I told Chrissy to put the Ouija board under my bed also. Mum would have a cow if she saw it. I still hadn’t figured out how to get it to the cubby, but I could work that out later.
“What else do we want to take?” Chrissy asked.
It was a shame I couldn’t use my walkie-talkie because the batteries were flat; it would’ve been perfect for a campout. I asked Mum to buy me some new batteries but she said she was broke. Tom and Ed said they would bring torches so we could play spotlight and I already had some games picked out to take. I sorted through the pile of things I had stacked in my corner. So far I had the Magna-Doodle, Mastermind, Uno, and Snakes and Ladders. Sitting on the top of the pile was my favourite pet rock. Tom reckons it looks like Lavern from the Lavern and Shirley Show, so that’s what I named it. His is called Malcolm after the Prime Minister. Only, he stuck horns on it so it looks more like a devil than the Prime Minister.
“How about Monopoly, I got it for Christmas. If you want, I can ask Mum if I’m allowed to bring it.”
“Mnh-mnh, Monopoly’s boring. Besides, I reckon we have enough games, don’t you?” I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but the look on her face told me I had, so I quickly thought of something to say to make up for it. “I wish we had a radio or cassette player though.”
Chrissy’s face brightened again. “I’ve got a trannie I could bring. It’s not very big, but it’s still pretty loud.”
“Tops, we can listen to the countdown on 2KO.”
Chrissy remembered something and frowned. “I think the batteries are flat though.”
So much for that idea. “Hey, I know. Maybe Dad will let me put his record player from the shed in the tent. It has a radio on it we could listen to, that way we won’t need batteries; just an extension cord.”
I told Chrissy to wait in my room while I went to ask Mum what time Dad would be home from work. Mum was sitting at the table with Mrs O’Reilly having a cup of tea. When I came into the dining room, they stopped what they were saying and looked at me. I must have interrupted something good, because they weren’t about to continue while I was standing there. “What time is Dad getting home?” I asked.
“Around five-thirty. Why?”
“Nothing, I just want to ask him something that’s all.” Pretending to look for my Slinky, I walked into the lounge room where I could listen in on their conversation. Experience told me that they’d be straight back to gossiping as soon as I left the room. I wasn’t disappointed.
“Who’s the father?” asked Mrs O’Reilly.
“Marion thinks its Shane Morley, but Kellie won’t say.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. That Shane’s a lout of a kid.”
Shane is Jason Morley’s older brother. He’s in Kate and Tracy’s form at school. I tried to work out who Kellie was. I assumed it was Kellie Downie, Mack’s big sister, but I wasn’t sure.
“Is she going to keep it?”
“I think so. Marion made another appointment for her for a month’s time.”
I don’t know if Mack’s mum’s name was Marion or not, I just call her Mrs Downie. Next time I see Mack, I’d have to remember to ask him. “Silly girl,” said Mrs O’Reilly. “She’ll have to drop out of school and everything. What form is she in; she can’t be in more than fifth form.”
“Fourth,” Mum corrected, “she’s in the same year as Kate and Tracey.”
I made some noise so Mum would think I was looking for my Slinky instead of earwigging on them like I really was. I was just about to go back in when Mrs O’Reilly said something that made me wait. “Poor Marion, now she’ll have another mouth to feed. As if five isn’t enough. The twins aren’t even at school yet and now she has another one to bring up.”
They were definitely talking about Kellie Downie. I knew that Mack had twin brothers who didn’t go to school yet.
“Marion isn’t the one having a baby,” Mum said, “Kellie is. You never know, she just might make a good go of it. She seems like a sensible girl.”
“Sensible girls have abortions, not babies.”
Having got the information I was after, I walked back into the dining room and down the hallway. “Find your Slinky?” Mrs O’Reilly asked.
“Nuh.” I closed the door to my bedroom. Chrissy was sitting on my bed reading The October Child. She put it on my bedside table and looked at me expectantly. I stared back. “What?”
“Well? When’s your dad gonna be home?”
“Oh yeah. Mum said he’d be home at five-thirty. Do you know what an abortion is?”
Chrissy looked confused. “Huh? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing, I was just wondering what it is that’s all. I heard Mrs O’Reilly say it when I was out there.”
“I think it’s something you have if your periods don’t work properly.”
I knew what periods were. The school had a sex education night for fifth and sixth classers. The parents were invited also, so Mum made Dad go with me. She said it was I good idea for fathers to get involved in that sort of thing. As it turned out, no one shared her view, because Dad was the only man there. He didn’t mind though, he said he had a good time. He kept making fun of the lady who was running the show, especially when she was telling everyone how babies were made. He said she was too ugly to know for sure and that she’d have to rely on books to find out.
He was right; she was pretty ugly. She looked like a bulldog.
“How don’t they work properly?” I asked.
“Dunno. I overheard my mum say once that Lisa Henderson had an abortion. When I asked her what it was, she said it was an operation to fix her periods.”
“But you don’t have periods when you’re pregnant.”
“So; what’s that got to do with it?”
I nearly told Chrissy what I’d overheard, but I knew she’d blab to everyone and I’d get into trouble for listening in. “Nothing.” I decided to write it in my diary with everything else I wanted to ask Clare. I reckon she’d know what an abortion was for sure.
“What do ya wanna do now?” I asked. Tom wouldn’t be here for another couple of hours or so. He’d gone with his parents to visit his sister. She lives at Wyee, which is almost an hour away, and he wasn’t coming back until after lunch. We’d already arranged to go to Ed’s place for a swim in his pool when Tom got back. Hopefully Mrs Ricci will have some of her homemade punch again.
“Let’s go see what Raelene’s up to,” Chrissy suggested.
***
We rode our bikes to Raelene’s place. When we got there, she was playing cricket on the vacant land behind her back yard with her brothers and some of his friends. “It’s not fair; I always have to field. When do I get to bat?” she complained.
Raelene’s brother, Mark, watched us approach. “Hey Raelene, your friends are here. Still want to play?”
Raelene stood just past the back fence with her back to us. She had her legs spread wide and was hunched forward in anticipation for the six that might come her way. In response to her brother’s question, she turned around to face us. She stood up straight and ran towards us, calling over her shoulder as she went. “I’m not playing any more. Find someone else to field.”
“Good riddance,” said Mark.
“What are you doing?” asked Raelene as she caught up with us.
“We just came to see if you want to come and play,” Chrissy answered.
“Sure, gimme a second to get my pushie.”
We waited while Raelene got her bike. I could feel Mark watching us from where he stood waiting to bowl. I turned around and looked over at him where he stood. He gave me a wave and called out. “Hi Jenny, wanna play?”
Raelene’s brother’s a spunk. He’s almost thirteen and all the girls think he’s cute; me included, although I’d never admit that to anyone. Besides, just because he’s cute, doesn’t mean I like him or anything. “Nah,” I called back, “we’re going for a ride.”
“No worries, maybe next time.”
/>
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I reckon he’s got a crush on you,” Chrissy said.
“He has not.”
“Has too.”
“Don’t be a retard. Just because he asked if I wanted to play cricket, doesn’t mean he has a crush on me.”
“I can tell by the way he looks at you. Look at him. He’s all smoochy.” Chrissy put on her best lovesick voice. “Jenny, wanna come and play cricket. Jenny, I have a crush on you. Jenny, I want to…”
“Shut up,” I blurted. “You’re just jealous, that’s all.”
Dad always says that people only make fun of you because they’re jealous. He reckons that only people that are insecure about themselves make fun of other people. I don’t necessarily agree with him. I make fun of Brian all the time, but that’s only because he’s got dog’s breath, not because I’m jealous of him.
Raelene got her bike from where she’d dumped it near her back steps and joined us. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
I looked over to Chrissy and repeated the question, “Where we going?”
She shrugged. “Dunno.”
Well, one thing’s for certain, we couldn’t stand around all day being ogled by Mark and his friends. “Let’s go for a ride to Eddy’s corner,” I suggested, “I’ve still got most of my Christmas money left.” Nanna sent me a card for Christmas with four dollars’ worth of twenty-cent pieces stuck on the inside. So far, I’d only spent forty cents to buy some gobstoppers. I was planning on spending the rest on stuff for the campout.
Hopefully Grandma would be on today and she might give me extra.
Chapter 56
Sunday, 15 December 1968
The walking trail wound through a clump of trees at the end of the yard and meandered into the forest. Maggie stepped under the canopy and felt the temperature drop significantly, her clammy skin instantly chilled, her lungs filled with cool, clean air. She stopped to savour the moment, taking a couple of deep breaths and exhaling slowly through her nose. It felt good to be outside and walking, her tummy ache all but gone, the flow of blood no worse than a period.
She hadn’t gotten over the disappointment of losing the baby; that would take a lifetime, she knew. Maggie had wanted Peter's child more than anything in the world and had believed that a baby was the perfect way to consolidate their feelings for each other. Given what she knew now, Maggie had to question the appropriateness of her beliefs. If their marriage didn’t make it through this mess, then surely a baby would be a constant reminder of their failure.
Maggie tried not to think about the significance of losing the baby. She knew that no matter what the outcome of her and Peter's relationship, she would have loved it dearly. Yet, for whatever reason, it was not to be. The realisation of this fact hurt more than anything Peter had done and she knew that she had to be strong if she was to get through the ordeal with any semblance of her former self intact.
Determined not to mope, she continued on the path, cautious of not walking too fast and missing anything along the way. As she rounded the bend, a wallaby jumped across her path, startling her. She waited for her heart to return to its normal rhythm before setting off again. She held her arms out beside her for balance as she crossed the mossy tree that had fallen across the creek, forming a bridge. The creek was too wide and too deep to cross directly. Unless she wanted to follow its path for a mile or so downstream to where it was narrow enough to cross, the only way to get to the other side was via the fallen tree.
Maggie recalled the first summer they had spent at the cottage. The tree had gone over in the most magnificent electrical storm she had ever seen. The rain and lightning battered the cottage relentlessly for hours, yet the next morning, the place looked so lush and fresh, that it was hard to believe the storm had ever occurred; until they had wandered down to the creek and noticed the old tree that had fallen, that is. At the time, Maggie had been sad to see such a majestic tree uprooted so violently, but the kids had been delighted by its misfortune as they now had a quicker means of crossing the creek and exploring what was on the other side.
Bending down to pick up a stick to lean on while she climbed the steep hill, Maggie noticed the abundance of life that graced the forest floor. A millipede scurried in front of her shoe and under a nearby rock. On top of the lichen-covered boulder, a bright green tree frog croaked, its chin puffing up with every breath. To the right of her foot, a decaying log with orange fungus sprouting from its upended base housed a colony of white ants, it centre softened by rot and hollowed by a thousand tiny feet. She straightened up, and with the help of her stick, trekked up the path, not stopping until she reached the plateau above.
By the time she arrived at the top, she was breathless, a thin layer of sweat forming on her back. Wishing she’d thought to bring some water with her, she took a moment to catch her breath. She smiled at her surroundings. Despite the thick growth of trees and abundance of ferns that bordered the clearing in which she stood, Maggie could see through the gaps as far as the cottage, and further. The cottage looked much smaller standing on top of the stony ledge. But, then again, so did everything from that height. She was a fair way up the mountain, but not nearly all the way to the top. The climbing became too hard from that point onwards. Maggie knew from experience that if she continued through the bush to her right she would be able to walk for as long as she was happy to do so. There was no distinct path as such, but she had always been able to make her way through the foliage without too much trouble.
On this occasion, she didn’t bother going any further. Instead, she sat on a smooth rock and, leaning against another, took her shoes and socks off. She wiggled her toes. It felt good to feel the air encircling them and she felt her body cool once more. She stayed that way for what seemed like ages, but in actual fact was no more than three quarters of an hour, according to her watch. Listening to the Kookaburras call from unseen heights, and hearing the Bellbirds sing their familiar song, Maggie finally felt some of the tension seep from her body. It felt good to let it go. At first she was anxious that she wouldn’t be able to maintain her rage if she became too mellow, but then she gave in to the soothing voices of the forest. Staying angry was not a constructive approach to take; she knew that now. That didn’t mean that Peter was off the hook, far from it. It meant that if she weren’t so uptight and angry then she would be in a much better frame of mind to assess her options without interference from the negative energy that had hung above her like a storm cloud.
***
Refreshed from her walk, Maggie kicked off her shoes at the back door and went inside to select some music. It was the first time since her arrival that she had felt well enough to listen to music. She took her time flicking through the collection of records she had bought with her. She needed to pick wisely. Although her mood had improved somewhat, there were still a number of records that posed too much of a risk in her fragile state. Hendrix, for example, he was definitely out of the question. She and Peter always played Hendrix when they visited the cottage, especially if they were alone. They would put on his latest record, sit on the back veranda sharing a joint, and mull over the meaning of life.
Then there were the Byrds; another one of their favourite albums, and another big risk. Maggie knew that she would not be able to listen to “Turn! Turn! Turn!” without hearing Peter's voice sing along to the lyrics, or worst still, remembering the lovemaking that invariably took place, sometimes outside, under the stars with nothing except a blanket between their naked bodies and the bare earth.
Maggie narrowed her selection to two; Simon and Garfunkel’s Wednesday Morning 3am and Creedence Clearwater Revival. She discarded Creedence when she remembered that she had bought it for Peter a couple of months ago after he had heard them playing on the wireless and wouldn’t stop raving about them. She remembered how delighted he had been with her for buying it for him, especially since there was no special occasion. She had told him that he had been special enough to not warrant a
n occasion, and he had hugged her for it and told her how lucky he was that she was his.
So settled, she put Creedence back and kept Simon and Garfunkel. Besides – a wicked look crossed her face – Peter hated Simon and Garfunkel, he thought they sounded too wholesome and they got on his nerves. She took the record out of its sleeve and carefully placed it on the record player. Then, turning it up just loud enough to hear from the veranda, she selected a book from the same box. She had given up on Ducasse. She had found his critical analysis of life after death too tedious. Instead, she opened another book and firmly folded the spine back so that it would stay open more easily. She scanned a few pages. This will do, she thought, slamming it shut again and taking it outside with her. Then, without further ado, she reclaimed her usual seat and buried her head in its pages.
It was almost dark by the time she looked up again. Maggie checked her watch. She had been reading for hours and was well into the book, the album long finished. It was not the first time she had read about Edgar Cayce; thus far she had read two biographies on the remarkable man, both of which were fascinating. However, unlike his biographies, which gave an overview of his complete works, Many Mansions focused solely on his readings that dealt with reincarnation.
Reading his meticulously recorded accounts, Maggie felt excited. She had long been enthralled with the concept of reincarnation, but had never before found the topic so personal. It wasn’t because she had an inkling of a previous life either, although she had not dismissed the idea as a possibility; she found it personal because of the limitless promise contained in the notion. Maggie had always held out hope for a future life, but never as strongly as she did at that moment. In fact, the degree to which she longed for it to be true took her by surprise. The idea of having another chance with Peter, only the next time getting it right – the baby, their fidelity, even the possibility of sharing their childhood together as Maggie had always dreamed – it was all there, tied up in the notion of reincarnation.
Oh, how she hoped it was true, that the soul would be reborn and live again. She never claimed to understand the intricacies of reincarnation any better than the next person, and often found it difficult to defend her faith in something that many people saw as nonsense, yet for reasons even she couldn’t explain, she did believe. Only, now she realised that she was afraid to show as much faith as she always had, for fear she would somehow jinx it all.
Summer Page 42
