A Waltz for Matilda (32 page)

She looked up at him in amazement. ‘They’re paying you 300 pounds!’

‘Yep. I wrote an article for
Popular Mechanics
about that float valve I made for you. This bloke wants to make them in his factory.’

‘Oh, Tommy, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!’

His grin grew even wider. ‘I’m going to use some of the money to hire a patent attorney — someone who can register the stuff I invent. Never thought I could make money from inventions before. That ain’t all either.’

‘What else?’

He laughed. ‘Give me a cuppa first. I’m dry enough to drink the dishwater.’ He rested his bicycle against the steps, followed her up and sat at the table as she automatically moved the kettle from the side of the stove to boil it for tea, and put a cup of flour, a hunk of butter and a dash of buttermilk into the mixing bowl.

‘I’ve rented a shop. I’ll still do repairs, but I can work on my own designs. Get a boy to help me with the welding.’

‘A shop? But —’ She glanced over at the taut red skin of his arm, then flushed.

‘It’s all right,’ he said gently. ‘I’m used to folks staring now.’

‘It’s … it’s not as bad as it was.’

He nodded. ‘Feels better too. I can hold stuff with both hands no worries now. But mostly —’ he shrugged ‘— people have got used to me. Anyhow, the counter is back of the shop, out of the light. Can’t scare the cows there.’

‘Tommy.’ A lump rose in her throat. ‘You never looked that bad. Even at the worst.’

‘An’ a flock of koalas just flew over. Anyhow, you goin’ to come an’ have a look at my shop? It’s two doors down from Mr Doo’s. Got a room at the back with a bed and a place for a stove too.’

‘You can’t cook.’

‘Neither can you.’ He ducked as she threw the dishcloth at him. ‘Well, I can learn.’

‘And roosters’ll lay eggs. And don’t you go getting your meals at the hotel either,’ she added.

‘No, ma’am. No imbibing.’

She looked at him warily. ‘You don’t imbibe, do you?’

He shook his head. ‘Why waste the dosh? Anyhow, the hotel’s full of strangers half the time, and they
do
stare. Forget the bally scones,’ he added impatiently. ‘Go get changed and come and see the shop. You won’t get back afore dark if we don’t start now.’

‘You start off then. Bet Timber and I catch you up before you’re past the boundary.’

‘You’re on.’

Tommy was right. It was a good little shop: two walls of shelves and a counter, and a small room at the back with a lean-to kitchen. But the shed behind the shop was three times as big — two big bays and a lock-up room as well.

‘Going to put in a proper floor,’ said Tommy proudly. ‘Put a wall up here too, to keep out the dust. Turret lathe here, welding in the open bay. Young Billy Watson is a swell welder …’ He paused, and glanced sideways at her. ‘Know what I’m goin’ to make here?’

She shook her head.

‘Motorcars.’

‘You mean like that thing in Melbourne that blew up?’

He laughed. ‘No! There’re motorcars these days that work fine. But they’re slow as a wet washday. I’ve got an idea to make ‘em faster. See, they’ve all got big wheels, high up like a horse and carriage. Big wheels mean you don’t need as much power to pull ‘em, but —’ He broke off. ‘I ain’t boring you?’

She smiled. ‘No.’ It was so good to see him like this. He’d been happy enough, the last few years. But this was the first time she’d seen the old Tommy, trying to reinvent the world. ‘How are you going to get more power? A bigger engine?’

‘Bigger engine means more weight. No, I’m going to try to keep her small. There’s this bloke Ford in the United States, he’s using petroleum in his engines instead of diesel. You can get more power with petrol.’

‘Why doesn’t everyone else use petrol then?’

‘They’re afraid of it exploding.’

‘What?’

He grinned at her. ‘Don’t be a silly coot. My engines ain’t gunna explode. If a car has more power it can have smaller wheels, which means it won’t tip up so easily. That way it can go
faster.’ His face was alight now. ‘Might go thirty, forty, even fifty miles an hour.’

‘No one could drive a motorcar that fast!’

‘Trains go that fast.’

‘But they’re on railway tracks. You don’t have to steer them!’

He laughed again. ‘Let’s see if I can make a fast car, before we worry about that.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘Thought I’d call ‘em the “Matildas”. What do you think?’

She stared. ‘After me?’

‘And after swaggies’ Matildas too,’ he added hurriedly. ‘You know, carrying their Matildas all over. Well, you would be able to drive my motorcars all over Australia too. You ain’t laughing?’

‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I think if anyone in Australia can make a motorcar like that, you can.’

He grinned, relief sliding over his face. ‘Thought I might have bats in me attic, even thinkin’ about it. It’s a long shove from fixin’ pulleys at the jam factory. But I reckon I can do it.’

She listened as the words poured out of him, happy for him but a bit sad too. She wouldn’t see as much of him now, she supposed, not with his own business to run and a shed to play in, following his dreams and designs.

‘I’ll miss you,’ she said without thinking.

He blinked. ‘You dozy drongo, I’ll still be out at your place every Sunday. More if you need me.’

Of course, she thought. Tommy would always be there if she needed him.

‘Thanks,’ she said. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then laughed when he blushed. ‘I’d better be getting back before dark.’

‘I’ll get the bike and come with you.’

‘Then
you
won’t get back by dark.’

‘I’ve got my lantern. Don’t want you on the road by yourself.’

‘I’m used to being by myself. Anyhow, Timber can beat any horse on the road. Except Mr Drinkwater’s,’ she added.

She looked around the shed again. ‘It’s going to be wonderful, Tommy,’ she said softly. ‘Just wonderful.’

NOVEMBER 1898

Matilda tied the hat ribbons under her chin and stared at herself in the mirror.

The mirror was new, bought with a little of the money from selling the sheep. The hat was new too, an elaborate confection of pale straw and white ruffles, with two big blue ribbons to match her dress. Her hair billowed out, brighter than the straw, held up by a dozen hairpins. Her dress was sky-blue muslin, narrow in the waist and wider at the black banded hem, its
sleeves puffed at the shoulder then buttoned narrowly at the wrist with another tiny frill. She wore black buttoned boots.

‘What do you think, Auntie?’

Auntie Love shook her head and laughed, as though the frilly hat and new dress were beyond her understanding, but still to be enjoyed. She had been back at the house for the past three weeks. Her limp was worse, and the sagging of her face too. Matilda was afraid she might have had another small apoplexy. But apart from speaking even less than before, Auntie Love seemed otherwise the same.

Wheels creaked outside just as Hey You barked. Mr Drinkwater must have arrived. Auntie Love stood up, then slowly made her way into her bedroom. Apart from the time of the fire, she had avoided Mr Drinkwater since that first, extraordinary time she had stood naked in front of him, slipping either out of the room or even up into the valley behind the house when he arrived.

Matilda no longer questioned it. And if Mr Drinkwater’s eyes strayed here and there, searching for the old lady, she made no comment.

She took a final look at herself, pinched her cheeks to try to make them red, then ran outside, slowing down as she remembered she was in skirts now, and needed to move like a lady.

Mr Drinkwater tipped his hat to her. He drove the sulky today, its wood freshly polished, the leather canopy rich with beeswax too. ‘Good morning, Miss O’Halloran. You look,’ he raised his shaggy white eyebrows, ‘beautiful.’

She blushed, then blushed even hotter when he got down to hand her up onto the seat. ‘Thank you. I could have ridden to town myself —’

‘And deprive me of company? Nonsense.’ He hauled himself up beside her — a bit stiffly, she noticed. The last dark streaks had vanished from his whiskers, leaving them soft and white. He clicked the reins. The horses began to trot.

‘You must miss the boys. Have you heard from them lately?’

He glanced over at her. ‘Bertram is back in Australia. He’s working in the bank already. It seems they need him so desperately that he hasn’t time to visit his father. Which means his father will have to visit him. Christmas at my sister’s, I think.’

‘And James?’ She tried to keep her voice matter-of-fact.

Mr Drinkwater smiled. ‘He decided to come home via South Africa. Says they are doing breeding there that is years beyond anything here, and the climate is much like ours. At least one of my sons has the heart of a farmer.’

‘I’m glad,’ she said. James had his father’s arrogance, but she remembered him standing next to her, the wattle branch in his hand, tall and determined as he fought the flames for his farm. A property like Drinkwater deserved to be loved. ‘He’s not engaged like Bertram, is he?’

‘No, not James. His letters are full of sheep and troubles with Boers. He thinks the time is coming when England is going to have to make it clear that South Africa belongs to the Empire, not the Dutch. Now, do you think this machine of your young man’s will work?’

She felt her face get hot again. ‘He’s not my young man. We’re friends, that’s all. Of course it’ll work. Tommy says he ran the engine for three hours without stopping last week.’

‘Running an engine is not the same as the engine running the motorcar,’ said Mr Drinkwater dryly. ‘We shall see.’