Summer

by Michelle Zoetemeyer

  ***

  It was almost midnight and only a handful of people remained. The cheerful tones of Cher belied the mellow and tranquil ambience that came from sitting around a fire on a hot summer evening, after having spent a good portion of the night consuming copious amounts of alcohol and overeating. Bang Bang came on for the second time. Someone had obviously gone to the trouble of restarting the record, but had not bothered to put in the supreme effort of taking the record off the player and changing it for something else. Maggie wondered if she should get up and do it, but one look at the group before her told her that the act would go unappreciated, so she resigned herself to listening to Cher once more.

  Peter sat beside Maggie nursing the same can of beer that he’d held for the last hour or so. The edginess she’d sensed in him when they had first arrived seemed to have left him and he looked very peaceful and relaxed sitting in the fold-up chair with his long legs stretched out before him. He chatted away quietly with Doug Auld who sat beside him. Vivian sat next to her husband dutifully nodding at everything he said. Despite the woman's lack of appeal, Maggie felt sorry for her. She struck Maggie as the kind of woman that measured herself by her husband’s success and not by her own achievements. Maggie doubted that she even had any achievements of her own and suspected that her main purpose in life was to be a good wife to her husband.

  Maggie knew that women like Vivian Auld were plentiful. She supposed that she knew less of them than most for two reasons. The first one being that she worked and therefore associated more with working women than housewives, and the second one being that women like Maggie were not generally welcomed into the social circles of the likes of Vivian Auld, Barb Poole and Vicki Cotham.

  Over the years, Maggie had given the matter considerable thought. Not because she yearned to belong to such a group and was hopeful of finding the key to acceptance, but because she was baffled by their superiority and righteousness. Maggie got the distinct impression that housewives considered their working counterparts inferior. Maggie recalled many a conversation amongst Peter’s colleague’s wives that had intended to leave her feeling like she had failed as a wife and mother simply because she chose to have a career. She often felt that working mothers – herself included – were being blamed for the all the perceived problems facing young people today. Drug use, the demand for independence, the whole free love, hippy scene; all of it a direct result of negligent mothers who choose a career over their family responsibilities. Of course, Maggie thought that such views were outdated and naïve and were probably borne more from a sense of insecurity than a genuine belief in what they were espousing.

  Either way, Maggie was mildly amused and only a touch annoyed by the whole situation. In her mind, neither was better, it was simply a matter of preference – and in some cases need. Experience told her that women worked because they either needed the money or, like Maggie, because they enjoyed it. Maggie was well aware that many women believed, just as her mum had done, that it was not their role to work and that they should be at home looking after their husband and raising a family. Maggie was not one of them. Maggie enjoyed the sense of worth and independence that came from having a job. She liked the interaction with other working people and looked forward to the intellectual stimulation that she found lacking in a group of housewives.

  Slumped in the chair next to her husband, Pam Warner slept with her head tilted to the side, dribble trickling from the corner of her mouth. She snored loudly. Maggie correctly assumed that she had drunk too much. Luckily, Pam was not a boisterous drunk and her usual ostentatious personality waned considerably after a healthy number of drinks. Occasionally, she would recognise the signs early enough to retire with some dignity, but more often than not, she simply fell asleep in her chair.

  Maggie felt embarrassed for her and wondered what kind of a husband would leave his wife in such an unsightly position. Looking sideways at Peter, she was thankful that he was such a considerate and caring partner. Maggie was certain that Peter would have whisked her away and tucked her into bed at the first hint of trouble.

  Maggie waited politely for Peter to finish his sentence before gently tugging his sleeve. “You ready to go?” she asked quietly.

  Peter leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “I’ll just go get Stephen,” she said, taking Peter's empty beer can and standing up.

  Peter looked up at her from where he sat. Despite the late hour, he thought she looked radiant. The firelight cast a golden glow around her, giving her an aura befitting an angel. He couldn’t wait to get her home and into bed. He didn’t even care if they didn’t make love. He would be more than satisfied to wrap her in his arms until he fell asleep.

  Chapter 25

  Wednesday, 19 December 1979

  The taste of salt water took me by surprise. I was certain that I must have drowned by now, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to taste the water if I was dead. I could also feel the sand rubbing my skin raw. Yet, despite the possibility that my swimmers were about to be ripped off and rudely tossed away, having my skin shredded by sandpaper felt wonderful. It meant I definitely hadn’t drowned.

  Too happy to be alive to care about my dignity, I prepared myself for the final insult of being washed ashore naked. I felt the first rush of fresh air hit me in the face and gulped it down hungrily, sucking it into my lungs as I came up from the water. I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed my thrashing. Everything looked exactly as it had a minute ago. For some reason, I found that weird. I was expecting things to look different somehow, but I wasn’t sure why.

  Disappointed by the lack of change, but thrilled about not having drowned, my dignity became a priority once again. I rearranged my swimmers and squatted down under the water to flush the sand from my swimmer bottoms. When I looked over, Tom was waiting expectantly for the next wave. No doubt he saw me go under and just assumed it was another wave dump. Truth is it scared the hell out of me. So much so, that I was actually grateful to see Jim signaling to us from the beach that it was time to go.

  I yelled to Tom that we had to get out and waited while he rode the last wave in. Together, we walked back to where Jim and Lisa were waiting for us. I couldn’t wait to get out of my swimmers, they were still full of sand and scratched like hell.

  “Time to go kids,” said Lisa. “Jim wants to get to DJ’s before they shut.”

  We only had about an hour to get there. Tom showered under the outside shower while I went to the change rooms. I wanted to take my swimmers off and wash all the sand from my body properly.

  I stepped under the shower, and turned the tap on. The water was cool and soothing and took the sting out of my newly grazed and sunburned skin. I remembered that Jim didn’t have much time to finish his shopping so I quickly washed the sand from my hair and turned the shower off. When I stepped out, Lisa was standing in front of the mirror. “I better not go out dressed like this,” she giggled. “I’d have to beat the boys off with a stick.”

  “So don’t,” I said rudely and walked out. No doubt she would take another five minutes to admire herself before getting dressed.

  I don’t know what Jim sees in her. Well, actually, I do, but I reckon he could do so much better. Dad always says it’s what’s on the inside that counts, and Lisa didn’t seem to have much on the inside except giggles. Jim was way too smart for her. He didn’t carry on like most boys, and Tom said all the girls thought he was a spunk. I wasn’t sure who the all the girls were, but I assumed he meant girls older than me.

  Lisa finally came out of the change rooms and we all walked back to the mall together. I still hadn’t spent the money Dad gave me and considered getting some lollies for the trip home. I wandered around David Jones with Tom while Lisa and Jim went off to find a Soda Stream. He said he’d meet us out the front in half an hour. Neither of us had a watch, but we could see the time on the watches in the shop.

  I thought the lollies
were too expensive and decided to save my money for when I got home. One dollar would buy heaps more at Eddy’s Corner or Stan Kennelly’s. Without anything in particular to do, we rode up and down the escalators and checked out the toy section. I saw a choice bike with a basket on the front and no sissy bar on the back, just a small seat. Mostly though, everything cost too much.

  When we went back down stairs, the lady behind the counter sprayed some expensive perfume on me. She said it was called Chanel No. 5. When I asked her what Chanel No. 1, 2, 3 and 4 smelt like, she laughed at me. Tom said it smelt nice, but I thought it smelt awful. I wondered if the other numbers smelt any better.

  Jim and Lisa were waiting for us when we got to the front of the store. “Mmm…someone smells good,” Jim inhaled loudly through his nose.

  Lisa beamed. “Here, she said,” offering him her wrist. “I sprayed some Youth Dew on when I was inside.”

  “Yuk, that smells more like old hag’s piss than youth dew,” he joked.

  Tom and I burst out laughing. Lisa glared at us, but we couldn’t stop. I laughed so much my tummy hurt.

  Uh oh, he was in for it now. She had that sulky look on her face, the same one that Mum gets when Dad makes fun of her.

  Jim realised his mistake and put his arm around her. “I was only kidding,” he soothed, “besides, you don’t need that stuff to smell good,” he lied.

  Jim was right though, she smelt a lot worse than I did.

  ***

  The trip back from Newcastle seemed to take a lot longer than the trip there. It had been a long day and I was feeling tired by the time we were almost home. I asked Tom if he was allowed out tomorrow and he said he was. We talked quietly so Jim couldn’t hear us. Tom said he would see if Jim would take us to the hospital to see Shortie, but he didn’t want to ask him until later. He said Jim would probably have a couple of beers with his dad when he got home, so he would ask him then. Tom reckons he was much more likely to say yes after a few tinnies.

  Lisa didn’t say much on the trip home. She was still sulking about the perfume. When Jim dropped her home, she whispered something in his ear and giggled. She must have gotten over her sulks after all. Whatever she said made Jim raise his eyebrows and consider her for a moment. “We’ll see,” he said.

  That appeared to satisfy her and she hopped out of the car. She waved goodbye to us as she walked inside. Jim didn’t get out of the car to walk her in this time.

  Jim dropped me off out the front of my place. “Thanks for taking me to the movies, Jim, I had a great time,” I said as I got out of the car. “Oh yeah, and thanks for lunch too.” Mum said you should always say thank you to someone if they do a nice thing, because it’s not very often people do nice things. Anyway, I meant it; I had a lot of fun.

  Tom and Jim waved goodbye and drove off. When I got inside, Mum was serving tea. I walked into the dining room where everyone was seated. “Talk about perfect timing,” said Dad. “Did you have a good day?”

  “Yep, sure did,”

  “Look at you, you’re all sunburnt,” Mum complained.

  “How was the movie?” asked Tracy.

  Brian talked over the top of Tracy. “What was it about?”

  Damn! I knew someone would ask me that.

  Chapter 26

  Thursday, 20 December 1979

  “Mum! Do you know where my red shorts are?”

  “Which ones?”

  “You know, the terry toweling ones with the white trim.”

  “They’re in the ironing basket in my room.”

  Everything always ends up in the ironing basket, even stuff that doesn’t need ironing. Mum usually folds up the washing every couple of days, but until then, the ironing basket is the most likely place to find anything. I don’t even know why I bothered asking, because I already knew the answer. Wishful thinking I suppose.

  I rifled through the clothes basket in Mum and Dad’s room. Not only did I find my shorts, I also found my black tank top that I’d been looking for, and my blue skirt as well. I grabbed the clothes and headed back to my room.

  “Wanna come and play Lego with me?” asked Brian.

  As if! “No thanks, I’m going out with Tom,” I said instead.

  “Can I come?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I thought about telling him that he was a smelly little slime bucket and the last person in the street I wanted to play with, but I could hear Mum in the bathroom and knew there’d be hell to pay if I said that. So, instead, I gave him the mum answer and told him that we were going for a ride on Tom’s bike and he could only double one person at a time.

  “I can ride my skate board,” he offered.

  Boy, eight year olds are thick! Talk about not taking the hint. Just as I was about to tell him that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with us – another mum answer – I was saved by a knock on the front door. Michael wanted to know if Brian could come and play. I could’ve kissed the little weevil. Now there was no chance that Mum would inflict Brian on me like she sometimes does. I’m sure she only does it to get back at me for all the non-mum answers I give, which is why I’m trying really hard to limit them to when she’s out of hearing range. Even though I still have the occasional problem with her bionic hearing, I am getting better at it.

  Apart from the fact that I’d rather play with an ants nest than Brian, I didn’t want him coming with me in case Jim agreed to take us to the hospital. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone yet because I didn’t know if Jim was going to or not. I wouldn’t know until I saw Tom.

  I put on my red shorts, black top and thongs and tied my hair back into a ponytail. I went to tell Mum I was going to Tom’s place.

  “I’m going to drop Grandma’s containers back, do you want to come?” she asked.

  Grandma has this thing about not throwing away left overs while children are starving in Africa, so she gives it all to us. I don’t know how it helps the starving children exactly, but at least it gets her out of washing up. “No thanks, me and Tom are going to catch some tadpoles.” I remembered I’d told Brian we were going somewhere on Tom’s bike and added, “And then we’re going for a ride to Keith Barry Oval with Ed and Trevor to play cricket.” It wasn’t strictly a lie, because that’s what we might do if Jim couldn’t take us to the hospital.

  “Don’t you mean Tom and I are going to catch some tadpoles?” Mum corrected.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you wanted to come too,” I said, trying to sound funny. “I thought you were going to Grandma’s.” I was really thinking that I wish she wouldn’t correct me like that all the time, it’s so annoying. Of course, I didn’t tell Mum that. I’m not that stupid.

  “Smart aleck,” was all she said. I smiled to myself and left. I knew Kate or Tracy – or both – would be home when I got back, even if Mum wasn’t.

  I walked to Tom’s place and knocked on the door. Hopefully the Undertaker wouldn’t be home. No such luck, he answered the door. “Hi Mr Simmons, can Tom come and play?”

  He turned and called to Tom without saying a word to me. I waited on the veranda for Tom to come and let me in. When he did, we went straight into his bedroom and closed the door behind us. I bounced on his bed, which was not yet made, and said in a stern voice, “Tommy, look at this mess, the place looks like a bomb hit it.”

  He just laughed and threw his pyjamas at me. He knew I was only joking, and besides, his room was spotless except for his bed not being made. “Well?” I asked impatiently. “Can Jim take us to the hospital or not?”

  “He said he can’t take us today because he has to take Mum Christmas shopping, but if we still want him to, he can take us tomorrow.”

  I was a bit disappointed, but it was better than nothing.

  “He wants us to find out what room he’s in and when visiting hours are so that we don’t have to wait around all day.”

  Tom thought we should call in at Shortie’s place and check with his parents. That way we could also find ou
t if he’d be home before then. Maybe we wouldn’t need Jim to take us after all.

  I helped Tom make his bed before letting his parents know we were going out. As we got close to the dining room, I thought I heard the Undertaker laugh. That’d be a first. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh or seen him smile in all the time I’ve known him. I followed Tom into the room where Mr and Mrs Simmons were having a cup of tea. Jim sat at the table next to his mum smoking a cigarette. The light shining in through the window made the room look hazy. Just like one of those old gangster movies where everyone sits around playing cards and smoking. Maybe the Undertaker was a gangster. That sure would explain a lot.

  If the Undertaker had been laughing before we entered the room, he’d stopped by the time we walked in. He sat at the head of the table frowning. His dark, beady eyes peered out from under his bushy eyebrows, which stuck up at the ends making him look evil, just like that guy from the Cuckoo’s Nest movie that my dad has a poster of on his wall at work. His shiny black hair was going bald on top and I could see his scalp through it. It always looked wet and showed the comb lines, especially on top of his head.

  I think he’s really creepy. He’s tall and skinny and looks like a praying mantis. I read in an insect book that female praying mantises eat the male once the eggs are made. It’s a shame Mrs Simmons didn’t eat the Undertaker once Tom was made.

  Tom told his mum that we were going out to play and would be back later. She said she was going shopping with Jim and that he’d have to make his own lunch. We’d probably just eat at my place anyway so we wouldn’t have to come back here while only the Undertaker was home. Before we left, Tom got a couple of plastic containers from the cupboard. I waited for him on the front veranda while he went to get his fishing net from the garage. The net’s just an old coat hanger bent into shape with a pair of pantyhose stretched over the frame and tied at the end, but it’s excellent for scooping up tadpoles. We both made one in the last holidays, only I forgot to bring mine.