True Stars

by Kidman, Fiona

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Minna. ‘I wouldn’t have come in if I’d known. I thought you were the bailiffs.’

  ‘Getting ready to give a hand were you?’ Rose didn’t trust Minna. She was English, with a tiny doll-like face full of apparent naïvety. Her blonde hair fell straight to the curve of her rump. Her top and jeans were exquisitely laundered and ironed; through her T-shirt her nipples poked out fashionably from her skinny breasts. She was a vegetarian and practised organic gardening; at the hospital she had turned up with brown rice and bean shoot dishes, and thrown out Katrina’s dinners when they brought them round. Minna had left a child behind in England with a former husband and was proud that she had the courage to walk out on what she termed ‘a bad situation’. Rose placed her age at around thirty, though she could pass for eighteen.

  Katrina emerged from the bedroom with her youngest child in her arms. Sharna was a pinched little girl, nearly nine months old. Katrina said the baby’s father was named George and he had been staying on the Block for awhile, but she didn’t know where he was now.

  Rose hadn’t seen the baby for months but straight away she put her arms out with a desparate urgency as if anyone would do rather than her mother. Katrina handed her over; Rose could see that she wasn’t keen, but there was not much else she could do.

  Sharna clung to her, nuzzling into her neck. If she had been dirty in her cot, she was changed now. Her jumpsuit, though matted from the wash, was clean and dry, and her hair damp as if it had had a flannel passed over it. One of her eyes was huge and blue, the other walled. Rose looked at the hand bunching her blouse up into a fist.

  ‘She’s lovely,’ she said, and meant it. She rubbed her face against the child’s. There was a sourness on her skin, but apart from that she smelled all right.

  Katrina shrugged and said abruptly, ‘I’ll feed her.’ She reached out and took Sharna back, at the same time releasing her bra under the orange lace.

  ‘You’re still feeding. That’s good.’ Rose disliked the hearty note in her own voice.

  ‘It’s easiest. And cheaper than SMA.’

  Because Minna was there, Rose couldn’t ask Katrina if it was money she wanted. As she sat watching the baby greedily feed she started planning things she could buy for Sharna. If Katrina would let her. It was one thing for Katrina to ask for something, but it was often another matter to tell her what she needed.

  Minna got up to help herself to the gin and the phone rang; because she was beside it and Katrina didn’t seem bothered, she picked it up and answered.

  She said Hullo, hullo, are you there, speak to me gorgeous, and replaced it. ‘Must be a wrong number.’

  ‘You get them all the time,’ said Katrina, pushing her breast back inside her clothes. ‘Kids playing with phones.’ She glanced at Rose.

  The back door opened again, or rather burst open this time, and a boy wearing a military-style Bundeswehr sweatshirt raced at them, as if to pass between them, pushing everything in his way aside.

  Katrina grabbed him. ‘It’s your aunt,’ she hissed. ‘Speak to her.’

  Basil, his six-year-old face that might be a hundred, squinted at her.

  ‘How’s school?’ said Rose. They looked at each other, measuring up each other’s weak spots. When he was smaller Rose used to come and collect Basil for an afternoon, but it always turned into a disaster. If Sharna was pinched from an overt neglect, Basil had the appearance of a child whom nobody could improve. He had always been underweight and scrawny, his head almost too large to sit comfortably on his neck, his freckles brilliant on his luminous skin, his hair permanently spiky. She could swear he had the beginnings of crow’s feet around his eyes. He had never slept properly when he stayed with her, crying fretfully for his mother from the time of his arrival until he was taken home.

  He looked at Katrina, ignoring Rose’s question and wrinkling his nose as if sniffing for something. ‘You old bitch,’ he said, ‘you’re just a bloody old milk tanker.’ He punched Katrina’s chest, hurting her.

  ‘I’ll smash that baby in.’ He pushed Sharna hard; Minna snatched her from Katrina’s lap.

  Rose thought she could use some more gin after all.

  ‘It’s like coming to a horror movie here, isn’t it?’ said Minna companionably. Katrina had Basil in a wrestling hold, then flipped him quickly over into her lap. He fought for a moment, all teeth and fists, then subsided against her, his head tucked under her chin. She took some Cheezels from the plate and delicately inserted them between his lips.

  Rose opened her mouth to tell Katrina what she thought: You shouldn’t let Basil do this, she wanted to say, he’s too big to behave like this, then she saw her sister’s face. For a moment, it was at peace. Her eyes were closed; perhaps she was thinking of Wolf, Basil’s father.

  Rose had met Wolf only once, seven years before.

  They were at open-air tearooms by the lake, the afternoon was dull and cloudy, the water looked yellowish-brown. It was a shallow lake, man-made, unvaried by turbulence, lacking depth or mystery. But the peacocks walked around them, spreading their tails and prancing, and Katrina’s face shone. Her dark hair had fallen round her shoulders, her eyes never left the face of her lover. She explained about New Zealand to him, that Maoris did not live in huts as at the model pa they had just visited. She reminded Larissa patiently that she must thank the young German for the drink and that she must not frighten the birds. Larissa was eleven, and bored. She didn’t want to be with them, though Rose was not sure whether it was because she disliked the German or because she was playing him off against Paul, her father, with whom she was supposed to have spent the afternoon. Wolf stroked Katrina’s leg. She stroked his. They were surrounded by an aura.

  ‘You look a leetle tired,’ he said.

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Perhapz only becoz I feel it.’

  ‘I wonder what time we got to sleep.’

  She began to tell him some other story, about a flood that had been in the district. It was without point but she sounded articulate and reasonable as if these were things he ought to know. She either didn’t see Rose there, or didn’t remember that she had asked her to come. It was as if Rose was not there at all. After awhile Rose and Larissa wandered away and threw crusts of their afternoon tea to the peacocks, and then into the sludgy bulrushes at the edge of the water where ducks shoved one another. Larissa began to laugh, for the first time that afternoon. Her hair slapped against her back, a plait as thick as the rigging on a tall ship. Then she took Rose’s hand, as if she were much younger; they walked away from Katrina and Wolf. The sun came out and the water glittered and when they had walked far enough they turned to go back to the tearooms. Katrina was animated and greeted Rose as if it was the first time she had seen her that day, though she didn’t introduce her to Wolf again.

  She ran away to Europe with the beautiful German youth. She said he was her new beginning. Larissa stayed behind. It was not the first time she had lived with the Kendalls. When Wolf abandoned Katrina, Rose and Kit scraped together her fare and sent it to her so she could come home. After her return Paul stopped her maintenance. He didn’t have to pay her any more, he wasn’t looking after someone else’s kid, he said, and when she took him to court he won.

  She got to keep Larissa.

  It was true though, Basil was her special child. He was always in trouble at school. Katrina was supposed to take him regularly to a child psychiatrist, but she had taken him only once. Shrinks didn’t know anything, she said, there was nothing wrong with Basil. She loved this dumb kid whom Rose had never been able to take to.

  He stood up, wiping crumbs from his mouth, then coughed as if something had caught in the back of his throat. He heaved, close to wretching.

  ‘Shut up,’ Katrina said. He gasped, choked. She stroked his head idly as he subsided. ‘He’s always doing that,’ she remarked to nobody in particular.

  ‘Shouldn’t you take him to the doctor?’ Rose asked.

  ‘That’s t
he answer to everything,’ Minna said. ‘See the doctor. Bugger up his central nervous system with drugs.’

  Rose felt Minna’s dislike of her as a tangible force in the room.

  Minna said, ‘How do you think she can pay for the doctor anyway, with what your lot’s done to the health system?’

  ‘What would you do?’ Rose asked, stung, her tongue loosened by the gin. She must be crazy, drinking gin at a constituent’s house. But this was her sister Katrina, not just a constituent, and Minna was her guest. Rose would have liked to hold Sharna again but it was too late. She had a meeting to attend.

  Rather more than you’re doing,’ Minna answered, suddenly sounding prim and English. ‘Look at this place.’ She waved towards the window, and the line of houses that stood outside.

  ‘Did you see EastEnders?’ Katrina asked hurriedly, as if spurred to change Minna’s line of conversation and stop Rose from walking out, as clearly she would at any moment.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Minna conceded. ‘But I’m sick of it. I don’t like the blacks that are in it ri-aght now. That’s another thing,’ she said, turning to Rose. ‘This place down here’s getting taken over by the blacks.’

  ‘So Katrina says. If that’s what you’d call it. You have to try and fit in when you come to another country, Minna. Otherwise they’ll say you’re taking over.’

  ‘Uh huh. Pommie bashing. I suppose that’s what got you lot into power. I don’t see you sitting in the roadway with the blacks now.’

  ‘We don’t call them blacks here.’ She couldn’t understand why Minna didn’t leave. She lived next door to Katrina, saw her every day, had time on her hands to come some other time. Rose was waiting to find out what it was that Katrina wanted, and to find out more about Larissa if she could.

  ‘Yes you do,’ Minna persisted. ‘They say it. You’re supposed to say black.’

  ‘It depends on who’s saying it.’

  ‘Selective morality. Anyway, what’s it matter, blacks, Polys, they’re overrunning this place.’

  ‘I have to go,’ said Rose. Katrina jumped up to follow her out, tucking the baby on her hip. Minna reached for the gin at the same time as the phone began again. Her hand left the bottle for the receiver, but the line was dead. Katrina glanced towards Rose, suddenly uneasy; her sister fumbled with the door handle, frantic to get outside in the open air.

  ‘Coincidence,’ Rose said, when she reached the car.

  ‘It is weird,’ Katrina admitted, although Rose hadn’t wanted that, nor to talk about it now.

  ‘Nobody knows I’m here,’ she said firmly. ‘You can see how easy it is to get jumpy about nothing.’

  Katrina leaned against the car door. ‘It’s like somebody must have followed you.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Rose looked around her. At least on the surface it was a quiet street. She strained to remember cars that had passed, but they were a blur, she didn’t watch things like that. Not so far. ‘That’s crazy. Forget I mentioned this whole thing, all right?’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Katrina dropped her cigarette on the ground, grinding it with her heel. ‘Rose?’

  ‘Yes?’ Now for it.

  ‘Could you look in on Larissa?’

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Why don’t you?’

  ‘She doesn’t want me to, eh?’ Starting to play the role of a downtrodden Blake Block inhabitant, whining slightly.

  ‘Katrina, tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Katrina, as if Rose was persecuting her. ‘Look, I heard something, all right? Her and Gary, they’re into something heavy, I dunno what it is.’

  ‘Dope?’

  ‘So how should I know? Half of Weyville is.’

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘Pardon me? I forgot you were mates with the cops these days.’

  ‘That’s not true. They think I’m nuts.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘I don’t know what’s with Larissa,’ Katrina said. ‘That’s God’s truth, Sis. I heard that Gary’s been beating up on her, and that he’s got a bit of money.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Oh I dunno.’

  ‘Yes, all right, I’ll go and see her. They’re still at the caravan park?’

  ‘I hear so.’

  ‘Is it urgent?’

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t be able to wait.’

  ‘She’s not that keen on seeing me either,’ Rose said. ‘You know that.’

  ‘No. Well. It’s over to you. She deserves her lot.’

  ‘I mean, I can’t go right away, this minute. But in the morning, is that okay?’

  ‘Whenever.’

  As she drove away Rose fancied that Minna was watching her from behind the cracked venetian blinds in Katrina’s house. She had become used to people behaving angrily towards her since Kit got into Parliament, but she did not understand Minna’s antagonism; it was as if she disliked her being near Katrina. For a second she thought crazily that it could be Minna making the phone calls, then remembered that Minna had been in the room when the phone had just rung.

  If it was the caller. She looked in the rear-vision mirror; someone might be following her now. The road was clear. She shook her head. Nobody could have known where she was.

  It might have been a coincidence at Katrina’s, in which case it could still be Minna.

  Or anyone, she argued with herself.

  Skinny blue shadows were lengthening across the road. She avoided a dead-looking trike with a slewed wheel that had run out on the roadway, and drove over the railway tracks, past the remnants of the railway station. Outlines of gardens could still be seen, ragged trees and broken lines of fences where once there were railway cottages; the land was zoned industrial, but since the stockmarket crash plans for building on it had lapsed. Rose pulled into the dairy on the edge of the shopping mall which served the Blake Block.

  As she picked her way across the parking lot an old woman dressed in a long brown raincoat nearly to her ankles, with thin blunt-cut hair covered by a shocking pink hairnet, rushed at a group of street kids who had been sniffing. She carried a broken spade handle. One of the kids pushed his paper bag of glue into her face and she tottered, almost falling; the kids saw Rose, retreated, and the woman recovered herself. Rose ran towards her, calling out, Are you all right? The woman glanced at her and backed into a shop verandah, as if nothing had happened.

  Inside the dairy Rose smiled at the proprietor, a young Indian named Gandhi with a moustache. She knew him of old, from when she and Kit used to collect donations for the Party. He had been a generous giver. He turned away, staring at the wall as she picked out milk from the refrigerator. She saw that the shelves were half-empty, with the goods pulled up to the front leaving dead space behind.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said when she gave him the money. He still did not look at her.

  She sat in the car for a moment before starting the engine. Perhaps Katrina and Minna were right. She didn’t know how she would cope in the Blake Block. Across the road a telephone dangled in a doorless phone box. Public telephones here were almost all out of order. Above her stood a row of hoardings. Sweet Harmony were playing a gig at the local theatre at the weekend, and the Topp Twins the following week. An advertisement for insurance had been defaced. Somebody had painted, in big red letters that had run, BLACKS AND LESBIANS RULE, OKAY?

  She thought about it on the way home, as she turned her navy-blue Metro into the tree-lined street that branched away to her right. A few lights had come on in Cedarwood Grove, shining behind silver trophies or careful floral arrangements standing in the windows, or down on to acres of carpet beyond picture windows; falling across large empty lawns. Otherwise there was nobody around, no kids playing in the street, no one out talking over the fences. The eerie hush of each house’s isolation from its neighbour was suffocating.

  She directed the car up the driveway towards the automatic doors of the new garage, recently built
under the old house. The door between the garage and the kitchen was standing open. Inside, the phone rang, a persistent unrelenting drone.

  As she sat in her car, waiting for the sound to cease, she turned out the contents of her bag. At the bottom there was a pile of credit card slips including four Visa dockets for petrol and two American Express for alcohol, a card for a dental appointment she needed but had forgotten to keep, three hard jubes, and five tablets of Valium.

  3

  ‘If that’s Rose, tell her I’m in the shower,’ Toni Warner called.

  ‘It sounds urgent.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  Toni owned an eight-place Hutschenreuther dinnerset, which she used often, cultivated an all-white garden in the style of Vita Sackville-West, and was the mother of two children who were perfectly integrated into the State school system and had begun to learn Maori. She was Rose Kendall’s best, if younger, friend.

  Lyle walked into the kitchen trailing the phone by its cord. His hand covered the mouthpiece. ‘I told her you were free.’

  ‘Shit.’

  She reached for the phone.

  ‘I’m flat sticks, can I talk to you later, lovey?’

  ‘Yes, sure.’

  ‘You’re all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘What is it?’ Toni was contrite.

  ‘Nothing. You got the radio on?’

  ‘Umm … it’s on … I wasn’t listening … it’s Anne Murray isn’t it?’

  The singer was performing an old Cole Porter number with a surprising bitter-sweet accuracy … Are you still in love with me-ee? Toni sensed Rose’s tearfulness down the phone.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Do you know if she’s still getting that guy round her house? The one they’re always arresting and sending to jail because he keeps turning up and saying he’s in love with her?’

  ‘Rose!’

  ‘I was just thinking. How could she sing that? It might make him worse.’

  Toni’s tone was sharp. ‘For God’s sake, Rose. Anne Murray lives on an island off the coast of Canada.’