‘There’s a call for you,’ Patty said to Barney. ‘From the hospital, I think.’
Barney leant over mechanically and pressed the switch. The cloth ceased to flow.
He felt weak as he walked past the dryer. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
He picked up the phone. In the very act the thought recurred to him. The thought. The constant, nagging thought. He thrust it down, disowning it.
‘Hullo,’ he said.
The line crackled. There was no answer. He could hear a low, buzzing noise.
‘Hold the line please.’
‘Yes, sure, sure.’ Hold the line. Sure he’d hold it. He began to feel panic. How much longer were they going to keep him? If there was something to say, why couldn’t they say it quickly and have done with it?
And now a new thought thrust itself into his mind. Suppose it was Esther? Suppose Esther didn’t pull through?
He could feel the sweat on his face and fingers. The line suddenly came to life.
‘I’m putting you through now.’
‘Hullo,’ Barney said. His voice was thin in his own ears.
‘Good news for you, Mr Monahan. Mother and son both well.’
Barney held the phone with both his hands and leant against the desk.
‘My wife,’ he said. ‘Esther. How is she?’
‘She’s well. She’s very well. She surprised us.’
She was well. He felt a sudden wave of exultation. Esther was well. In that second the cottage sprang to life again. Esther would be home. There would be a heart in the house. He hung onto that joyful moment.
‘She’s been a very sick girl, of course. You’ll have to take special care of her for a while.’
Take care of her? He felt suddenly strong. Only let Esther come home. Poke about the cottage. Only let her be there at night with the lamp lit, and the fire. Let her be there to welcome him home. Nothing else mattered.
‘And the boy,’ Barney hesitated. ‘My son?’
‘Seven and a half pounds. Doing well.’
Seven and a half pounds and doing well.
Barney put down the receiver. He slid down onto the chair, and ran his fingers through his hair. Wife and son both well. How many generations of men had been gladdened by those simple words? He buried his face in his hands and sat, suddenly weak.
Miss Merton turned from her desk and looked at him.
‘Are you feeling all right?’ she asked kindly. ‘It’s a big strain, that kind of thing. Even for the fathers!’
‘A son,’ Barney said slowly.
Miss Merton folded her hands together and looked at him. Patty Nicholls came to the door. She stood with a happy smile on her lips.
‘It must mean a lot to a man to have a son,’ Miss Merton said.
‘Yes,’ Barney said slowly. He thought of the hours he had spent in the cottage. The scene with Esther when she had first told him. The dark, secret thought that had tormented him. Well, it was over. It had resolved itself. The problems that remained did not seem insurmountable today.
There might be battles ahead for the kid. But he had braved the biggest adventure of them all. The adventure and hazard of being born.
Barney walked back to the mangle. But he didn’t switch it on. He stood in the mist that swirled through from the vats, thinking of Esther. He would take the afternoon off. He remembered the delicate flowers Esther and he had admired one day. Hyacinths. He would go down to Martin Place and get some of them for her. He looked at the clock. A quarter to eleven. Oliver Henery walked through from the vats, carrying a large white enamel jug. Barney beckoned to him.
‘Good news,’ he said. ‘Just had word from the hospital. It’s a boy.’
‘Good on you,’ Oliver said. ‘Going to wet its head?’
‘Not tonight. Going walkabout after lunch. Might have a few tomorrow after work, if you’d like to be in it.’
‘Goodoh. I’ll clock you out tonight.’
After Barney left the office Patty sat down before the switchboard. It was a rare thing for her to sit there uninvited. Something of the gladness of Barney’s news seemed to remain in the room. Miss Merton leaned back in her chair, a smile on her face.
‘It seemed to mean a lot to Barney,’ Patty said. ‘You wouldn’t think a man like that would be so affected. I’ve always thought of Barney as a pretty tough sort of chap.’
She was searching around in her mind. Thinking back over the last couple of years. Of her own infatuation for Renshaw.
She looked suddenly at Miss Merton. At her neat hair and her trim features. It seemed funny that no man had married her. Yet she must have been a very pretty girl in a way. A question trembled on Patty’s lips.
Did anyone ever love you? Were you ever in love? You couldn’t just ask Miss Merton that. Or could you?
‘I’ve often wondered,’ Patty said. ‘Whether you have ever been in love. When you were young.’
It was very quiet. Miss Merton turned around quickly and looked at Patty. This pert little girl with the unsavoury involvement with Renshaw was asking about Stephen. The picture of the river flashed across her mind. Stephen holding her in his arms the day she had gone to his hut. The long, empty summer days after he had gone.
She brought her mind back to Patty. She was watching her intently. Miss Merton smiled almost coldly.
‘Once,’ she said, ‘when I was young, I believe I was in love.’
‘What happened?’
‘Oh, I was young. He went away. I never saw him again.’
‘Didn’t you try to see him?’
‘You don’t understand. He went away. Right away. I don’t even know where he went.’
‘Did he love you?’ Patty asked. ‘Why didn’t he write? Why did you never hear from him?’
Miss Merton was still. She tried to recapture the reality of that summer. Did he love her? She remembered her sudden tears. The way he had talked politics the day they parted.
‘I think he loved me,’ Miss Merton said to Patty. ‘Although he never told me so. There would have been no future for us.’
‘Why not?’ Patty asked.
‘Well—there was no work around at the time. He had nothing.’
‘But people kept on getting married,’ Patty said. ‘Even when there was no work. I’ve heard people talking about it. Women lived in huts. Some of them tramped the roads, too.’
And that was it, Miss Merton thought. Some women had battled it out beside their men, sharing the bitter struggle of the time. Stephen had not asked her. Perhaps he had judged her well. Stephen was a blade shaped for battle. She thought of the quiet tenor of her days. She was not a woman meant for struggle; perhaps Stephen had understood that. Perhaps he had known. And because of it he had walked out of her life that last warm summer’s day.
‘Lots of women tramped out beside their men,’ Patty said.
‘Would you do that?’ Miss Merton asked suddenly.
Patty considered. Her life had always been hazardous. The room in Barrington Terrace was a rare and cherished form of security.
‘If I loved him. Yes, I would,’ Patty said. ‘I would.’
She looked at Miss Merton. At her neat frock, her trim ankles, her plain sensible shoes. And all the time there was this love story, fragrant as lavender and somehow unreal.
‘I’ve been thinking about Mr Renshaw,’ Patty said suddenly. It was out. It was said. The unspoken thing that had earned Miss Merton’s constant disapproval lay between them. The smile slid from Miss Merton’s face. A cool, polite look of interest replaced it.
‘When I first came here,’ Patty said slowly, ‘I was young. I thought he really was in love with me. I used to go home at night thinking about how he looked and what he said. Then one day he asked me. He said we’d get married. I must have been an easy mark. He didn’t mean it, of course. He didn’t mean any of it. Then Gwennie Verrendah came. I used to walk past the wrapping to see if he was there. I used to be glad that Gwennie was so straightlaced. I used to thi
nk the time would come when she’d knock him back and he’d come looking for me again. I got that way I hated Gwennie so much I used to wish she’d step under a train. Then one day I went up to the stockroom. You remember? It was the day we talked about the old cards in the PG Control. He had his arms around Gwennie. He was kissing her. I wanted to remind him of his promise, but it was no good.’
Patty stopped. She was thinking of Renshaw. His arms on her shoulders, the open gate, the gaping lift-well. The black look on his face when he had threatened her. She thought of Hughie’s crumpled body and shivered.
‘I felt I didn’t want to live. And then something happened. Gwennie was a match for him. She wasn’t so easy and she got away. And after a while he began thinking about me again. He began talking to me again. Being friendly, like he used to be.’
‘Yes,’ Miss Merton said. She was interested, despite her disapproval.
‘I think he’s getting ready to ask me out again,’ Patty said. ‘But now I know. Things will never be the way they used to be.’
Patty drew in a deep breath.
‘I can think about him now, and it doesn’t even matter. It doesn’t seem to hurt. All at once I can see him the way he is.’
‘It must be a sad thing to be so disillusioned,’ Miss Merton said.
She felt suddenly moved. She bent over and her hand rested on Patty’s for just a second.
‘It doesn’t matter now, of course,’ Patty said. She got to her feet. She had stayed a long time talking to Miss Merton.
Barney had finished up and was heading for the showers.
‘Good luck,’ Patty called. Her voice sounded young and vibrant.
Miss Merton picked up her pen and began working again.
A son, seven and a half pounds, she said to herself. She began to think again of Stephen. She wondered what would have happened if she had left the house on the river. Or maybe if Stephen had stayed. They might have made out on the property. They could have worked together. Well, it was over and decided. Patty would have tramped off beside him. Patty would have taken up the challenge. Miss Merton smiled.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Barney waved to Miss Merton as he passed her office.
He walked across the vestibule floor and out the front door. Word of the baby’s arrival had spread through the place. There had been a lot of good-humoured chaff and chiacking and hooraying.
The burden that had lain so heavily on him seemed suddenly to have lifted.
All the way down the street onto the station and into the train he thought about the child. A boy.
In the city he walked along the street, looking into the shop windows. He stopped for a while before a big window of toys. The window was well-lit. He stood with his face close to the glass. There were trains that ran on looped lines. He remembered suddenly how he had envied other kids when he was a youngster. The ones who were lucky enough to own a clockwork train.
He looked at the tricycles, the rocking-horses, the dolls that walked and talked. The doll reminded him of Kathy and he smiled. He had received a humorous letter from Kathy and her husband. She would like to have got across, but it was a long and expensive trip. If it became necessary, they would manage it. They were saving up anyhow, and next year if everything went well they might get over. In the meantime John had a promotion. More money. They were making out all right. And he’d better not get too puffed up about that new baby. They could be thinking of making him a grandfather any time. It was funny, he thought. Little wonder the blokes were amused. Oliver said his blood was worth bottling. And it could be, at that.
He looked at the rocking-horse. If he had the money he’d go straight in and buy it. He pictured it on the verandah. But he didn’t have the money. He walked on, whistling to himself.
Outside a lingerie shop he stopped again. Here were fluffy nightgowns and negligees, fine cambric petticoats with hand-made lace. His face softened. Esther would like these things. In all their married life Esther had never had clothes like these.
He walked past the shops and turned into Martin Place. The flower stalls were open. He looked for the delicate waxen hyacinths. There were none on the first stall. He walked along in front of the post office steps. On a bench in the second stall was a low enamel bowl. The hyacinths were in tight bunches. White waxen bells, soft blues, mixed colours, delicate pinks.
‘I’ll have these—the pink ones,’ Barney said to the girl.
After she had wrapped the flowers he walked back down the street. He looked a long time at the lingerie. He remembered his bitter rejoinder when Esther had told him about the baby. He thought of his visit to the woman that Goodwin knew, of the recurring wish that the baby might die, of his struggle to free himself of this extra responsibility. He began to wish there were some way of making Esther understand.
Perhaps the horse? No, it was too expensive. And it wasn’t what he needed. Not the horse. He looked down at the flowers. His face softened. He needed something to tell Esther. A letter. Or one of those cards. He could buy one and put it with the flowers. He could write something inside.
The woman at the little shop was helpful. She brought out a box of congratulation cards. They looked cold and were mostly printed in gold and white, or silver and white. They were not what he wanted. She bent down and pulled a small shoe-box from under the counter.
‘You might find something in these,’ she said to Barney.
They were samples and oddments. There were small handpainted cards, cards printed on crafted paper, end-of-range cards. Barney picked out a small card. He looked at it for a long time. There were two gum-trees, a small cottage and some pink flowers in the foreground.
‘What do you think of this one?’ he asked.
The woman picked it up.
‘Well—of course—for myself now, I like something plainer. Bit too much in it, don’t you think?’
She rustled through the cards and picked one out. It was plain, with a simple motif arranged at the side.
‘Or even this.’ A bunch of flowers and a long verse inside. ‘Or this?’
He looked at the card he held and opened it out. There was no verse inside. Just the blank space for him to write on.
‘I like this one,’ he said suddenly. He didn’t like the one with the motif. This was the one that Esther would like, the one with the trees and the house and the pink flowers. The woman made a hole in the corner of the card with a stiletto and threaded a length of silk through it. Barney walked to a quiet corner of the shop. He wrote clumsily, in the hand of a man not accustomed to shaping letters. He covered the words up quickly. He felt suddenly embarrassed. He smiled at the woman and walked into the street.
When the bell rang Esther sat up in bed. She was looking bright-eyed and younger than she had looked for years. Her cheeks had filled out a little. She had brushed and brushed her hair until the unruly mass shone like dull silver and had fixed it close to her head. The plaits were massed in a knob at the back. In her weeks in hospital she had knitted a new lavender bed-jacket; the young mothers had helped her choose the colour. Lilacs and lavenders, soft mauves and pinks, was their verdict. Keep away from those steely blues. Someone had made a flat velvet bow in a deeper shade, pulled it through a slide and fastened it at the side of her hair. Her nails were shining and she had a faint dusting of powder over her nose and wore a trace of pale pink lipstick.
The visitors began to flock into the room. The young boy was bending over his girl wife in the next bed. Esther looked quickly away.
She looked up and saw Barney tiptoeing down the ward. He was neat enough. His trousers were pressed, his shirt clean, his tie straight. She lifted her eyes until they met his. He came swiftly to her. The flowers were on the bed. He put his arms around her and kissed her, holding her head against his chest. He held her so, running his hand up the back of her neck, feeling the great weight of the knot of hair. He had not seen Esther look like this for years. She looked pretty. Her hair was thick and silver; her eyes were smoky. H
er skin had changed from a sullen, muddy yellow to a soft, glowing cream. He sat beside her, holding her hand and looking at her. There were lots of things he wanted to say. But he just sat holding her hand and thinking.
He wanted to tell her now that he understood how long and bitterly she had laboured to bring this life into the world. That things would be different. That now he thought differently about the boy.
But Esther knew him. There was no need for words.
‘And the boy,’ Barney said suddenly. ‘The baby.’
Esther lifted her eyes.
There was no anger on his face; no resentment. She began to laugh. She looked at his face. The strong line of his jaw; the set of his eyes; his nose.
‘When he’s older he’s going to look just like you. He’s got that-sort-of-shaped face.’
He bent over quickly and kissed her on the lips.
When the buzzer went, Barney rose with the other men and walked out of the ward, to the nursery. Behind the plate glass the babies were displayed. There was no handling them. They all seemed to look alike. Yet you never saw two people really alike. That is, excepting twins.
‘Monahan.’
Barney walked to the window. He was the oldest of the men waiting outside the nursery. Most of them were in their late twenties or early thirties.
The nurse wheeled the crib to the window. Against the pillow Barney could see the new red face, the dark hairline, the carved nose and the sockets of the eyes.
He stared quietly at the baby. He remembered his exultant roar when he picked up Kathy the day that she was born. No plate-glass windows. Kathy in a crib beside her mother. And Esther had said, ‘Careful, careful now, Barney, you’ll drop her.’
A lot of the sting had been taken out of him over the years. A lot of the bluster and the ballyhoo.
He looked at the sleeping child.
There was a long way for this kid to go. A long, hard, bitter way. Sometimes the going would be good. Sometimes a chap could be lucky and meet a girl like Esther, and there would be days that stood out like jewels. Pictures of Esther laughing. Pictures of her in a straw hat she used to wear. Days when a man would choose a plot of ground on which to raise a house. The long, long golden days when hope was high in the heart. Days when a man would look at the face of his first-born. Days when a man would look and say, ‘This is my son.’
The Dyehouse Page 17
