‘I’m a good daughter-in-law.’ He sits down beside me and laughs.
I look at him. ‘Are you Mister Jean Rhys?’
‘Maybe I am,’ he replies.
‘I can’t let ya take him away. I don’t want Nevil to be a homo.’ I turn my attention towards the pub door. Big Boy and the Blackouts barge in, throwin a football to each other. Suddenly they all stop and stare with shocked disbelief at the mincin, dancin form of Nevil.
‘Dead man down!’ they shout n all rush towards the bar.
It’s then I realise that Nev, or Jean Rhys as he’s known, would be torn from limb to limb.
‘Told ya. You bingo thief! He’s queer! A fucken poofter!’ Dotty Reedman screeches at me.
‘Lies, all lies!’ I cry out.
‘I can’t go with a woman who has a fancy boy for a son!’ Terry Thompson spits, glaren at me.
Hettie frowns, ‘You’re a liar, Mavis.’
‘He’s missin, Mum, and I mean to find him. I love Nevil,’ Gracie’s voice calls out.
‘Jean Rhys was one of the finest writers ever to grace the literary world. There will never be another like her. No, there was only one Jean Rhys,’ Lizzy the librarian whispers in me ear.
‘I don’t serve Tim Tams to people who don’t know fact from fiction,’ Betty yells from behind the shop counter.
‘A man ain’t a man if he can’t kill a pig. Nope, he a regular pussy if he can’t do that. Got no time for girly boys. They nuthin,’ Booty roars, then flings a chair cross the floor.
Dave floats above me. ‘He’s useless. You gave birth to a faggot. I can’t have that, so I’m pissin off.’
‘Get him. Get the poofy boy n is girlfriend! Get Mavis! All her fault! Gethergethergethergethergethergethergethergethergetherget hergethergether!’ They all scream and rush at me.
‘No, no, no! It’s all Jean’s fault!’ I scream, me hands punchin into the pillow. Gaspin n outta breath, I wake up. I swing me legs over the edge a the bed n walk over to the window, confused and dazed. The dream was so real that for a fraction of a second I almost believed it all happened. Still feelin punchdrunk, I go into the kitchen n put the kettle on. Musta been seein Gracie on TV that brought that dream on a woman. Some people reckon dreams have messages. Wonder what mine was.
I hear footsteps and turn round to see Trevor dryin his hair with a towel as he comes into the room.
‘Mornin,’ I greet him, wonderin what bed he slept in.
‘Hello. Nice morning isn’t it. Not like the city with all its noise and pollution. How lucky you are to be living out here in the sticks,’ he says, with a nervy-lookin grin.
‘Yeah, guess that’s true. Now look, Trevor, while yer here I might as well have a good talk to ya.’ I pull up a chair and sit beside him.
‘Yes, about what, Missus Dooley?’ He questions, throwin a quick peek over his shoulder.
‘Bout all this shit been goin on. Ya know, fore you came here, Nevil was actin mighty strange. Yeah, thinkin he’s a woman n everythin. Now, I can’t rightly blame ya fer all this but it’s gettin outta control. Thing is, people are startin to talk.’ I give him one of my serious, don’t-mess-whit-me-looks.
‘Missus Dooley, I can’t tell Nevil not to do those things. What I would like to tell you is that Nevil is a very special person in more ways than one. People like him are sensitive and not a lot of people can understand that.’ He wrings his hands and looks down at the floor.
‘Special! Special! What’s that sposed to mean eh?’ Yep, this Trevor he the one that’s ssppeecciiaall. Real special, puttin shit in Nev’s head.
‘He’s not like the others. Matter of fact, he’s not like anyone I know at all.’ Trevor brings his head up and watches me.
‘Gay? Is that what you mean?’ There, I done sayed it!
‘No, not that ... I mean, once in a lifetime someone like Nevil comes along. He’s so far removed from all this here,’ he says, spreadin the towel out on the back a the chair.
‘Movin! He’s not movin nowhere! Ya hear!’ I shove me face closer to his, tryin to look as menacin like as possible.
‘Oh no, I didn’t say move. I said far removed. Like he doesn’t really fit in here.’
‘Yeah, mister smarty pants, big timer city boy, where do he fit in? The stinkin city?’ I ask, the hairs on me neck standin to attention.
‘That I cannot tell you. Missus Dooley, I’m not here to take Nevil away or anything like that. I’m here to help him. Just bear with me, please,’ he pleads, big ol cow eyes beggin at me.
‘Sometimes I have to wonder if he’s goin mad. Loony. If’n he’s like that ol bat next door, crazy as a friggin stock-whipped horse. Ain’t right, is it? Nev gettin bout in dresses! I gotta live here in case ya didn’t know. It be all on my head, this business. People already thinkin a woman’s pissed all a the time.’ I let a gust a air outta me gob, then get up and root round in the cupboard for a packet of Tim Tams. Need calmin down I do. No good for the blood pressure.
‘I understand all that. Please be patient a little longer, Missus Dooley. Nev will be back to himself. He’s only going through a phase right now. It’s nothing to be afraid of.’ That’s what he says, but his look don’t be convincin me.
‘He don’t wake up to hisself soon then I’m gettin his arse—ooops, shouldna say that word in front of you—I’m gettin him to Doctor Chin to check out that head a his. God knows what’s runnin bout in there.’ I plonk the biscuits on the table and reach over to haul out a bottle a Coke.
‘Trevor, whatdda you do in the city?’ I open the Tim Tams carefully. Grillin time. He’s not gonna be fuckery whit Mavis Dooley.
‘Oh, not much. I—I’m a—well, I paint things,’ he mutters, throwin his eyeballs to a poster a the Blackouts footy team tacked to the fridge.
‘A painter, fancy! Well least that’s somethin I sorta like. Reckon you could do a ol woman like me a pictcha a somethin?’ I pour a glass a Coke and range the biscuits on the saucer. Gotta step real sneak-like.
‘What of?’ He clears his throat and watches me hands.
‘Two dogs. Nuh, not the Two Dogs pub—Booty’s pig dogs. Reckon they’d make a good paintin, eh?’ I push the plate a biscuits and the glass a Coke toward him.
‘Oh, yes,’ he answers, a frown on his face as he stares down at the biscuits n Coke.
‘Eat em up. Put hair on ya chest,’ I laugh, findin the joke funnier than he does.
‘Breakfast?’ He questions, eyes wide n his mouth slack.
‘Good tucker. I been eatin the same breakfast for—let’s see, yep, for bout ten goin on leven years now.’ I chew on the biscuit n wonder what poshy fellas like him eat for breakfast.
‘I—well, Missus Dooley, I—’
The boy tongue-tied. Probably no one ever done made him breakfast before. Grateful, that’s what I like to see.
‘Eat up. Yep, cashionally I do stuff like this for peoples, guests in me home. Ain’t no one never turned they noses up at tucker served by Mavis Dooley. Matter a fact I be considered somethin of a cook. Yeah, done cooked for a mob a shearers last year. Couldn’t get nough a me grub, fancy that, eh.’
I watch him whit chickenhawk eyes as he begins to eat and drink. Knowin ya can tell a lot bout a man the way he eats. I pay extra special tention to him. What he is? A glutton—or a finicky fella? Yeah, ya get em in all sorts. The way they chew down they tucker, well, it say a damned lot bout a man it do. A woman know, that a fact.
‘Very nice,’ he says, his mouth smackin.
‘Yep, was always the one for makin a good meal.’ I nod me head proudly. He definitely a normal sorta chewer. ‘What people like you eat in the city?’ I gonna track him right down, find out what this honky tonky is all bout.
‘Oh, mostly lentils, organic foods, soya milk and seaweed.’ He puts the glass a Coke up to his mouth n gazes at me over the rim.
‘Son, you be eatin seaweed! Now I done heard it all!’ Seaweed, what’s he, a friggin whale or such? Bet this is the only decent feed the po
or crapper’s had for years. That’s why he gotta eat weed, cos the poor bastard’s starvin to near death. Ooorrhh, a woman feelin shamed. Gee, the poor little bastard. Yep, fucken starved. No wonder he gorgin that tucker down.
‘Good food, Missus Dooley,’ he says, then pats his stomach.
‘Stay here long nough n you’ll be walkin outta here like one a them Blackouts, all muscled up.’ I push the packet a Tim Tams in front a him. ‘Have some more. Put some meat on them scrawny arms a yours.’
‘Thanks.’ He grins then turns toward the doorway as Nevil walks in.
‘Nevil Dooley! Where the fuck!’ I jump to me feet, ‘Where’d ya get that dress?’
‘One of yours,’ he answers, shruggin his shoulders, smoothin down the hem, pickin at his fingernails.
‘Gee, can’t a woman have any clothes whitout ya pinchin em?’ I glare at his made-up face: red lips, pink eyeshada n brown red shit smeared cross his cheekbones. Fuckery. He done looks like a two-dollar prossie. One of em friggin hookers right outta the Big Smoke.
‘Just borrowing it, Mum.’ He sits down beside Trevor and gives him a funny sorta look.
I shake a fist at him. ‘Don’t you dare go outta this house like that!’
‘Don’t intend to. Me and Trevor have something to do today, hey, Trev,’ he says, smilin. Trevor’s face has turned green.
‘I got bingo today. While I’m gone I be holdin ya sponsible, Trevor. Whatever you do, don’t answer the door. Could be one a the Blackouts lookin for Nev. They see you here n they’ll have a shot at ya.’ I jab a finger in the direction of his feet. ‘Specially if they spot those sandals.’
‘Don’t worry, Missus Dooley, I’ll hold down the fort,’ Trevor says in a it’ll be right tone a voice.
‘Oh, n Nevil, don’t go big notin yaself by doin any bloody washin. That ol piece next door got a pair a eye spotters n she be spyin on us. Right ol pain in the you know what.’ I say me piece then leave the room.
As I’m bout to push me bedroom door open, I hear a bangin on the front door I cut it down the hallway. Now who’s this? Max Brown? I try to peer through the thick glass window but all I can make out is a fuzzy shape.
‘I know yer in there. Open up, fer God’s sake!’ the voice begs.
I open the door n look goggle-eyed at the sight before me.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I burst out, me hand against wall, feelin me legs turn piss-weak.
‘Mum, Mum, is he home?’ Gracie asks through puffed and busted lips.
‘He’s here, love. What the hell happened to ya! Jesus Christ Almighty, Gracie! Who doned that! Tell me, bub, I’ll go n sort the pricks out!’ I take her by the shirt collar n haul her inside, not wantin Missus Warby to see this. Yeah, the ol bat’d probly blame Nev.
‘A fight. Got caught inna fight at Bullya,’ she slurs, tryin to see through black-and-purple eyes.
‘Gee, girl, how’d ya manage that?’ I take her by the arm and lead her into the loungeroom.
‘Got caught up in a land rights march. Wasn’t even there for that. I was tryin to get my message cross the TV bout Nevil bein missin. Orh, Mum, I tried, I really did. But the coppers come n start floggin everyone. Little kids n all. I’m never goin back there again.’ She pushes her long black hair away from her eyes.
‘Just weren’t yer day, love. But hey, Nev’s home n he got a friend whit him,’ I say, choosin me words real careful.
‘A friend? A girlfriend?’ her eyes light up whit sussin.
‘Nah, some big timer from the city. Now, whatever ya do, jus be careful what you say. Nevil ain’t been hisself latetly. N don’t say any word whit homo in front a it n anythin like it’s a gay day. I don’t like em words to be used in me household. Nevil’s jus a little different since ... well, since ya ain’t seen him.’ I watch the girl’s face, she look real suss n edgy.
‘I don’t right know if ya ready for all this,’ I sigh, watchin the way her eyes shift round the room like lookin for somethin.
‘Mum, what’s goin down? Ya don’t sound right. I know somethin is real suss round here. Yeah, to do whit Nevil, ain’t it? Well, look, Mum, I won’t take it. I won’t. No sir, Grace Marley never put up whit any cheatin wankers in her life n she’s not bout to start now. Don’t frig me bout, Mum. If’n it’s a woman tell me. That the least ya could do fer a girl.’ Her pulpy lips twist into a snarl, but then she sorta lets go a the aggro n her mouth trembles. ‘Oh gee, don’t feel too good, Mum. I gotta get home, have a lie-down. But I’ll be back!’
‘Ain’t no woman here, love, I promise ya. Yep, you go n lie down. Come back later. I got bingo now. I’ll tell ya all bout it then, I promise, okay?’ I grab her by the elbow n take her back out the door. Too dicey jus yet. The girl a wile card. Could do anythin. Could say anythin, to anyone.
‘You better, Mum. A girl can’t take no more a this. Nevil’s my man n I tend to keep him.’
‘Yeah, Gracie, I know that, lovey. But poor ol Mum here is been goin round the bend too. Problems, problems.’ I jus hope Nevil don’t walk out from the kitchen. The jig’d be up fer sure.
‘I trust you, Mum. I’ll come over after bingo then.’ She throws me a wave n walks slowly out the gate.
I grab hold a the door handle n go to slam it shut when I spot Missus Warby perched up on her kero tin, her eyes drilled into me house. Gee, can’t the woman even pretend she doin somethin other than gawkin over here all the time. Talk bout gall. The hide a her as thick as elephant skin.
‘You-hoo, Mavis, hello! Did you go to Doctor Chin yet? Get that drinking and gambling problem sorted out?’ The eye spotters swing to n fro on her chest.
‘Yeah, I got it all sorted out,’ I answer, then slam the door so hard it nearly falls off its hinges. Bloody stickybeak! Gee, a woman can’t even fart n she’d be there askin bout it! Gotta put a end to her gawkin’ if it’s the last thing I do.
‘Mum, who was that?’ Nevil asks as he passes.
‘No one. Absolutely no one.’ I carry meself back to me room, me shoulders heavy, me bones weary. I think bout Gracie and how close I came to tellin her everythin. Realising it’d be a big mistake to let her in on Nev’s secret, I think of another lie.
SIX
She’s a Sore Loser
‘Legs eleven, Ten at it again, Thirty-two, tell me who,’ Hettie yells as she looks at me cross the room whit a wide smile.
‘Bingo!’ someone screams.
I turn in me chair to see who the lucky winner is. I groan inwardly as Dotty Reedman struts by, castin me a smart-alec look as she moves grandly towards Hettie.
‘Hello there.’ I spin in me seat to the direction of another voice and look up at Terry Thompson.
‘Whatcha doin here today? Thought you only worked here a coupla times a week’ I say.
‘Had to plant some shrubs. Anyway, did you like the fish I gave you?’ he asks, creasin his face into a smile.
‘Yeah, real nice. Got any more?’
‘Not less you want to come fishing with me down to the old Drayson Road.’ He gives me a cheeky grin.
‘Yeah, Terry Thompson, I know all bout your fishin trips.’ I crack a smile at him n fiddle nervously whit the ring on me finger.
‘Hey, thought I seen Nevil with some other bloke out the back of your yard this morning. Some fella with white hair. Looked like they was dancing or something,’ he says.
‘Dancin in me backyard? Oh yeah, well spose that’s Trevor’s idea. He’s a dancer from the city. Yeah, real solid dancer n all.’ Yet another lie passes me lips. Vaguely I wonder when God, if he exists, will reach down n hit me bout the head whit a fork a lightnin for tellin so many yarns. Yep, now a woman gotta cover up for Trevor too. Double the lies. There’s no way the town can find out bout him.
‘Why, hello there, Mavis.’ Dotty greets me with a fake smile as she comes prancin cross the room, her thin eyebrows arched as she looks from me to Terry.
‘Hello, Dotty,’ I reply, watchin the way she wiggles her hips towards Terry.
‘Terry, ho
w are you?’ she asks, thrustin out her big chest and showin a bare bit a leg.
‘Good, Dotty, and yourself?’ Terry replies, his eyes swallowin her tits.
‘Oh, I’m fine. Not a problem in the world,’ she answers, casting me a sly sideways look. ‘Got any of those gorgeous yellowbellys left? The ones you gave me were delicious.’ The bright blue eyeshada on her lids crinkles up.
‘Can get you some more if you like. I see you won something there.’ Terry points to the card she’s holding.
‘Yep, about time too.’ She shows him the card, brushing his hand as he reaches for it.
Screwin me eyes into tight slits, I watch her as she flirts with Terry n I watch Terry as he eats up all her bullshit. Revenge, that’s what this is bout. Revenge on me for Nev beltin that sooky son a hers. Revenge on me for takin the jackpot. Yep, she’s a sore loser.
‘You know, Ross has gone out of town for the week doing some work.’ She gives Terry a smoochy look whit what’s sposed to be a sexy smile. She all horse. Big, square teeth flashin. Mane flickin bout. A woman almost spects her to start whinnyin. Neigh, neigh, neigh...
‘What sort of work’s he doing?’ Terry asks, still lookin at her tits.
That’s right, Terry. Just let me sit here like a friggin dummy n watch as she tries to do the dirty whit ya on the floor. Bastard. Yeah, Thompson, just suck it all up. Like I’m not good nough for ya! Maybe if I got round wearin mini skirts n my tits stickin out a mile, you’d eyeball me, too.
‘Mainly mustering and stuff like that out at the Beaumont place. It gets lonely over there by myself. Sure need a man about to keep the yard tidy. So if you’re interested...’ She pats down her mile-high beehive hair do.
‘Sure thing. When?’ Terry jams his hands into his trouser pockets n shows her a toothy smile.
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