The Fine Color of Rust (24 page)

“Tell her.”

“What am I, a child?” Norm's using his long-suffering voice, the one he puts on whenever he complains about the poor return on scrap metal.

I'll sit quietly and mind my own business while they bicker. I wonder how Norm's enjoying being a parent again. At least he's past the stage of cleaning up vomit. And he doesn't have to drive Justin to school and back every day. If we moved closer to the school Melissa and Jake could walk. I'd save a good forty minutes each day, which I could then use sewing chic evening wear and looking after my skin. My
scrag-woman image would slowly fade. I'd learn to walk with my head up and my shoulders back, instead of hurrying around like the hunchback of Gunapan. But we could never afford a proper yard that close to the school. What would we do with Terror and Panic? I've grown rather fond of the goats. They're excellent listeners. Of course, they're not the perfect pets. They do burp a lot. Sometimes it's alarmingly loud. And they shed. Not to mention the poo problem. But they seem so smart. I wonder if they can be house-trained?

“Loretta?”

I pick up my cup of cold tea and smile at Justin. “Sorry, off in a dream.”

Justin looks down at the table. Norm clears his throat.

“I'm going to lose my hair,” Norm mutters.

“It's a bit late to be realizing that.” I look at his fast-receding hairline.

“From the chemo,” Justin adds.

The whole shed seems to slide sideways. I feel the cup wobble in my hand and I reach up with my other hand to grip it and lower it carefully to the table.

“Chemo?” I repeat.

“The big C. In the liver.” Norm sounds tired.

“Liver?” My voice sounds like an old record.

Justin lays his hand on mine. He closes the palm and fingers tightly over the top of my hand and nods at me. One of the dogs in the yard barks and the rest follow, growing louder and crazier until one starts howling.

“Customer.” Norm pushes himself up off the seat.

“I'll get it, Dad.” Justin waves Norm down.

My hand is instantly cold when Justin takes his away. He swings the door open and a gust of chilly air swirls around my ankles.

“Liver cancer? But you're not a drinker.” I should have noticed how thin Norm's got.

“There's only a sixty percent chance the chemo'll work. I don't want to do it, Loretta. Remember when Jim from the railways had the stomach cancer and they gave him chemo? And he looked like shit and he said he felt like shit and all his hair fell out and he couldn't eat and then he bloody died anyway. What's the point?”

“Sixty percent, that's the point!” I answer hysterically. “Norm, what are you talking about? Of course you'll have it. Don't be stupid.”

“If it wasn't for Justin making me swear, I don't think I would.”

“Not for me? Not for Melissa and Jake?”

“Exactly. I don't want your kids to see me looking half-dead. I'd rather they remember me like I am now.”

“Stupid, you mean? You want them to remember you as the stupid man who wouldn't get treatment?”

“Settle down, Loretta. I said I was getting it, didn't I? Justin's made me promise.”

Even in my state of fury, I can see how odd it is that my best friend, the man who is like a grandfather to my children, has told me he's very ill and my reaction is to want to cut his throat. We both look out through the window at Justin, who's listening, head bowed, to a bloke talking as he pulls bits off some kind of engine. We can't hear their conversation from inside because the dogs are still going at full throttle and someone else is driving a pounding ute right up to the door of the shed. Norm heaves himself up off the chair and opens the door.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I look at Norm standing at the door and gesturing the driver to come into the
shed, and I want to punch him. I want to slap him. I want to stamp my feet in front of him and scream like a two-year-old having a tantrum. I am furious. I feel as if my heart is about to explode. How dare he be sick? How dare he have cancer?

He comes back into the shed followed by Merv Bull.

“Merv, you remember Loretta, don't you?”

“Of course.” He lowers his voice and turns away from Norm to speak. “Actually, I was hoping to have a quick word with you if you've got a moment.”

“Sorry, have to rush,” I say. Right now, I need to go home and scream. “Nice to see you, Merv.”

I set off smiling and waving goodbye and get into the car and rev the engine so hard it almost has a prolapse. Then I scream backward onto the road before powering off, leaving two smoking streaks of rubber on the tarmac.

NORM'S NEWS HAS
given me the strength of seven Lorettas. In six days I've stormed the post office with letters asking for old and potential new SOS committee members to come to the first meeting. I've coaxed sponsorship from the abattoir, the supermarket, the CWA, and the winery outside Halstead for a fund-raising dinner. I'm organizing an auction of donated goods on the night of the dinner. So far Leanne's put up a voucher for a spell or hex of the winner's choice, Morelli's Meats has offered a side of beef, Norm's repairing a vintage stationary engine that should be ready for the night, the Church of Goodwill is donating a month's housecleaning, and the local pub is giving a dinner for two.

My children's absence has also helped to inspire my burst of activity. Terror and Panic have put on so much weight they look like they're about to have kids of their own. Yesterday I found myself thinking how attractive Terror would look with a ribbon in her beard.

I had dreamed that while Melissa and Jake were away I'd be out at romantic dinners, tossing my newly styled and tipped hair as I laughed and making witty repartee with Merc Man or some other suitably loaded and charming suitor.
But I couldn't even get an appointment at the hairdressers until next Tuesday, and once that part of the plan collapsed, it seemed like I'd have to go on with my old life. I'm not allowed to tell Norm's news to anyone, even Helen, but I can't stop thinking about what might happen to him, and I can't stop trying not to think about it, and I can't sleep. That adds five more hours in the day to fill.

And on top of all that, I can't find out anything about the development. I've failed Norm completely. I've heard plenty of rumors, but no facts.

“Are you sure there's going to be a pool and spa and sauna?” I asked Kyleen.

“Of course,” she scoffed. “How could you have a top-quality luxury resort without them?”

The whole population of Gunapan, one of the region's most disadvantaged small towns, has become an authority on what makes a top-quality luxury resort.

“I hope they don't get Sleepover linen,” Brianna remarked. “It doesn't last. They'll have to go better quality than that. And I can't wait to see what kind of TVs they have.”

“What are you talking about? They won't let us within shouting distance of the place. Why is everyone being so nice about it?”

“More to the question, Loretta, why are you so mad about it?”

“Because they're taking our water! Because Norm's been landed with an Unsightly Property Notice!”

“It's not our water. Our water comes from the Goonah Reservoir.”

“Which is at fourteen percent capacity. And we go selling off water that bubbles up out of the ground!” I can hear
my voice rising in frustration. Soon I'll be reaching the high notes of opera, only with a kind of whining sound. A lot of complaining goes on around here. We could set up the Gunapan opera company. Performing live every weeknight, the Gunapan Whingers. You pick a topic, we'll complain about it.

Brianna shrugged. “Anyway, I'm going to get my Responsible Service of Alcohol certificate. Maybe get a job in the bar. I bet those guests will leave good tips.”

“Sure, why don't you help them suck the water out of our town? Well, I'm not going to put up with it. If I'm going to keep campaigning about the school, I might as well campaign about the development too.”

My friends have been as encouraging as usual.

“Give it up, Loretta,” Helen said this morning. She looked down at the latest letter to the education minister.

“I can't. It's turned into an addiction. I can't stop writing letters to ministers.”

“Like heroin.” She nodded sympathetically.

“Or beer, but not as pleasant. Actually, it's more like an addiction to ground glass, or whipping yourself with wet rope every morning at dawn.”

“Great. My best friend has turned into a pain junkie.”

“Helen, do you remember what I said when I first started the Save Our School business?”

She shook her head.

“I said that you should tell me if the whole town started to hate me. It's happened, hasn't it?”

“What makes you say that?” Helen inclined her head doll fashion, smiling a fake smile showing no teeth, only tight lips with upturned corners.

“I saw Maxine in the grocery store yesterday. She didn't have time to say hello. You know why? Because she was running. Yes, people are running away from me now.”

“Maybe she was busy?”

“She hadn't bought anything. She dropped a tin of tomatoes as she ran out the front door.”

“I think you're exaggerating, Loretta.”

“I didn't ask her to pay for the biscuits in the meetings.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “Don't blame me when this obsessive-compulsive thing puts you in a straitjacket,” she said on her way out the door.

Underneath every conversation, like having an electric current buzzing through my brain, is the fretting about Norm. Each day I ring or drop in and try not to ask him about his health.

“Don't start asking about my health all the time,” he warned me on Monday. “I know what a terrier you are. I'll tell you if there's anything you need to know.”

So I don't. I've been pestering Justin instead. Yesterday Justin asked me if I wanted to know about Norm's bowel movements.

“Well,” I said dubiously, “I suppose. If it's important.”

Justin looked away, smiling.

“Oh, you were joking.” I thought I should probably go home. Norm's illness seemed to have stripped me of my sense of humor.

“He's doing OK. Really.” Justin was still smiling. Thought he was a pretty funny bloke.

“Hey, forgot to mention you're signed up for the Save Our School and Stop Our Development Committee. Norm said you're good at math, so you're the treasurer.”

No more smiling for Mr. Funny Man. I pulled a meeting
flyer from my handbag and dropped it on the table. He's not really the treasurer, but neither is anyone else, and since he didn't say an immediate no, I think I might have done something smart for a change.

“See you tomorrow night!” I called back gaily over my shoulder on my way out of the shed.

This afternoon I remembered to drop into the library and read the article in the
Shire Herald
about the council.

C
OUNCILLORS
N
EED
P
ROBE

It has been leaked to the
Shire Herald
that last year certain shire councillors and council staff took trips, sometimes with spouses and children, which our source claims were paid for by a corporation involved in land acquisition in the shire. Three of these trips were to Western Australia, ostensibly to investigate small-scale agriculture, and included winery tours and boat cruises. The cost of the trips is estimated by the
Herald
at approximately forty thousand dollars.

And I was worried about the amount of petrol it took to drive the kids to Melbourne.

It has been suggested by the source close to the council that there are inappropriate links between council and local builders, as well as larger development companies based out of the shire. The source suggested that there may have been intervention in planning processes for building applications that violate the local building codes.

The
Shire Herald
is also investigating allegations that a major development company made large campaign
donations before the election, but that these donations were not declared.

Hot stuff! No wonder Mrs. Mayor almost went at me with her handbag the other night. Even if Vaughan isn't one of the people the article is talking about, he looks like an idiot for letting this go on.

I made twenty copies of the article to bring to the meeting tonight. I had already changed the night of the meeting so we wouldn't be competing with the Church of Goodwill, so this time we're in the big room. Brianna has offered to mind the kids again—she really has no fear.

When I arrive, Helen's sitting alone in a circle of orange plastic chairs at the front of the room, reading. Behind her is the stage where every year the Halstead Players do a performance of a musical, which has been
The Sound of Music
five years out of eight. We Gunapanians feel obliged to pay good money to hear them yowling and yodeling, then tell them over a cup of tea afterward how much we loved it.

Helen looks up as I head for the board to write up the agenda. “Peter sent his apologies. He's had to stay back for a school staff meeting tonight.”

“OK. Good book?”

She turns it over and reads the blurb aloud. “‘Heather thinks this holiday in her hometown of Darwin will be just the thing to cheer her up after the breakdown of her marriage. But when she meets a mysterious man claiming to be her long-lost uncle, family secrets emerge that will rock her world and set her on a surprising course to new love.' How come thrilling secrets never emerge from my family?”

“I've discovered some dark secrets in mine.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It's true,” I tell her. “A mysterious man. Five Chihuahuas. A sudden trip to a tropical destination.”