My Place (21 page)

Some good did come from this experience. Apparently, Fred was always so upset after a session with me that the tutor banned me from handling him, otherwise it was impossible for the group that followed to do anything with him.

Apart from Fred, I was sick of trying to master statistics. I had a mental block when it came to any form of mathematics. ‘Rats and Stats,' I complained to a fellow student one day, ‘I came here to learn about people.' I wasn't the only student who was disgruntled. Many complained, but to no avail. I got to the stage where I was ready to pull out of university completely. However I
was going out with Paul, a schoolteacher, by then, and he persuaded me to stick it out.

I met Paul through his brother, with whom I had been friends for many years. In fact, Bruce had lived with our family for a while. He was like a brother to me and also a favourite of Nan's. Bruce was a lot like my brother Bill.

Nan never disappeared when Paul or Bruce were around. She actually seemed to enjoy their company. Paul commented once that Nan reminded him of many of the old people who had looked after him up North. I just nodded. It never occurred to me at the time to think about who those people were.

In a short period, Paul and I got to know each other well, spending a lot of time together. We discovered that we had a lot in common. I liked the artistic side of his nature and he seemed to find my wit amusing. Also, he fitted into our family well.

Paul had spent his childhood in the North-west, living mostly at Derby. His parents were missionaries, as were his grandparents and many of his relatives. When Paul was thirteen his family moved to Perth, where his parents started a hostel for mission children who came to the city to attend high school. Paul found high school very difficult at first, because, apart from the normal adjustments all children have to make and the fact that he had come from such a vastly different environment, he had a language problem. He only spoke pidgin English.

By the end of the second term of my third year at university, we'd fallen in love and decided to get married. This came as a real shock to Mum, because I had always told her Paul was just another good friend. It kept her off my back. It took a few weeks before the fact that we meant what we said actually sank in. Then Mum reacted more normally: she panicked.

I added to her trauma by telling her I'd decided to be married in our backyard. This immediately prompted her to worry about how she could manage to lock up all the chooks so they didn't molest my wedding guests. And, of course, there was the problem of Curly.

Mum pushed one panic button after another over the following weeks. The drive was too sandy, the grass too prickly and nearly dead, she didn't have enough chairs or glasses or plates. How much food would we need, where did she get it from, how many guests would be coming. I told her that there'd only be about one hundred people. I thought this would allay her fears, but it only served to heighten them. She began asking me questions like are they big eaters or small eaters, drinkers or non-drinkers and so on. In the end, I said to her quite sternly, ‘Pull yourself together. You're the mother of the bride, you've got to stop worrying and get organised. Think of it as a challenge!'

It was the best advice I could have given her. There was nothing Mum loved more than a challenge.

Our wedding date was set for two months hence, and, as the days passed, Mum swung into action like a real trooper. Every morning and night, she watered the grass in an attempt to coax back the green colour normally associated with lawn. However, as the day of judgement drew closer, she became obsessed with the yard, specifically, the drive. For some reason, it became the focal point of all her worries.

One afternoon, a huge load of gravel was deposited on our verge. And three days later, a three-foot high cement roller, weighing in the vicinity of a ton, arrived. In the meantime, Bill had agreed to help rake out the gravel over the drive, but when he arrived to see the cement roller, he looked at Mum in disgust and said, ‘What the bloody hell is that?'

‘It's to help flatten the gravel. You know, make it more like bitumen.'

Bill scratched his head and breathed out. ‘Yeah … and how are we going to pull it up and down?'

Mum was not to be put off. ‘Look, it's got these two sticks poking out, I thought you boys could strap yourselves between them and pull it along.'

‘Mother dear,' he said between clenched teeth, ‘if you think I'm
gunna strap myself to that bloody thing, you've got another thing coming. Sorry Sal,' he said as he turned to me, ‘not even for you.'

‘That's okay, Bill, it was Mum's idea.'

‘Yeah, well. That's pretty obvious, isn't it?'

‘God, Bill, it wouldn't hurt you.' Mum was offended. ‘You know the wedding's soon and I'm worried about the drive.' Bill was not to be persuaded. He had this knack of recognising the futility of Mum's schemes right from the start.

When Mum approached David the following day, he was more sympathetic. After she pleaded with him, he promised to give it a go.

It was nearly a hundred degrees in the shade the day he strapped himself to the roller. Mum cheered him on with cold glasses of lemonade and comments like, ‘You're the only one who does anything for me, David.' This kept him going for a couple of hours, however, as the temperature continued to rise, his strength sapped.

‘I'm not doin' any more, Mum. Bill was right, it's a bloody stupid idea!'

‘But you can't leave the drive like that,' Mum protested, ‘it's all uneven.'

‘You pull it, then,' he shouted. ‘Have you any idea how heavy it is? Well, have you?' As weak as he was, he still managed to raise his voice loud enough to cower Mum into silence.

Mum spent the following week working on me. Whenever she saw me, she told me in detail how bad the drive was and hinted that Paul might like to take a turn.

The following Saturday, after lunch, we led him like a lamb to the slaughter.

Mum, anxious to get him started, positioned herself between the straps and, with grunts and groans, indicated what was expected of him. Paul looked desperately at me. I looked at the roller. Mum departed down the drive, stomping on the uneven bits in an attempt to press them down.

‘Please?' I pleaded as she continued to make scuffling noises.

‘All right,' he relented. And, removing his shirt, he strapped himself to the roller and began to slowly move after Mum.

‘Oh Paul, that's good,' Mum encouraged. ‘You're much better than David.'

He laboured admirably for two hours. But finally, he staggered inside, dripping with sweat, and collapsed on the lounge.

‘Listen, Sal,' he gasped. ‘I don't care if people get their feet dirty or if their shoes stick in the gravel. They can break their bloody ankles for all I care. I'm not pulling that roller another inch.'

Just then, Mum entered with more lemonade. ‘Drink this, you're a silly boy working in that heat. You're lucky you didn't dehydrate.' Paul choked on the lemonade and then looked at Mum in amazement.

‘It wasn't my idea to flatten out the gravel.'

‘You've done a wonderful job, Paul. Hasn't he, Jill?'

Jill burst out laughing and fled to the kitchen.

‘That'll do for now, Paul,' Mum said kindly. ‘It's too hot to work any more. Perhaps you could finish it off tomorrow?' Paul's stunned silence was enough to send Mum scurrying after Jill.

‘Is she always like that?' he asked me pitifully.

‘No.'

‘Thank God for that.'

‘Normally, she's worse.'

My wedding day, the ninth of December 1972, dawned bright and sunny. I nicked into town early that morning to buy a wedding dress. I found an Indian caftan that I liked, it was cream with gold embroidery down the front. I was pleased because it was lovely and cool. It was becoming obvious that the day was going to be a stinker. By the time I got home, the temperature was over the hundred-degree mark.

My Aunty Vi arrived early to help. Aunty Vi had been a close friend of Mum's in her teenage years and they were both florists. Although they hadn't seen much of one another over the years, they still maintained a friendship on the basis of an occasional lunch date or phone call.

Mum welcomed her with open arms. ‘I need help with all the flowers,' she said excitedly. Our laundry was jammed with buckets and buckets of cut flowers.

‘Mum,' I complained as I tried to fight my way through the buckets to the toilet, ‘you won't need all these flowers, and what on earth are these for?' I called as I spied a huge carton of plastic roses.

Mum poked her head around the laundry door and said crossly, ‘Never mind what they're for. You just stay out of the way and mind your own business!'

I was suspicious by then. ‘You're not up to anything silly, are you, Mum?'

‘Of course she isn't,' Nan grumbled as she came to her rescue. ‘Now you hurry up and go to the toilet and get out of here. We've got work to do.'

‘Well, listen Nan,' I said, ‘whatever else you get up to, make sure you lock up the chooks, won't you? And I don't want Curly interfering with anyone.'

‘Oh, the chooks are all right,' she replied. ‘They're having their scratch around now. I'll pen them up before anyone comes. Curly's going to be in my room.'

‘Why don't you go and have a shower, dear,' Mum interrupted, ‘you look hot.' Just then, Paul's parents arrived. I made the introductions and then decided that a shower mightn't be a bad idea.

I wandered into my room to get my towelling dressing-gown and gather up my things.

Just as I was about to head for the shower, Bill came in. ‘Sal,' he said, ‘I think we'd better have a talk. There's something I'd like to say to you.'

‘Sure Bill, what is it?'

‘I just wanted you to know this. If Paul doesn't ever do the right thing by you, you just let me know, I'll fix things up.'

‘I'll remember that, Bill,' I said, ‘but Paul's a nice bloke. I don't think we'll have any problems.'

‘Yeah, well, just thought I'd say that to you, okay?'

‘Thanks, Bill.' Bill left, and I couldn't help thinking that Mum's prophecy after Dad died had finally come true. Bill really was the man of our house. I felt very lucky. I had a wonderful family.

When I emerged from the shower, cooler and cleaner, I found Mr Morgan busily stacking up glasses in the kitchen. Mrs Morgan had disappeared and so had everyone else. I wandered out the back and, to my surprise, saw Mum, Aunty Vi and Mrs Morgan squatting on their knees in the dirt. They were surrounded by buckets and buckets of cut flowers. ‘That's right, Margaret,' Mum said coaxingly to my future mother-in-law, ‘just
stick them straight in like that. No one will know the difference.'

‘I'll go round and do the front,' said Aunty Vi as she picked up two buckets and shuffled around the side of the house. Just then, Nan joined them. ‘I've put all those plastic roses in the front garden, Glad,' she said. ‘They do look beautiful. You'd think they were real.'

Oh no, I thought. They can't be doing this! I raced back in through the house and out to the front. Garishly coloured flowers of all descriptions were stuck in what had previously been bare earth. They stood straight up, their faces towards the sun.

Mum appeared behind me. ‘Oh Sally, what are you doing here?' she asked nervously.

‘MUM! How could you??!'

‘Well, I told you I was worried about the garden,' she replied lamely.

‘It's so embarrassing! How could you ask Margaret to help? What an introduction to our family! Honestly, Mum, this is one of the stupidest things you've ever done!'

‘But the garden looks lovely, now. No one will know they're standing there with no roots.'

‘It's a stinking hot day. They'll keel over in half an hour.'

‘No, they won't. Nan's keeping the sprinkler on them right up till the guests starting arriving.'

‘Oh, Mum,' I wailed, ‘you'll never change!'

By this time, she was looking hot and bothered and extremely harassed. ‘Look,' I said, weakening. ‘I'll pretend I didn't see the flowers, but at least make sure Curly and the chooks are kept out of the way. I don't want anything else happening, okay?'

‘Yes, dear.'

Everything seemed to go smoothly after that. The wedding ceremony was brief and to the point.

After the ceremony was over, I went in search of Nan. I'd been concerned that, with the yard full of people she considered strangers, she might pull one of her disappearing acts. Mum had already explained to her that it was important she been seen as she
was the grandmother of the bride. It took me a while to locate her.

I finally found her behind our old garden shed, crying.

‘Nan, what's wrong?'

‘You kids don't need me any more,' she sobbed, ‘you're all grown up now.'

‘But we still need you,' I replied, trying to reassure her. She shook her head and continued to cry.

‘Would you like me to get Mum?' I asked anxiously.

She nodded.

So I patted her arm and went and explained to Mum about Nan and she went to comfort her. She persuaded Nan to go inside the house, where she settled her down with a cup of tea. I felt at a loss. It seemed it never mattered what I did, it was always the wrong thing.

The rest of the afternoon wasn't too traumatic. Little things like the chooks and dogs running wild and a few guests ending up drunk didn't seem to matter. Everyone enjoyed themselves immensely and quite a few people commented that it was the most unusual wedding they'd ever been to. Mum took this as a compliment.

It was close to midnight when the last guest finally left. No one had wanted to go home.

‘I did all right, didn't I, Sally?' Mum asked smugly.