Henry’s Daughter

by Joy Dettman

  ‘I want to know what’s happening over there, Smithy. Half the town can hear her yelling.’

  ‘She’s . . . she’s trying to give up smoking,’ Lori says. ‘Since last Tuesday. If she’s still having withdrawals by ten days then . . . then she said she’d stop trying. Thanks for the phone, Nelly.’

  Nelly doesn’t believe her, so Lori runs.

  They talk about school that night. ‘You two missing so much school is sort of child neglect,’ Lori says. ‘It would probably be an excuse for Eva to prove Mavis is an unfit mother.’

  ‘I’m staying here and I’m going to school on Monday,’ Alan says.

  ‘So, you get enrolled and we’ll take it turn-about to go. That way we won’t be missing school and we tell Nelly that I’ve gone home.’

  ‘Like one in, one out at all times,’ Alan says.

  ‘At all times.’

  It sort of sounds silly, but as sensible as anything is sounding these days. They are all scared of what they’ve done, scared the police will drive up one night, scared of the space in the kitchen, scared of no television, of no Mavis sitting on that couch. It’s like they don’t recognise this room when it’s not full of smoke and lolly papers and Mavis. Eddy might have thought they had freedom before, but this much freedom is threatening, due to it’s not freedom. It’s like they are all locked in now.

  On Monday Alan goes to school and Mavis gets four letters, from Eva, Mr Watts, a bill, and some bank wanting to give her another credit card. The kids don’t give her the mail, just keep on with the two Valium four times a day. They don’t try to clean her room, though they supply her with clean towels, clean tent and sheets. She leaves them sitting on the chipboard window shelf, which was Alan’s idea, and which sure made life easier. They can creep up, drop off what they’re carrying and disappear fast. It’s better that way. Seeing them just riles Mavis up, then they end up making her custard.

  The high school teachers could probably use a bit of medicated custard too, because on Eddy’s days at school, he’s giving those teachers ulcers. He’s a maniac without a conscience; the computer teacher is getting to think Alan Smyth-Owen is a genius with a bad memory, or a schizoid. Most of the teachers are a bit suspicious, especially Lori’s, due to she has totally stopped wagging it and stopped smartarsing everyone. She’s sitting quiet in her classes these days, keeping her head down, and actually handing in incredible homework.

  ‘Your presentation has undergone a vast improvement’, one of her teachers says. ‘Keep up the good work, Lorraine’. Not old Crank Tank, though. ‘This is not your work. Write it again’. That’s what she wrote across the middle of a perfectly good assignment – too perfectly good. Eddy did it. He does all her homework. He’d do Mick’s too, if he’d let him; it’s something to do on the days he has to stay locked in with the little kids, which makes him stir-crazy, but he’s plain straight out crazy anyway and worth his weight in gold. Lori is getting to the stage where she’d almost pay him to stay. She might have to soon; he spends money like it’s water and he’s running out of the stuff, talking about going home to get some more – that or trying to pay the cheque for the school camp into Mavis’s account. He’s already changed the name on it and it doesn’t look too bad.

  But no way. That’s exactly the sort of thing that would bring the police knocking at the door. ‘No way, Eddy. You burn that thing or you’ll blow everything.’

  He doesn’t burn it, but he puts it back in his wallet.

  Since Mavis stopped smoking they don’t need to get the shopping home delivered, because they sure as hell don’t want anyone coming near the house. They sort of shop now when necessary, or Lori and Eddy shop. He’s spending mad – even if he can only do it at the supermarket. He’s a pain, actually, like he piles expensive stuff into the trolley which Lori has to keep putting back. And he prefers real butter – only because it costs more.

  She didn’t put enough things back on the Friday and she’s five dollars short. It’s so embarrassing.

  ‘Mum told you to use the card,’ Eddy says.

  ‘Shut up,’ she hisses. People are staring. Lori hates people staring. She’s handing back two packets of biscuits and some lamb chops, which she didn’t put in the trolley, when Eddy takes her purse and hands the card to the checkout lady, who swipes it through the machine like she doesn’t care whose card it is, just wants the pin number, and fast. Lori prods it in.

  ‘Want any cash out?’ the lady says.

  ‘No thanks.’ And it’s done and paid for and they are out loading the bags onto bike handles. ‘You total bloody moron! Why do you think I always get the money out at night?’

  ‘So you look like a thief?’ Eddy says.

  ‘Because I am. Mavis didn’t give me the card. I took it.’

  ‘To buy food with. Of course she gave it to you. She’s housebound. Someone has to do the shopping for her.’

  They have lamb chops for dinner, roasted in the oven with potatoes. Mavis gets one and one quarter of a roast potato, but she gets a large bottle of Diet Coke, which was on special. She always used to tell Henry that Coke got rid of her fluid and they haven’t been giving Mavis any fluid tablets due to Eddy didn’t know what they were for. He does now; he’s been on the Internet at the library. He drops two small pills into the Coke bottle, waits for them to melt, then tastes it. It’s okay, so they leave it on the window shelf when they leave Mavis’s dinner.

  As they’re walking away they see Bert Matthews’s head peering over his side fence. How long he has been standing there, Lori doesn’t know. He’s probably seen them putting stuff on that window ledge, the brick room window is in full view of Bert’s house and he sees everything – but he’s a bit deaf.

  ‘We’ll have to be more careful,’ Lori says. She’s looking at the bank statement and there is a pile of money left over from last week and that’s mainly because they are not buying cartons of cigarettes. ‘You can pay extra off the rates this week, Mick.’

  Mick is nodding, sort of smiling for the first time in like days and days. He’s a pure Henry, he is; he just loves paying bills.

  The brick room loo gets flushed about ten times in two hours and though the television is still blaring, Mavis is quiet, so quiet that the little kids are standing close to the green door, listening to the show. They miss their television.

  ‘Maybe in a month or two, when we get the rates paid, I’ll start saving Mavis’s ex cigarette money in a special jar and we might be able to save enough for another television,’ Lori tells them. ‘But I’ll only put the money in the jar if you are very good, and you don’t tell anyone, not Nelly, or Bert, or Spud, about Mavis sleeping in the brick room. And if Neil behaves himself at school and doesn’t tell anyone there.’ Neil hasn’t been going to school lately. None of the kids trust him as far as they could kick him.

  The three little ones nod. They won’t tell – not if it means getting a television and chops for dinner, and a big bucket of ice-cream living permanently in the freezer, and ice-cream cones always in the cupboard.

  They won’t tell.

  In the Pen

  Time must have slipped into fast-forward mode or something – like only yesterday Martin’s wedding was still a month away, and when he didn’t turn up for his usual Friday night visit, they thought his ute must have broken down and sort of said, thank God! They had an extra bad night with Mavis. She’s going through that stockpiled Valium like the packets grow on trees so they tried cutting her down to one tablet four times a day. It wasn’t enough. It was two a.m. before they got her settled.

  Then it’s barely ten o’clock, Saturday morning, and they hear the ute rattle into the drive. It’s Eddy’s day inside but the rest of the kids head for doors, using the old divide and conquer routine, half out the back and around the west verandah and the rest out the front.

  They head Martin off before he gets to the verandah, then they step back, stand back because Donny is with him. He looks different, not quite as skinny as he used to be, a
nd his hair is longer. He looks guilty, and not a lot like the old Donny.

  ‘G’day,’ he says, handing Mick a piece of paper with his supermarket phone number on it and also his mobile number. ‘Long time, no see, eh?’ He’s too well dressed, like maybe he’s been told to clean himself up for today.

  No one is saying much. Lori isn’t saying anything; she’s leaning against a verandah post, giving Martin a slit-eyed, sliding stare, like, who did you think you were fooling? We knew all along that you’d ask Donny to be your best man.

  ‘Put that number somewhere safe, Mick – just for emergencies. I’ll be away for three weeks. Karen’s parents are shouting us a honeymoon in New Zealand, so if anything goes wrong while I’m gone, you’ll have to ring Donny,’ Martin says.

  Mick nods, wishing Martin was already in New Zealand, and Donny with him.

  ‘How’s she been?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Lori says. ‘Really looking forward to the wedding. Nelly made her a bright red tent and a hat to match.’

  ‘We booked the furniture van for five – and one of those forklift things to load her in,’ Jamesy says.

  Mick gives them a look, like, stop your stirring. He wants his driveway cleared. Wants to get inside. Hopes the last one out closed that front door, due to Mavis spending a lot of time nodding off during the day, she’s not sleeping so long at night. ‘We haven’t had to call the doctor recently,’ he says.

  ‘How are you for money, Mick? Have you got plenty of food?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll eat well at the wedding tonight,’ Lori says.

  ‘If Mavis leaves us anything,’ Jamesy adds.

  Poor Martin, he’s not looking happy. He’s wondering what he’s done, but knows full well what he’s done. He’s lied, that’s what he’s done. He’s been saying for months how it was only going to be a small wedding and that he wasn’t inviting any of his family. He’s invited Donny, hasn’t he? It’s like a whacking great slap in the face, like Donny can be cleaned up and made acceptable but Lori can’t. She bets Martin has invited his workmates too – but not his own sister. He could at least have asked her to be a bridesmaid or something. Not that Lori would want to be rotten Karen’s bridesmaid and wear a stupid dress, but . . . but not even being asked so she could say no, and knowing that Donny got asked, well, it’s making her as mad as hell.

  ‘Have you heard from Eva?’ he says.

  ‘What time were you expecting her? Did you invite Alice too?’ Lori says.

  ‘Cut it out, Splint.’ Then his mobile rings and it’s Karen, probably making sure he’s not going to leave her standing at the altar. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘We’re off now. Yeah. We’ll pick them up. I’ve got it. Yeah. Yeah. He’s with me. See you tonight. Me too, darl.’ And he disconnects, gives Lori a sick look, then turns to Mick. ‘We’ve got to keep moving, Mick. Ring Donny if you need anything. Don’t lose those phone numbers.’

  ‘As if Mick ever loses anything,’ Lori scoffs. She turns on her heel and walks inside. Minutes later the ute rattles away.

  It’s a relief to see it go, really. It’s not that she wanted to go to his stupid wedding . . . just . . . just wanted to be invited. All the kids wanted to be invited. They’ve never been to a wedding. Anyway, at least now they’ve got three whole weeks of not watching for him on Friday nights.

  It’s funny, really; like, to Lori, Martin was everything when she was little. She’s losing him a bit at a time now, and it doesn’t even hurt. And Donny – it was like seeing a stranger. Maybe you’ve only got a certain amount of room in your life for brothers and since Eddy came home she’s had to push the big ones aside. Anyway, who needs grown-ups around, always telling you the right thing to do whether it’s right or not? Those two would sure as hell tell them to let Mavis out. And Lori is not letting her out. Okay, it’s stressful being scared someone will hear her, and it’s not nice having to keep heading Nelly off at the pass, but the stress of owing money and running out of money was much worse.

  They go back to the kitchen, where Eddy is sort of niggly; he wanted to get a look at Donny, who he’s never seen. He’ll get over it, he always does. Anyway, he was the one who came up with the mad idea of one twin in and one twin out at all times, which really isn’t working very well, not at home and not at school either, the teachers are not total idiots.

  The next day, Sunday, Alan is in and Eddy’s free, so he’s planning to make the most of it. He drags Mick and Lori out of the house before eighty-thirty and their first stop is the phone booths outside the post office. The phone wakes Eva; it’s a while before Eddy can get much sense out of her. He’ll go back to Melbourne one day for sure because he still keeps all of his stuff in the case, keeps it folded and separate. He sleeps in the bunk room with Alan and Jamesy, but doesn’t spend much time in there – the room is a total pigpen, he’s been saying lately. He says it to Eva on the phone this morning. Lori can’t hear what Eva is saying but she can get the gist of it, and it’s sickening. Eddy’s voice gets posher – if that’s possible, until she probably says something about picking him and Alan up from the school.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Eddy says fast – so maybe he’s not planning on going yet. ‘No, Mum. No. Mave has warned the teachers about the likelihood of that sort of thing happening. They’ve been told to call the cops if you or Alice are sighted anywhere near the school.’ Eva talks for a while and Eddy nods, then he says, ‘She’s got a bad heart. I feel a bit sorry for her. It’s like she’s relying on me to help out. No, I don’t mind. No one has relied on me before.’ Half of that is true. ‘If I were you, Mum, I’d let her get us out of her system. I mean, well, you were always stressing out about her coming to Melbourne and taking us one day, so . . . yes, I know. But what’s the use of you taking us home now and her and her team snatching us again – or worse still, going to court and charging you with kidnap? That’s what she said she’d do after your last letter.’

  Lori presses her ear against the receiver, wishing she could hear what is being said on the other end; something is being said because Eddy is standing, listening for a long time.

  ‘I don’t know where she got the money. The town probably took up a collection. She’s got heaps of friends. Yes, it’s true. It could. Yes, it’s a total pigpen and it should be condemned.’ Lori knows what he’s referring to. She thumps him. ‘Quit it,’ he says, then listens again for minutes. ‘No, Mave has this neighbour who is prepared to swear in court that she saw Alice drag me into the back seat of the car that day, then go roaring off. They spend a lot of time going over the evidence to give in court – if it comes to that. And Lori says that . . . Yes, Lorraine, my sister. Well, she told Mavis’s solicitor that Alice came into the bedroom in the middle of the night and tried to take her too. I mean, we haven’t got a leg to stand on.’ He’s sorting through the change in his pocket because the red light is blinking. Lori finds a dollar, drops it in the slot. ‘Mave is expecting that. Yes. Her boyfriend is advising her. Yes. He’s a policeman. No, she’s got legal aid. It’s not looking good, Mum, I mean, we could end up stuck here forever.’

  ‘She can’t do this to me,’ Eva wails. Lori hears that one loud and clear.

  ‘Alan and I have been very worried about what this is doing to your nerves, Mum, and we thought, why don’t you and Alice go for a trip somewhere for the winter and get your mind off us?’

  Lori hears the phone clicking, or a greyhound’s teeth clicking, then she feels another presence on the line. Eddy winks, shares the phone with her. ‘We could ring Mr Watts if we need anything. Yes. And we could board at school until you get back.’ Alice doesn’t argue about that.

  ‘We’re going to get cut off soon. Mavis only gave me three dollars. Money is a bit short this week, what with the wedding. Yes. Martin. The oldest one. Yesterday. Alan and I needed new suits and shoes. We were groomsmen.’

  ‘Call your mother back and reverse the charges,’ Alice barks.

  ‘I will next time. Mum, are you still there? Yes. I don’t suppose you’d l
ike to post us up a few dollars. We need a heap of books for school and I don’t want to fall behind.’

  ‘Let her buy his books!’ Alice barks, and Eddy swaps the phone to his other ear.

  ‘The Commonwealth,’ he says. ‘Yes, Mum. It’s in the middle of town. That would be great. We’ll go tomorrow. No, no. She won’t touch a cent of it, I promise you. Yes. She seems happy – had a great time at Martin’s wedding. She was up dancing all night with her boyfriend. No. She never brings him to the house. He takes her to a motel twice a week, just to give her a break from the kids. No. We’re not left home alone; her best friend comes in to sleep over.’

  Eva must have started asking about Alan because Eddy says he’s home with Mavis, that she likes one of the boys to be around to look after the little ones. ‘We’re more reliable than the other kids.’ Lori thumps him again. ‘Yes, he’s . . . he’s not pining too much.’

  The money eventually runs out and the kids head over the bridge to Willama West. It’s a long bridge, the low land beside the river on the west bank is flood-prone, so the bridge just keeps going and going. It’s worth making the trip, though, because of the Trash and Treasure market.

  Mick is on Lori’s bike, his good foot sort of scooting it along. You’re not supposed to ride bikes on the footpath and it’s too dangerous with Mick on the back of Lori’s to dodge mad drivers on the narrow road part, so the other two are walking, pushing Jamesy’s bike. Mick hasn’t made one for the twins yet. He’s probably got enough parts but not enough time. He’s getting away from the house a lot more since the twins came home, and he’s looking so fit and happy lately. Also, he’s stopped talking about letting Mavis out.

  Eddy, who is accustomed to trams and cars, decides he’s had enough walking. He climbs onto Lori’s carry-seat then the idiot pedals off, poor Mick balancing up front, trying to steer. They disappear in a tangle of legs, Lori yelling, scared sick they’ll come off and dislocate Mick’s bad leg, or break it, but they come racing back, Mick half laughing, half scared. They are racing down the footpath, doing ninety k’s an hour, and by the look on Mick’s face he’s feeling stuff he’s never felt before. He’s feeling a bit wild, and he’s feeling the wind through his hair and the gentle April sun burning down. Life seems pretty good. He’s never had much of a chance to feel wild, and Lori can see that he’s loving it, loving Eddy. They nearly run over her, but Eddy slams his legs down like steel pistons, burns rubber on his expensive treads.