Bitin' Back

by Vivienne Cleven

  ‘It’s not lipstick! It’s special stuff Doctor Chin gave him for his sore lips! Don’t call my son a fag, FAT BOY!’ I yell at him, me dander right up n deadly. Callin me son a queen.

  ‘Settle down, little woman,’ Skinny D says, backin up his partner.

  LITTLE WOMAN! Who the fuck he think he is?

  ‘Listen here, you skinny arse creep, don’t call me LITTLE WOMAN! Jus who are you, eh, eh!’ I move towards him, seein fucken red. I anger up mad. I’m gonna get that little goona boy! I throw one hand at him and shove him so hard he stumbles back and falls on the table.

  ‘Leave us alone!’ I shout, as Max and Fat Cop grab my arms and pin them to me sides.

  ‘Mum, Mum, leave it alone. Come on, Mum, leave it out,’ Nevil pleads, fear across his face.

  ‘Get her out of here!’ The fat D bellows at Max.

  As I cut it towards the door I can’t help but leave em somethin to think about. I say, ‘Wait till you ol boys get a load a Jean Rhys!’ Then I laugh—really, really laugh, til me gut cramps up n me bladder threatens to burst. That’ll twist em. Huh, fuckery.

  Max leads me to the front desk. He motions for me to sit down then turns to Nevil, ‘I think you should hear this too.’

  As I settle in I hear a noise from behind me and turn round.

  ‘It’s all right, Sis.’ Booty grins, his arms crossed, his eyes glued on Max.

  ‘Look, Mavis, this whole business is getting out of control here. Now, if you do know anything, anything at all—this goes for you too, Nevil—please for God’s sake tell me! I’m the one looking like a damned fool. What am I supposed to do when I receive these calls telling me that you and Nevil here are involved?

  ‘Hang on, now, hang on before you go off the handle, I think that someone out there is trying to set you or young Nevil up. I don’t know why but I’ve the feeling there’s other forces at work here. A big hunch, actually. Any ideas?’ Max looks from me to Nev and back again.

  ‘But why ... I mean, who?’ I stare at Max. A setup?

  ‘Who made the phone calls? I mean, we haven’t got any enemies, have we, Ma?’ Nevil throws the last question at me. By this time he’s wiped all the lipstick off whit the back a his hand.

  ‘Well, love, I don’t really know.’ I think a everybody I know who’d do somethin like this. I come up empty. Who’d be low nough, is the question?

  Max sighs. ‘Therein is the mystery. The first call was from a woman calling herself Davida Dalrymple, the second from a man calling himself John Holmes. Obviously fake names but I can tell you this—those calls were all made here in Mandamooka. Someone out there is setting you up for this Edge business. Someone has a real problem with both or one of you. Done anything to anyone lately?’

  ‘No, absolutely not. Who’d wanna waste they time settin us up? And why’d you bring us in?’ I study Max’s face.

  He turns round and throws a quick glance towards the door. Hunching his shoulders forward, Max leans over the counter and whispers, ‘Got to make it look good in front of the boys.—Like they told you, they received the same calls in Bullya. As you know, it’s my duty to follow these things up.’

  ‘So, these callers told you that it was me and Mum?’ Nevil frowns.

  ‘Yes, said you both knew where Jean was. Matter of fact, said you had her at the house there. See, it’s like this. Jean is supposed to be Edge’s courier pigeon and apparently she’s here in Mandamooka hiding out. That’s what the story is so far.’

  ‘Max, there’s no person in this town called Jean Rhys.’ I lean closer to his face. ‘Max, the woman don’t exist. She’s some dead writer. That’s right, there was a Jean Rhys a long time ago but she jus don’t exist any more. No such person here in Mandamooka.’

  ‘She’s a woman all in Nevil’s head.’ Booty steps closer, too.

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Max frowns as though we’re takin the piss.

  ‘Jus that. He made her all up. Like a big trick on everybody. Yeah, a big joke. You know how young fellas like to arse about. Nothin else in this town for them to do. Tell him bout the big joke, Nevil.’

  Nevil casts me a dangerously pissed-off look then says: ‘I’m Jean. I’m the real Jean Rhys.’ Take that.

  ‘Shut up, Sonny Jim!’ Booty slaps him cross the shoulder blades. ‘The boy’s losin his mables. Those Ds got him screwed up here.’ Booty points to his skull.

  ‘Was always the one for bad nerves, me Nevil. Don’t listen to that rot, Max. He ain’t been hisself lately. All this drug business wearin us thin. I jus can’t take this any more! Me blood pressure’s been playin up n everythin. I not a well woman, Max.’ I slump forward, me hand cross me forehead. Reckon I must look real down like. Can’t have Max askin too many questions.

  Booty, knowin the real deal, sighs deep, ‘It’s all right, Sis, Max here knows what you like. Hard life n all. Any other woman wouldn’t a took it like you. Bringin up the boy by yerself n strugglin, yeah, bloody fine job you did. That’s me sister for ya, Max, a battler. Tryin her little heart out to bring the boy up real decent like.’ Booty scratches his fat gut, a crooked grin on his sweat n drenched face.

  ‘Don’t cry, Mavis. I know what sort of person you are. I was never convinced that any of this had anything to do with you. I remember when young Nevil here used to play in the school football team, had a lot of talent back then. As I have always said, there’s a boy that’ll go far in life. Mavis, I don’t want you to blame me for any of this. I want you to know that I have to do all this otherwise those Bullya blokes will be on my back.’ He looks me in the eye, a sorry look on his dial.

  Booty pats me shoulder. ‘Those Ds got no right to talk to her and Nevil the way they done. My sister and nephew ain’t no drug dealers, Max.’

  ‘Well, let’s just hope this will all be sorted out soon. I would advise you to keep on your toes. There’s someone out there that’s got a dangerous grudge against both of you.’

  I stand to my feet n wipe away the crocodile tears. ‘Thanks, Max,’ I sniff. Grabbin Nevil tight by the arm. I steer him full force out the door.

  When we’re on the street again Booty explodes: ‘Fucken Jean Rhys! What are you, a fucken loony tunes, Sonny Jim! Goin in there like that! A man oughta kick that black arse a yours! Can’t ya see whatcha doin to ya poor ol mother!’ Booty hits Nevil cross the back a the head. ‘Fucken wake up to yourself otherwise I’m gonna have to do somethin bout all this shit! Nevil, ya not a bloody woman n that’s that! If God meant for ya to have a woman thing between ya legs then that’s what he’d a given ya!’ Booty’s eyes are bulgin outta his head.

  I ignore his shouts as he drags Nevil down the road. Me thoughts are on who’s settin us up n for what.

  Dotty Reedman, would she have the guts? Hmm, yeah, cos the woman done hate me, she do. Maybe she wanna be gettin rid a me so as she can have Terry to herself. Yep, can jus see her dial—happy as a pig in shit if she can do me over for Terry. Then again, maybe it’s cos Nevil busted her son up. Yeah, he smashed Jerry. Gave the boy a hidin.

  Missus Warby—who’d really know what goes on in that one’s head. She a madwoman for sure. Would she do this to us? Yeah, she would, thinkin she doin God’s work n everthin. Doin a good deed.

  Darryl Kane? Maybe, since I busted him in front a the bar. He promised revenge like, too. Don’t reckon he’d forget a woman doin him over like that. Causin him shame in front a his big hero pals.

  Terry Thompson—dunno, doubt it. I mean, what would he have to gain by doin this to us? Nah, wouldn’t be Terry. Anyway, I hope it ain’t cos I’d be real disappointed if it was. Hmm, come to think a it, a person don’t really know a lot bout the man. Sure, he nice n everythin but he could be a shyer. Shyin behind a mask. Jus like Nevil. Cept Nevil don’t hide it.

  Anybody’s a suspect really. I do know one thing—it can’t be Jean Rhys! She’s dead. Ain’t no dead woman come back n lived in a man, that much a woman do know. Then again, it’s a funny world, strange things happen ta people all the time. Yeah, they s
ure do when I think bout it.

  Anythin likely to happen. Jus don’t be hangin on that call, bingo, ol girl, cos things are changin round here all the time.

  Ya don’t have a chance in hell if ya not on ya ol warty toes.

  FOURTEEN

  Isaac Edge

  Terry Thompson gangles near the doorway, holdin a garden fork and lookin in at the room. He watches everyone closely. I watch him closely. The man look myall standin there like that. Trousers caked whit dirt n his shirt-sleeves torn n fallin down his skinny arms. His face got that worn-out look bout it. Like the man can’t get nough sleep. He’s lookin for someone. Dotty Reedman? Thinkin a her I turn in me chair and scan the room. There she sits at the far end of the table.

  Big dirty gold hair hair scraped up into a bun-like turnout. Lips painted up fire-engine red. Eyelids a washed out blue whit black rimmed edges. Pink shit stainin her cheekbones. Long fingernails, purple, bruise-purple.

  The woman look like one of em hookers. Sellin they bodies for a bit a coin. How much, Dotty, for a roll in the hay? Har, de har. She must have some sorta psycho hmmm, is that the word they use? Like when people know whatcha thinkin bout. Yeah, psycho power. Cos she turn real fast like n eyeball at me cross the room. Snake eyes screwed n scrunched up, small n spite-green. She sticks her tongue out at me—like the woman’s a little snot-nosed kid. Yeah, wanna play rough, Potty Dotty. I give her a big, bright smile, then when I’m sure no one lookin I flip me hand n give her the middle finger— take that, you horse-faced bitch!

  She reels back in her chair like I done hit her or somethin. Then she looks over at Terry in the doorway, gives him a wave n runs her tongue cross her lips. I know what she doin. Yeah, n Terry bein Terry, he’ll be sucked right in—go on, Terry, that big hair will getcha! She’ll catch ya up in it! Like a fly in a spider web.

  Is she the one who set me n Nev up for that Isaac Edge business? Wouldn’t put it past her. Be jus her type a jig. The woman hate us, she do. Maybe I’ll go cross there n knock the piss right outta that friggin skinny body a hers. She a bad egg—half-boiled, runny, full a poison yolk.

  I turn me attention away from her and look at Terry. He spots me then gives a little wave. ‘Hey, Mave,’ he mouths.

  Me gut flips all bout the place—fish in a barrel. Me mouth all dried out like. I wonder what I look like to him. Hope I look sexy! Hey, lookout! Can a woman be sayin em things bout herself? SEXY. Sexy Mavis? Arrhhh, don’t be thinkin shit, woman. You ain’t sexy like that piece a meat cross there. But all a same I look all right, I do. The dress I got on is new—Nevil n Trevor got it for me. Bright, covered in flower patterns, all colours, the hem almost up on me knee! An a real funky, hey is that the word—drop-down neckline, part of me chest showin—nah, just peekin up. Before I left home, Nev put some shit on me face; lipstick, eyeshada stuff, n done me hair up in a braid. I reckon I must look all right cos Trevor was real pressed! An, he’s a man; well, I think he is. Yeah, could look good. I feelin solid n all.

  Hey, lookout there! Here comes Gwenny Hinch! She look charged or somethin. Eyes red n puffed out.

  ‘Mavis, how are ya?’ she pulls out a chair to sit down beside me.

  ‘Takin up bingo now?’ I ask, tryin to sniff the air round her. Tryin to see if she charged.

  ‘As if!’ she snorts. ‘I had to come here and see you. I got real problems, Mave.’ She fidgets with her hands.

  ‘Five! A high five! anyone got a five?’ Hettie yells out.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Seven! A sinful seven! that’s it girls, seven!

  ‘Um, don’t you go slammin a woman but.’ Gwenny pauses, drops her head and stares at her hands.

  ‘Two. Yes that’s right, two! Good old number two!’

  ‘Darryl?’ I suss out. ‘Somethin to do whit Darryl Kane. That’s it, hey?’

  ‘Fifty-four. Fifty-four, Terry at the door. Fifty-four, anyone have a fifty-four!’

  ‘Sorta. I—um. You gonna go right off what I gotta say.’

  ‘Eight. Eight, don’t be late. Girls, anyone for an eight!’

  ‘Shittin hell, Gwen get to the bloody point!’ I watch her eyes slide round the room. The woman don’t wanna look at me. She knowed I be sussin on her.

  ‘Three. Three. That number three!’ Hettie shouts.

  ‘I’m seein him again,’ she whispers, offerin me a shamejob look.

  ‘Ten, ten, ten. He’s at it again! Anyone for a ten!’

  ‘Oh no, don’t tell me, it’s Darryl Kane, ain’t it? You seein that piece a shit, again!’ I look at her like she’s gone mad. Maybe she has. Finally lost the plot.

  ‘I can’t help it. I love him, Mavis. He’s leaving Samantha. He promised me that. He did. Mavis, he’s tellin the truth, I just know.’

  Hettie yells loud and clear cross the room. ‘Who’s got the bingo today? Come on, ladies, one of you out there must have all the right numbers. Three hundred bucks is the jackpot. Come on, who’s the lucky person?’

  ‘You mad you is. After what he done to ya! Gwenny, what’s up whit ya, woman? He’s a friggin areshole! Yeah, go on then, let him go round spruikin more shit bout how good black women is in the sack! He was gonna put the boot into ya there at the pub. Ya forgot that mighty fast like.’ I glare at her, teeth grindin, me nostrils flarin.

  ‘Don’t be shy. There’s some lucky woman out here today; come on, step up whoever you are,’ Hettie yells, circlin the room like a vulture.

  ‘He’s changed, he has. Even got a new job in Bullya. Bought himself a flash car and the old Hunter house by the river there. He said he’s sorry for everythin.’

  ‘Come on, now. Someone must have the numbers!’

  ‘All bulldust! He a woman-bashin creep. Ya jus sucked right in, like that ol Terry over there. Yep, it’s all jus some sorta mad game to some peoples.’ I glare round the room.

  ‘You my best friend, Mavis. I—well, Big Boy don’t know jus yet, but I gotta tell him. I thought, well—’ she stops and eyeballs me.

  ‘Any numbers, Mavis?’ Hettie stops at the table, a hopeful smile on her face.

  ‘Hey, Hettie. Here’s my card, can you check it please?’ I hand it to her and watch as she strides cross the room. Person wouldn’t be lucky nough to win it again.

  ‘Yeah, Gwen, what?’ I turn back to her.

  ‘I thought maybe you or Nev could like say somethin to him,’ she pleads.

  ‘To Big Boy! Geez, somethin terrible wrong when ya can’t tell ya own son bout things. I’m not sayin nuthin, Gwen. Nah, that your job.’

  ‘Mavis, Mavis!’ Hettie yells, as she races cross the floor. ‘You won! You won the bingo! Three hundred big bucks!’ She laughs as she hands back me card.

  ‘I did? Well, talk bout luck, eh? Thanks, Hettie.’ I won. I won. How lucky can one woman be. Yippeee! Take that, Dotty!

  ‘Goodonya! You the luckiest person I know.’ Gwen pats me on the back. ‘Anyway, now listen, Mave, I gotta ask you somethin really important. You ever heard of a woman called Jean that lives round here somewhere?’

  ‘Jean? Whatcha talkin bout?’ I do a double-take n stare at her.

  ‘Heard Darryl the other day talkin bout this woman called Jean. She seems to work for him or somethin. I know somethin’s goin down and it’s gotta lot to do whit Jean. Maybe he’s screwin her too, eh.’

  ‘Don’t tell me it’s Jean Rhys! Is that her name? Jean Rhys?’ I gape, me mouth unhinged. It comes full circle. Back to bite me. Jean’ll never leave a woman alone. Yep, it never gonna end fer me. I can see that now. Since the day me boy woked up whit that mad idea it’s been nuthin but trouble whit all this business.

  ‘Hey, yeah that’s it. Jean Rhys, that’s her name!’ Gwen blurts out, eyes wide.

  ‘Works for Darryl Kane? She works for Darryl?’ Me eyes bulge. ‘You mustta heard wrong, Gwen.’ Like a nightmare.

  ‘Nope, Jean Rhys, that’s who he was talkin bout. Reckoned it were all a big joke. Heard him tellin some fella from Bullya what a real hard worker Jean is. Yep, even r
eckoned she were gonna do some dirty work for him. Whatcha make a that, eh?’ She looks at me with question marks in her eyes.

  Me gut drops. I grip the edge a the table, me knuckles throbbin. Blood pressure risin fast. I feel giddy. ‘Jean Rhys don’t exist!’ I yell it out. ‘What the hell’s wrong whit people in this town! Jean Rhys a figure of magination in Nevil’s head! She’s not even alive! The woman dead! She a dead woman!’ I turn away from Gwen n look round the room. It be the death a me fer sure.

  The room goes dead quiet. Everyone stares back; Hettie’s frozen to the spot in the middle a the room; Terry, mouth open, looks at me like I a loony; Dotty smirkin n smilin n all the others nudgin each other n lookin at me like I done pulled down me bloomers n pissed on the floor in front a em. This time I done it good n proper. Yep, now the whole town knows. Well, that jus tough shit, ain’t it, Mavis big-trap Dooley. Ya always knew the day’d come when all this would blow up. Yep, all cos a some dead writer. Finished right up.

  ‘Gee, Mave, no need to scream about it.’ Gwen says, then coughs shame like into her hand.

  ‘Gwen, I reckon Darryl Kane is Isaac Edge. Listen, Max Brown come over n hauled all our arses off to the pig shop. He reckons me boy’s best mate, Trevor, is Isaac Edge—the one dealin drugs to everybody. See, Max reckoned somebody had it in for me n Nev, too.’ Me voice drops, ‘Darryl, that’s who.’

  Gwen stares back at me, blinks, turns from me and stares at the doorway. After about a second or two she turns back and says, ‘What the fuck you on about? Mavis, ya been hittin the piss or somethin? Ya not yourself any more. Is this ya way of gettin me away from Darryl? I know ya hate his guts, Mave, yeah. But I’m not gonna be listenin to this stuff if that’s what ya tryin to do to me.’

  ‘Jesus Christ! Gwen, it ain’t any a that! It’s bout Jean Rhys! Jean Rhys, Isaac Edge n this shit that’s been goin on. I can’t tell you everythin now but jus come home whit me n I’ll explain it all. It’s a long story. Trust me, ya’ll know what I been goin through all this time. Ain’t been easy.’ I get to me feet feelin like a sack a shit.