Tiddas (12 page)

Much of the work she acquired now was through word of mouth, and her unique inclusion of words of Aboriginal wisdom set her aside from the standard, albeit dignified, memorial services offered by her peers in flash offices in the city. Ellen went to great lengths to ensure each service was unique, just as every person buried or cremated was. Before meeting with a family she would take time out at the Cliffs Café overlooking the city skyline and the river. Sometimes she'd sit in this ‘office' for hours, thinking and going through collections of poetry, breaking only to examine the slow movement of cranes poised atop the building sites to her left near South Bank. She wondered who owned the sailing boats moored in the river, and how many had actually ended up in Moreton Bay during the floods.

On Friday night Ellen was excited about the housewarming cum book club meeting she was hosting. It was the first time her tiddas had seen her place with everything unpacked. They'd all offered to help her move but Ellen was as independent as ever and managed most of it on her own, although she had accepted Veronica's offer of devoting one entire Tuesday to help her sort. It was a small place so getting organised hadn't taken long, and Ellen had been busy renovating since.

She lit tea-light candles along the windowsill and turned on some salsa music, loud enough to drown out the traffic pulsing across Story Bridge. She hoped she'd eventually get used to the sounds of trucks at all hours of the night. When she first moved in, it felt as if they were racing right through her apartment. But it didn't stop her loving the place, her place, and a space she could now call home.

The flat was full of swatches and brochures, business cards and quotes, which she bundled up and put in a corner. It was cosy, compact, and she needed as much room as possible to host her guests. Five women would be a full house in her flat.

The walls were painted White Swan – a colour she chose as much for the name as the shade – but they were still bare, and she needed a red rug and a gold lampshade. Other than that she was happy with the transition she'd made from homeless and sleeping on other people's couches to being a first homebuyer.
I'm an adult now
, she thought to herself, aware too that her fortieth was fast approaching.
And I've got a good eye for decorating
, she applauded herself as she looked around at what she had already achieved since moving in.

She heard laughter on the landing and knew the lift with her friends had made it to the sixth floor.

‘Welcome to my humble, once ugly abode,' she greeted the tiddas, bowing and waving them into the tiled entry.

‘This looks amazing, really amazing,' Veronica said, knowing how much the purchase had meant to Ellen, who gave her a hug of gratitude.

‘Yes, who'd know from the ugly outside it was quite, let's say, funky in here,' Nadine added, looking snobbishly around
the space. ‘I think we need a toast to your achievement in fixing this place up.' She handed Ellen a gift basket of goodies from Mudgee: wine, honey, nuts, pickles and some handmade chocolates. She pulled the wine out as Ellen took the basket from her.

‘You love me,' Ellen cuddled Nadine.

‘I love wine and nibblies,' Nadine said, gently pushing Ellen away.

‘Don't fight it, you love me,' Ellen laughed, unpacking the goodies.

‘Look, I'm not big on giving – or receiving – dust collectors. I like consumables,' Nadine said, as if it would kill her to agree with Ellen. She looked around for some glasses with a sense of urgency.

‘Well, that would be
my
cue, I guess,' said Izzy, looking at Nadine. ‘I thought you'd like some nice wine glasses for when you entertain.' She rinsed them quickly in the sink, much to the agitation of Nadine, who was desperate for a drink and annoyed with the delay in getting one, and took them into the lounge.

Meanwhile, Veronica handed Ellen a housewarming gift, wrapped carefully in brown paper and string. Ellen unwrapped it slowly.

‘Wow, Vee, this is amazing.' She was overwhelmed with the batik print, but more so Vee's extreme generosity. ‘I'm a little lost for words.'

‘That'd be a first,' Nadine mumbled as she poured wine.

‘That is stunning!' Xanthe desperately wanted to run her hands over it. Veronica smiled at the tiddas' appreciation of her gift.

‘Is
that an Angela Gardner? I've got something a little similar at home,' Nadine asked, not meaning to big-note herself. They all knew her mansion was full of deadly artwork from around the world. ‘It's actually my prized possession.'

‘Why do you say
an
and not
by
?' Izzy asked, a little annoyed as she sometimes could be by her bourgeois sister-in-law, who bought whatever she wanted and never had to think about the price. Izzy herself had a work by the same artist but didn't mention it; it would only sound like she was competing, and that was one tiff she didn't want to have tonight.

Nadine ignored Izzy. ‘Gardner's a local Brisbane artist, you're lucky to get her now, Ellen, she's going to be huge.' She spoke as if she were an art critic, and moved her hands apart to demonstrate enormity.

‘Wow, is it an Angela Gardner, Vee? I mean, is it
by
her?' Ellen had a spark in her eye. She'd never owned anything so posh.

‘It's actually mine,' Veronica shyly admitted.

‘What?' the four other women asked simultaneously.

‘It's mine. I did it. It's
mine
,' Veronica said, as if laying her claim on something more than the artwork.

‘That's seriously impressive, Vee,' said Xanthe, still gushing. ‘I'd love to give one to Spencer for his birthday. Are you going to do any more?' she asked hopefully, but trying not to stretch the friendship.

Veronica was shocked. She had not imagined any of them thinking it was that good. ‘If you're serious, I'd love to make something for Spencer.'

‘How long have you been doing this?' Izzy asked. ‘You
were always good at art at school.' Izzy recalled Vee being asked to work on the sets of the drama productions at Mudgee High because she could translate detailed sketches into stage-sized backdrops.

‘I've always sketched, or painted. It was something I could do when the kids were asleep. And when Alex left me, it helped keep me sane, almost.' Veronica's smiled dropped with the final word.

‘But where did you learn to do batik, Vee?' Nadine asked, equally impressed with her friend's talent. ‘It's not your typical stay-at-home kind of work one does while the kids are napping. Or is it?' She'd suddenly realised she wasn't the typical stay-at-home mother either.

‘Our last family holiday to Bali was long, too long in fact, given that Alex and I were already living virtually separate lives and constantly arguing. He took the boys out a lot, and while they were doing parasailing and windsurfing, I did workshops.' Veronica was happy that she had the chance to talk about something other than her children. Her artwork brought her a real sense of achievement; it was something that other people could celebrate as well. ‘I've been practising since we got back and this is my first completed work. I wanted you to have it, Ellen. Buying your first home is a big deal.'

Ellen got teary then and shook her head, unable to speak. She hid her emotion by getting up and propping the piece against the back of the sofa, then leant it against the bare wall.

‘Looks perfect already,' she said, still choked up.

‘John helped me turn the guest room into a studio,' Veronica continued. ‘I spend a lot of time in there now.'
She had planned on working a few hours every day painting, drawing and sketching but in fact she mostly just cried. The girls were watching her closely now, knowing how fragile she still was and how difficult life had been for their tidda during the past few months.

Izzy jumped up. ‘I've got it. Vee, you should enrol in a fine arts degree at QUT. Imagine studying art. And you're so good at it you might even be able to make a living out of it at the end.'

‘What a great idea, Izzy.' Ellen was excited about the potential for Veronica's further education as well and offered her endorsement. ‘Vee, I totally think you should do that. I can come with you to Kelvin Grove and you could suss it out if you want.'

Veronica felt more pressured than flattered.

‘Oh, that's all a bit much, don't you think? I've only done
one
piece.'

‘Just think about it, Vee.' Nadine put her hand on her tidda's arm. ‘You've got the talent, and you've got the time. Why not?'

All of a sudden, Veronica realised what support she had in her tiddas. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt such happiness.

‘Well, dear Vee,' said Ellen, ‘this is going to look incredibly special on my wall, when I finally get it hung. But for now I think it looks deadly just there.'

‘Oh yes. Perfect. Stunning. Sets off the whole room.' The women might have sounded generous in their responses, but they were being completely honest.

Xanthe was impressed at Ellen's renos too, knowing how much work was involved in turning an older place into something fresh and homey.

‘Looks like you've done a lot around here already, Ellen. You said it was brown and blokey when you bought it, so this is a massive transformation in a few weeks.'

‘I've had a bit of help,' Ellen said nonchalantly.

‘Was there a working bee I didn't know about? Sorry.' Xanthe assumed the tiddas must have been helping Ellen while she was in Rocky doing cross-cultural awareness training.

‘No working bees.' Ellen smiled with a devilish sparkle in her eye.

‘Spill it!' Izzy knew she'd been up to something.

‘I've been reno-dating.' Ellen smiled so broadly her face ached.

‘Reno-what?'

‘Reno-dating. Dating renovators. Well, not technically renovators, tradies really, and not really
dating
, just shagging.' Ellen grinned some more. ‘But hell, they've all got amazing bodies.'

‘I really think tradies are underrated, generally,' Veronica said.

‘All the tradies we used were great; they do sometimes get a bad rap though,' Xanthe added.

‘Mine got a good rap all right, wrapped up in my sheets.' Ellen giggled loudly.

Her tiddas squealed with shock and titillation.

‘Details,' Nadine demanded, ‘for the old married women here.' She glanced across at Veronica and apologised.

‘I'm not old, just not married,' Veronica said darkly.

‘None of us are old,' Xanthe said, looking sympathetically at Veronica, but then reminding herself that forty might be too old to conceive.

‘You want details?' Ellen was bursting to share. ‘Really?'

‘Oh, go on,' Izzy said, feigning disinterest.

‘The carpenter who came to put in the new skirting boards, well, did he have the best-packed tool belt I've ever seen? Ummm, yes he did.' Ellen panned the room as if looking for something. ‘I need to find some more woodwork that needs doing.'

‘You're terrible, Ellen,' Xanthe said, looking a bit shocked.

‘And the plumber – well, he fitted the new shower hose, and then he fitted his hose too,' Ellen laughed at her own joke, and Izzy and Nadine couldn't resist giggling as well.

‘And two days ago, with the sparky, well did the sparks fly with him! There was enough electricity between us to light up the entire Brisbane grid.'

Xanthe was totally shocked now, Veronica was jealous, Nadine was slowly getting pissed and Izzy didn't really think or feel anything other than being pleased to see her tidda so happy.

‘Aren't you worried about AIDS?' Xanthe asked.

‘What?' Ellen thought the question odd.

‘Aren't you afraid of catching something, with all these different blokes?' Xanthe sounded judgemental without meaning too.

‘I practise safe sex, I'm not an idiot!' Ellen wasn't sure if she was annoyed because Xanthe thought she was stupid and didn't
know about safe sex, or because Xanthe was stupid and didn't know about safe sex. Either way, she didn't like where the conversation was going, especially as it was meant to be a positive one.

‘Don't you feel, you know, a bit weird in the morning, with strangers in your home?' Veronica asked innocently, having only ever woken up with her husband for twenty years. ‘I know I sound naive, but how does it work?'

Ellen felt uncomfortable. What was she supposed to say?
Well, usually you wake up, make love, have a shower, and they leave.
All of a sudden her reno-dating seemed to be less about fun and more about her morals.

‘Gorgeous skirt, Ellen,' Izzy said, sensing the need for a quick change of topic.

Ellen was relieved. ‘Ten bucks at the South Bank markets, can you believe it?' She stood up and did a twirl; the multi-coloured cotton flared out. ‘The guy should sell cars he was so persistent.'