Desert Fish (13 page)

My mother wanted me to be with Pete, and I wanted to be with him too, but what we wanted were two different things.

I turned it over in my mind, what had happened between Pete and me, and I thought of what she had told me.
Just because a man wants to touch …

I wanted to ask her. I wanted to, but I didn't know how.

What if the touches mean everything?

I carried the memory of it in every moment. How he laid me down, with the sand moulded around my back, the rivery water drying on my legs. How I opened myself up so he could lose himself in me. There were no words, so there were no lies, and there was no pretending. Nothing that might stand for anything else.

 

By the end of April the heat had thinned but still it didn't rain.
The Chronicle
ran regular stories on the drought,
with pictures of dry fields, bony cattle, and the hollowed-out beds of the creeks that fed into the river.

Mrs Delaney's garden kept on in a lean spare way. She removed the more delicate flowers and mulched over the flowerbeds in the back, laying them bare to wait until the drought broke. She kept roses, delphiniums and a few marigolds in the front. And she pared back the shrubbery along the side of her house.

My mother tried not to notice the drought. She was determined to make her garden work. She didn't know the things that Mrs Delaney did and she didn't know where to start learning. We brought water out every day but I knew it was not enough. It was more than just drought that was causing my mother's garden to fail. It was all those other things she didn't know – the pruning and clipping, the soil, its acidity and drainage and where to put what plant. And most of all, how to know when to give up and wait until the time is right again.

‘The jasmine's had it,' she said. It was a Thursday. We were having breakfast and Pete had not yet left for work. My father was in his shorts and singlet. His face was thick with stubble. He ran his hand back through his hair. It was silvery underneath and I was surprised, noticing it, because I had never imagined my dad as a grey-haired man.

‘Sorry, love,' he said.

‘You might have put the trellis in,' she said. ‘That would have helped.'

‘I was going to.'

‘See, that's the thing. You're always going to.'

Pete shifted in his seat.

‘Sorry, love,' my dad said again.

My mother bit her lip. She went to the fridge and got a sachet of milk out, but when she'd cut the corners she realised the jug hadn't been washed. ‘Oh no, I didn't rinse it,' she cried out, flustered. ‘Oh, I just can't do anything right today. Gilly?'

I picked it up. There was a thin line of milk congealed around the bottom. My stomach turned over at the smell. I tried not to gag as I squirted detergent into it and added water.

‘Don't tip the water down the sink, Gilly,' my mother said. She held the milk sachet like a kitten, clasping the top between thumb and forefinger with her hand beneath the bottom of it. ‘I'll need it for the garden.'

I brought in the watering can and decanted the soapy water into it.

‘To be honest,' my dad was saying, ‘I don't know what difference a trellis would have made. What your garden needs is water, darling.'

My mother said nothing. She eased the sachet into the clean jug and then poured hot water onto the tea-leaves and put the pot on the table.

‘Got time for tea, Pete?'

‘Yeah. Thanks.'

‘Late start?'

‘Yeah,' Pete said. ‘They're reducing my hours.'

‘Drought?'

‘That's right.'

‘As of?'

‘Late starts this week and next, then it'll be part-time after that.'

‘Sorry to hear it,' my dad said.

‘Inevitable, isn't it?' Pete poured milk into his tea and I watched a drop of it slide down from the edge of the sachet. I pictured it reaching the bottom of the jug and souring there between the two layers of plastic. I swallowed.

‘Will it be enough? Will you get by on it?' my dad asked.

‘We'll see,' Pete said.

‘You're not leaving us, I hope?' my mum said. ‘We can see about the rent if it's a problem, if you need some time to find something else. We can do without it for a while.'

‘Thanks,' said Pete. ‘But you don't need to worry about that.'

My mum carried the water from the jug outside and then came in and began to wash the dishes. She was shaking a little.

‘Creighton,' she said. ‘Have you heard anything back from those leaflets?'

My dad leaned forward and ran his finger lightly around the handle of the teapot. ‘No,' he said. ‘I haven't.'

‘Maybe if he got a painting job you could work with Creighton part-time?' my mother suggested. ‘Make up the shortfall?'

Pete said nothing.

‘You could stay on then, easy.'

‘I'll think about it.'

‘But you will stay?' my mum pressed. She had stopped what she was doing. She'd dried her hands and was clutching the tea towel and the way she was looking at Pete – I knew she wouldn't let him be evasive.

‘If I have to go,' Pete said, ‘I'll make sure I give you notice and that you're paid right up.'

My mother's mouth dropped open. It wasn't what she wanted him to say. She wanted him to be familiar and informal. She wanted him to be a friend, not just a lodger, and she wanted him for me because I did. But it was more than that. She needed him to stay so that I could.

My stomach was churning. I got up and emptied my teacup into the sink.

‘Not there, Gilly,' my mother said. ‘In the watering can.' But her voice had a faraway sound to it and I knew she didn't really care.

Pete drank the rest of his tea in silence and left for work.

 

I stayed in my room. My throat felt tight and there was a taste in my mouth. I tried to drink some water but it didn't help.

In the early afternoon my mother came in. I could smell the faint lilac of her perfume. It was always there, trailing her into a room and lingering after she'd gone:
her leftover presence. Apart from a soft deodorant, I never wore scent of any kind. It made me feel conspicuous.

‘It'll be okay, Gilly,' she said.

‘Will it?'

‘Are you worried he'll go?'

‘He will though, won't he? It's only a matter of time.'

‘Do you think there's anything you can do?' my mother asked.

‘What do you mean?'

She hesitated. ‘Nothing. Only I wondered … She put her hand on my shoulder. I was lying down on my bed. Her hand was cool and dry. ‘Do you want him to stay?'

I swallowed. I wondered if it was safe to say, if perhaps the churning feeling might go if I told her.

I put my finger to my lips and felt a shred of nail there. I pulled it away with my teeth, staring at the floor.

‘Because if you do,' she said, ‘I think I know something we can do.'

I couldn't help the flood of hope I felt. ‘You do?'

‘Yes.'

‘What?'

‘Never you mind that. Just tell me if that's what you want.'

I stopped nipping at my fingernail. I took a breath. ‘Yes,' I said. ‘I do want him to stay. It's better when he's here.'

I met her gaze briefly. Then she looked away.

‘I know,' she said. ‘It's better for all of us.' She paused. ‘With him here, it's like we're a proper family again.'

I squirmed. My stomach turned over. I didn't want to be reminded of all the complicated things that had brought him here. Only how it had felt when he wanted me.

My mother stood. ‘Don't worry, Gilly, I'll do something. I'll make it alright.' She stood. ‘You just rest there. You'll feel better soon.'

I slept then. I was so tired. I felt that nothing could keep me awake, could keep me from sinking into the dark place that waited for me.

 

When I woke the light on the ceiling was dappled and shimmery. A breeze outside shifted the leaves on the mango tree and I thought they moved like soft laughter. Then I realised that I could hear laughter, rising and spilling in from the back verandah. I got up and rinsed my face and went out and they were all there, my mother and father and Pete. Bernie was there too, sitting on the sofa with Lexie on his knee. There were bottles of lager on the table and everyone was drinking from glasses. My mother looked pleased.

‘Look what the cat dragged in,' Lexie said, smiling on one side of her face in that way she had. She had her arm around Bernie and she was drinking from his glass.

‘Is this it?' I asked my mother, softly.

Her face fell but she wasn't put off. ‘Gilly wasn't feeling well,' she said, for everyone's benefit. ‘She's been sleeping.'

‘I'm fine. It was just a long day.'

‘Take you down with it?' Bernie said. He sounded almost kind. Lexie drew his curls through her fingers, and I saw how pleased he was with her making a fuss of him.

But Lexie hadn't forgotten what I'd said to her. ‘Long day?' she said, with mock surprise, sliding her eyes between Pete and me. ‘Long nights, more like.'

Pete eyed her and then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

I ignored her.

‘I feel much better,' I said.

I sat down. I did feel better. I was hungry now and my mother had put chips in a bowl, and peanuts. There was sliced melon too, but it was the salt I wanted. I took a handful of crisps and ate them one at a time, enjoying the slow dissolve of the salt on my tongue.

My mother mixed me a shandy and I drank it as if it were water.

‘Steady, Gilly,' she said quietly.

I emptied the glass and put it down in front of me. Pete was watching me and I smiled.

‘Gilly put some leaflets around,' my dad said. ‘To kick us off. But I haven't heard anything yet.'

Lexie smirked.

‘That was a fortnight ago,' Bernie said. ‘How many did you do?'

‘How many were there, Gilly?' my dad asked.

I shrugged and watched a moth flitting along the window. ‘Not sure.'

‘Fifty or so,' my mum said. ‘I gave them all to her,' she added.

‘Did you put them out?' Bernie asked.

‘Maybe not all of them,' I said. ‘It was so hot.'

‘We could do some more,' my dad said. ‘Maybe Lexie could do it? Eh, girl? We'd get some work if people saw Lexie coming up the front path.' My dad winked but Lexie didn't seem pleased with herself like she would have just weeks ago. She threw me a knowing look and then tossed her head and wound her arm tighter around Bernie.

‘I've already got a job,' she said coldly.

Bernie rubbed her arm.

‘Thing is, Creighton,' Bernie said, ‘I've got a bit of work too. For Albright's. They took me on last week and the money's not bad.'

‘Yeah,' my dad interjected, ‘but we can undercut them, Bernie. We can get more.'

Bernie continued. ‘I know, but … I've got to say, Creighton, there's not much around at the moment. I got this job because a bloke left, and then they only gave me part-time. But there's something else.' Bernie leaned back and rubbed his hand in his stubble. ‘I went in to Albright's before I started work,' he said. ‘I had to get my kit. They like you to wear the logo on your overalls. And Creighton, they were talking about your leaflets.'

‘My leaflets? At Albright's?'

‘Uh huh.'

‘Nah, you're making it up.'

‘I saw them myself. A stack of them.'

‘A stack of them.'

‘Yeah. Boss had 'em.' Bernie looked uncomfortable. He didn't look at me, but Lexie did. One of her knowing looks. I squirmed. She was going to do something, I knew it.

‘Can I have another drink?' I said to my mum.

She leaned over the coffee table and poured and mixed, slowly, rhythmically, as if to impart some advice to me without speaking. ‘Are you sure you can't remember what you did with the ones left over?' she asked. She spoke carefully. ‘Did you bring them back with you?'

‘I can't remember.' I took the drink she handed me. She'd only half-filled the glass. I sipped at it and thought. ‘Although I did stop. For a Fanta.' I was improvising now, like my dad. Perhaps I had his gift for it. ‘I stopped at Lonsdale's. Maybe I left them there. I must have left them on the table.'

‘Oh, Gilly,' my mum said.

‘Well, I guess you'll have to forget about it now,' Lexie said to my dad. ‘Bernie's got a proper job anyway.'

‘But why?' my mum asked. ‘What can Albright's do? They can't stop him offering a better price?'

‘Well,' Pete said, sitting forward. ‘They can get the Trade Practices onto you for a start. For selling a trade you're not registered to do. Or they could dob you in to the Revenue Department for your cash earnings. Did you say you'd work for cash on that leaflet, Creighton?'

My dad looked small and crushed. ‘Yeah,' he said. ‘I did.'

‘Well, there goes that, then,' Pete said quietly. He looked at me and I thought it was a secret look. I remembered how at the river that night he had said not to worry, that things would sort themselves out, and I wondered if there was a sort of camaraderie in that look, if we were on the same side after all. I finished my drink.

‘Never mind,' Pete said. ‘There'll be something else.'

The bottle on the table was empty. Lexie leaned over and picked it up. Bernie patted her thigh and then rubbed it. ‘Get us another, eh, Lexie?'

‘In the kitchen,' my mother said to her. ‘In the fridge. Cold ones are at the bottom, lying down.'

I got up and followed her.

She knelt down in front of the fridge and pulled at the bottles, taking two.

‘I'll have one too,' I said.

‘What? All for yourself? You're thirsty tonight,' she said.

‘Yes.'