‘I don’t think there’s any need—’
‘Shut up! I’ve had enough o’ whining bloody babies without another one trying to rule the roost. You and that… blasted trollop gallivanting all over town every five minutes.’
Oriel swallowed. He must be really angry to use the word trollop. ‘It’s only the second time she’s been—’
‘Shut up I said!’ He stormed up to her. Oriel shrank. The quiet man rarely lost control of his temper but when he did it was advisable to lie low. ‘And go tell her to shut that bloody baby up an’ all or it’s going straight out of t’window!’
Oriel was sober, realizing then that Bright had not come running to save her. ‘What’s wrong? Where’s Mother?’
‘She’s in bed trying to rest with that little sod screaming its arse off. I knew, I bloody knew this’d happen.’ Faced with Oriel’s horror he calmed only slightly to explain, pressing his hand to his anguished brow. ‘Your mother collapsed.’
Oriel gave a little squeak.
‘I got the doctor round and he said—’ Nat’s voice cracked. ‘She’s got that bloody stinking flu – and it’s all your fault, trollopin’ round those bloody dancehalls fetching germs home! You couldn’t stay at home till the danger was over, could you? No! You put your own selfish enjoyment above everything else including your mother. I could bloody kill you, Oriel!’
Dumbfounded, she just stood there, white-faced and swaying, her bedraggled-looking feather quivering in the draught.
Nat was already showing regret for the pain he had inflicted and took a deep breath before saying more evenly, ‘Just go to bed.’ He wheeled around and marched towards his own bedroom.
Stupefied, Oriel followed and when he felt her presence and turned, she whispered croakily, ‘Can I see her?’
‘No! I don’t want you going anywhere near her.’
Again he was forced to apply salve to his cruel words. ‘I don’t want you catching it an’ all. You can stand in the doorway and say goodnight to her if you like.’ He opened the door, saw that his wife was crying and came immediately to her bedside.
Disobeying his order, his daughter pursued him, shocked by how ill and drawn her mother was. Surely she had not looked like that earlier in the evening or Oriel would have noticed and cancelled the excursion. Or would she? Had it been her own selfish desire for young company that had blinded her to this illness? Noel sprang to mind – how quickly the disease had overcome him, fine one day, dead the next. She began to cry too.
‘Don’t fight,’ wept the victim from her bed. ‘It’s not Oriel’s fault, Nat, don’t blame her. I could’ve caught it at the shops or anywhere. Please don’t shout. I can’t bear it.’
He gave profuse apologies, clinging to her hands, kneading them, willing this not to be the dreaded influenza but some harmless ailment.
‘Put those masks on that the doctor left.’
Nat refused. ‘I’m not wearing that!’ He tossed one to Oriel. ‘Here, you put one on.’
She picked it up from the end of the bed but merely stood there fingering it and weeping. ‘I wouldn’t have gone out if I’d known you were ill.’
‘That’s just it, I didn’t feel ill,’ said her mother. ‘I haven’t even had a cold. I just keeled over – but don’t worry, I’ll be all right, darling.’ She held out her hand. ‘It’s not a bad dose. I’m just feeling a bit weak that’s all.’ An attempt to smile made her simply pathetic. ‘Go on, go to bed. Did you have a good night, by the way?’
Oriel nodded tearfully, feeling guilty at being so happy a moment ago. Images of herself and Errol dancing were replaced by her mother collapsing over and over again.
‘Good – and Melinda?’
Nat clenched his teeth.
Oriel nodded again and made as if to come and kiss her mother but Nat held up a warning hand.
Bright whispered, ‘Best not. I’ll be all right in a few days, you see.’
Mouth turned down in woe, Oriel continued to stare for a while through the dingy glow of the electric globe, watching the shadow of the ceiling fan play upon the sheet that covered her mother, then she turned and went to her room, closing the door behind her.
The sufferer could not maintain her smile and reached for Nat’s hand but her grip was weak. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’ Hanging on to her hand with both of his he bent to kiss it.
‘I’m going to say something now.’
‘No, just rest,’ he insisted.
‘If I should – if I don’t recover—’
‘Oh, shush!’
‘No, Nat, promise you won’t do anything.’
He was almost frantic. ‘You’re going to get better. It’s only a slight dose you’ve caught, you said yourself.’
‘Whatever it is I don’t want you to catch it so put that mask on right now. Go on.’
Reluctantly he did so and Bright continued though she felt dreadful. ‘Now, promise me you’ll go on living.’ She could not bring herself to say, Don’t kill yourself, but they both remembered that he had told her he would never be able to live without her.
Nat knew exactly what she meant and did not answer.
‘Oh no, don’t, don’t.’ With agonized expression she chided him.
To pacify her he mumbled a promise from behind the gauze mask. ‘I won’t. Just concentrate on—’
‘Stop fobbing me off. Just think of Oriel. Swear to me now you won’t—’
‘All right!’ He was forced to make a promise he did not know whether he could keep. But with luck the flu would probably get him as well. ‘I swear it. Now shush and just try to sleep.’
His wife closed her eyes and very soon drifted off. Once she was in a state of unawareness Nat ripped off his mask and threw it to the floor.
Oriel had not undressed but sat for ages on the edge of the bed staring through the lamplight. At least Melinda had managed to pacify baby Alice. The house was quiet now. Quiet as death. No – Mother wouldn’t die! Of course she wouldn’t. It happened to other people but not to Mother. Eventually she took off her clothes, got into bed and closed her eyes. Mother would be fine by morning.
7
After her employer’s dreadful outburst Melinda thought it best to go straight to bed and so did not find out the reason for it until she met him the next morning in the kitchen during his brief excursion from the sickroom.
She was preparing the usual Sunday breakfast of bacon and eggs when Nat came in to refill an enamel bowl with cold water and muttered, ‘I suppose Oriel told you Mrs Prince has the flu?’
She gasped and looked fearful.
Oriel had entered only seconds after him. ‘No, I didn’t get the chance. How is Mother?’
‘Badly.’ Nat turned off the tap and, towel over his arm, began to carry his bowl to the door, then paused. ‘I forgot to mention last night. There’s some blokes coming to fumigate the place. House has been put under quarantine so none of us is allowed out.’
Oriel’s heart lurched. ‘How long will it last?’ She felt incredibly selfish for even thinking about her arranged rendezvous with Errol but as anxious as she was over her mother’s health she could not bear the thought that she would be prevented from seeing him.
Nat had barely slept and it showed. ‘Till we’re all dead or cured.’ He moved off.
She cringed at his brutality. Her mind began a series of images: Bright in her coffin with Oriel weeping beside it; Oriel in her own coffin, never having known the love of a man; Errol waiting in vain under the clocks for someone who would never arrive. Desperate as the situation was she must get word to him.
‘Can I telephone Dorothy?’ she called after him, ‘to let her know about Mother.’
Nat gave a dispassionate grunt and returned to his wife.
Oriel hesitated, wondering how to convey her message without her father overhearing. What kind of monster would he think she was then?
Melinda hefted the frying pan. ‘Will there only be me and you eating this bacon then?�
��
Oriel said she did not feel like any. Clutching her address book, she approached the telephone in the hall, paused and thought of what to say before picking the receiver off the hook and acquiring the number. She waited. Luckily it was Dorothy who answered straight away.
‘Oh hello, Oriel! Or Orrie, should I say?’ She sniggered. ‘Now, about this Friday—’
‘Dot, Mother’s got the flu,’ came the interjection.
‘My God, that’s dreadful!’ Dorothy was genuinely concerned. ‘Oh, Oriel, I don’t know what to say. Is she… is she very bad?’
The responding voice was kept lowered. ‘She’s really ill. The house has been put under quarantine. We have to swear an oath that we won’t have anyone coming in or going out for four days.’
‘Oh dear – ah.’ Dorothy read the situation expertly. ‘So you need me to get a message to whatsisname?’ Oriel did not wish to raise Errol’s name in case her father overheard and merely gave a yes. ‘Well, I can do that for you. You were meant to be meeting him under the clocks this Friday at what time?’
‘Half past seven,’ muttered Oriel. ‘Of course Mother could be better by then but it wouldn’t be right for me to go rushing off. I’d be very grateful, Dot.’
‘Don’t mention it. Is there anything else I can do – absolutely anything. Your poor mother…’
At this last phrase Oriel’s eyes filled with tears. ‘No, I don’t think so, but thanks for offering.’
Dorothy was a practical sort. ‘What about groceries?’
‘We’re going to make arrangements for food to be dropped off at the gate. Thanks for offering, though.’
‘I’ll be thinking of you.’
‘Thanks.’ Oriel drew in an emotional breath. ‘I’ll see you when I can. Bye.’
This done, she went directly to her parents’ bedroom but was barred entry.
‘Are you daft? You’re not coming anywhere near her.’ Nat peered round the door. ‘I know you think I’m hard but I’m not having you cop it too.’
His daughter looked agitated. ‘But you said it wasn’t too bad.’
‘I didn’t, your mother said that.’ He sighed heavily. ‘It’s no good you coming in, she’s too poorly to talk.’
Oriel panicked. ‘Then we’ve got to get her into hospital.’ Exasperation on his tired face he came out and closed the door behind him. ‘How – with a bloody shoehorn? They’re crammed to bursting, if you hadn’t noticed.’
Oriel was furious with him, tears bulging. ‘You’re ready to let her die!’
‘You what?’ he snarled at her. ‘Don’t you dare say that to me!’
She blubbered immediately. ‘I’m sorry!’
‘I love your mother.’ Nat almost broke down. ‘She is not going into one o’ them bloody wooden sheds they call a hospital.’ Such buildings had been meant for the military but were now taking the massive overflow from civilian hospitals. ‘They can’t give her any better nursing than I can, and they won’t let me visit her neither. If she should die in there…’ He tried to shake the awful thought from his mind.
Oriel had rarely seen her father with his sleeves rolled up, he was always so immaculately dressed, but now in his unkempt state she noticed scabs of dried blood upon his arms and wondered over them briefly but was too acutely aware of her own misery to enquire as to their cause.
Nat felt her scrutiny and tried to cover up his arms. The addiction to self-mutilation, a relic of his days at the Industrial School, was never far from his fingertips in times of trauma. In his terror of losing Bright he had been picking and gouging at his flesh all night.
‘If you want to help you can fetch and carry stuff, cold water and towels, aspirins, fresh sheets and t’like and leave it outside door. You’re coming no closer than you are right now – oh, and the poor hoss!’ He told her how to feed and groom it. ‘Make sure he’s got plenty o’ water. Don’t suppose that’ll break t’rules, you won’t be coming into contact with anyone. And keep that bloody bairn quiet an’ all.’
‘What about you?’ Oriel’s handkerchief was drenched and did no more than move the tears from one side of her cheek to the other. ‘Will you come and have some bacon?’ This homely, tantalizing aroma was at odds with the trials being endured here.
‘Nay, I couldn’t eat a thing.’ Nat looked sick. ‘I’ll never leave her side till she’s well.’ He backed away into his room.
Oriel caught a glimpse of her sick mother propped up on pillows, complexion like tallow, before the door closed in her face. She ran to her room, shoulders racked with sobs. Please don’t let her die! Take Melinda or the baby but don’t let it be Mother. If she dies, I’ll be left on my own with him.
Nat squeezed out a rag in ice-cold water and laid it across his wife’s forehead. There was nothing to show she had felt this attention. Bright was too sick to talk to him, even to know he was there. He sagged over the bed, damning the flock of cockatoos that would periodically rise as one from a gumtree and circle screeching overhead before coming to settle like white washing on a line, only to rise again when the fancy took them.
So utterly agonized was he at the thought of losing Bright that he began to pray even though he had learned from experience that there was no one out there listening, that all torment came to an end eventually – reached a natural conclusion without the intervention of a higher being. People might say that their prayers had been answered but Nat knew that the God to whom they prayed did not care. Nevertheless he set up a pointless chanting: ‘Please don’t let me lose her when I’ve just found her again, if somebody has to go let it be the bairn but not her, because if you take her you’d better take me as well.’ To this end, he lurched over his wife’s recumbent form and pressed his lips to hers, running his tongue along their dry surface, feasting on the virus that was trying to take her from him.
* * *
For two days Bright hovered beneath the ever-gyrating ceiling fan on the verge of pneumonia, whilst the other prisoners of the house coped as best they could. In the world outside a flutter of yellow quarantine flags had begun to amass over Melbourne. One by one another school, another church, another public house closed down. In the luckier neighbourhoods teams of ambulances ferried the stricken to ever-burgeoning hospitals. To those less fortunate, the hearse became a regular visitor, quarantine laws preventing family members from attending their loved ones’ funerals.
Terrified for her own health and for that of her baby, Melinda was glad to allow Oriel to do all the fetching and carrying to the invalid’s room. However, her regular enquiries as to Mrs Prince’s health were not entirely selfish and, over morning coffee today, she asked, ‘Is there no medicine at all they can give her?’
‘Apparently not,’ murmured a tired-looking Oriel, elbows on the table, wringing her hands. ‘If there was you’d feel as if you were doing something but to have to watch your mother lying there—’
Melinda had been impressed by her employer’s devotion. ‘Your dad’s a real ripper, isn’t he? Looking after her like that.’
Oriel simply nodded. His vigilance had not really surprised her. She was well aware that her parents were the two most important people in the world to each other.
‘Oriel!’
Her heart leaped at the urgent summons and in her haste to rise she banged the table, tipping coffee from cup to saucer. Ignoring everything and filled with trepidation, she moved through the house, dreading what she might find. The door to the sickroom was no longer closed to her. Having been forbidden to enter for two days, she feared what this might mean. Imagining her mother’s waxen face, she hardly dared to peer around the jamb.
Catching a peripheral glimpse of Oriel, Nat said, ‘I think she might be on the mend.’ He spoke as if hardly able to believe it.
Oriel sagged in relief against the wooden jamb. Christ, you stupid man, I thought she must be dead! But instead of mouthing this she made to enter.
‘Don’t come in!’ The command was not harsh. ‘I just left door open to get a d
raught through, but there might still be danger of you catching it.’
‘You haven’t.’ Tears of relief pricking her eyes, she hovered in the doorway, trying to assess her mother’s condition. The sleeping figure did indeed look better.
‘No.’ Nat’s black eyebrows lifted in surprise and he scratched his head. He had done his best to catch it too.
Happiness began to flood through Oriel, procuring sympathy for her father, who looked haggard. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Oh, some fresh water.’ He eased his back and suddenly realized that he was hungry. ‘And a cup o’ tea and some toast if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course I don’t.’
She turned to go, but as she did so she hesitated and saw him lift his hand to her mother’s cheek and caress the skin with his knuckles. It was an act of such tenderness that Oriel was transfixed. Her father was not a demonstrative man; even though she knew he adored her mother he had always been reticent in allowing others to see it. Aware that he assumed himself to be alone, she backed slowly around the jamb but continued to watch those fingers caress her mother’s pale skin – and found herself falling deeply in love with him. Not an innocent kind of love but one that stirred all manner of sexual feelings. Shocked to the core, she tore herself away and rushed to fulfil his request, berating and condemning herself – what sort of person fell in love with their own father? Surely the lowest of the low. The image of a fourteen-year-old prostitute flashed to mind. Blood will out, mocked the phrase. Could it be the influence of her harlot grandmother?
To counter these perverted feelings, on her return Oriel behaved even more coolly towards Nat than she had done before he had married her mother. He was too exhausted to wonder what had occasioned this relapse, his only concern being his wife, who had just opened her eyes. He leaned forward eagerly.
‘Did I hear arguing?’ Bright licked her dry lips.
‘No, you must’ve been dreaming.’ He snuggled up to her fondly. ‘By, you’ve worried me, you have, missus.’
A Complicated Woman Page 18
