Nancy Business

by R. W. R. McDonald

  Hornblower came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him. He was bent over and twisting another towel around his head like Devon’s turban.‘No photos, please,’ he said, as he stood back up. He smiled when he saw Uncle Pike with his mouth open. ‘Hello, Pickles, nice bathroom.’ He walked towards a pale-looking Devon at the bedroom door.

  ‘Oh.’ Hornblower stopped and stared at me. ‘Someone vomited in the shower.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘I did not!’

  ‘Excuse me.’ Hornblower pushed past Devon and went into the bedroom, shutting the door and leaving Devon in the living room with us.

  Uncle Pike rubbed the back of his neck, his head ping-ponging between me and Devon.

  I grimaced.

  ‘What. The. Fuck,’ my uncle said.‘Come on, Tippy, we’re leaving.’ He grabbed my hand. All my stuff was here, but it didn’t seem to be the best time to mention it.

  I hurried along behind my uncle. Just as we were about to get into the twin-cab, Devon appeared on the porch.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ Devon called out.

  ‘Get in the truck, Tippy,’ Uncle Pike said, in a low voice.

  I patted Fabulon in the back and climbed in. I quickly wound down my window.

  ‘You broke up with me,’ Devon said. ‘Anyway, you said we’re open.’ He wrapped his arms around his chest and stomped on the spot. ‘Brrrr, it’s cold.’

  ‘Wow,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘You really want to unpack this here?’

  Hornblower joined Devon on the front porch. ‘Anyone seen my undies?’ he called out. He rubbed something in his hands, reminding me of a pasty praying mantis, then finger-combed his hair. ‘Where’s she off to?’ He nodded towards Uncle Pike.

  My uncle walked back up to Hornblower and pashed him. Devon looked on, horrified.

  A logging truck tooted its horn as it rumbled past.

  ‘Happy?’ Uncle Pike said to Devon. Hornblower stood still, touching his lips.

  Uncle Pike walked back to the car and leaned on his door. ‘My problem is you got drunk and shagged a stranger with Tippy in the house.’

  ‘I didn’t get drunk,’ Devon yelled.

  ‘Not a stranger.’ Hornblower waved.

  Uncle Pike ignored them and got in, slamming the door. ‘You okay?’ he asked me.

  I nodded as he started the engine.

  As he pulled away, I waved goodbye to Devon.

  Worst. Holiday. Ever.

  At the end of the block Uncle Pike turned right instead of left on Rata Street, away from the direction of Number Four. I turned to him.

  ‘We’re going home to see your mum,’ he said.

  I sucked in my cheeks and turned back, staring out my window. I was still furious with Mum and didn’t want to see her, but after what had just happened to Uncle Pike I wanted him to feel better. On the way, I lied and told him nothing had happened between Devon and Hornblower.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Uncle Pike said, then repeated it anytime I started to speak. I needed to tell him about the security videos as well. On the stereo The Corrs sang a new song, ‘I Never Loved You Anyway’. I glanced at Uncle Pike in horror. He stared ahead, his nostrils flaring. I darted my hand out to turn it off, but the volume was stuck. After an awkward drive over the bridge—I deliberately didn’t hold my breath again—along the river and up the hill, finally the music stopped when my uncle parked and killed the engine.

  Mrs Brown rushed over. I hadn’t seen her since I found out the news about Dad. I gritted my teeth as part of me began to boil.

  ‘Great,’ my uncle sighed when he spotted her. ‘Ready?’ He didn’t wait for my answer as he got out and sprinted past Mrs Brown and into the house.

  I got out and shut my door. She hovered by our mailbox, frowning. ‘Is he okay?’ She gave me a concerned look up and down. ‘Tippy, it’s so good to see you. Your mum’s been worried sick.’ She tilted her head and held out her arms to me.

  I knew it was rude but I ignored Mrs Brown, walking around her and going straight inside the garage instead.

  She followed me. ‘How are you, really?’

  I stopped. ‘Do you mean after everyone lied to me about my dad’s death?’ I turned on Mrs Brown, blood pounding in my ears. ‘Is that what you mean? Like for a whole year?’

  Mrs Brown took a step back. ‘Well …’

  I slapped the garage wall hard. ‘Every. One.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Mrs Brown’s hands fluttered to her throat. ‘I … I …’

  ‘Didn’t think so.’ I opened the door and left her standing there.

  ‘Tippy?’ Uncle Pike went back out to see Mrs Brown as I slammed the door behind me.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Mum called out from the laundry.

  ‘No one important,’ I said, and walked down the hallway.

  Behind me the door opened. It was Uncle Pike, no Mrs Brown in sight. Something flared up in me. My jaw clenched. I wanted to destroy.

  ‘You’re better than that,’ he said to me. I couldn’t maintain his eye contact and checked out the carpet instead, my cheeks burning.

  What does he know anyway? I turned my back on him. ‘No I’m not,’ I said, and walked away.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ my uncle said behind me. ‘Tippy?’

  At the laundry door, I gripped the cold metal handle and faced him.

  ‘Sorry,’ Uncle Pike said. He reached out to me but I moved away. He dropped his arm. ‘I really am sorry.’

  I ignored my uncle and focused on the door handle. He sighed and I listened as he shuffled off to the living room. I exhaled and loosened my grip. What if I’m not better than that?

  In the laundry, Mum didn’t look up from her pile of dirty washing, busy checking Uncle Pike’s shorts pockets. ‘You should answer your phone.’

  I kept my hand on the handle. ‘That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?’

  She shoved clothes into the washing machine. ‘You answer it, or you can stay here without a phone.’ She glanced at me then scooped out some lemon washing powder and put it in the machine. ‘Your choice.’

  I don’t know what I expected but it was not this.

  Mum cranked the washing machine’s noisy dial and pushed it in to start it. As water rushed in she leaned on the top of it and let out a big sigh, tilting her head at me. ‘Well?’

  I glared at her. ‘Wow.’ I stormed off, slamming another door as hard as I could, but it was one of those annoying ones that didn’t make much noise. Why can’t she just be a normal mum? It was like she didn’t care. I threw myself on my bed and screamed into my pillow. My hand brushed against something smooth and cool. Piggy-Cat’s paw. I snatched it up and stormed over to my window, opened it as wide as it would go, and flung the porcelain paw into the garden. Fake piece of crap. Dad probably only spent $2 on it.

  I stood at the window for a while, even after shutting it, fighting the part of me that wanted to go find Piggy-Cat’s paw and bring it home. I curled up on my bed and tried to shut everything out.

  After half an hour or so came a knock on my door. I pushed myself up off my bed and opened it.

  ‘Don’t you ever slam the door again,’ Mum said.

  I gripped the door handle, resisting the urge to slam it in her face now. I stared at her and Mum glared back. Finally, I said, ‘Sorry.’ I wasn’t sorry but I knew how stubborn she could be.

  Mum sighed. ‘I’ve spoken with your counsellor. She can do an emergency telephone session with you later today, after the memorial.’ Shit. I had forgotten about the memorial.

  Mum continued, ‘In the meantime, until she can see you face to face early next week, she told me talking side by side in a car helps.’

  I sat on my bed and shrugged. ‘We’re talking now.’

  She leaned against my doorframe and crossed her arms. ‘It would be useful I guess if there ever was an emergency, I suppose.’

  ‘What?’ I pulled down my sleeves, gripping my cuffs. ‘Talking?’ I had no idea what she was on about.

  She
dangled her car keys. ‘Just so we’re clear, I’m going to hate this and it will end in tears.’

  Rude. ‘Forget it. I’m not going to sit in the driveway with you and have the neighbours stare at us.’

  Mum’s lip curled. ‘What are you talking about? I’m taking you for a poxy driving lesson.’

  I let go of my cuffs and frowned. ‘Really?’ I’d never been for a driving lesson. Ever. ‘My counsellor suggested this?’

  Mum pushed herself off the doorframe. ‘After all the mocking you and your father did about my “get-away” driving.’ She chuckled. ‘Come on. Before I change my mind. I’ll drive first, then you can take over.’

  As Mum drove down our hill, she put on the stereo. The Exponents, ‘Why Does Love Do This to Me’ started playing. She sang along and tapped her hands on the top of the steering wheel. The image of her and the bridge bomb flashed into my mind. I shuddered and switched the stereo off.

  ‘Hey, I was listening to that, thank you very much,’ Mum said, going to turn it back on.

  ‘I thought we could talk,’ I lied. Better than trying to explain to her that I didn’t want to think about her dying in an explosion.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? You can just ask to change the song you know.’

  ‘That’s it,’ I said, pushing back into my seat.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Mum stared ahead with a smirk. I picked up her phone and searched for a song, though both of us knew she could always tell when I was lying. At the bottom of the hill she indicated left, away from the bridge. ‘We’re going to the dump.’ I loved the dump, it was only five minutes from our house. I used to go there with Dad. It had always felt like it was filled with hidden treasure.

  But after ten minutes, I wasn’t loving the dump anymore. And Mum wasn’t wrong about hating the lesson—twice I’d nearly sworn at her. I don’t know why she chose the dump, there was hardly any room to drive around and each time someone dropped off a load of rubbish we had to stop and wait. In the distance, a yellow digger scooped up plastic bags and an oven from the edge of the pile.

  ‘Couldn’t we have done this somewhere else?’ I asked, watching the digger drop its load on top of a tip mountain, metal crashing as the oven tumbled down its side.

  ‘You’re lucky we’re doing this at all. Now concentrate, I want you to do a loop again.’

  ‘Fine.’ So far all I’d done was drive around and around in a circle. Besides the random people dumping and the digger, we were alone. At least none of the girls from school could see me.

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t driven before?’ Mum said, eyeballing me.

  I snorted and avoided her stare. ‘Yeah, right. All the time.’

  Mum sighed. ‘I never thought I’d have to do this.’

  I put my foot on the accelerator and steered to the right to make the circle bigger. ‘Why? Did you think I was never going to drive?’ I aimed for a puddle, hoping it was deep.

  ‘No.’ The car bumped and we both bounced in our seats—the puddle was more like a hole. Muddy water splashed up on Mum’s windscreen side.

  ‘Watch where you’re going,’ she snapped.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, eyeing up a branch ahead.

  ‘And look out for that stick.’

  I nodded but kept driving towards it.

  Mum wrenched the wheel, turning it. ‘Okay, I think that’s enough for today. Put on the brake.’

  I pulled on the handbrake. We slid sideways on the gravel and suddenly stopped.

  ‘Shit!’ she said. ‘I meant the foot brake.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘There’s a lot of “sorry” going on. Put the car into park and then switch off the engine.’

  Just not a lot of sorry coming from her. I pushed the lever to ‘P’ and turned the ignition off. We sat, staring ahead at the colourful rubbish pile. Seagulls wheeled above and screeched at each other over their buried treasure.

  Mum sighed, with relief I think. ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘We survived.’

  Dad popped into my head. The old version. I didn’t know who the other one was.

  She leaned back into the seat but kept gazing outside. ‘I always thought your dad would teach you,’ she said. ‘It was one of our jokes.’

  I gripped the wheel.

  Mum turned to face me. ‘Not aimed at you. It was because of my patience, or lack of it. Don’t be so sensitive.’ Her voice softened. ‘He would’ve loved to teach you.’

  ‘Maybe he should’ve stuck around then.’

  Mum gasped.

  I knew it wasn’t fair but I was beyond angry. I was enraged. Of course he fucking should have. My muscles tensed and every part of me felt like I could rip the steering wheel off right now if I wanted to. I had to move. I shoved open my door and got out. A strong cold breeze almost masked the stench of rotting food and stinking mud. All around me seagulls squawked and in the distance the digger’s engine hummed. My face stung in the biting wind. I didn’t turn away, I just shut my door very slowly, using all of my strength not to slam it. This is what power feels like.

  Her door shot open and she got out. ‘Tippy—’

  ‘Did you know?’ I called out across the car’s roof.

  She gave a brutal laugh. ‘We’ve gone over this.’

  ‘Not that, Helen,’ I snapped.

  Mum recoiled like I’d slapped her. ‘Don’t you call me that.’

  ‘I know about everyone lying, Helen.’ I smacked the roof of the car. My palm smarted but the heat of it felt good. ‘Did you know he wanted to kill himself?’

  Mum’s shoulders slumped. She moved around the car, her eyes not leaving mine. I couldn’t tell if she was furious or not, but I wasn’t going to budge. Not anymore. I was tired of being afraid. I widened my stance, grinding my boot heels into the gravel road. She stopped just in front of me.

  ‘Can I see the note?’ I asked.

  Mum took a step back. She was silent then said, ‘He didn’t leave one.’

  I crossed my arms. Maybe if she hadn’t argued with him all the time about money he’d still be alive.

  Mum tried to say something else but her eyes welled up and she shook her head. She leaned over and rested her hands on the car bonnet. Her knuckles on her right hand were red and cut. A low wail grew louder and louder; a noise Mum had made only once before, when the police told her the news about Dad.

  My insides went cold. She didn’t know why. ‘Mum?’ I held my breath. One year later and she still didn’t have any answers. For me. For herself. It wasn’t her fault.

  As the pain tore out of her in this disgusting place I rushed towards her, wrapping my arms around her waist. ‘Shh, Mum. Sorry, I’m so sorry.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Back at home, we pretended nothing had happened. Mum pretended I hadn’t found out about Dad’s suicide and everyone covering it up, and I pretended she hadn’t just broken down in front of me. Pretty sure she was lying about her injured hand as well, when she told me a bed at work had fallen on it.

  Uncle Pike sat at the kitchen table. ‘How was the driving lesson?’ he asked, pretending that was normal, too. I went along with it. Maybe I had been a bit tough on him.

  ‘Great,’ I said, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Mum but feeling her watching me. ‘I ran over a stick.’

  ‘It was a log,’ Mum said. ‘And she hit a massive pot-hole. I’m surprised we have any wheels left.’ She smiled, sitting down at the table. ‘Tippy’s a natural.’

  I sat on the other side, beside Uncle Pike.

  He put his arm around me and gave me a huge squeeze. ‘I am sorry. Please don’t hate me. I love you so much that I bought a house in River-hole.’

  ‘Hey, it’s not a hole.’ I felt guilty at going off at him before, but his lying had hurt so much. ‘I don’t hate you,’ I said, kicking my chair legs with the back of my feet.

  ‘But you don’t not hate me.’ Uncle Pike shook his head. ‘No more secrets, I promise.’

  I giggled and rolled my ey
es. It was very hard to stay mad at him.

  ‘And I am so sorry about your dad,’ he said. A flash of him and Mum at this table last Christmas came to mind. Uncle Pike saying she needed to tell me. I didn’t know what at the time. He wanted me to know. He told Mum to tell me.

  It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s—except Dad’s. They had all been trying to protect me. Even though it sucked and keeping me in the dark was wrong, it came from a good place. Mum removing all the pictures of Dad made sense now. All of it was too much—for her, too—including telling me the truth. It didn’t make what she did right, but I guess sometimes doing right feels really wrong.

  I leaned over and gave Uncle Pike a hug. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. He covered my hand with his massive tattooed one. I never wanted to fight with him again. ‘I love you, Uncle Pike.’

  He rocked back in his wooden seat, holding my hand. ‘Me too, Tippy. Me too.’ There was a loud snap of wood breaking. He shot up. The chair leaned on an angle.

  Mum glared at him. ‘Mea culpa,’ Uncle Pike said, then we both burst out laughing.

  When we’d finally calmed down, and Mum stopped yelling about ruining her furniture, I offered to make them a hot drink while they talked about Mum’s outfit for the memorial service. The new jug was whisper quiet. I took over the milk and sugar, then hung out in the kitchen waiting for the jug to boil.

  Uncle Pike went quiet and played with the sugar bowl. He looked up at Mum. I wondered if he had told Mum about this morning and Hornblower yet.

  Mum reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘I really am sorry, Pike.’

  He sighed. ‘Well our folks did say, “Family business is nobody’s business”.’

  Mum sat back, still holding his hand. ‘You know, the older I get the creepier that sounds.’ She tilted her head. ‘Or maybe it’s just your narration.’

  My uncle laughed. ‘Rude.’

  ‘Bloody motto of silence. No wonder you’re so fucked up.’

  He roared laughing. ‘Ditto, sis. And don’t forget secret shame-filled.’

  ‘How could I forget that?’

  Uncle Pike glanced up at me. I looked away, pretending I wasn’t listening but kept watching out of the corner of my eye. He smiled at Mum. ‘At least you and Joe got to be yourselves with Mum and Dad, and be honest.’