Bitin' Back Page 3

  ‘Hmm, yeah, yeah.’ He answers, his eyes glued to the page, his fingers tracin a line up and down the paper.

  ‘Well ... Jean ... I’m off to bingo, now.’ Geez, seems like a woman’s been tryin to get over there all bloody day. ‘Jean, love—’ that’ll scrap him, ‘if anyone knocks on the door promise me ya won’t answer it, okay?’

  ‘Why, Mum? Is it the way I look?’ He brings his head up, chewin on his bottom lip.

  ‘Love, ya know what they’re all like. I don’t want em here tryin to bash ya. They’ll kill ya, love. Ain’t nothin Uncle Booty can do bout that.’ I sigh, wonderin if it’s safe to leave the house at all. Dreadin the possibility of Big Boy and his mate returnin.

  ‘No, you go, Mum. I promise, cross my heart hope to die, that I won’t, okay.’ He smiles true like. I decide to believe him. Nevie never makes promises he don’t keep. He don’t tell lies.

  ‘Righto, Jeanie.’ I turn toward the door. ‘Oh, n none a that bloody singin, right?’

  ‘Right.’ He reaches into the beer carton and pulls a long one out.

  ‘Legs eleven, forty-four out the door, twenty-eight don’t be late, fifty-two a red shoe.’

  ‘Bingo!’ I hold up me card and jump to me feet, me heart thumpin with excitement.

  ‘Missus Dooley takes the jackpot!’ Hettie Bennet yells, as she reaches for me card. I offer a weak grin to all the losers. Yeah, finally a woman’s won somethin. After all this time n now I win.

  Dotty Reedman gives me a sour-as-curdled-milk look while she tears up her card then flings the pieces across the hall.

  ‘Cheat,’ she mutters, glarin at me whit small, you-totalbitch eyes.

  Pretendin not to hear her I tap Hettie on the shoulder. ‘Any tea n biscuits today?’

  ‘Oh yes! Come on in the tearoom.’ She laughs and offers her hand to pull me up out of me seat. ‘Good win, Mave. The jackpot’s gone up to five hundred dollars today!’

  ‘Mavis, Mavis.’

  I turn towards the voice. ‘Hello Dotty.’ I flinch from her spiteful green gaze.

  ‘Where’s Nevil? Keeping out of trouble, is he?’ She offers a smartarse smile.

  ‘He’s sick. Anyway, what trouble ya mean?’ Me hands start itchin, I curl me fingers into em.

  ‘The usual. Smoking drugs, drinking, and annoying some of the better people in this town.’ She smirks, her eyes doin me from head to toe.

  ‘Nev’s not like that, Dotty! He’s one a the good fellas. Spose you heard that from the gossip, did ya?’ I tap me foot on the wooden floor, each tap buildin as I watch her sharp eyes. Taaappp. Tappppp. Dotty an ugly bat.

  ‘I don’t gossip, Mavis Dooley. I saw him last week down at the hotel drunk as hell. Yep, swearing and acting up a real riot.’ She curls her lip back, runs her eye over me faded ol dress, then shrugs.

  ‘And the others in this town don’t do that?’ I rip in, feelin Hettie’s grip tighten round me shoulder.

  ‘Not as bad as your son. You should keep a leash on that menace!’ As she barks her face turns blood-red.

  ‘You ... you bitch!’ I scream. ‘My son’s not the only one!’

  ‘He’s a queer bird that Nevil. Always thought he was a six pack short of a carton. Few things up here missing.’ She points to her horse head, a wide smile runnin cross her face.

  ‘Fuck ya! Ya cow, ya dirty white bitch!’ I yell, bustin a seam, and lunge at her.

  ‘Missus Dooley! Missus Reedman! Ladies, stop! Oh my God!’

  Me hand smacks Dotty hard cross the head. Her big high hair collapses as she reels back in her chair. Her face colours up bright red n her gob drops open as she glares up at me—green eyes full a spitty fire. Sayin em rotten things bout me boy. Who she is!

  ‘Oh God! Ladies, now that’s enough!’

  Suddenly I feel an arm round me shoulders, a pair a strong hands grips me tightly.

  ‘You right?’

  I turn round and see Terry Thompson, the groundsman for the bingo hall.

  ‘Um, yeah.’ I watch as one of Dotty’s big-notin mates wraps an arm round her.

  ‘Mavis, you okay?’ Hettie asks, leading me to the tearoom.

  ‘What’s wrong whit her? Gee, she’s a real cow that one.’

  ‘A bad loser. Don’t worry bout her, Mavis. She’s the biggest stickybeak in the whole town as we all know.’ Hettie laughs as she sits me down.

  ‘Thanks, Terry,’ I smile at him, smoothin down the front of me crumpled dress cross me chest.

  ‘It’s right, Mave.’ He offers me a cheeky grin.

  ‘You watch her, Mavis. She’s bound to get a bee in her bonnet over this. Damned spiteful woman that she is. It was only last week she had Joseph and me divorced. A regular gossip carrier.’ Hettie’s eyebrows shoot off her face as she puts the tea in front of me.

  ‘The likes a her don’t worry me, Hettie. I’m used to the way this town talks bout everybody. Why, last month they had Terry here packin up n movin to Asia!’ I look at Terry and gut into laughter.

  ‘Asia. A man must be rollin in dough, eh?’ He laughs, reaching for his tea cup.

  ‘How is Nevil?’ Hettie looks up at me, floatin a shortbread biscuit in her tea.

  ‘Nev? Well, he’s okay. He’s gone to ... um, he’s gone to Tafe. Yeah, he’s studyin at the Tafe in Bullya. Ain’t much here for em is there?’ I almost bite me tongue, knowin whit shame yet another lie is passin me lips. A woman gotta try to keep on one story. Things are gettin too dicey. Bound to get caught out, fer sure. Yep, any day now.

  ‘Well, good for him. Yes, I’ve always said to Joseph, there’s a lad will do well for himself. Always thought young Nevil was a deep type. Can really see it in that sombre face of his. A what d’you call it ... an introvert. Reminds me very much of my own boy, Travis. Mark my words, Mavis, you’ve got a fine son.’ Hettie rinses out her cup. I grin whit guilt behind her back, her words echoing in me mind: fine son, fine son.

  I look across at Terry and find him starin at me in a funny sorta way. Somethin on me face?

  ‘Caught a yellowbelly yesterday. You eat it?’ Terry pulls up a chair next to me. Close like.

  ‘Fish, yeah, love em.’ I smile; the truth comes to me that Terry’s offerin more than fish. Ooowwhhh, could it be that love is in the air? Aaarrhhh, wake up to yeself, woman. Not a teenager any more.

  ‘I can bring it over for you if you like. Nice size.’

  ‘Bring it over. No, arh, I can come to your place,’ I almost lose it and tell yet another lie. Geez, watcha mouth there, ol girl. Ya wadin in nough shit to fill a dry river bed.

  ‘Mavis, I’m off, love. See you Wednesday?’ Hettie casts a knowin look towards Terry then back at me.

  ‘Yeah, Wednesday,’ I answer, watchin as she goes out the door. I turn to Terry.

  ‘Tonight?’ He asks, hope lightin up his eyes.

  ‘No Terry, today.’ I stand up, brushin back me hair. Now what would Terry, handsome good lookin Terry, see in somebody like me?

  ‘That’s a pretty frock. You look good in it, Mave,’ he says, gettin to his feet.

  ‘Ya reckon?’ I smile nervously, me stomach churnin. Pretty frock, now that a barefaced lie! Friggin look like a bundle a walkin washin.

  ‘Good nough to eat,’ he laughs, runnin his fingers through his thick black hair.

  ‘Yeah, ya a real ol Casanova, Terry Thompson,’ I throw over me shoulder as I walk outta the room, wigglin me big butt as I go. Get a load a this!

  ‘This arvie, then?’ he calls out.

  ‘Jus like I said,’ I answer smooth like. Don’t want the man thinkin a woman desperate or somethin. Like he the only one I can get. Which he is, eh.

  I walk outside into the bright day, tryin to decide what to do whit five hundred dollars. As I go past the car park I see a mob of women gathered round Dotty Reedman, whisperin and laughin.

  ‘Black bitch,’ I hear one of em mutter as I go by.

  ‘White bitches,’ I answer, then bare me gnashers at em. Jealous dogs.

  As I go into
town I think about everything that’s happened in the day and wonder if tamarra things’ll get better. Mebbe tamarra Nev’ll wake up to hisself. Mebbe I’ll squander all me bingo money, on what I dunno. An mebbe Terry’ll change his mind bout me, realise I’m too old, ugly, whatever. Will Booty call n check Nev out? Will Dotty spread any rumours bout me? Probly.

  ‘You got a visitor?’ Terry asks, plonkin the fish on his kitchen table.

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Thought I seen a woman hangin washin on the line. I drove past that way today.’ He cuts the head off the fish.

  ‘A woman? Nah, ya seein things, Terry.’ I swallow the lump in me throat, hopin me guilty face don’t give me away. It were Nevie he seen. I feel it in me gut.

  ‘It was a woman, Mavis. She had on a pink dress and curlers on her head.’ He looks at me, fish guts danglin from his hand.

  ‘Don’t be mad, Terry Thompson. Ya been on the piss again, eh?’ I squirm on the chair.

  ‘Don’t touch it much any more. But yeah, it were a woman I saw. Matter of fact a man nearly stopped to say gidday to her. Thought she might a been one a your mob from out of town.’ He wraps the fish in newspaper.

  ‘No. Ain’t none a me mob come near me much. Could a been ol Missus Warby ya seen. She’s mad as a cut snake that ol lady. Caught her in the laundry one day tryin to flog the Omo!’ I laugh. Easy now.

  ‘Weren’t Missus Warby. This one was young. Good-lookin too!’ He grins, and sits down beside me.

  ‘Nah, ain’t no one there at me joint. Less it were Gracie doin some washin.’ I feel him close in on me.

  ‘Gracie don’t have shoulders like that. Come on, Mavis, what’s the secret?’

  ‘Secret? Ain’t no secret. Could a been anybody for all I know.’ I shrug me shoulders, tap the table whit me fingers. Plenty secrets.

  ‘Nope, don’t think so. You tryin to keep her away from me, eh? Come on, Mave, I ain’t gonna bite her head off now, am I? I’m a gentleman, that’s me, a real gentleman.’ He places the wrapped fish in front a me then gives a cheeky smile.

  ‘Terry, if I had somebody there I’d tell ya. Maybe it were that friend a Booty’s. He sees a woman that lives over the other side a the railway line. Ain’t met her yet, but I told Booty she was welcome at my place anytime.’ I wish I coulda thought up somethin else. Wish I could a told a better lie.

  ‘That’s who it would a been then. Well, honeybunch, I gotta go to the Bowling Club and cut some lawns. Wanna lift home?’ he stands and grabs the car keys off the table.

  ‘I’ll be right. Walkin never killed nobody.’ I pick up the fish and go out the door.

  ‘Hey, Mavis, what you doin tonight?’ Terry calls out.

  ‘Goin to bed.’ I answer and continue down the street.

  I amble homeward deep in thought when suddenly I hear a voice.

  ‘Missus Dooley. Missus Dooley, wait up!’ Big Boy gasps as he runs up behind me.

  ‘Hey there. Where ya off to?’ I clutch the newspaper dreadin all his questions.

  ‘Hear Nev’s pissed off. Just seen Gracie and she told me.’ He flexes his arms, watchin me, his face say that he suss.

  ‘Oh, yeah. Um, he went away for a bit.’ I stare at the bitumen, silently cursin Gracie and her big trap.

  ‘When’s he comin home? Hope he’s back for the game. I heard the Rammers got a new bloke and, man, he’s sposed to be real good. Still, the Nev’d sort him out for sure.’ Big Boy moves from one foot to the other, pumpin his shoulders up n down, starin at the parcel of fish in me hands.

  ‘Don’t rightly know. Spose he’ll be back when he’s ready. His ol Mum can’t tell him what to do and when to come home.’ Wish he’d just go way and play whit his football.

  ‘Okay, Missus Dooley. When he gets back you tell him us mob’s waitin for him to get down to the clubhouse, eh?’

  ‘Rightyo, love.’ I watch him through narrowed eyes as he jogs back down to the corner. Suddenly he swings round and comes halfway back to me.

  ‘Who’s the sheila at ya place?’ He points toward me house.

  ‘A friend.’ I reply, quickly turning to make a fast dash home. As I walk up the creaky steps I notice a piece a paper stuck under the doormat. I pull it out and read : It’s no good Mum. Nev’s missing and I’m going to look for him. Love from Gracie.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ I throw the note on the lawn and go into the house slammin the door behind me. Sighin, I collapse on the couch and switch on the TV. Ricki Lake lights up the screen: ‘Everyone give a big hand for Velvet Underground,’ she says, as a man dressed as a woman walks out on stage.

  It never stops.

  THREE

  Bitin

  ‘Come on, love. Time to get up.’ I open the windows.

  Nevil sits up in bed and offers us both a look of confusion. ‘Nev? Nevil?’ I whisper, lookin into his sleep-filled eyes.

  ‘Told you about that. J-E-A-N is the word.’ He sighs, then gets to his feet. ‘What are you doing, Uncie?’ He turns to Booty.

  ‘Get your gear on. We’re goin pig shootin.’ Booty gives him a glare eye.

  ‘Shit! You know I hate that! Killing things.’ Nevil’s lip droops. He begins to dress, reaching across the bed and grabbing hold of one of me ol ragged frocks. Booty gapes and runs his bloodshot eyes all over Nevil.

  ‘Uh, uh. No you don’t.’ He lunges at Nevil and rips the dress from his hands.

  ‘What am I sposed to wear?’ Nevil gives me a look that says I should do somethin bout all this.

  ‘Listen to your uncle, love.’ I shut me lips purse-like n scan the room for anythin else might be mine.

  ‘Come on, don’t fuck about,’ Booty snarls, crackin his knuckles like he’s gearin up for some big time rumble.

  ‘Pig shooting my arse! Gee, what are you trying to prove?’ Nevil shoots the question to both of us. I look out the window. The boy gotta be learnin, the sooner the better.

  ‘Make a man outta ya. That’s the problem—you been livin whit your mother here and not havin no man round. Made you a pussy, Nevil. Why you wanna go round bein a pussy, son?’ Booty growls, his voice laced with threat.

  ‘Don’t talk like that! I hate it when people use such vulgarisms,’ Nevil lets rip, then stoops over n pulls his jeans up round his hips.

  ‘What the fuck is that talk, eh? City talk? Ya too good for us now, son?’ Booty’s face is the colour of coal ash.

  ‘No, Uncie, I’m not thinking that at all.’ Nevil stares at his shoes n fidgets whit his hands.

  ‘Right then. Move your arse out into the car. Mave, we won’t be back for a little while. Righto.’ Booty marches Nevil out the front door.

  ‘Boot, Booty listen.’ I stop n wait til Nevil’s out of earrange. ‘What if somebody sees him? I mean, I been tellin everybody he’s away.’

  ‘Don’t worry bout that. I’ll take the back street outta town where no one’ll see us.’ Booty runs a big hand cross his sweaty forehead.

  ‘Oh, right.’ I throw a eyeful toward the door, just in case he’s listenin. ‘D’ya think he’s better?’

  ‘Dunno, Mave. He actin like he some sorta poshy white fella. Man’ll have to knock that outta him.’ Booty shakes his head whit a look a disgust.

  ‘Jus don’t be too hard on him, Brother.’

  ‘Nope, but by the time I’m done whit him he’ll be back to bein Nevil when we get home.’ Booty walks out the door. I stand n watch as they get into the ute, the pig dogs barkin n growlin. Like they suss it might not be Nevie. Dogs know stuff like that.

  ‘Bye, love. See you this arvie.’ I wave as the car pulls out and speeds down the street. Just as I’m bout to go back inside I see Missus Warby peekin over her fence, her glasses restin on top a the rail.

  ‘Hello, Missus Warby.’ I unhinge me jaw. She’s a real ol stickybeak, that one.

  ‘Hello, Mavis. Was that Nevil?’ She asks in a thin, high ol woman voice.

  ‘Yeah. Went out with his uncle for the day.’ I grin polite like. Spose she’ll have me standin here al
l bloody day.

  ‘Could’ve sworn I saw him yesterday in a dress. Hanging out the washing, actually. Face paint and all,’ she says, her eyes cold n glittery as she takes me in whit em.

  ‘Nevil in a dress!’ I let me face go into shock, then not bein able to stop meself I cut it loose, laughin loud. I only hope she don’t see the actin job I’m puttin on.

  ‘That’s right. Nevil in a frock.’ She shakes her head like yes, yes, were that I seed whitout a question.

  ‘No, Missus Warby, Nevil wouldn’t do that. A dress, gee, now I heard it all!’ I wave me hands in the air. See a woman stunned.

  ‘Yes, well, Mavis, that’s the very sight that greeted me yesterday when I came out to prune the rose bush. He looked right at me. Fancy! In all my years on this earth I have never, never, seen a man getting about in women’s clothes. Not right, is it?’ She puckers her lips, looks at me sideways then scratches her head. The woman seem like she tryin to work out a puzzle. Ain’t no puzzle, jus Nev bein a sheila is all.

  ‘No, that wasn’t me Nev. See, Booty’s woman, she come over n does her washin here. Musta been her that ya seen.’

  She gives me a God’ll-strike-you-dead-for-telling-lies look.

  ‘Do you need to talk, Mavis? I understand that a woman’s lot is far worse than any man will ever know. I know some folk take up drinking and gambling to ease their troubles but that just doesn’t work, does it?’ Then all a sudden she drops down out of sight.

  ‘Missus Warby,’ I try to peer over the fence. ‘Are ya down there?’ What’s happening?

  ‘Hang on.’ She stands back up n this time she’s taller. ‘Just pulled the old kero tin over to stand on. Comes in handy. Now, where was I? Oh yes, problems, Mavis.’ She wrinkles up her forehead, pushes her glasses back on her nose and watches me like a crow eyein off a carcass.

  ‘Missus Warby, I haven’t got any problems. Thanks for your offer of help but there’s nothin wrong in me house.’ I shrug me shoulders, cursin Nevil. Then a thought comes to me and I wonder how many other people might have seen him at the clothesline. Probably the whole friggin town. I groan inside meself and wonder what Missus Warby will tell her mates from the Bowling Club. Yeah, can just hear it: Nevil Dooley’s gone mad in the head. Poor boy, no father, drunken mother that gambles down the Bingo Hall with all the other sinners. I crack a lopsided grin, a small laugh forces its way out just as Missus Warby interrupts.