Up at the corner shop I notice Big Boy Hinch, one of Nev’s mates from the Blackouts, our local footy team. I silently pray he don’t ask bout Nev.
‘Hey there, Missus Dooley. Where’s the Nev?’ He asks the dreaded question as he shoves potato chips into his big mouth.
‘Nev. Well ... um ... he’s crook. Got a flu or somethin,’ I answer, watchin the way his muscley arms ripple.
‘He’s crook, eh. A man’ll have to get him back onto that football field, best thing for him. We got the game comin up with the Rammers next week. Hope he’s right for that. Best player we got, Nev.’ Big Boy smiles, football pride drippin from his eyes.
‘That’s our Nev. Now look, you tell em other fellas not to call round my place. Nev needs a good rest. He’ll be right by next week I reckon.’ I give him a wide smile, wonderin what he’d do if he saw our Nev this mornin, singin n dancin round. Hmmph, probably tear him a new arsehole.
‘Mave! Come on, woman!’ Booty yells out from the end of the street.
‘Comin! Righto, Big Boy, see ya, love.’
‘See ya at the game, Missus Dooley.’
‘Dunno bout that,’ I whisper, trottin down the road.
Nevil sits on the edge of his bed, a book in one hand, a beer in the other. A joint hangin outta his slack gob. The room smells like it’s full a horseshit; Mary Jane floatin out the window.
‘Nev, Uncle’s here to see ya.’ I notice the way his legs are crossed over each other like one of em Buddah people. He ignores me. ‘Nev love, lovey, Uncle Booty’s waitin in the kitchen for ya.’
‘What? Who?’ He asks, bringin his head up to gaze at me with bloodshot eyes.
‘Uncle. He’s here right now.’
‘Why?’ He takes a drag.
‘To talk. Um ... he was just goin by, wanted to see ya is all,’ I take a step into the room.
‘Is this about Jean, eh? Cos if it is then I’m not talking to anyone,’ he answers.
‘Jean? Who’s Jean?’ I try.
‘Don’t start this again, Mother. You know very well who Jean is.’ A touch of anger to his voice.
‘Oh yeah, I forgot.’ I give him a sour I’ve-had-enough-of-you look. ‘Nevil, what is that on your face?’ I peer at him.
‘Nothing much.’ He reaches over and stubs out the smoke.
‘Make-up? Nevil Dooley, is that woman paint on that face a yours!’ I walk right into the room.
‘So? And don’t call me Nevil!’ He’s all pissed off n riled like.
‘It’s make-up! Where the hell did you get that!’ I slit me eyes at him. Face paint. Clown colourin.
‘Oh, somewhere.’ He takes a sip of beer.
‘Nevil Dooley! What the hell’s goin on here, Sonny Jim!’ I turn to the doorway. Booty blocks the exit with his large frame, his hands on his hips as he glares in at Nevil.
‘Hello, Uncle. I ain’t doing nothing.’ Nevil gives him a wide, yarndi grin.
‘Son, what the fuck is that on ya face?’ Booty strides into the room, gut swingin from side to side, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted. He gonna take a hunk a flesh.
‘Lipstick, eyeshadow, eyeliner. Reckon it looks okay?’ Nevil uncurls his legs, arches his eyebrows, puckers his mouth.
‘Look here, son, you can’t go gettin bout like that! What are ya, a fuckin woman!’ Booty tightens his mouth, a small quiver shaking his frame.
‘My business. I’m not hurting anyone, am I?’ Nevil reaches down by the bed and picks up a small floral-print bag.
‘You got this shit from TV, didn’t ya? Watchin too much American sicko shit, eh? Ricki Lake, is that it?’ Booty yells, his fat arms choppin the air.
‘Nope. I’m Jean Rhys, in case Mother hasn’t already told you.’ Nevil pulls out a tube of lipstick. ‘Seductive Pink’ is written large and posh like on the side a it.
‘Shit. Bullshit! You a poofter now, son?’ Booty walks to the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, ready to fly.
‘Don’t be stupid. What’s wrong with people in this house? It’s as though a girl’s committed some heinous offence, like murdered someone or something.’ Nevil puckers up his mouth an smears lipstick cross his tyre-tread lips.
‘That’s it! That’s it!’ Booty explodes; sweat poppin out on his forehead, his veins stickin up like they ready to jump outta the man’s arms as he grabs Nevil by the singlet. ‘Fucken ratbag! What’s got into ya? Causin ya mother all this grief! Now get into that bathroom an take that shit off ya face!’ Booty shakes a crunched fist in Nevil’s face.
‘Leave me alone, leave me alone,’ Nevil bawlbaby.
‘Now you cut this crap out, son. And lay off the fuckin drugs too. Your heads fucked enough already,’ Booty pulls Nevil up to his wonky feet.
‘Listen to your uncle, Nev, he knows best,’ I say softly.
‘Yeah, yeah. Let go of me, Uncle,’ whisperin weak, Nevil looks up into Booty’s angry sweat slicked dial.
‘Fucken no more a this shit, Nevil! Ya gotta pull that head a yours in, right?’
‘Hmm, yeah, spose,’ But Nevil’s voice don’t sound like he means it. ‘Anyway, I gotta go to the dole office. So you can leave now, I gotta get dressed.’
‘Now, sonny, if ya wanna have a man talk or somethin, come over ta me.’ Booty pauses for a minute then says, ‘But if ya gonna be keepin on at this shit, then a man’s gonna have to settle ya down, n pretty fucken soon.’ He wrinkles his brow, his bottom lip twitchin.
‘Yeah, yeah, okay Uncle.’
‘Right then, that’s that. How bout a cup a tea, Mave?’ Booty asks over his shoulder as he leaves the room.
‘Righto.’ I look behind me. That’ll sort him over. That was all the boy needed, a good yarnin to.
Back in the kitchen Booty pulls out a chair. ‘Reckon he’s right now or what?’
‘Dunno, spose so,’ I reply, feeling sick in me gut, but hopeful.
‘Geez, you weren’t wrong bout him. Where the hell did he come up whit this shit?’ Booty drops his eyebrows as he looks my way, his fingers tap tappin on the table.
‘I dunno ya tell me. Those books gotta lot to do whit it, I reckon,’ I answer, pouring the tea.
‘Ain’t like he had any sort of buse. You know, bashin kids so they wind up bein pissed up in they heads. Nah, ain’t like he was brought up like that, eh Mave?’ Booty nods and takes a sip a tea.
‘No, Boot. Never had a hard life like us fellas. Wouldn’t know what it’s like to be so hungry you’d eat a dead horse. Nah, whatever it was it comed on him just like that. Sorta like some nightmare he can’t get out of.’ I sigh and then this thought comes to me sudden like. ‘Boot, do ya reckon Nev was meant to be born a girl? Like ... um ... he’s got too much woman in him stead a man? Like he’s a bit man n mostly woman?’
‘A sheila! Jesus, Mave! The boy’s got nuts, for cryin out loud! The only half woman he’s got is up there in that mad head a his!’ Booty’s stomach shakes the table as he splutters and gasps, laughin loudly.
‘Orh. Well...’ I stop as I hear a small sound in the hallway. I turn round in my chair. ‘Jesus Christ!’ I stifle a scream in me throat as I gawk at the sight before me. Nevil slides long the hall, frocked in me bright red dress, his face covered in make-up, on his feet a pair of dirty, fallin-apart sandshoes. He grins idiot-like as he stares back at me, holdin tight a handbag to his chest
‘Hey, Mum,’ he mouths, creepin, his back gainst the wall.
Booty jumps up to his feet. ‘Done fuckin told ya!’ he roars. As fast as his big body can move he rushes forward and tackles Nevil, gut-section, bringin him to his knees.
‘Mum, Mum, get him off!’ Nevil squeals, hittin Booty on the back whit his handbag.
‘Help me, Mave! Get him to his room!’ Booty shouts, holdin Nevil’s arms to his sides.
I stand up on shaky legs, uncertain as what to do. Then Booty pulls Nevil up by the dress and shoves him down the hallway.
‘Let go! Let me go! Jesus, Uncle, let me go!’ Nevil’s voice cracks like a teenage girl as he strugg
les.
‘Can’t do that, Sonny Jim!’ Booty growls.
I run up behind them and watch as Booty throws Nevil into his room and slams the door.
‘Have you got a key?’ he gasps.
‘Yeah, I have. What ya gonna do, Booty?’ A sick sussin grips me.
‘Lock him in. Can’t have him goin down the street like that, can we? Jeez, Mave, what’ll the town think?’
I hesitate for a moment, ‘Um ... yeah, all right,’ I answer, handing over the door key, but not liking the idea at all.
After Booty locks the door Nevil starts screaming from the room, so loud that I can only hope me neighbour Missus Warby don’t call the boys in blue.
‘Let him sweat it out. Don’t worry, Sis, he’ll come out of it. We just have to wait is all.’ Booty puts a hand on me shoulder.
‘It’s not right, Booty, is it? Lockin a grown man in his room,’ I feel guilty, sick at heart.
‘No, it’s not, Mave. But it’s for his own good. They’d kick the shit outta him out there on the street.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know. But I think Nev can handle hisself pretty good when he wanna.’ I can only hope.
‘That’s not the point, Sis, they’d mob him, ya know that.’ Booty looks tired out, slumpin his shoulders forward. ‘Mave, I can’t fight the bloody town for him.’
‘Yeah, Brother, true. Well, I’ll see what he’s like this arvie, eh?’
‘No, leave him in there. Maybe he’ll wake up tamarra n be back to hisself. Wait and see what happens,’ Booty throws over his shoulder as he goes out the front door.
Going into the kitchen I hear Nev singin, this time bout being a lost soul or somethin. I sit at the table, drop me head into me hands and think back, tryin to find some clue as to where this all began.
TWO
Missin
Gracie’s face creases into a map of worry lines. ‘Haven’t seen him since yesterday, Mum. I’m startin to wonder what happened to him.’ Tears gather at the corners of her eyes.
‘Gracie, love, don’t you worry, he’ll be right. Ya know our Nevie, just ups n offs, don’t worry bout no one but hisself.’ I turn away from her, the lies sittin uneasy on me tongue.
‘Are you sure he never said where he was goin?’
‘I reckon he’ll be home tamarra. Now stop all this worryin, ain’t no good for ya.’
‘Another woman. That’s it. He’s got another sheila, hasn’t he?’ she asks, lips puckered, her watery brown eyes screwed into mean slits.
‘Oh, come on, love. Nev’s faithful. Ain’t no other woman. He just needed to, um ... find a friend a his.’ Another lie forces its way out smooth like.
‘Mum, you’d tell me, wouldn’t ya?’ she asks, a suss sneer washin over her dial.
‘Yeah, of cour...’ I stop. Sounds of singin are comin from Nevil’s bedroom. I stand rooted to the spot, me shoulders tense. Here we go.
Gracie cocks her ear toward the noise. ‘What’s that? Sounds like a woman singin?’
‘Oh, that’s Missus Warby, the lonely ol piece next door.’ I smile weakly. ‘Well, love, I’ve gotta go to bingo now. See ya some other time, eh?’ I grab her arm and push her towards the door. Gotta get the girl out.
‘Oh, right. Well ... tell Nev I was here, okay?’ She throws a suss look past me shoulder. Like she knows.
‘Sure will.’ I watch her as she walks down the street, then I turn round and start back into the house when I hear: ‘Missus Dooley, Missus Dooley!’
I glance up towards the street corner and see Big Boy n another fella joggin along passin a football as they come towards me.
‘Hey there, whatcha up to, Big Boy?’ I smile at him, eyein the dirty black and orange guernsey he wears. I wonder if the boy ever changes it. He smells like piss n ol sweat.
‘This here’s Grunt. Grunta the Punter, down here for the match next week,’ Big Boy motions to his friend.
‘How ya doin, Grunt? Reckon yous’ll win the match?’ I watch the way he flexes his arm muscles as he jogs on the spot.
‘Yep. See, they got ol Grunt down here cos these mob a wussies’ll get whipped whitout me.’ His pockmarked face creases up into a toothless smile.
‘Talkin outta ya arse!’ Big Boy nudges him in the ribs, then looks shameface. ‘Ooh, gee, sorry, Missus Dooley, a man forgot hisself there.’
‘Woman’s heard worser than that. Anyway, who’s the coach this time round?’ I’m tryin to put off the sure-as-shit question bout Nev, as I edge inside the house.
Big Boy answers. ‘George. George Spiros—you know, the old Greek dude owns the pub. Well, he only just bought it. You seen em yet? Him n his mob? Geez, he got some daughters.’
‘Daughters, eh. Nope, ain’t seen em.’
‘Yeah, well, we lookin for the Nev. Can I go n see him or what?’ Big Boy’s got one foot jammed in the doorway.
‘Oh no, love, Nev’s really crook n ya might catch that flu thing off him. Wouldn’t be no good for the whole team to come down whit it, eh?’ I shake me head vigorous like, purse me lips and drop me shoulders to let him know I’m deadly serious.
‘Shit! Never knewed it were that bad!’ Big Boy takes a quick step back as though the house itself has some poxy disease.
‘Yeah, that’s right. Be shame if youse couldn’t play cos ya got it too. Nah, Nev’ll get over it pretty soon.’ Can only hope.
‘What sorta flu?’ Grunt questions, his arms crossed.
‘Well, I ... I don’t rightly know. But a bad one! Yeah, real bad. Like it make him delirium n all, see.’ I look at the geranium bush near the corner of the house. I don’t like the way that boy lookin at me. Like he know I’m lyin. That’s the problem whit tellin big ones—ya jus dunno who gonna be sussin on ya.
‘I had somethin like that. I ain’t heard a no flu makin a man delirious but.’
‘This one’s diffrent. It’s a ... a ... Geranium’s Palsy flu!’ I throw out. Now where the hell a woman get that from! Geranium Palsy, geez.
‘Orh, that sounds real rugged.’ Big Boy’s face screws up like he doned shit his pants or somethin. He looks disgusted.
‘Sure is, son. Anyway, I gotta go down to bingo. Ya want me to tell Nev anything?’ I hold the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut right in the boy’s face.
‘Yeah, tell him he’d better get on his feet soon. The other fellas are startin to worry bout him not bein able to play at all.’
‘Doncha worry, Nev’ll be right for the game.’ I look at both of em. For a fraction of a second I wonder what they’d do if I told em the news Nev’s in the bedroom wearin women’s clothes and make-up all over his face. Yeah, n he thinks he’s a woman writer called Jean Rhys. I almost burst into laughter at the thought.
‘Right then, Missus Dooley. Thanks anyway.’ Big Boy waves as he goes out the gate. I watch em as they amble back down the street. Two solid footballers, all muscle, all man. Why couldn’t Nev be like those normal boys? Jus havin a normal life playin football n worryin bout girls? Nah, not our Nev! Oowhh nnoo, have to be a friggin woman.
I turn and go back inside, slammin the door behind me. I put the kettle on the stove and sit down. Cockin me ear toward Nev’s room I hear no noises, no singin or screamin. Thinkin bout him locked in there makes a woman feel like a ton a shit. I mean he’s not a kid is he, Mavis Dooley? He’s a grown man. Go down n let him out. Gorn, gorn. I jump off the chair and go down to his room.
‘Nev, love. Nev, ya awake?’ I put the key in the latch and turn it. Then I hear a clatterin comin from behind the door. The same clatter I’ve heard many times before. Clickclackclickclack ... Now what that noise is? I push open the door and take a swift step inside.
‘Nev, love, are ya shitty whit ol mum?’ I use my best crawlin voice. Course he shitty. Whatcha think. Locked away like some sorta mad animal.
‘Don’t call me Nevil! And don’t barge in like that, Mother,’ he growls.
‘Sorry, Son, I ... um. Want Mum to get ya a feed?’ I offer in a con type a voice.
‘I�
��m right. Anyway, I’m not hungry.’ He snaps.
I move closer into the room. He sits up on the pillows. There’s a typewriter beside the bed and papers scattered all over the room.
He still wears the make-up and the dress but he look raggedworn and pissed out. I notice the beer on the floor, a half-opened carton of tall necks.
‘Love are you drinkin those hot?’
‘Yeah. Unless you want to let me out of this room so I can put them in the fridge. Is Booty gone?’
‘Yep. But he said you gotta behave otherwise he’ll be back.’
‘Ain’t done nothing wrong,’ he sulks.
‘Son, what ya doin whit all that paper n stuff?’
‘Nothing. Don’t ask, you wouldn’t understand,’ he whines back.
‘Oh, like that is it? Can’t tell ya own mother anythin now?’ I sit down on the floor and stare at him. Friggin kids.
‘There’s no use, is there? Wouldn’t matter, Ma, you just—ahh, never mind.’ He shakes his head.
‘Hmm, not gonna tell Mum, eh?’
‘Ain’t nothin for you to worry about.’
‘Big Boy and Grunt, a new player up from Currajong Creek, was here. Lookin for ya to go to the trainin for the game next week. Ya goin?’ I watch a flicker of somethin cross his face.
‘Football, well ... Gee, I don’t know any more, Mum. It’s like that’s all they know around here.’ He turns his face to the window.
‘Nev, I thought ya loved footy. They sure need ya on that game, so Big Boy reckons.’
‘Yeah, I love footy, Ma. But shit, there’s other things to do in life, aren’t there?’ He sounds real serious.
‘Spose ya got a point there. Well, are ya playin or not? I don’t want em mob comin here askin all sorts a things.’
‘I don’t know. Yeah, I will,’ he says, holdin up a piece a paper and starin at it. ‘Mum, do something for me, pleease.’
‘Yeah, what?’ I ask, suss, not liking the conjob tone of his voice.
‘Just call me Jean, okay?’ He looks across at me, his face bolted serious like.
‘If that’s what ya want. But, look, Nev, if ya got a boyfriend ya can tell ol Mum here.’ I offer me best ‘see-I-understandmany-things’ look. But I’m not standin nothin. Homo—gay—Nevil—nogood nogood nogood.
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