A Complicated Woman

by Sheelagh Kelly

  In his absence she leaned over to grasp the newspaper and in the glow of the standard lamp behind her chair, took to browsing. Amongst the other items she came across an advertisement for the exhibition, and was instantly supplied with the reason for his suspicion. Along with other contributors, a certain Errol Windross would be hanging his display of war paintings. She sighed, half amused, half infuriated. Did he seriously think that she was going there to take up with Errol again after all these years – a man who had long been consigned to history?

  Apparently he did, for he was to raise the subject again later in the evening, asking, ‘Do you want me to come to this art exhibition with you?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know if I can be bothered to go now.’ She sounded weary.

  ‘That was a quick change of mind.’ His eyes held mistrust.

  She realized that her answer had given credence to his hunch about her meeting Errol, but angry though she was at him she did not respond.

  ‘I think I might go to bed in a while.’ He took out a cigarette. Oriel did not join him; she had given up the habit some years ago.

  ‘I’ll go in the bathroom first, then.’ She took the cups to the kitchen, visited the bathroom then changed into her nightclothes and lay there waiting for him to come to her, dreading the advances he was sure to make, unable to refuse without good reason, hoping he would be too tired.

  But when he slipped into bed beside her and his movements told her he was not too tired she resigned herself to lying there beneath him, asking herself what sort of a fool she was to put up with this.

  Oh, Daniel. Daniel.

  * * *

  As ever it was Dorothy to whom she turned for solace, pouring out her woes on an impromptu visit after a trip to buy a radio licence.

  ‘I almost didn’t call in,’ she told her friend in tongue-in-cheek manner as both sat down in easy chairs to coffee, whilst Jennifer and Dorothy’s younger son nibbled biscuits under the table, the baby asleep in his pram. ‘It was either come to see you or run off with Errol Windross and I chose you – I hope you’re flattered.’

  ‘Errol?’ The brown eyes opened wide.

  Oriel pretended nonchalance. ‘Oh yes, didn’t you hear? He’s got an exhibition at—’

  ‘Oh, I saw that!’

  ‘Yes, so did Clive and when little old innocent here mentioned she wouldn’t mind going to the art gallery for a change he as much as accused me of having an illicit liaison. Honestly!’ She dropped her theatrical air and sipped her coffee. ‘He really gets my goat. I didn’t even know Errol was there!’

  Dorothy gave a sympathetic laugh. ‘Clive doesn’t get any better with age, does he?’

  ‘Does Cuddy think you’re going off with every man who comes to the house? Mine does! He makes me sick – and it’s not just that, it’s his blasted nose-picking. He thinks I can’t see what he’s doing behind that newspaper but I can hear his wrist going click, click click as he rakes around.’

  ‘Ugh, how revolting!’ Dorothy almost collapsed in disgusted laughter. ‘You’ll have to ask him if he has a miner’s licence.’

  ‘He wouldn’t care. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother to hide behind the paper when he does it – I mean, it’s tantamount to an act of contempt for the person you’re with, isn’t it? At least I do it in private.’ She chuckled, as did her friend.

  ‘Does he still go out and leave you on your own every night?’

  ‘Yes, thank goodness. I wish he’d leave me for good.’ She responded to her friend’s look of disbelief. ‘I do!’

  Dorothy made an admittance that her own marriage was not all it seemed. ‘I’ve often wondered what it would be like if Cuddy died, tried to imagine how I’d feel if he had an accident and didn’t come home. Once he was late and I really thought he’d been knocked off his bicycle or something. I was ever so relieved when he finally came in.’ She nibbled a thumbnail. ‘That was a long time ago, though.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve gone down that road too,’ said Oriel darkly. ‘Would you ever think of leaving him?’

  ‘I did try.’ Dorothy gave a tearful little laugh at her friend’s shock over this sudden disclosure, and hugged herself, rubbing her upper arms. ‘Don’t say anything, will you?’

  ‘Oh, Dot, I wish you’d spoken up before if you were so unhappy! Here’s me going on – how long ago was it?’

  ‘After I’d had Tim.’ This was her second child. ‘I went to Mother’s but Cuddy came to take me back.’

  To date, Oriel had been too steeped in her own troubles to ponder that Cuthbert might have dominated his wife by any other means than his will, but now she detected a sinister note to Dorothy’s words.

  Remembering the livid bruise and her friend’s attempts to make light of it she breathed, ‘He hits you, doesn’t he?’ Why had she not noticed before?

  Dorothy gave a shameful nod, then without any drama started to cry, just sat there with tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Oriel realized that this was the first time she had seen her friend weep, that it was always she who leaned on Dorothy, never the other way around. She erupted. ‘Just wait till I get my hands on him!’

  Dorothy held up one hand, the other holding a handkerchief to her nose. ‘Oh no, don’t! I beg you, Oriel, please don’t say a word. You’ll only make it worse.’ She blew her nose, then mopped away all trace of tears. ‘It doesn’t happen very often. He’s all right if I do as he wants.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t have to live like that! Does he hit the children?’ Oriel was already contemplating going to the authorities.

  ‘No, just me.’

  ‘The shit – sorry! Oh, Dot, why not just leave him?’

  Dorothy leaned on her knees and shrugged. ‘He’s always so apologetic after he’s done it. I still have feelings for him. He’s a good father. I couldn’t take the children from him, and I couldn’t go without them. Besides, where would I go? Not Mother’s – she’s no idea that he does it, I only told her that we row. But we don’t row, I daren’t row with him, daren’t even offer an opinion. I can’t go anywhere else. How would I live? I’ve no money of my own.’

  ‘I can give you some!’

  Dorothy shook her head. ‘No! No, thanks for the offer, but I’ve made my bed.’ She gazed at the carpet.

  Oriel felt guilty and selfish. ‘My problems are nothing beside yours. The money’s no obstacle. It’s cowardice that’s my bête noire.’ How could she be so cruel to a man whom everyone loved? Everyone except herself. ‘I don’t know why he doesn’t leave me. He can’t be happy. I wish he’d meet someone else and just go. But there’s not much likelihood of that happening.’

  ‘Looks like we’re both stuck in the same boat, doesn’t it?’ Negating the seriousness of her previous revelation Dorothy sat upright, donned a jolly air and hoisted her coffee cup. ‘Cheers, sailor!’

  Oriel gave a tight smile, but was slow to raise her own cup, for what seemed like some kind of perverted joke to her friend was a genuine nightmare to her. She did not want to be in this boat, for there seemed imminent danger that it would capsize.

  16

  Throughout the next two years Oriel clung to that sinking craft, with only Jennifer and Dorrie to act as lifebuoys, helplessly awaiting the monumental wave that was bound one day to swamp them.

  Perversity lending a hand, she had begun to take out her frustration on the very ones she loved most – her children, though it was Dorrie who received the brunt of her ire, for he was more like his father than ever. At three years old he was into everything, and everything he did got on Oriel’s nerves. Shouldering enormous guilt, she tried desperately to fight her irritable impulse, compared herself unfavourably to her own mother who had dedicated her life to her child. Yet the moment he misbehaved again she could not help but lash out at him verbally, all noble gesture vanished.

  For all Oriel might scold her little son she was very protective of him when in her father’s presence for she knew what real violence Nat was capable of towards boys. Never once had
he raised a finger to either child but to see him treat the two so differently seemed to Oriel as if he had taken a flail and used it upon her heart.

  Waiting now for her parents to arrive for a long summer holiday in Melbourne, she knew it would start the minute he got through the door – and so it did.

  Tanned and smiling, Nat entered the hall and immediately swept Jennifer up in his arms for a cuddle before anyone else, making great play of examining his granddaughter. ‘Our little Jenny Wren!’ Those who despised Nat would be amazed that such a taciturn fellow as this could project so much charm. The little girl’s dress had become rucked up to display her navel and catching sight of it, he stuck his finger into the hollow and exclaimed, ‘Aw, you’ve been shot!’ Then, chuckling, he put her on her feet and embraced his elder daughter whilst Bright followed suit.

  ‘Hello, Dorrie, aren’t you married yet?’ Though not so cruel as to ignore the little boy completely Nat merely patted the child’s head as he continued on to the living room with everyone else. ‘How yer goin’, Clive?’ He shook hands with his son-in-law. ‘By, I could do with a cup o’ tea!’

  Oriel went to put the kettle on, then returned to chat whilst waiting for it to boil.

  Jennifer was organizing her grandparents, as was her wont. ‘You sit there, Grandad. You sit there, Vicky—’

  ‘I don’t want to sit there!’

  ‘You have to!’

  ‘Stop barguing,’ little Dorrie told his sister, who ignored him.

  ‘No, you’re not allowed to sit there, Nanna! You have to sit here in the special chair.’

  ‘Oh, do I? Sorry! I’d better do as I’m told then.’ Bright took off her hat and flimsy gloves, handing them over at her granddaughter’s demand. ‘Oh, it’s good to be here.’

  Dorrie swung on the arm of the chair, happy to see her. ‘I’ve got two nannas. Nanna Widdowes and Nanna Prince.’

  ‘That’s right!’ His grandmother petted him, then turned to her daughter. ‘I can’t get over how Brighton’s changed. Where’s all the green gone?’ Hundreds of acres of farmland were now covered in housing, and the only open spaces were the parks. ‘As for Melbourne—’ She shook her head in disbelief.

  Her daughter agreed. During the ten years she had been in Australia she had seen the metropolis creep further and further outwards from its arc around the bay. What had once been country towns were now part of its suburbs, and contrary to the increasing flow of immigrants from the old country there was less and less Englishness about the place.

  ‘There’re still as many strikes as ever, though,’ complained Oriel. Despite the Prime Minister’s obsession with industrial extremists his confrontational stance had only exacerbated matters. Throughout the year the ever-present union unrest had reached a climax, characterized by national violence on the waterfront, in which armed police had shot and wounded strikers. The optimism of the post-war years was beginning to fade, the electorate demanding political solution. The Bruce-Page government may have been returned, but only just. ‘I thought Labor might get in this time – Jennifer, take your feet off the furniture.’

  ‘I don’t reckon they’d do much to solve this massive overseas debt if they did get in,’ proffered Nat.

  Bright had read of this in the papers but admitted she did not really understand it. ‘I thought we’d been having bumper export crops?’

  Nat was patient. ‘We have, but so has everywhere else. Prices are at rock bottom. I’m glad I’m not in farming.’ Seeing his investments dwindle in value he had converted them to cash some time ago.

  Bright apologized for her ignorance. ‘Oh well, whatever’s going on I still think it’s sad that Melbourne isn’t the capital any more. People here must be very put out.’ Government House had moved to Canberra the previous year.

  Oriel gave a wan nod, but in the silence that followed her mind was once more consumed with her own miserable state and not the one of Victoria.

  Nat was feeling uncomfortable. Dorrie had come to hover by his chair. He could almost feel his breath – could certainly feel his gaze. After trying to concentrate on the two girls playing with dolls at his feet, he was forced to study the child enquiringly.

  Gaining the attention he sought, Dorrie asked, ‘Am I your little Jenny Wren as well?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, you’re a lad.’ Nat laughed, though not unkindly.

  Clive wanted to kill him. ‘Away, Dorrie, let’s go get that tin of biscuits.’ Tense of feature, he went to the kitchen, shouting to his wife, ‘Kettle’s boiling!’

  Oriel was furious at her father too and went to make the tea, Jennifer and Vicky galloping after her in imitation of ponies.

  ‘Why doesn’t Grandad Nat like me?’ Dorrie enquired of his mother.

  ‘He does!’ Oriel tried to sound cheerful as she set the teacups on a tray. ‘He’s just grumpy. That’s what we’ll have to call him – Grandad Grumpy! Here, pick what sort of biscuits to put on the plate. Not you, Jennifer, let Dorrie do it.’

  In the others’ absence Bright quietly remonstrated with her husband.

  ‘I didn’t mean owt,’ he defended himself. ‘All I was saying was I can’t call him by a lass’s name.’ Nat genuinely did not realize that he was making this distinction between his grandchildren.

  Bright knew this, but warned him all the same, ‘Well, just take care what you say and remember, he’s only three years old.’

  When the tea and biscuits arrived, to make up for his previous slip, Nat asked Dorrie, ‘Are you coming to town this afternoon, see Father Christmas with us?’

  With his grandson’s wary nod, the girls came scrambling on to Nat’s knee. ‘Can we go up and down in the lift?’ begged four-year-old Jennifer.

  ‘You can do anything you want,’ promised her grandfather. ‘If you let me have me cup o’ tea first.’ They left him in peace and returned to their dolls.

  Munching a biscuit, Dorrie sat on the carpet and continued to watch his grandfather with wary eyes, his normally talkative nature subdued. Excluded from the conversation that, from his viewpoint, seemed to be taking place miles above his head, he noticed how differently his mother behaved in his grandfather’s presence.

  ‘We noticed a lot of For Sale signs on our way here.’ Bright sipped her tea. ‘Your father says there’s a recession coming.’

  Clive thought otherwise. ‘Business is booming at Myers, and everywhere else for that matter.’ All his friends had wireless sets and refrigerators and every other household appliance.

  ‘It might be,’ replied his father-in-law, ‘but I’ll bet most of ’em are buying on credit. I’ve seen all this happen before. You have this massive building spree and prices go through t’roof, then the next minute you can’t get rid of stuff – have to sell it at next to nowt. Read t’newspapers, all the signs are there.’

  ‘Well, there’s a lot of unemployment, I’ll grant you,’ said Clive. ‘But—’

  ‘Too much borrowing.’ Nat gulped his tea, savouring the taste it left in his mouth. ‘You can’t go on for ever. There’s only so much money around.’

  ‘It’s all right for those with ready cash,’ replied his son-in-law pointedly. ‘But some of us have to borrow.’ It was his intention to take out a loan to buy a replacement car, for after eight years the leather seats were all dried and cracked by the sun, the paintwork robbed of its lustre.

  ‘Well, if you need anything come to me,’ said Nat. ‘Mark my words, there’s going to be an awful big headache coming.’

  ‘Can’t see it myself.’ Clive had never felt so well off. Materially at least.

  To prevent further argument, Oriel asked her father, ‘What’s the latest news from home?’

  Nat tried to recall the contents of Spud’s last letter. ‘My old business is still going strong, apparently. Just as well – Spud’s had to take his son-in-law in with him. He hasn’t worked since that General Strike they had two years ago.’

  Bright chipped in, ‘He wants to buy those rented houses off your father.’


  ‘Wants ’em for next to nowt, though.’

  Bright used his own argument. ‘But you said it wasn’t worth keeping your money in property. You might as well take what he’s offering and cut your losses.’

  Nat did not like anyone to get the better of him. ‘Trust a bloody pom,’ he muttered, no hint of irony in his Yorkshire accent.

  ‘Look, Daddy!’ Vicky held up a golliwog belonging to her niece. ‘Can I have one o’ these?’

  ‘Aye, we’ll buy you one this afternoon,’ said Nat.

  ‘We’ll ask Father Christmas if he’ll bring you one,’ corrected his wife firmly.

  ‘Have yer seen this, have yer?’ Jennifer was brandishing another toy.

  Oriel corrected her daughter. ‘It’s not yer it’s yooou!’ She gave a helpless look at her mother. ‘I don’t know! She spoke so nicely before she started that kindergarten – watch where you’re going, stupid!’ This was directed at her son, who in his rush to display his own toys had bumped into the sofa and hurt himself. She felt her mother’s disapproval, but it could not match the contempt she felt for herself. Seizing the tearful child she kissed him better, then tried to tickle him into laughter. With her fingers probing his ribs Dorrie broke into tearful giggles, and from his shaking body emerged not only laughter but staccato noises from his rear. ‘Oh pardon me!’ exclaimed his mother in mock horror. Then to her parents: ‘The laughing fartalier.’

  ‘Really!’ Bright laughed. ‘Using language like that – and you dare correct your daughter for her speech!’

  Smiling, Oriel set the child on his feet and drank the last of her tea. ‘Well, who’s going to help me make lunch? Don’t all shout at once.’

  ‘I’ll come.’ Bright collected the teacups.

  Not wishing to be left with his father-in-law, Clive rose too. ‘Come on, Dorrie! Let’s go and dig up some worms for our fishing expedition. We won’t be long,’ he told his wife, and gave her a kiss in passing.