Rosa-Marie's Baby

by Robert G. Barrett

  They lay together in the spa and shared a few kisses till eventually the water temperature began to drop.

  ‘Well what do you reckon, Stepha?’ said Les. ‘We go to bed? I’m not used to all this and I’m about knackered.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Stepha. ‘I’m tired too.’

  They got out of the spa bath, wrapped towels around themselves, Les pulled the plug and they walked out to the lounge room. Les smiled at Stepha and put his arms around her.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘You can sleep in bed with me if you want. But I had a huge meal earlier and a few drinks. So I’ll be farting and snoring all night. You’d be better off sleeping on your own. But please yourself.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ replied Stepha. ‘I understand. You’ve had a root. Now I can piss off. Would you like me to sleep out on the landing?’

  ‘Okay. Bring the paper in with you in the morning.’ Les scrabbled Stepha’s hair. ‘Hang on. I’ll get you a pillow and blankets.’

  Les went to his room and changed into a clean T-shirt and jox then came back with two blankets and two pillows from the wardrobe. Stepha put on a black Freddie Mercury T-shirt, a pair of grey tracksuit pants and woolly socks.

  ‘Here you are Baby Bunting.’ Les lay Stepha on the lounge, put the pillows under her head and tucked the blankets up under her chin. ‘Now. Are we all warm and snug?’

  ‘Yes thank you,’ said Stepha.

  ‘Good. What time does the bus leave in the morning?’

  ‘Ten-thirty.’

  ‘Unreal,’ smiled Les. ‘We can have a nice breakfast before you go.’

  ‘Okay. Hey Les.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do I get a goodnight kiss?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t see why not,’ replied Les.

  Les lifted Stepha’s chin up gently and left her with a long, lingering kiss. ‘How was that?’

  ‘That was just fine.’ Stepha rolled over on her side as Les turned out the lights. ‘Hey Les,’ she said, from under the blankets.

  ‘Yes Stepha.’

  ‘I like you, Father Les. You’re really nice.’

  Les smiled at Stepha’s silhouette in the darkness. ‘Thank you Stepha. You’re rather nice yourself. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Les went to his bedroom, closed the door and switched off the light, not bothering to put his money and credit cards under the pillow when he got into bed. Well, apart from having to take those three mugs to task, he yawned, I’d call that a pretty good night. And I think somebody else enjoyed themselves too. Les smiled and thought about Stepha when the wind picked up across the landing and began flicking at the window curtains on the opposite side of the room. Outside Les could hear the ocean breaking along the beach. Norton yawned again and scrunched his head into the pillows. In seconds he was snoring happily.

  Norton’s sleep was disturbed the next morning by the sound of his door opening. He was awakened a few seconds later by something getting under the douvet and curling up against his back.

  ‘Stepha,’ blinked Les. ‘What’s …?’

  ‘I just came in for a cuddle. That’s all,’ said Stepha.

  ‘No worries.’ Les took Stepha’s arm and wrapped it round him. ‘How are you this morning?’

  Stepha nuzzled his neck. ‘Good.’

  ‘Did you sleep all right?’

  ‘Yes thanks. I got up to go to the loo and found that caesar salad. Gee it was nice.’

  ‘Yeah? Did you leave me any?’

  ‘I meant to.’

  ‘No wonder Burne kicked you out of the house.’

  Stepha pinched Les through his T-shirt and it hurt. Les chuckled into the pillow and closed his eyes. A few moments went by then Stepha started rubbing Miss Brazil against his back. A couple of minutes of this and Mr Wobbly began to think Stepha had got into bed for a bit more than a cuddle. He was soon up and about and somehow managed to roll Les over on his back and find his way into Stepha’s mouth. Stepha gave Les a diabolical polish then got on top. Les gave a shudder of delight as Stepha came down on him. It felt that good he could have kissed her. So he did. Stepha kissed him back then started grinding away. Les smiled up and watched Stepha’s hair swaying rhythmically from side to side then closed his eyes and went along for the ride.

  It was a fantastic way to commence the morning and Les would have liked to have gone on till lunchtime. However, Stepha revved up then came down too hard and too often in one long burst and Les let go with a howl that rattled the windows. Stepha eventually got off and lay down alongside Les. Norton’s heart had settled down and Mr Wobbly was flopping around, a mere husk of his former, finely chiselled self.

  ‘How was that?’ purred Stepha.

  ‘For just a cuddle. Not real bad,’ answered Les. ‘What would have happened if you’d’ve come in wanting a root?’

  Stepha gave Les another pinch. ‘You big shit. No wonder they kicked you out of the church.’ She got up and dropped the douvet over Norton’s face. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’

  Les smiled and lay under the douvet for a while then got up and sat on the edge of the bed. Shit! Am I imagining things, he shivered. Or is it cold in here? He glanced up at the windows above the TV and it looked very gloomy on the landing. Les got up, wrapped a towel around himself then walked down to the lounge room, drew back the curtains and opened the sliding glass door onto the balcony. Outside it was drizzling rain, the wind was blowing onshore and it was grey and gloomy all the way to the horizon. He closed the door and turned around just as Stepha walked into the lounge room wrapped in towels.

  ‘What a miserable bloody day,’ said Les.

  ‘You’re only saying that because I’m leaving,’ smiled Stepha. ‘Aren’t you, darling pet.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Les gave Stepha a kiss on the forehead then headed for the shower.

  Stepha was standing in the lounge room wearing a pair of jeans, the same black jacket zipped up over a black T-shirt and a huge grey beanie, when Les came down wearing his blue tracksuit. His hair was combed and he’d squirted himself with deodorant, but he hadn’t bothered to shave. He walked up to Stepha and put his arm around her.

  ‘Well Stepha,’ he said. ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow. But we got plenty of time for breakfast. You hungry?’

  ‘After one lousy caesar salad. What do you reckon?’ said Stepha.

  ‘Why are you such a romantic, Stepha?’ asked Les.

  ‘It’s you, Father Les,’ she smiled. ‘You’ve taken away all my pain. And filled my cold, cold heart with love.’

  ‘I’ll carry your bag for you.’

  Arm in arm, Les and Stepha caught the lift to the lobby, sharing a kiss or two on the way down. Rather than enter the restaurant through the resort, Les walked Stepha outside to see if the weather was as bad as it looked from the balcony. It was. And as they rounded the corner past the pine trees, the rain got heavier. They jogged up a short flight of stairs, then stepped through the chairs and tables in front of the restaurant. Les slid the glass door open and they stepped inside.

  The restaurant was called Michael’s. It had soft lights set in a white ceiling and was painted in shades of tan to match the resort. The counter was on the right and in the middle was a buffet breakfast. Coffee and tea was against the wall behind. Les gave the girl at the counter his room number then he and Stepha walked past the other diners and found a table in a corner facing the ocean. Les placed Stepha’s bag against the wall and nodded at the buffet.

  ‘Why don’t we just attack?’ he suggested.

  ‘Good idea,’ nodded Stepha. ‘I’m going to get a cup of tea first.’

  After tea and fruit juice they got into the Bircher muesli and fruit, then proceeded on to bacon and eggs with all the trimmings plus hot buttered toast washed down by cups of tea and coffee. From the look on Stepha’s face as she ate a third piece of toast with apricot jam, she hadn’t done too bad for twenty-five dollars. They talked about different things, Les got Stepha’s mobile phone number and it was a very leisur
ely, very enjoyable breakfast. However, time always flies when you’re having fun.

  ‘Stepha,’ said Les. ‘You’ve worked down here a few times and you know your way around.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s right,’ replied Stepha.

  ‘If I wanted to find out … say something about old Lorne. Where would I go? The council? They got a historical society round here or something?’

  Stepha pointed down the street. ‘You know the second-hand bookshop in the laneway?’

  ‘Yeah. The little wooden house back off the street.’

  ‘That’s it,’ nodded Stepha. ‘See the lady that runs it. Mrs Totten. She’s lived here all her life and knows everything there is about the place. I get my books off her and she’s a real old sweetheart. She’ll look after you.’

  ‘Thanks Stepha,’ said Les.

  Stepha looked at her watch. ‘Shit! I’d better get going. The bus’ll be here any minute.’ She smiled at Les. ‘I wish I wasn’t going now.’

  Les returned Stepha’s smile and put his hand on hers. ‘I wish you weren’t either.’

  They finished the last of their tea and coffee, Les picked up Stepha’s bag and paid the bill while she went to fix her non-existent make-up. They walked outside and by the time they joined the other people huddled at the bus stop, the bus was coming down the hill, its windscreen wipers beating away at the swirling rain. It squealed to a halt and the door swished open, several passengers got off and the people at the bus stop filed on, happy to be getting out of the cold. Les handed Stepha her bag, put his arms around her and gave her a warm kiss goodbye.

  ‘Listen, Stepha. Before you go,’ said Les. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ He fished into his tracksuit and came up with a twenty-dollar bill. ‘There’s your twenty dollars back. I’m keeping the other five for the caesar salad.’

  ‘What? You miserable bastard,’ said Stepha. ‘If I’d have known that I wouldn’t have eaten it.’

  Les fished into the other pocket of his tracksuit and handed Stepha an envelope. ‘My phone number’s in there. Give me a ring sometime.’

  Stepha took the envelope, felt it then took a peek inside. ‘There’s money in here,’ she said. ‘Shit! Are some of those fifties?’

  ‘They’re all fifties,’ said Les.

  Stepha shook her head and pocketed the envelope. ‘Why did you have to go and do that, Les? You big prick.’

  ‘I dunno,’ shrugged Norton. ‘It’s a prick of a day. And I guess you’ve left me in a prick of a mood. What can I say?’

  The rain pattered down on Stepha’s beanie, dripped onto her face and blended in with two smears of warm salty water trickling from the corners of her eyes. ‘For a priest, you’re certainly something else. Aren’t you — Father Les.’

  The other people had got on the bus and Les could see the driver trying his best to look patient. ‘Next time I see you, I’ll tell you a bit more about myself.’ He gave Stepha a quick kiss on the lips and pulled down her beanie. ‘Now go on. Get on the bus, you little shit. Before you catch pneumonia.’

  Stepha picked up her bag and got on the bus and the door swished shut behind her. She sat down at a window seat and stared out at Les. Les smiled up through the rain, blew her a kiss and waved. Stepha waved back, then the bus began to move off. She was still staring out the window at Les when it went past the old picture theatre. Les watched the bus disappear round the bend then shoved his hands in the jacket pockets of his tracksuit and walked back to the unit.

  Once inside, Les switched the kettle on and walked into the lounge room, noticing Stepha had folded the blankets neatly and left them on the lounge. He stared out across the balcony at a rotten cold day and suddenly the unit felt awfully empty. The kettle boiled, Les made a cup of tea and took the blankets and pillows back to his bedroom.

  Les sipped his tea, took his tracksuit top off and put on a grey sweatshirt with his GAP anorak on over the top. He tossed a few things in his overnight bag, took it out to the kitchen, then finished his cup of tea looking over the map of Lorne he got at the real estate agency. Corio Crescent was up a hill behind the main street. Okay, thought Les. Let’s see how we go. He rinsed his cup, put his cap on, and caught the lift down to the car park.

  The Mitsubishi purred into life, Les checked his map and tuned the radio to 106.7 FM. The reception was a little scratchy and the woman DJ was on a bluegrass trip, playing Yank Ratchell a’plunking ‘Cigarette Blues’. It was a bit hokey for Norton’s taste. But anything had to be better than listening to Who Da Funk, or hearing ‘Hotel California’ for the two hundred thousandth time between ads for junk food and electrical appliances. The roller door was up, Les drove out into the rain, went down the hill then turned left into Mountjoy.

  There was hardly any traffic. Les took a left at a motel then drove up the hill and turned right at the local police station, before passing an ambulance station and a school. All the houses were spread out on hilly open blocks surrounded by trees, and Corio Crescent was a deadend running into bush. Number two was on the corner. It was a big old weatherboard building painted white and set back in a yard full of tall blue gums. A white picket fence, divided by a wooden gate framed with pine logs, ran around part of the yard, and a concrete path led to a set of steps going up to a vestry out the front. Either side of the vestry was an enclosed verandah beneath an A-frame roof with a satellite TV dish on the side. A blue and gold sign hanging above the gate said MADONNA BACKPACKERS LORNE. Seated on a milk crate beneath the apex at the top of the stairs, a woman in a red flannelette shirt and jeans was washing a small white dog in a yellow plastic bathtub. Les switched off the engine and got out of the car. He stood in the rain for a moment looking at the old wooden building before opening the gate and hurrying along the path and up the stairs out of the rain. The woman looked up as Les stepped under the apex.

  ‘Not much of a day,’ commented Les.

  ‘No,’ agreed the woman, pouring water over the dog’s head. ‘Chewy’s enjoying it even less.’

  The woman was an overweight blonde, with a plump, happy face; the dog was a Maltese terrier with a flat, miserable face. Standing reluctantly in the soapy water, it was that miserable it didn’t even acknowledge Norton’s presence, let alone bother to bark at a stranger.

  ‘Chewy? That wouldn’t be short for Chewbacca, would it?’ said Les.

  ‘Yes. The little shit. He rolled in something earlier. God, the stink was enough to make you sick.’ She gave the dog another splash of water then lifted it out of the tub. Chewy shook himself, gave his owner a filthy look then ran off around the verandah. The woman wiped her hands on a tea towel and looked at Les. ‘So what can I do for you?’

  ‘Have you got something to do with this place?’ asked Les.

  ‘Yes. I’m the owner,’ replied the woman. ‘With my husband. Are you looking for a room?’

  ‘Actually,’ said Les. ‘I’m looking for a church.’

  The woman gave a little laugh. ‘Well you’re a bit late,’ she said.

  ‘Late?’ said Les.

  ‘Years bloody late.’

  ‘Years?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said the woman. ‘This used to be a church, till the priest died. Then some sculptors turned it into a studio. Before me and my husband bought it and started up a backpackers. We kept the old name.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Les. ‘It used to be the Church of the Blessed Madonna. And the priest’s name was Father Shipley.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘No. It wasn’t Shipley. It was Marriott.’

  ‘Marriott?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the woman. She got up off the milk crate, rubbed her legs and looked curiously at Les. ‘What did you want the old church for, anyway?’

  ‘Well,’ said Les. ‘My name’s Norton. Les Norton. And my late mother, Rosa-Marie Norton, had some paintings sent here from Sydney to a Father Shipley for safekeeping. It was a long time ago. But I was sort of … hoping they might still be here.’

  The woman looked at Les some
what amused. ‘Have you come all the way from Sydney to find these paintings?’

  ‘That’s right,’ answered Les.

  ‘Well, all I can say is, mate, you’ve come a long way for nothing.’

  The woman picked up the bathtub and emptied it out into the garden at the side of the stairs. Les felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach.

  ‘If you don’t mind, ma’am,’ said Les. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Sirotic,’ replied the woman. ‘Maureen Sirotic.’

  ‘Mrs Sirotic. There wouldn’t be an old storage shed or something round the back would there?’

  ‘There would,’ replied Mrs Sirotic. ‘But I can tell you now, there’s no paintings in there. When the sculptors moved out they practically stripped the place bare. Anything they did leave, we either threw out or burnt.’

  ‘Fair dinkum?’ said Les bleakly.

  ‘Fair dinkum,’ repeated Mrs Sirotic. ‘But seeing you’ve come such a long way, you’re welcome to have a look around when my husband comes back from Geelong. But you’d only be wasting your time.’

  Les looked at the owner and knew when he’d tossed tails. ‘No, that’s all right, Mrs Sirotic. I’ll take your word for it. But thanks for your help anyway.’

  ‘No worries,’ said the owner.

  The dog appeared from around the verandah and decided to bark at Les. Les felt like giving it a kick in the arse. The owner told it to keep quiet then turned to Les.

  ‘Are you staying in Lorne?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Till Friday,’ replied Les. ‘At the Otway Resort.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you ask the priest at the church just up from there. He was friends with Father Marriott. He might be able to help you, and he lives on the premises.’