Oriel and Daniel fell into hysterics and were compelled to hand over precious coppers, if only in appreciation of this spark of light in an otherwise dark Christmas. But never had either of them been so glad when it was over.
Another decade was born. During that first month of 1930 Daniel was a regular participant in the ever-increasing queues for work. Though his efforts met with perpetual failure this did not deter him from repeating the exercise day after day. This morning was yet another such day. Before leaving Oriel he asked what she intended to do with her morning. She would not see so much of her children now that they had just gone back to school after the summer holiday.
‘Well, I thought I’d do a spot of burglary.’ Determined to start the year as she meant to go on, Oriel had decided to visit her old home and collect a few more belongings, her sewing machine amongst them, in an attempt to make this place more habitable. She had also entertained the idea of planting vegetables in the back yard.
‘Clive be at work, will he?’
‘Yes, there shouldn’t be any trouble – though why I feel guilty at taking my own things I don’t know!’
‘D’yer reckon he’ll have any old kero tins in his shed? I want to make a billy cart for Angus’ birthday, might as well start collecting them now. Only if yer can carry them without busting a gut, mind. ’Sgonna be another hot one today.’
Oriel said she did not mind having a lot to carry. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to use public transport. I’ve got calluses on my bottom from cycling thirty miles every day.’
He frowned. ‘Sounds serious – gimme a look.’ Rebuked, he laughed and kissed her.
They left the house together, parting at the gate, for Daniel was going to visit a local timberyard as he did every morning before going elsewhere, just to make sure that no vacancy had occurred overnight. The woman who lived next door was about to come out at the same time, but saw them kissing and slammed the door with a disgusted comment. How the people around here had found out that she and Daniel were not married to each other Oriel could not guess, but did not care. Loath to tear her lips away, she dealt him a last kiss and went on to the city where she took a train to North Brighton.
All was quiet here – in fact the house seemed dead. Her eyes fell on a small pair of shoes under one of the chairs. Sadness welled up inside her. Fighting it, she rushed out to the shed and, dodging the huntsman spiders that lurked there, eventually found one kerosene tin, which she put outside the front door to collect on her way out. On her return she found a letter from her mother propped on the hall table. Clive had left it unopened though it was addressed to both of them – how considerate. She ripped it open. Her mother gave thanks for the gifts she had sent. The news from Queensland was bright and cheery, though it did little to encourage optimism, especially upon reading her mother’s offer of a holiday. How could she go? The children would give away her secret immediately – and even if she did not take them there would be interrogation. Interrogation that she did not have the strength to resist. She would have to lie – it was easier in a letter – tell her mother that she could not take the children from school – perhaps next year – and hang on to the hope that her parents would not decide to come down to Melbourne.
After taking half an hour to compose a reply, she put this in her pocket ready to post on the way home, then set to cleaning the kitchen and the bathroom, ran the vacuum cleaner over the carpets and polished the furniture to impress prospective buyers – though none had yet come forth. Puffing with fatigue and frustration she washed her hands then made a foray into the bedroom they had once shared and went to a cupboard to remove some of her own belongings. The smell of staleness pervaded everything and there were items of clothing lying on the carpet. Eager to escape, she did not touch these.
It was as she went towards the door that she saw the lone stocking lying amongst the soiled shirts and handkerchiefs. She bent to examine it, holding it distastefully between her fingertips. There was a hole in the toe, the reason it had been discarded. It was a colour she herself would not have worn, nor would it have fitted his mother. Oriel gasped in both amusement and outrage. ‘The two-faced—’ After he had accused her of bringing Daniel to live here, something she would not have done, he had not wasted any time in bringing his own floozie into her house.
With a dismissive snort she let it drop and went to collect what else she had come for. As she buzzed about gathering utensils, the odd ornament and book, she noticed a bare nail sticking out of the wall where once had hung a commemorative plate of Queen Victoria’s Coronation given to them by Grandmother Widdowes. She frowned, but not for long. He had taken it down and hidden it in fear that on her expeditions his estranged wife might spirit it away. Oriel could have laughed. As if she wanted his family heirloom! She had left behind far more precious things than this – the ruby glass centrepiece for one. Never had it entered her head that he would claim it as his own, but he had thought it of her. There would be no crass retaliation. Oriel could not have supported the ornamental glass along with all the other things, even had she wanted to. Having collected everything she had come for, she departed, looking like a pack horse beneath the weight of the sewing machine and the shopping bag of knick-knacks and the kerosene tin.
Oriel had been tempted to call on Dorothy, but had been dissuaded by the notion that Cuthbert could be there. Now it was out of the question, for she had barely walked ten yards and her arms felt as if they were being dragged from their sockets. Instead, she managed to hobble to the nearest bus stop and waited under the boiling sun.
A stray brown and white cow trotted down the road, weaving on and off the pavement, in and out of the trees, trying to avoid capture by the local ranger. Oriel watched its wild-eyed passage, smelled its dung-streaked flanks as it thudded past her, and felt sorry for the animal, inwardly cheering it on. It was still managing to evade its captor when the bus came. Perspiration soaking her dress, she struggled on board and capsized gratefully into her seat, wondering how she was going to cope at the other end.
During the journey she half listened to the two women behind her gossiping, whilst still trying to decide what to do about her parents.
‘That’s a nice hat she’s wearing, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it isn’t very often you see young people in hats these days, is it?’
‘No, they hardly wear any clothes, never mind hats!’ The women shared laughter. Oriel gave a faint smile too but was soon once again concerned with her problem.
‘Did you hear about that woman from – I can’t remember what street she lives in but it’s near Mrs McKenzie – anyhow, she’s run off and left her children. I know! Isn’t it dreadful? Never seem to stick with things these days, do they? What sort of a mother deserts her kids? There was no warning. One minute she’s there and the next she’s run away with some chap. Can’t understand anyone like that, can you? Why do they go and have kids if they fancy the fellas so much?’
It gives us something to do while we’re waiting for the next bloke to come along, thought Oriel satirically, gazing out of the window as the bus sailed by a public house where stood a man with a placard condemning those who entered to eternal damnation.
‘Oh, I can’t understand any mother who could do that. Apparently, she’s gone orf with somebody else’s husband too – and he’s got four little children.’
Oriel suddenly realized they were talking about her. Ears pricked and lips compressed, she was to hear all manner of inaccurate details before the bus reached the city, some of which made her gasp out loud and at one point she turned around to glare. Unaware that she was the subject of their gossip the women merely stared back at her until she looked away, then lowered their voices so she could no longer hear. But her imagination provided the content, and when she finally alighted from the bus she was absolutely furious and glared once again at the women before lumbering off towards home, the sewing machine banging against her legs and her heart thudding with indignation.
With no
one in whom to confide – for Daniel was still out searching for work – she spent a couple of hours fuming before it was time again to go and collect the children. Her anger had in no way abated.
Dragging her bicycle to the gate, she launched herself upon the congested city, stopping only to despatch the letter to her mother that she had been unable to post earlier. Then, dodging cars and trams, she cycled on to Princes Bridge and towards Brighton.
It was probably the rage that caused her to wobble, to veer out into the road and in front of a truck. Alarmed to receive the severe rebuke of its horn, she wobbled even more, panicked and all of a sudden found her front tyre had dropped into a tram line. The harsh jolt catapulted her over the handlebars – displaying peach silk camiknickers as she thudded on to the road, at the mercy of the traffic that came from behind. Robbed of all sense, it was miraculous that the impetus caused her to roll towards the gutter and the truck missed her head by inches – though it crushed her bicycle to a useless mangled heap.
Stunned, Oriel lifted her face from the hard road, saw the threatening wheels, heard the honking of horns, and with great effort tottered to the safety of the pavement, her half-conscious brain filled with brilliant swirling lights. The truck driver jumped down from his cab to descend upon her, cursing, but when he saw her bleeding forehead his attitude changed somewhat and he took a step back as passers-by crowded round, one of them offering Oriel a handkerchief to apply to the graze.
Eyes dazed, she held out her hand to receive it and noticed that her white gloves were filthy. Pressing the handkerchief to her brow, she surveyed the wreck of her bicycle, her whole body throbbing. ‘I’ve got to go and pick up my children from school,’ she murmured. ‘How will I get there?’
‘You can’t go yet, the police and ambulance’ve been called,’ a voice explained.
‘I don’t need an ambulance.’ Oriel tried to dissociate herself from the scene but was gently detained. ‘I must go!’
Despite all complaints, she was forced to wait in the heat, half choked by exhaust fumes, until the ambulance arrived. This took an age, for by now the bridge was thoroughly congested, the traffic backed up right past the railway station and along Swanston Street. All she could think of was that she would be late to pick up her children. A look at her wristwatch served to reassure her, there was plenty of time yet. Nevertheless, she swayed impatiently from foot to foot, trying to avoid the curious stares of the onlookers. Impervious to the chaos overhead, the brown Yarra continued its gentle meandering flow.
When the ambulance finally got through and two men jumped out to tend her, Oriel insisted that she was perfectly all right and, after an examination of her superficial wounds they got back into their vehicle and drove away. But there was still the police to contend with. Whilst one officer in a white pith helmet attempted to get the traffic moving again, the other grilled her, those unaware of the reason for the hold-up honking their horns. Oriel was made aware by the glower of hot impatient faces that all of this was her fault but all she could think about was the seconds that were ticking away. Between questions, she stole another look at her watch – and her heart stopped upon seeing that it showed exactly the same time as it had ages ago. The jolt must have broken it. Panicking, she told the police officer that she really must go or her children would think they had been abandoned – if they did not already think it.
Finally, with a warning that she had only just escaped prosecution for her reckless driving, she was allowed to go. With her bicycle unridable, she was forced to hurry back over the bridge to the station. A look at the clock caused more panic – she had been delayed almost an hour!
Luck appeared to have changed sides, for she was to catch a train within three minutes, but there were still another thirty to endure before she arrived at North Brighton. By the time she reached the school, having run all the way from the station, she was sweating profusely and in danger of passing out.
The schoolyard was deserted. Not one child was in sight. Frantic, Oriel raced through the doors and along the corridor, peering into each classroom on the way, but the only person she encountered was a cleaner. Almost delirious now with worry, she asked the puzzled woman if she had seen two children, a boy and a girl, but received only a smiling negative.
They must have grown tired of waiting and gone home alone – that was the only answer. What if they had been knocked down on the busy main road?
Head throbbing, Oriel made her way there, sick with exhaustion and fear, to be met by a furious Clive in the hall.
‘Mummy, you’re naughty!’ Jennifer ran to scold her, her little face distorted by a sulk.
‘I’m sorry!’ Overwhelmed by relief Oriel gathered the child into her arms, extending her apology to the little boy who hovered nearby. ‘I got delayed.’
‘You’ve bumped your head,’ observed Dorrie.
Oriel did not want to tell them of her near fatal experience, they had enough to worry about. ‘Yes, well, I—’
She did not have time to voice her invented excuse, for Clive stepped in. ‘Go and get into the car,’ he told the children sharply.
When he used this tone there was no arguing. Jennifer and her brother went outside to where the car was parked. The instant they had gone their father turned on Oriel.
‘Their headmistress telephoned me at work to say no one had come to collect them! I’ve had to drive all this way—’
‘I’m sorry!’ Oriel tried to explain. ‘I had an—’
‘I don’t want to know! Look, this has got to stop. You’re messing everyone around. You either want them or you don’t!’
‘Of course I want them! If you’d let me ex—’
‘Well, you have a funny way of showing it! They were in tears when I arrived. I can’t keep doing this or I’ll get the sack and there are plenty of others who’d jump into my shoes. Now, we’re off round to my mother’s for tea.’ He began to move to the door, Oriel having to move after him.
‘If you can’t manage to pick them up on time you needn’t bother at all.’
‘Are you saying you won’t allow me to see them?’ Her words tasted like vomit.
‘I’m saying that as it’s so hard for you to keep your promise to them my mother will be picking them up from school in future. I’m sure she won’t mind. When you’ve made up your mind what you want perhaps you’ll let me know. Until then you can come when it’s convenient to me – Saturday would be best.’
He was at the door and waiting to lock it.
She took a hurried couple of steps on to the porch. ‘I’m still taking them to live with me as soon as I get somewhere!’
‘We’ll see.’ Clive locked the door and, with Oriel after him, strode down the path, wrenched the engine to life and got into the car. The children scrambled to kneel up on the back seat as it moved away.
‘I couldn’t help it, I had an accident!’ she managed to blurt at last, but her words were lost as the car drove away, two little faces staring at her over the turned down hood.
* * *
Unprepared to receive her devastating news and appearance when he returned from his futile search for work, Daniel felt as if all the world were conspiring to rob them of happiness as he held the sobbing Oriel to his breast and tried to comfort her. His feet, his entire body ached, his mind too. Faced with constant rejection he had looked forward all day to coming home, sitting down to a quiet supper and his lover’s sweet embrace, but here he was again faced with more troubles. He felt he would go mad, but could not afford to do so, for Oriel was close to collapse herself.
After calming her, brushing aside her apologies that there was no supper ready for him, he made her have something to eat, then afterwards said they would go out tomorrow and look for a house in Brighton whether they could afford it or not and before she knew it, it would be Saturday and she would see her children again.
Their concerted efforts to find somewhere met with good results, in part. They managed to find a house in North Brighton that would be
vacant in three months, by which time they should be in a better position to afford the rent. In this hope they put down a holding deposit of five pounds.
Her confidence only half boosted, Oriel awaited her Saturday visit to the children with trepidation, but it eventuated that Clive was in better mood that morning and she was permitted to take Jennifer and Dorrie out without any hitches. Still, it was a dreadful wrench to hand them back, knowing it would be another week before she would see them again, and that feeling was reciprocated in their eyes.
Deprived of her children, except for that one precious day of the week, Oriel began to wilt. It was February now and still Daniel was no closer to finding employment. Hating the thought of being parted from her, but hating even more to see what the loss of her children was doing to her – for he knew all too well how that felt – he told her of his decision: he would go and ask for his old job back at the mill.
Tearfully, she watched him count out the coppers and silver in his pocket, too bereft to accompany him to the station, feeling only half awake. The temperature had been in the nineties for three days and nights, preventing adequate sleep. Her dress had been on a mere fifteen minutes and already it was drenched. ‘When will I see you?’
He took her in his arms and sighed, nuzzling her face with his. ‘Not till Saturday, I’m afraid. I know, it’s gonna be murder, I’ll be thinking about you all the time. I’ll beg a lift home off somebody rather than waste money on the rattler.’ It was far too hot to retain this embrace for long. Dealing her a passionate kiss, he donned his hat, shuffled it into position and took a long hard look at her before saying, ‘Ooroo.’
A Complicated Woman Page 49
