Snake Bite

by Christie Thompson

  I felt a horrible lump in my throat. I had been such a bitch to my mother, I didn’t think I deserved such a nice pressie.

  Mum knelt next to me and stuck her arm around my shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

  ‘A proper adult gift for a beautiful woman,’ Mum said softly, de-tangling my bed hair with her fingers.

  I wanted to hold her, like really really hold her and squash my face into her breasts like I did when I was a little kid and I’d skinned my knee and was crying, but I had to push her away because I was getting all choked up.

  ‘You usually have such shit taste!’ I laughed. ‘This . . . is so . . . me!’

  Mum beamed. ‘Who’d have thought?’

  I nodded, trying to control myself. ‘Thanks, Mum. It’s a great pressie. Sorry I didn’t get you anything.’

  ‘Bah, I’d rather you save your money and spend it on something for yourself. You want to help me set up the table outside?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  I thought maybe my Christmas that year wouldn’t turn out so bad after all.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘What is this?’ Sharon held up a slice of grilled haloumi with her fork.

  ‘We had it at Dana and Joan’s last week, didn’t we, Jez?’ Mum said brightly.

  ‘The lesbians?’ Shaz raised her eyebrows.

  ‘It’s called haloumi, Shaz,’ I said. ‘It’s a type of cheese. It’s good. Eat it.’

  ‘I’m from Kambah, honey. I don’t eat bloody parmesan let alone bloody halowmi!’

  I narrowed my eyes at her purposeful mispronunciation. Stupid old cunt, I seethed. She’d heard of haloumi, she wasn’t that dense. Okay, so I’d only first tried it the week earlier, but I had definitely heard of it before.

  I plopped myself down in a chair and lit a smoke.

  ‘Yeah, it’s just salty cheese, Shaz. La de da, hey. I saw it on Jamie Oliver so thought we’d give it a whirl, but Bega’s the go, hey?’ I said, dripping sarcasm.

  ‘You can’t beat a good tasty.’ Shaz nodded.

  Mum felt sorry for Shaz having to be alone at Christmas, but personally I thought it wasn’t any wonder that Shaz was an old spinster with cobwebs growing over her vag. She had a permanent sneer on her face, lips like a cat’s arsehole, with deep lines all around her mouth from years of sucking down the durries.

  Across the table from me and Shaz, Mum was sitting between Barry and Greta, who both worked with her at the club. Barry was the groundskeeper. He had one of those craggy complexions made up of lumps and craters that formed the appearance of desert rock and gave the impression they might crumble and fall off his cheeks at any moment. He wasn’t holding back on getting stuck into the booze. As he tipped beer into his face he kept burping loudly and saying, ‘That was a good one!’ like he wanted us to congratulate him.

  ‘You know how to make a bush vibrator?’ he asked Mum, loudly, making sure the rest of the table could hear. ‘Put a blowfly in a Coke bottle!’

  ‘Good one, Baz,’ Mum said weakly and took a long sip of her white wine.

  Greta was just as bad as Barry. She was a miserable old cow. Mum said it was because she’d had a divorce the year before; her husband had been rooting some other chick behind her back and now she was all depressed. I found it hard to believe she’d ever been happy-go-lucky. Even when she ‘smiled’ her mouth was turned down at the sides. She got on a storm with Shaz. Everything Shaz whinged about—which was everything: the weather (too hot), the food (tastes a bit weird . . . was the cream in date?), the beer (could be colder, is your fridge working alright?)—Greta humphed in agreement and snorted, ‘Too right!’ while looking down at her nose, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

  Mum was doing that thing she did when she started talking loudly and drinking fuckloads of wine to try to convince everyone that everything was awesome.

  ‘Where’s Jeremy?’ I asked Mum.

  ‘He’ll be here. He’s with his family for lunch and coming over here after that.’

  ‘Jeremy!’ Shaz scoffed. ‘I still can’t believe you’re going out with Jeremy!’

  ‘Going out with? So he’s like your proper boyfriend now?’ I interrupted, but everyone ignored me.

  ‘Jeremy’s a nice bloke,’ Mum said mildly. ‘He’s sweet.’

  ‘Sweet?!’ Shaz crowed. ‘Who cares about sweet? Can he . . . y’know . . . satisfy you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Greta raised her eyebrows. ‘Is he good in the sack?’

  ‘I don’t wanna know.’ Barry held up both hands.

  ‘Me neither!’ I raised my voice. ‘This is my mother we’re talking about!’

  ‘Your mother had a very good sex life once upon a time.’ Shaz fluttered her acrylic nails at me.

  ‘Alright, alright, change of subject.’ Mum clapped her hands. ‘Jez is here.’

  ‘Tell us more about Jeremy,’ Shaz insisted and turned to me. ‘You know your mother blew me off last Saturday night for Jeremy . . .

  ’ ‘I didn’t blow you off, Shaz, I was working,’ Mum said, getting up. ‘Who wants another Cruiser? Bundy?’

  ‘No, you did, ’cos what time did you finish work?’ Shaz leaned back on her chair legs, yelling after Mum.

  ‘Two in the morning!’ Mum screeched from the kitchen.

  ‘And I wanted to kick on and what did you want to do?’

  ‘Shaz.’ Mum reappeared with an armful of Bundies and Cruisers. ‘I was dog-tired. I went to Jeremy’s but we went to sleep.’

  Mum pressed a Cruiser into my chest as she passed my chair. I think she wanted me on-side that day. Schaweet, I thought, popping the top and taking a big gulp. It tasted like a strawberry Chupa Chup.

  ‘Oh, sure! Youse went to sleep! I seeeee,’ Shaz sargasmed.

  ‘Settle down, Shaz. Helen’s got a new love, of course she’ll be wanting to please her bloke,’ Barry said.

  ‘Love?’ I mumbled.

  Mum patted my hand. ‘Early days, Jez. Baby steps.’

  ‘Love?!’ Shaz hooted. ‘With Jeremy! He’s got a mug only a mother could love! Of course, you are a mother.’

  ‘Settle down, Shaz.’ Mum frowned.

  ‘Nearly old enough to be his mother, too!’

  ‘Lay off, Shaz.’ Barry rounded the table and gave Shaz a squeeze around the shoulders. ‘We’re all mates. Now, where’s the dunny, Hel? I gotta strangle a brown snake.’

  I closed my eyes for a second.

  ‘Yeah, Shaz, enough out of you,’ Mum said firmly. ‘He’ll be here soon! Oh and Linda and Davo said they might drop by with their kid. What’s his name again? Jordan? Jayden?’

  ‘Who knows!’ Shaz flicked her wrist dismissively. ‘Haven’t seen either of ’em in yonkers.’

  ‘Linda was at the club a few weeks ago having dinner. I thought it might be nice to invite her over, for old time’s sake.’

  ‘Bah! Old times . . .’

  ‘Remember how we all used to have single girls’ Christmas? We were like those Sex and the City women, hey, Shaz? That’s what we always used to say. Which one was I? I was Charlotte —’

  ‘’Cos you’re the most pear-shaped . . .’

  ‘Because I was always the arty one. And Kaye was Carrie because of her curly hair, and Linda was Samantha because all the boys wanted to root her!’

  ‘Which one were you, Shaz?’ I asked, wanting to say she should have been Samantha because she was a giant sluzza.

  ‘I was Miranda, the smart one.’

  ‘Ha ha! No, it was because you were flat-chested!’ Mum hooted. ‘Sorry, Shaz, but it’s true. If you don’t have the chicken fillets in your bra, there isn’t a lump or bump. The boys at our school used to call her “Flapjacks”. Oh, God, they were so cruel. Sorry, Shazza. You have to admit it’s kinda funny.’

  Shaz folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips. ‘It’s better than your nickname in high school, Helen Breville!’

  ‘Breville? What does Breville mean?’

  ‘Don’t, Shaz. Seriously. Just shut up.’ Mum’s face started r
eddening. ‘It’s gross.’

  ‘Breville,’ Shaz announced loudly, for the benefit of me and Greta. ‘Because opening up her legs was like pulling apart a toasted cheese sanger.’

  ‘Oh. My. GOD!’ I clutched my head in my hands. ‘First of all, TMI. Second of all, that is probably the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Shaz. Thanks for telling my seventeen-year-old daughter that. It was only a few stupid boys anyway.’

  ‘You’re welcome!’ Shaz smiled archly and settled back in her chair.

  ‘Shaz, you know you are such a bitch —’ I began.

  ‘Jez! Enough!’ Mum smacked her palms lightly on the table. ‘Let’s just have a nice Chrissie, no bitching, no fighting.’

  ‘Hmph,’ I grunted.

  ‘Party games? Cards, maybe?’

  ‘Goon of Fortune?’ I joked, grinning.

  Mum and Shaz cheered and laughed. ‘GOON OF FORTUNE!’

  Goon of Fortune is one of those games that people cracked out at parties when everyone was already too maggot to realise what a pointless game it was. A bunch of people circle the Hills Hoist and you peg a bladder of cheap wine to the line. People take turns spinning the clothes line and whoever the wine sack lands in front of has to scull for five seconds. Me and Lukey were playing Goon of Fortune at a party at Martin’s house once and the goon kept stopping in front of Lukey, like, every single time. He ended up having mad voms in the bushes that night. Then the next day when we woke up and stumbled into Martin’s backyard for a durrie we noticed the Hills Hoist was totally busted and on a slant, bound to stop in the same place every time no matter how you spun it, and Lukey’d been standing at the lowest point in the slant all night.

  ‘Hello?! You out here?’ Jeremy called over the side gate.

  ‘Come in! Come in!’ Mum leapt to her feet, but her fat arse was wedged in the lawn chair and it travelled halfway across the yard with her before it fell off and thunked onto the lawn. I snorted a little and Mum shot me a look, Don’t you start . . .

  ‘Hey, everyone! Baz, Greta, Jez, Shaz.’ Jeremy beamed as he crossed the yard, one arm slung around Mum’s shoulders and the other carrying an esky and plastic shopping bag.

  ‘Jez!’ Barry boomed, stepping onto the back porch and I looked up sharply. Jeremy and I looked at each other awkwardly. ‘Other Jez!’ Barry laughed. ‘Sorry, Jessica, at the club we’ve got Jeremy who we all call Jez.’

  Fuckin’ hell . . . I plastered a stupidly grim smile on my face. Everyone’s nickname ending in ‘z’. So shamefully bogan.

  ‘True that.’ Jeremy laughed, pulling up a seat beside me. ‘Your mum has to talk about you as Jessica so we don’t get confused.’

  ‘She’ll always be my first Jez.’ Mum was practically crying with happiness. It was so gross. ‘Jeremy is Jeremy to me.’

  ‘I got you both a little something.’ Jeremy reached into his bag. ‘Sorry they’re not wrapped. I’m not a good wrapper.’

  ‘Not a good wrapper,’ Shaz snorted behind her Cruiser, her eyes fluttering backwards into her skull, pissed as fuck.

  ‘Here you go, Hel . . . and you, Jez,’ Jeremy said shyly.

  I stared blankly at the box in my hands, it was a coffee mug with Harry Potter on the side.

  ‘Your mum said you’re a bit of a fan,’ Jeremy explained.

  ‘Thanks, Jeremy,’ I said, putting the unopened box on the table.

  ‘Oh, nice one, Jeremy.’ Shaz picked up the box and turned it over in her hands. ‘I saw these down at Kmart Tuggers. Bargain.’

  Fuckin’ Shaz, the Queen of the Moles.

  ‘It’s really awesome, Jeremy,’ I said loudly and leaned across the table to snatch the box out of Shaz’s hands. ‘I’m a huge Harry Potter fan. I love it.’

  Jeremy blinked at me and swigged from his beer nervously.

  ‘Oh, my God, Jeremy, you shouldn’t have!’ Mum exclaimed over her little stone-coloured Buddha statue. ‘How did you know I collected Buddhas?!’

  ‘I saw the collection on your drawers,’ Jeremy said. ‘Thought one more couldn’t hurt.’

  Wait, I thought. Jeremy had been over here?! When was this? Where was I? I tried to catch Mum’s attention so I could give her the hairy eyeball, but she carefully avoided my stare.

  ‘So, so thoughtful,’ Mum gushed, hopping up to give Jeremy a peck on the cheek.

  ‘When are we gunna be seeing you down at the club, Jez?’ Greta asked.

  As if I would hang out at that shithole . . .

  ‘She’ll be eighteen in June,’ Mum answered for me.

  ‘Thursday nights are best,’ Greta advised, her mouth turned down at the corners, staring at a point somewhere behind my head. ‘Meat tray raffle on the chocolate wheel.’

  ‘Right.’ I nodded. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘What’s this? Little Jez gunna join us at the club?’ Barry boomed loudly. ‘Tell you what, when are you turning eighteen?’

  ‘June,’ I said, cringing as Barry came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. Oh. My. God . . . I hope you washed your hands after the toilet.

  ‘I want her to go for a job at the club,’ Mum said. ‘Maybe pulling beers behind the bar.’

  ‘A couple of the girls in the bistro are around your age, Jez.’

  Jeremy cracked a beer. ‘Do you know Marika? She’s got the eyebrow piercing and the crazy hair?’

  ‘Yeah, I know her.’

  ‘You know Sarah Richards? Short little chubby thing?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘They’re waitressing in the bistro now.’

  ‘Awesome.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Barry said, pulling his chair up so our elbows were touching. ‘You come see your old Uncle Baz on your birthday, I’ll fix you up with some nice Scotch and Cokes on me. And I’ll introduce you to a few of the lads from the club, how’s that? You got a boyfriend, darlin’?’

  ‘Not really,’ I mumbled.

  ‘A few real nice lads down at the club. Be stoked to have a nice little lady like you for company.’

  ‘Alright, Barry,’ Mum said. ‘You’re embarrassing Jez. She doesn’t need you to fix her up. She’ll do fine on her own.’

  ‘Weren’t you seeing Cash? Cash Holland?’ Jeremy said innocently. ‘He’s a mate of mine. He said youse were getting a bit friendly.’

  I could feel my face redden and my throat get all tight. The warm creamy pasta salad I’d eaten for lunch turned over in my belly.

  Mum laughed loudly. ‘Cash?! Cash Holland!’ she hooted. ‘Cash, our neighbour?!’ Mum continued. ‘He’s the same age as you, isn’t he, Jeremy?’

  ‘Well, yeah. We went to school together.’

  ‘Jez!’ Mum turned to me and clocked the expression on my face. ‘Jez . . . you’re not seeing that Cash Holland are you? . . . Jez?’

  ‘We just hung out a few times. Went swimming.’

  ‘Right, but he’s not your boyfriend, is he? I mean he’s way too old for you.’ Mum picked up her fork and started stabbing the scraps of food on her plate.

  ‘He’s not even that much older than me, Mum.’

  ‘Oh, my Gaawd! Jez has gone so RED!’ Shaz hooted. ‘Look at her face! Like a freakin’ fire engine!’

  ‘Shut up, Shaz,’ I hissed.

  ‘Don’t tell Shaz to shut up.’ Mum dropped her fork. ‘So is this boy your boyfriend or what? Why are you so embarrassed?’

  ‘Why do you even care, Mum?!’ I half shrieked. ‘You didn’t bother telling me you were fucking Jeremy for however many months, did you?’

  ‘I’m not talking about me . . .’

  ‘But you’re a hypocrite! You reckon Cash is too old for me, but you’re seeing Jeremy who’s like, eight years younger than you!’

  ‘That’s true, Hel.’ Shaz nodded. ‘Double standards there. Jeremy isn’t even old enough to be her dad.’ She jabbed a finger in my direction.

  ‘I had a younger lady once. Turned up at her house and she had nothing on but a Dire Straits record . .
.’ Baz squinted against the sunlight.

  ‘Change the subject, ay?’ Jeremy sort of coughed and shifted in his chair. ‘Everyone goin’ down the club for New Year’s?’

  ‘’Course,’ Shaz drawled, fanning her face with a paper plate.

  ‘Yep, I’ll be there,’ Greta agreed with the same measure of boredom.

  ‘Actually, I might have to join you lot later in the evening.’ Mum forced a smile. ‘Dana and Joan, who had us over for dinner the other day . . . They’re having a little do.’

  ‘Whaaaaat?!’ Sharon sat bolt upright. ‘Helen, we always do New Year’s at the club! You’re gunna skip out on us for a fuckin’ dyke party? What the fuck?’

  ‘A dinner party.’ Mum’s face dropped again. She looked tired. Her mouth was starting to go all slack from too many Bundy and Cokes. ‘Be nice. You’re invited, too, Jeremy.’

  ‘I’m not going,’ I said.

  ‘You’re not invited!’ Mum replied. ‘Adults only. I think we might get a bit too naughty for kids’ eyes.’

  ‘Right.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘You hardly even know those lesbians!’ Shaz was fuming. ‘You’re gunna ditch your good mates for a couple of dykes you just met!’

  Shaz was giving Mum full death-ray stares. Mum fidgeted around uncomfortably, sliding down in her seat and hitching herself back up with her elbows, and then attempting to cross her legs then realising her thighs were way too fat. Eventually she sighed and slid down in her seat again and drank deeply from her can of Bundy, tipping the last drops down her throat.

  ‘Helen!’ Shaz demanded. ‘What about Jeremy? You’ll be going to the club, won’t you, Jeremy?’

  ‘Yeah, I was gunna. But if I’m invited to this dinner, I could pop along . . .’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jeremy!’ Shaz snapped. ‘Grow some balls.’

  ‘They’re good peepo.’ Mum stood up unsteadily, swaying like a tree in the breeze. ‘I’m gunna get another . . .

  ’ ‘I’ll get it, Hel.’ Greta got up but mum waved her to sit down.

  ‘Yep.’ Shaz raised her half-full Cruiser to her lips and sculled the rest in a few gulps, her eyes still fixed on Mum.

  I followed Mum into the house.

  ‘You wan’ another?’ Mum spoke into the refrigerator. ‘Ah, Gawwwd, it’s so nice ’n cooool. Bloody stinker today.’