so I screwed it all up for one great kick at the door.

  The smell of bush-hard things was up under my nails as I slammed the car door behind me, my eyes on Dad as he yanked at a prickly pear.

  ‘Saw your car on the road,’ he said.

  ‘Saw the ute down here from the bridge.’

  ‘Give me a hand with this bastard, will you? Extra pair of gloves in the back.’

  I bent down to pat Blue. She’d got old while I was looking away. She nuzzled her nose into me and I was grateful she hadn’t forgotten me. I’d been planning to attack Dad straight away. Had been doing it all the way from Righton Street. I realised that deep down I had thought that address would tell me something. And the crazy-bad disappointment that it hadn’t ate me through. There was something at that place that didn’t quite add up, but I couldn’t work out what, so I put my agitation down to the weirdness of the older one’s hostility— that and crashing into another dead end.

  So there was just this left. Full-on frontal attack on the open plains. I had to make Dad admit about him and Peg. And see if the shock of me knowing took us to some other p
lace, back to why he and mum argued the night before. I shut the thought of Tessa and my promise to her out of my mind.

  But suddenly, with him right there, the puff had gone. I watched him some more as I put on the long, stiff gloves that went over my elbows. It was like I’d been watching the same thing all my life. Dad in an epic war against one thing or another. Getting his whole body twisted, shoulder to the wheel and pushing like he wouldn’t take no for an answer. We were in the bottom paddock with the wild apple tree nestled into the elbow of Jean’s Corner. No sign of Mum’s scarf from around the baby cross left. I looked away from all that gone. Looked to where the sky was a clear blue and the creek was shined up with sun. ‘Never known you to attack the prickly pear before.’

  Dad grunted with the effort of digging out a large root. ‘Things can get away from you.’

  The sun went behind a cloud. ‘Feeling guilty about something?’

  He looked up quick, full of snake. ‘What?’

  I gave him a long look and left it at that. Dad’s mission in life was to leave things alone long enough so they worked themselves out. I remembered back to another day when the sun was also hard and mean eyed. One of the workers had been in the kitchen filling up on lemon cordial before getting back out under the scorch. The kitchen was dark like a cave because of the winter-thick blankets Mum had got up and over the curtain rods to keep the burn of the sun out. Philly, Tessa and I were on the lino. Mum had wet washers for our foreheads and put a bowl of fridge water between us so we could dunk our washers in when they’d warmed up. Tim was on his bed with his own bowl of water and washer, and a Donald Duck comic. The worker had just got his licence, and he had his dad’s ute for the week, so he was all fired up and needling everybody. Dad started slapping at his thigh like he did when he was getting fed up.

  Tessa told me to stop moaning and get back to my book. I kicked her to shut her up, but I went back to reading anyway. Out of nowhere the worker pretended to trip over me.

  ‘Hey,’ I yelled, sitting up, fists ready.

  ‘What?’ he said, all innocent, but the grin on him was like he’d won a prize.

  ‘You did it on purpose.’

  He did this boxing thing, dancing about, punching the air. ‘If you keep those eyes in a book, life’s going to come at you with a few unpleasant surprises.’

  The roar started in my tummy. When it exploded out, I saw Mum throw her tea towel into the sink like she was about to explode, too.

  ‘Be blowed,’ said Dad, getting up from his chair, his legs apart like an old bull. He gave Mum a wink, then swung around to the worker. ‘First one to the gate.’ He bolted out of the house with the worker on his tail. Tessa, Philly and I jumped up with the excitement. We charged outside, passing Mum, who’d picked up the tea towel and was shaking her head. Dad skidded into the ute and had it kicking over before the car door was closed behind him. He whammed the stick into gear. The worker had made up time and he was in his dad’s ute, slamming into his gears. Dad’s ute shot off down the track towards the gate. The young bloke shot off at the same time. Only he didn’t get far. He’d rammed his gearstick into reverse and taken off in a mighty blast backwards—right through the wall of Tim’s bedroom. I could still see the shock on Tim’s face above his Donald Duck comic as the tail-lights came to a stop inches away from the end of his bed.

  The worker’s eyes were just as shocked above the steering wheel. Mum came flying out of the kitchen. The worker ground his gears again and took off. He got to that gate and that was the last we saw of him.

  Dad spent a lot of time in front of the hole in the wall, tsking and shaking his head, muttering and measuring, getting his hands to his hips. I was right by his side as I always was in those days, squinting at the hole and holding the other side of the tape measure. After a couple of days, he got Tim to give him a hand to move the wardrobe in front of the hole. ‘A bit of air-conditioning, mate, while we source the boards.’

  Mum shook her head again.

  For days after, Philly and I just had to look at each other to burst out laughing. ‘What are yous two always giggling about?’ Dad asked over the tea table.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Then he dropped his eyes back to his plate, and Philly would smash one fist into her palm and I would do wide, shocked, goggle eyes and we were off again. Even Mum smiled.

  She was right, though: Dad never got around to fixing that hole. At uni, I didn’t mind the all-nighters because I had left it to the last minute; I minded that it meant I was like him.

  ‘Get in there behind, will you, love?’ said Dad, pointing to the prickly pear bush he was working at. I got in there and pulled out branches for him to buzz-saw. We went at a good clip, getting into the rhythm of it. We had a good patch done when he put the saw down.

  ‘DDT in the back, love. Grab it for us.’

  He had two DDT packs in the back.

  ‘Expecting me?’

  ‘Just big hopes. Reckoned I’d get through one can pretty fast.’

  ‘Reckon you were right,’ I said, taking in the great swathe of prickly pear he’d chopped into.

  ‘What are you going to do once it’s all cleared?’ I strapped the can onto my back and hauled Dad’s over to him.

  ‘Keep it like that.’

  ‘What did you do with Jack?’

  He did laugh that time. ‘Your mother was always on at me to get this done. She’ll be happy looking down now. She didn’t want Jean’s Corner grown over.’

  ‘Her corner, too.’

  ‘Taught me to swim, she did.’ He adjusted the straps and pointed at the place he wanted me to start. ‘I wouldn’t go near the water before that.’

  ‘Because Great Aunty Patty drowned in the creek when she was just fourteen, and your mother had you all scared of the boogey man in the water.’

  ‘Righto, righto. You’ve heard the story before.’

  I grinned. I was silent a while as I remembered how much pressure I needed to get the spray of poison just right and landing where it should. Dad had us all jet-packed up as kids, and we’d walk the paddock spraying artichokes. The family that poisoned the earth together stayed together. I got back into the swing of things pretty quick and we each took an end and worked inwards.

  ‘It’s coming on dark,’ said Dad, after a while. ‘Best pack up. Suppose you’ll want to get off home?’

  ‘I could stay for dinner.’

  A trapped look slid behind his eyes. I unstrapped the drum on my back, unsheathed my arms from the gloves. The breeze of the early evening cooled against the sweat on my skin. I stretched my arms in front of me. All the sweetness of being tired in your pores, but not weary with the bone-grinding weight of it.

  ‘Storm coming,’ Dad said.

  I looked up and the sky looked back, a steady, stormy blue on the edge of night. ‘We’ll make it a quick bite, then.’

  We both got into our cars and ambled across the flat. My brain had flattened out so I wasn’t thinking at all. That kind of a sky had that effect; it thickened the air so that thoughts seemed like little things. The ute ahead of me growled with the effort of getting up the hill, and then jarred and jumped over the potholes across the home paddock.

  We washed up in the laundry before Dad went to get his slippers. I took out Monday’s and Tuesday’s dinners and put them in the oven. Now that the moment had come I wanted to push its raft back out into the creek. The physical work had rocked Dad and me into a whisper of tired softness, and that was worth something.

  Still, I stiffened my resolve: Jack had a lot of admitting to do, and I’d been down too many dead-end streets.

  Dad and I sat over the just-hot-enough food. The cheese of the lasagna spreading and flattening on the plate.

  ‘Where are the pages you took from the diaries, Dad?’

  ‘Used them for dunny paper,’ he said without a blink. ‘Thought it was funny.’

  ‘Did you read them first?’

  ‘Too dark in there. Would have been a load of rubbi
sh.’

  Dad was getting closer and closer to his food, shortening the time between plate and mouth.

  ‘Why’d ya take the diaries?’

  ‘Thought there might be something bad in there.’

  I wasn’t used to the truth from him. It took the words out of me for a moment. ‘Like what?’

  ‘If I’ve been hiding anything, it was for your own good.’

  ‘So you admit it finally. You are hiding something.’

  ‘I’m not admitting anything. I’m just saying that sometimes a father has to do things his kids don’t understand. Can we just drop it?’

  ‘Drop what?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What?’

  Dad shovelled food in like there was no tomorrow. The stones of the wall were mortared back into place. All that whispered softness had disappeared in me and we were back to opposite shores.

  ‘Why did you say Mum had left us that first day?’

  ‘She shouldn’t have gone off like that. A woman doesn’t leave her family. Wanted to turn you lot against her when she finally got home to punish her for taking off. I was sure she was coming home.’

  ‘So why did you change your mind the next day and tell us she was at Aunty Peg’s all along?’

  His eyes darted around the room, looking for a hole to crawl into. His eyes ended up on that photo of Mum, which was still propped against the wall on the bench.

  ‘I calmed down,’ he said, his mouth full. ‘It wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have been turning you buggers against your mother.’

  ‘Is that so?’ I said, and I couldn’t keep the scepticism out.

  ‘What else could it be?’ He hunkered down into his plate. His eyes slipping sideways to Mum’s photo again.

  ‘You know Philly and Ahmed are sleeping together.’

  ‘Stop stirring.’ He shovelled in the fork again. He was almost down to the plate-scraping stage. I noticed he was taking less in at each mouthful to make the whole thing last longer.

  ‘Tessa’s been drinking for months.’