‘I’ll stand, thank you. Now, Terry, it were Dotty that started all this. Tellin everybody in sight bout my Nevil! The bitch! As for her boy, Jerry, takin out the man a the match, well that’s a load a horse shit! My Nevil’s gonna take it out! Yeah, n I notice you right up her alley. Far as I’m concerned you’re just like her!’ I screw up me face and give him my best look a disgust. See how pissed a woman is atcha?
‘Hey, that’s not true, Mavis. Dotty’s—well, dotty, ain’t she.’ He laughs. ‘She’s all right to have a yarn to but a man’s not stupid when it comes to sheilas like her.’ He picks up his beer and takes a sip.
‘Right. Well, I’ll see you round.’ I turn n head cross the room towards Gwen.
‘Hey, Mavis, you comin over to my place for the barbie tamarra night? Got a couple a cod.’
Knowin this is his way of sayin sorry I reply, ‘Yeah, what time?’ A date? Is that his way a gettin to a person? Nah, think shit, woman. Wake up to yerself, for God’s sake!
‘Whenever. Bring Booty, Nev and ever who else you like.’
‘Rightyo. I’ll see you then.’ Feelin a lot better bout meself I stroll over to Gwen.
‘Gwenny, whatcha up to?’ I pull up a stool and sit beside her. How long she been sittin here for? Musta been some time by the go a her dial.
‘Drownin me sorrows, Mave.’ She grins, her eyes bloodshot, face slack.
‘What now?’ I watch the way her eyes sneak round the room.
‘Haven’t you heard? Yeah, I’m supposed to be fuckin old Creekwater Davidson.’ She snorts.
‘Creekwater! Geez, can’t they come up whit nobody else? Geez, only Mandamooka fellas would say things like that! Anyway, who tole you?’ I motion to the barmaid. ‘A beer.’ There I done it. Yep, a woman back to drinkin. Nev’d skin me face off if he knew that. Orh, well, a woman had a rough week to start whit.
‘One guess.’
‘Missus Warby?’ I dig into me pocket, pull out a ten dollar bill n shove it cross the bar.
‘Nope. Dotty Reedman.’
‘Friggin hell, Gwen! How many times a woman gotta tell ya don’t listen to nothin that horse-faced, big-titted bitch gotta say! You know what she like, Gwenny.’ I cross me arms, peerin into her face.
‘Yeah, but she heard it from Darryl Kane. That troublemakin piece a shit.’ She drops her head, shame like.
‘Fuck em!’ I explode, ‘that idiot wanna be worryin bout his family stead a runnin round makin trouble for you! Yep, that’s the nature a this town, makin yarns, tearin some poor bastard to pieces! If it weren’t you, Gwenny, it’d be me they runnin down!’ I pick up the beer n skull it in one hit. I feel sorry for Gwenny. One affair n the town’s got her havin it off whit every man and his dog. Like the woman’d screw anythin. As though she desperate.
‘Oh, yeah, n that Terry Thompson fuckin Dotty Reedman. I dunno if that be true or not.’ Gwen laughs loud n hard and beer splutters from her mouth as she shakes her head. ‘The man’d have to be desperate.’
‘And you know what else I heard, eh? You sposed to be keepin Nevie boy locked up over there cos he’s wearin your dresses n make-up!’
‘Who said that?’ I feel me chest tighten. It’s all comin back to me now. Caught out. Yep, the lies doin full circle.
‘Missus Warby was in tellin someone the other day. Reckons she seen Nevil runnin round the backyard dancin, full a make-up, wearin one of ya dresses. She mad that old one.’ Gwen looks at me then breaks into a big smile. ‘Fucken Mandamooka.’
‘Yeah, where they can ruin your life with a rumour.’ I motion to the barmaid. ‘A scotch n coke.’
Gwen stares at me, a frown on her face. ‘Mave, you don’t drink hard shit. What’s goin on?’ She blinks her eyes as though seein me for the first time.
‘Just like you, Gwenny, I got me problems. Number one, over there playin pool. Number two, horse-face Reedman. An some other stuff,’ I sigh wearily.
‘Terry Thompson? Why, what’s wrong with him, apart from that shit I just said? But, hey, it’s only gossip, ya shouldn’t really believe it.’ She shrugs her shoulders then downs another beer.
‘Dunno bout that. Seem to be stuck up Dotty’s skirt, don’t he? Yeah, was over there cleanin her yard up, eh. You can’t tell me nuthin’s goin on there whit em.’ I stare at the floor. Well, seems Dotty won this one. Yep, ol black-arse Mavis lost out again.
‘Terry was over there?’ Gwen’s face looks shocked as she eyes me over the rim of the beer glass.
‘He sure was. Oh well, ain’t nuthin a woman can do bout that. Ain’t like I married to the man. If he be wantin Dotty then he can have her far as I’m concerned. Then I got that ol Missus Warby spyin on me joint n cartin yarns, got problems with Nev, oh I just dunno any more.’ I swallow a lump in me throat.
‘Oh, come on, mate, don’t let it getcha down. Fuck em all, that’s what I say. Yep, they can all go to hell. Anyway, what’s up whit Nev?’
‘Stuff,’ I reply, then down the Scotch like it’s a soft drink. For a second it burns me throat. I’m startin to feel better already! Almost charged up. Heeeyy look out!
‘Like what? Big Boy tole me they was all at Booty’s punchin on. What was that about? Someone been into Nevie, eh?’
‘Jus Booty tryin to toughen him up a bit. You know what Booty’s like.’ I motion for another drink. I’m a loose goose. Good one.
‘Yeah, solid old Booty boy. Mave, if there’s somethin goin on whit Nev n you wanna talk about it...’
‘Nah, Nev’s jus Nev.’ I shrug me shoulders. Yeah, jus Nev. The boy’ll be wearin me bloomers fore too long.
‘He’s still on for the big game?’ Gwen skulls a beer. Eyes redder n the spot on a red back spider.
‘Guess so. Gwen, does—you know, does Big Boy ever think he’s—well, he’s somebody else?’ I scratch me head. Gotta ask somebody bout this. Woman turnin womba.
‘Wha? Like whatcha mean?’ She asks, peerin into her empty glass.
‘Like someone else,’ I croak, me gut heavin.
‘Oh, I getcha. Yeah, he think he’s a big time football star.’ She laughs. ‘Only thing wrong whit that. He ain’t no star!’
‘Like, is it for real? I mean—he don’t ever think he’s a woman, do he?’ I burst out, the Scotch loosenin my tongue. Watchit, watchit.
‘A woman! Shit, no!’ She gives me a drunken look but I see the sussin in it. ‘Mave, you better tell me. I ain’t like the others in this shit-hole of a town. I’m a woman can keep a secret.’ She pats me on the knee.
‘Well,’ I begin, but as I’m bout to continue I hear familiar laughter. I turn round on the stool and watch as Dotty struts toward Terry. She’s all tarted up. Dirty blonde hair high as an ant hill. Mini-skirt so short I can almost see her bloomers pokin out. Face painted up like a crayon picture. Blood-red lips, blue eyeshada, rust-colour cheeks painted round like half bad apples, n eyelashes so long they look like they gonna sweep the floor. Fat tits sittin out front a her like a beer tray, she one flash piece a meat. Swishhh, swissshhhh. She fancied up to kill. Me. Yeeeeoooowwwww.
I groan, the Scotch races up to sit in the front a me throat. A woman jus can’t win, no matter which way I cut it. I glance down at the ol house dress I got on, small holes in the hem, faded, too big for me; jus flat out ugly. Yeah, real pretty, pretty as a punch in the face. Jus betcha me ol dial looks rugged too. Wide as Dotty’s arse, plain, fat whit gooby lips, fuzzy hair like a pot scourer, a boxer’s nose, thin black moustache on me top lip n skin like sandpaper. Yep, was never beautiful by any means. A scrubber. Bush pig. Weren’t like I was ever gonna be some pretty piece. Naahhh.
I watch Dotty whit green eyes, the way she sidles up to Terry, her long legs brushin gainst him as she bends over the pool cue.
‘Lookit that fucker!’ Gwen nudges me in the ribs.
‘Yeah, check out the way Terry all over her, eh? What, he think he white now?’ I order another drink. Rum n Coke. Too much for a woman to take in. Me guts is boilin over like a pot a bubblin stew.
/> ‘Gee, she gonna fuck him on that table?’ Gwen laughs, and almost falls off the stool. She well n truly charged now, ol Gwenny.
‘She just doin that cos she knows I like him.’ I feel me bottom lip ledge out.
‘Check that Terry out. What, he too good for us now?’ Gwen’s voice edges.
‘Yeah, like us black sheila’s ain’t good nough for him!’ I spit. By this time everythin is startin to look wet n hazy. Fucken Thompson. Fucken men. Ain’t worth pissin on.
Terry glances towards me and taps the side of his beer glass, ‘Drink, love?’ he asks, saunterin over.
Drink, love? What, suddenly I’m his love now? What bout your piece a white meat, Terry? Yeah, her husband’s back in town n you wanna be foolin whit her.
‘Hey Ter. Wanna have a drink whit me n Mave, eh? Or ain’t us fellas good nough for ya?’
‘Whoa up there, Gwenny! A man didn’t come over here to get his arse kicked by you. I just askin, do youse want a drink?’ He clears his throat and watches me.
‘Arrggh, go n get that dolly bitch a drink, Terry Thompson. Mavis not woman nough for ya. Ain’t white nough!’ Gwen stumbles to her feet and shoves Terry in the chest. Real hard like.
‘Bloody hell, settle down, Gwen! This got nothin to do whit Mavis. Me n Mave are mates, eh, Mave?’ Terry gives Gwen a pissed off look.
‘Sure. Mates,’ I mumble, feelin a boot kick me somewhere in the guts. Don’t know why a woman had to big-note herself n come down here for. Shoulda stayed home whit Nevie n Trevor. Terry wouldn’a look at somethin like me. Nah, just no dice there, ol girl. Terry Thompson don’t like women like me. See, a woman gets these mad ideas in her head. Yep, Mavis Dooley, all time loser. All time fuck up. Jus another let-down is all. Woman should be used to it by now.
‘Mave, I’ll see you later,’ Terry says, shruggin his shoulders as he goes back to the laughin, crowin Dotty.
‘Fucken cunts. That’s all they are, the whole lotta em. Ignore em, Mave. You too good for that bitch, anyway.—Geez, Mave, look who just walked in!’ Gwen gasps, plonkin herself back on the stool, noddin towards the doorway.
Darryl Kane saunters in, wife hangin off his arm as he looks round at the bar. Cocky bastard. Lookin for some fresh meat.
‘Fucken dog,’ Gwen hisses between her teeth.
‘Pay no mind to em, Gwenny,’ I slur, feelin the anger hitchin up in me slow like. I watch the way he slides cross the floor like he owns the place, like he’s the best thing since sliced bread. All kitted out like some ol Smokey Joe cowboy. Yeah, him n Dotty a good pair a dolly birds together.
He leaves his wife at the bar and saunters towards the young girls that sit watching the jackaroos. I take in his form: silky, slimy, n smooth. I wonder what he’s tole that poor sucker of a wife? Probably that them girls are his friends or some such shit.
‘Lookit that, huh. Nough to make ya vomit.’ Gwen swings round on the stool, spit-eyes as she looks him up n down.
‘Cool as water.’ I narrow me peepers. The snake. No, the snakes—Terry, Darryl.
‘You know what, Gwenny. We should get him back. Do somethin to him, eh? Reckon I don’t like it for that two-bit fuckery to be goin bout spreadin filth bout me best mate n all.’
‘How do ya get back on somebody like him?’ Gwen slumps her shoulders.
‘I dunno. Do somethin to him. He can’t go all round town dirtyin your name up. Like he wants to make your life miserable. Friggin white bastard!’ I bang me fist on the bar.
‘Arrgghh no, nuthin we can do, Mave. Just let it ride. He ain’t worth the trouble.’
‘Get up, Gwenny! Now listen, go over there n tell that woman a his what’s been goin on. Gorn, Gwenny. I’ll come whit ya.’ I stand up on grog-fucked legs. ‘Come on girl, move.’ I grab her by the arm n steer her towards the other end a the bar. There gonna be rumblin on. Yiiiieee.
Samantha Kane perches up on the bar stool. I stand behind her and cough loud like. ‘Samantha,’ I say in my best sober voice.
She turns round with a slight frown, looks at me then Gwen.
‘Can I help you?’ she looks Gwen up n down. WwRreeeooowww! Claws out! Hiss, hisssy.
‘Well, you know Gwen here, doncha?’ I put me hands on me wide hips n take a tough stance. Ready to jump the train.
‘Ah, well. You’re Boy’s mother? Peter Hinch—Big Boy’s mother?’ She shrugs her shoulders. Like the woman couldn’t give a flyin piss either way.
‘That’s bout right. Now Gwenny’s got somethin to tell ya. Tell her, Gwen.’ I shove her forward. Go on Gwen, tell her the truth.
But Gwen just stands there lookin stunned n drunk as Booty on a bender. Suddenly I see she looks kinda scared. Ain’t like Gwenny to be frightened. No, siree.
‘Rightyo, I’ll tell ya then. Your husband, that thing over there, has been talkin bout Gwen here all over town. Yep, that’s right he’s been rootin her when you was gone away. Then he got the hide to run her down to the lowest.’ I watch the way her face changes—from not believin, to mad as hell, to not my Darryl.
‘That’s not true,’ she squeaks.
‘It true, all right.’
‘Darryl doesn’t do that with—’ She stops, then looks at Gwen with a frown.
‘Doesn’t do that whit what?’ I walk up closer to her.
‘With black women!’ She bursts out, face redder n the pits a hell.
Gwen throws her hands into the air, glaring at her. ‘Ya fucken idiot! What? He doesn’t fuck anyone part from you!’
‘Troublemakers, that’s all you are. Oh yes, I’ve heard all about you, Mavis Dooley and Gwen Hinch!’ She jumps to her feet. ‘You, Mavis, are weird anyway and as for you, Gwen—well, everyone knows you’re the town bike!’ she screams, spit sprayin out the woman’s gob like a lawn sprinkler.
‘Fucken cunt! I fucked him. I fucked him. Geddit! Geddit! I done fucked ya husband!’ Gwen yells as she charges at her. They land on the floor in a heap of legs and arms. Gwen has her down and starts pummelling into her chest.
Then from across the room Darryl pelts toward us, his face blood-red, his hands bunched into fists. ‘Get off, get off!’ he yells, knocking over bar stools as he rushes at us.
Terry throws down the pool stick, shoves Dotty aside and strides toward me. ‘What’s goin on, Mave?’ he yells.
Ignoring him I turn round just as Darryl goes to put a steel capped boot into Gwen. The fucken dog! I charge at him and feel meself leave the floor for bout a second. I tackle him mid section. The man’s too grog fucked to have a go back at a woman. He hits the ground with a thud.
‘He tried to put the boot into Gwenny. What sorta man is he, eh? I ain’t fucken takin that sorta shit!’ I scream, then grab a handful of Darryl’s hair and pull his head back. Crackcrackcrackcrack. His face caves in under me fists. Take this, ya woman-bashin fucker.
‘Fuckin lemme go! Lemme go!’ Darryl screams from under me as his hands beat the floor, like a little kid throwin a tantrum. I want my mamma.
Feelin satisfied I get up off him. Then I look round at the room. The bar is quiet n still as a morgue.
Everyone gapes at me an Darryl. Suddenly all the fellas point at Darryl and burst into loud laughter, a woman bashed the poor sucker, he must be piss weak, their looks say. I search the room for Gwenny. She stands in the corner crying, half her dress torn away and a large chunk of hair missing.
‘You ever say a bad word bout her again n I’ll come after you, Darryl Kane, ya got that!’
He glares at me, his shame complete. The rumble seems to have sobered him up; his mean, green eyes bore into me. ‘I’ll get you, Mavis Dooley, if it’s the last thing I do,’ he whispers, his voice cracked, as he lifts his bawlin, battered wife to her feet. I walk away feelin a small shiver a sorry for her. Yep, Gwen kicked her arse!
‘Gwenny, I’m off home. You comin over for a drink?’
‘Might as well.’ She purses her lips.
‘Don’t worry bout it, girl.’ I motion to the barmaid. ‘Carton a Fourex.’
We walk out into the night. The carton a piss rests on me shoulders as we wobble towards my place.
‘Thanks, Mave.’ Gwen sniffles in the dark.
‘S’all right, Gwenny. A woman weren’t gonna let em kick ya when ya down. Ya ain’t no fucken dog!’
‘He’ll do somethin to ya, Mave. Get revenge like. Ya shamejobbed the piss outta him, in front a his mates n all. A man, any man, ain’t gonna be forgettin that too soon. Ya pulled away his big cock hero image.’ Gwen sounds scared.
‘Yep, well, a woman’s been chased all her life. Ain’t gonna make no difference to me,’ I say, all gammon. I hear his words echoin inside me head: I’llgetyouI’llgetyouI’llgetyouI’llgetyou.
NINE
He’s Comin Out
‘Nevil, are ya gonna wake up to yerself n get down to the footy trainin whit the Blackouts?’ I slam the carrot cake down on the table.
‘Mum, I ... I just don’t know if I want to play,’ he throws Trevor a curious look.
‘Don’t wanna play! What sorta talk is that?’
‘I—um, just don’t think I can any more.’ He drops his head.
‘He’s sick of it, Missus Dooley,’ Trevor interrupts, his eyes meetin mine.
‘Ohr, I get it. So this is your idea, Trevor?’
‘No, no, it’s not.’
‘Seems mighty funny to me that Nev was doin okay til you come along. This ain’t the city, Trevor. Kids like Nevil ain’t got that sophistikation you fancy boys from the city got.’ I slice into the cake.
‘They’ll be all right without me.’ Nevil reaches cross to grab a hunk a cake.
‘Bull. The Blackouts need ya, Nevie. What, yer gonna let em down now? Let poor ol Mum down. Yeah, that’s right, Nevil, let poor ol Booty down? He so proud a ya, son. It’ll kill him is what’ll happen.’ I plonk onto the chair n stare hard at him.
‘Ain’t letting anyone down. Mum, football’s just a game, it’s nothing to me! Fucking hell! There’s more to life than throwing a ball across a bloody field. Can’t you see that!’
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