Maggie's Going Nowhere

by Rose Hartley

  Agnes returned, carrying a pink folder with the word ‘reject’ scrawled on the front in black texta.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I asked.

  ‘It means these are applications we’ve rejected. It’s unfortunate, but we have no time to advertise for new volunteers, so we’ll need to choose one out of these.’

  ‘Are the requirements for op shop volunteers . . . strict?’

  Agnes looked around and lowered her voice. ‘The only prerequisite for shop volunteers is that they aren’t bat-shit crazy. If they aren’t bat-shit crazy, they get the job.’

  I was shocked. Agnes seemed like such a nice Christian lady. I hadn’t expected her to be honest.

  ‘So these people are—’

  ‘Just find the applicant who’s least alarming.’ She adjusted her glasses and left the room.

  I flipped through the applications, trying to find the least frightening volunteer. One had served a couple of years in Bindup Prison for armed robbery and assault, one wrote that she was ‘looking forwerd to the free cloths’ in the op shop, and one had written a fairly disturbing seven-page treatise on how he would ‘straighten out the bums’ at the Nicholson Street Angels. I tore the last application up and put it in the bin.

  So far the one wanting free clothes was in the lead. I phoned the number listed. The girl who picked up sounded like Charlene from the golden years of Neighbours.

  ‘Oh hon, thanks for phoning me back,’ she said. ‘But I’m waiting to hear from the Salvos first, they’ve got the best stuff. Do you mind if I get back to you?’

  ‘We need someone to come in tomorrow,’ I told her.

  ‘Aw, well I couldn’t anyway, love. I’m getting me acrylics done tomorrow.’ She hung up.

  Agnes popped her head in. ‘Have you found someone?’

  Jeez, give me five minutes, lady. ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Chop chop.’ She left.

  Chop chop indeed. I could have turned up with Chopper Read and she wouldn’t have cared. In fact, Chopper had lived near me in Collingwood, before he went to the great prison war in the sky. I used to see him shuffling down Keele Street in his trackies, his earless head grim, wearing an ironic expression as if he was prepped for smartarse remarks from strangers. Stuff it. Bindup was minimum security, wasn’t it?

  I picked up the phone and dialled the bloke who’d done time. It rang out. I hung up and sat back in my chair.

  A second later, the phone rang. I picked up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Did you just call me?’ The man’s voice was low and pebbly and vaguely familiar.

  ‘Er, maybe, is this . . . Rueben Blackwood?’

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘It’s Maggie from the Nicholson Street Angels. I have your volunteer application in front of me.’

  ‘You’re the only one that’s phoned me back. I’ve applied all over the place.’

  ‘Yes, well, you sound, um, great. Have you ever worked behind a cash register?’

  ‘I know how to work one.’

  ‘Right, because you’ve robbed a few.’ Best to get it all out in the open.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, with more than a hint of derision, ‘because I’ve robbed a few.’

  ‘Great. We need someone tomorrow. Can you come in?’

  He said nothing for a moment. It sounded like he was scratching his chin. Or maybe his balls.

  ‘Yeah, sure, I can come in.’

  ‘Wonderful. And, um, no stealing stuff, please.’

  ‘I don’t steal from charities,’ he said. ‘I’m not a lowlife.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  I thought I’d heard Rueben’s voice somewhere before, but I couldn’t place it. The only person I knew who’d been in jail was my uncle Ricko, who’d defrauded his employer of $500,000 and spent two months in low-security detention. Maybe I’d met Rueben through Ricko. It seemed unlikely.

  ‘By the way, do you know my uncle, Ricko Cotton? He’s been in jail too,’ I asked.

  ‘Oh yeah, Ricko and me have chai lattes together on Sundays.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No. See you tomorrow.’ He hung up.

  ‘I found someone,’ I told Agnes, who was stirring a mug of what looked like very strong black coffee in the kitchen. There was no funny slogan on the mug, just a photo of a cocker spaniel. Good idea, I thought. I should get one made up with Dot’s beautiful face on it.

  ‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘Well done.’

  ‘His name’s Rueben. He’s got experience with cash registers.’

  ‘Even better. Maggie, this is Christine,’ Agnes said, gesturing to a woman sitting at a table eating a sandwich. ‘Christine is our bookkeeper.’

  Christine nodded. She looked to be in her sixties, small and dark, with glasses and a narrow, slightly pinched nose, like it had been squeezed in by a pair of pliers.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Maggie.’ Christine’s voice was soft and quiet, with deliberate pronunciation. She smiled. ‘I hear you don’t like Milo.’

  I liked Christine immediately.

  ‘Maggie has already impressed us,’ Agnes said quickly, shooting a disapproving look at Christine. She turned back to me. ‘Next you’ll be drawing up the roster and phoning volunteers to confirm their shifts in the shop for next week. It’s very important to phone them, even though most of them already know their shift times. If they don’t get a phone call, many of them simply won’t turn up.’

  The rest of the day wasn’t too bad. I opened a spreadsheet with the roster history, set myself up with a work email account, and fiddled around with the roster according to who was available next week. I went through the list, phoning volunteers to confirm their shifts in the op shop and updating their personal records where necessary.

  One volunteer, Margaret, sounded particularly ancient.

  ‘Agnes, is that you?’ her voice warbled down the line.

  ‘No, it’s Maggie. MAGGIE. I’m new.’

  ‘Oh . . . oh . . . Maggie. Nice to meet you, darling. Via telephony, that is.’

  ‘You too, Margaret.’

  ‘Maggie . . . is that short for Margaret?’ she inquired. ‘The same as my name?’

  ‘No, actually, it’s just Maggie.’

  ‘Oh, that’s unusual. Quite unusual.’

  Ten minutes later I was still on the phone to her and looking around nervously to make sure no one could overhear me wasting precious time on the telephone with one old biddy.

  ‘You’ll meet my daughter soon. She’s a volunteer too,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘She’s very good. She’s in the witness protection program.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘We started volunteering after we shifted interstate. See, the Angels found us a place in their women’s shelter, and of course after we got back on our feet I thought, well, I should really be giving back after all they’ve done for us. And they told us how they needed volunteers, and I thought, it’s a sign from God.’

  ‘Oh, that was a good thought,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it was. It was a pity we had to move, Karumba is a lovely town. But if I didn’t move with my daughter I wouldn’t have seen her anymore. Most of my friends have died now, so there was no point staying behind. You’ll meet my daughter tomorrow. Her name’s Belinda. Well, that’s the name we have to call her now, but it’s not her real name. Her real name is Bethany, but don’t mention that to anyone. We can’t call her Bethany anymore, even though the court case is over.’

  ‘I won’t say anything,’ I said.

  Fifteen minutes later I managed to hang up.

  Josephine ducked her head through the door. ‘Prayer Time!’

  Her enthusiasm made my stomach sink. She’d refreshed her lipstick in a purple-red shade and it contrasted shockingly with her pale skin.

  ‘It’s a special one today,’ she said.

  Her words gave me the creeps, but I dutifully followed her into a windowless room where six metal folding chairs were arranged in a circle. Four people
were already sitting there, including Agnes, who smiled when she saw me.

  ‘This is Maggie,’ Josephine said. ‘Maggie, this is Boris, Bunny, and you’ve met Christine.’

  Bunny, who looked about twenty-three, all perky breasts, heavy make-up and red hair teased so high you could use it for a ladder, gave a jaunty wave. Boris, a faded older man in a 1990s Rip Curl T-shirt and dad jeans, didn’t even look at me but kept staring intently at the middle knuckle of his right hand. Boris was the only other volunteer; Bunny, Josephine, Christine and Agnes were all paid employees, though only Agnes and Josephine worked full-time.

  ‘Since it’s Maggie’s first time, let’s hold hands!’ Josephine said. She held out a limp, pale hand for me to take. ‘Does anyone have any words to share this afternoon?’ She looked hopefully at me and I quickly dropped my eyes.

  ‘I have something to share,’ said Bunny. She was holding hands with Boris and Christine. I guessed Bunny was the one in charge of marketing, since I’d seen flyers asking for donations sitting on the ancient printer near the reception desk, and she looked like the sort of person who would add a second exclamation mark on the end of a sentence that read Melbourne’s most vulnerable need our help!!

  ‘I’m so excited we’ve got a new member of staff here today,’ she said, ‘because I have a special offering.’

  ‘Go on, Bunny,’ said Agnes.

  I’d been wondering why there was an acoustic guitar lying next to one of the chairs, and praying to Buddha that nobody was going to sing. My stomach sank when Bunny picked up the guitar and began to strum it.

  ‘I saw a woman on the street with her baby,’ said Bunny. ‘She was begging for money at the bus station. She looked so alone, so helpless, and I wrote this song to stand in solidarity with her, to tell her that God loves her and we are all one.’

  Why didn’t you just bloody tell her about the shelter instead of writing a song? I wanted to ask, but nobody raised the point and I figured it was best to keep my mouth shut on my first day. Josephine’s smile was soft and understanding, encouraging Bunny to begin.

  Bunny closed her eyes, strummed the opening notes and breathed in.

  ‘You think you are alone,

  but I am with you,

  you think you’re on your own,

  but I am here to say, we are one,

  God is all around, we are on the ground,

  you are not alone, for we are one.’

  Was I having an aneurysm?

  ‘We are lost, we are found,

  don’t be blue,

  He is a part of you.’

  You could take thirty rejects from Australia’s Got Talent, put them in a room together and force them to sing a Celine Dion song a cappella, and it would still be easier on the ears than this song. Bunny’s lows were breathy, her highs plaintive. A hand went to her chest, pressing on her heart for soulful effect. I stared around the room. Agnes’s face was still and impenetrable, but Josephine was nodding her head to the beat. Even Boris had closed his eyes, presumably in enjoyment.

  After Bunny strummed the final note, Josephine wiped away a tear.

  ‘God has given you such a talent, Bunny,’ she said. ‘You could go professional.’

  Bunny nodded gravely. ‘You know, I thought about it for a while. I could have got a record deal, but I just feel so much more fulfilled working in the not-for-profit sector. I can do so much more here.’

  Agnes flicked me a small smile. ‘Let us pray,’ she said.

  This was more bearable. Josephine read a prayer with only a few sighing pauses and creative flourishes, and my mind wandered off for a few minutes. As long as there wasn’t singing every Prayer Time, I could handle this.

  I was exhausted. Not being a natural talker, it took it out of me to spend so much time on the phone, even if most of the people I was talking to were sweet old grannies. By the end of the day, my voice was croaky.

  ‘See ya, Agnes,’ I said, as I put on my jacket.

  ‘Bye, Maggie, and well done today.’

  As I walked to my car I decided that, in terms of weird days I’ve experienced, it was about a six out of ten. Weirder than I had expected, but less weird than, say, the time I slept with the video game designer whose erection failed, so he began slapping his cock against my thigh in anguish, shouting, ‘Come on, you bastard, come on!’ and then sobbed that he didn’t deserve blowjob privileges when I offered to help out. All things considered, I thought I’d be back in Mum’s will in two weeks.

  Chapter 7

  ‘So you didn’t make fun of Christians, or the homeless?’

  Jen was cooking me dinner to celebrate my first day of work. She loaded up two plates with steak, potatoes and greens and we took them outside to eat in her garden.

  ‘Jeez, Jen, what do you think I am? I don’t make fun of the homeless. I make fun of the Delta Goodrem wannabe who writes earnest songs about the homeless.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re incredibly sensitive.’

  ‘I am! I can relate, because I live in a caravan.’

  ‘Yeah, but give it six months and you’ll be back in line for an Art Deco house in Camberwell. That’s not relating, that’s . . . “I pissed off my rich mum and now I’m in the dog house for a while.”’

  Jen’s vegie patch was sprouting nicely. She had some kind of bean growing in an arch over our heads, and the grass was long around our feet. We sipped on cheap wine and watched the sun set over the corrugated-iron fence.

  ‘So does this job mean you’ll be able to afford an apartment soon?’ she asked.

  ‘First, I’m volunteering, so it’s not technically a job. Second, Jen, I love you, but you know nothing about living on the dole. Centrelink payments cannot, and never will, cover renting on my own in Melbourne.’

  She shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Don’t fret,’ I said. ‘Just because your parents bought you a house doesn’t mean you have to feel bad about it.’

  ‘You should just sleep here tonight. Jono’s not home. And your mum will never know.’

  I waved my hand. ‘Mum has eyes in the back of her head. She’s probably spying on me. Anyway, it’s only been two nights. I can’t quit after only two nights.’

  ‘I just can’t believe you don’t have a bathroom. This is all my fault. I should have stopped you from cheating on Sean at my engagement party.’

  ‘It would have only postponed the inevitable. Speaking of which, when’s Jono getting back?’

  ‘Day after tomorrow. I haven’t heard from him, though. They work so hard over there.’

  ‘They drink so hard over there, you mean.’

  Jono hated working on the mines, according to Jen, but the lure of the money was too strong for him to quit. Jen worried about him a lot. I didn’t really know what to say; who knew what men got up to when they spent weeks at a time drinking beer and drilling into the ground?

  At that moment, the sound of the front door banging made us turn our heads. Broad shoulders, a tanned face and luscious black curls sauntered into the kitchen and waved through the glass.

  ‘Jono!’ Jen shrieked, abandoning her steak in her hurry to run into his arms.

  Usually Jen picked Jono up from the airport when he came home on his time off. He must have flown in early to surprise her. He moseyed to the living area, kicked off his shoes and plonked himself down on the couch, evidently awaiting his meal.

  ‘The boss gave us all a couple of flexi days ’cause business has been good. Hey, babe.’

  Jen sat on his lap to kiss him. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming back early.’

  Kissy noises followed. I turned my back to give them some privacy, carrying our dinner plates to the sink.

  ‘So, Maggie,’ Jono said. He put one arm behind his head and the other around Jen’s waist and leant back against the couch. ‘I hear you finally fulfilled every girl’s dream of becoming trailer trash.’

  Jono had the swagger of a man who thought his dick gave him superpowers. He knew he was o
n to a good thing with Jen and yet it didn’t stop him taking advantage of how much she adored him. The way he immediately flopped on the couch and expected dinner like she was his maid was particularly infuriating, but I’d been able to tolerate him for six years mostly because I hardly ever saw him. Something told me it was going to be harder putting up with his visits now that I was half-living at Jen’s place, especially since he had been elevated to the status of fiancé and seemed to believe that it gave him certain extra privileges.

  ‘Yep,’ I said. ‘I’m riding the new wave of minimalism.’

  ‘Yeah, caravans are called tiny houses now,’ Jen said. ‘They’re in. I’ll make you a toasted cheese, babe.’

  While Jen was gone, Jono and I sat in awkward silence, until he leant forward and I instinctively grabbed the remote control on the coffee table before he could get to it.

  ‘You’re not putting on Alaskan Steel Men,’ I said. ‘We’re watching The Bachelorette and that’s final.’

  ‘You’re a real pain in the arse,’ he said. ‘And it’s not Alaskan Steel Men I wanted, it’s Dating Naked.’

  When Jen returned with the sandwich he grabbed her by the hips, swung her onto his lap and gave her a long, disgusting smooch. Jen squealed with laughter and upended the sandwich.

  ‘Oh no!’ She picked it up off the floor.

  ‘Doesn’t matter, I’ll eat it. My girl keeps her floors clean.’ He grabbed the sandwich and took a bite. ‘So how long will you be using our place as a hotel?’ he asked me, mouth full.

  ‘Oh, am I getting in your way?’

  Jen shot me a look, hearing the strain in my voice. ‘You can use my place as long as you like, honey.’

  It was generous of her to say it, considering I had already violated my promise not to take over her house. My hairdryer and shampoo were in her bathroom, my shoes were on her living room floor and less than an hour ago she’d lent me fifty dollars.

  ‘Didn’t mean it like that,’ Jono said, though he clearly had. ‘Just, you know. Living in a caravan. Really moving up in the world, eh, Maggie?’