Tiddas (16 page)

She threw herself into her work – a welcome distraction – focussing on filming the latest library news and events round-up. There was story time in the Talking Circle of kuril dhagun so she interviewed a couple of aunties as a lead-up promo of what visitors to the library could expect. She also did a short piece in the library bookshop looking at all the latest releases and vox popping patrons in the library café. A full day, a complete day, a day that reminded Izzy of how much she loved her role, her cultural and community contributions . . . and her life just the way it was. Tracey had stopped asking her to return the contract, saying she'd stall the broadcaster as long as she could with ‘negotiations', but even Izzy knew her options would become more limited.

On her way home, Izzy gazed up at the Wheel of Brisbane, known locally as the Lazy Eye. She watched the gondolas going around and around, the same thing over and over again. Is this what her life would become with a baby? If she had to turn down the TV role she had so desperately wanted, dreamed about, worked hard for? Perhaps the ride represented what her life had already become, her unvarying routine going to and from work each day: the same river walk, the
same river ride, the same faces, the same, the same, the same. Perhaps a baby would give her a new focus. But she didn't want to end up like Veronica with no identity other than mother. Or worse still, like Nadine, who was largely detached from her children.

Izzy walked to the counter, bought a ticket and climbed aboard. She had a gondola all to herself; alone, but for the unborn child within her. She'd have to tell Asher when they got together for dinner, soon. She could hear an excited child in the next gondola: ‘Wow, wow, wow.' What could the child see that she couldn't? There was no ‘wow' for her, but then again she had seen the river, by day and by night, many times from the deck of the State Library. She had also seen some stunning views from the top of the Gallery of Modern Art when she attended Queensland University of Technology events. She'd had her fair share of ‘wows' before today.

In the gondola she gave herself over to the running commentary about the history of Brisbane and its landmarks – the Gabba, the Goodwill Bridge, the Treasury Building. The didge music woven throughout sounded odd, but tourism companies knew that the haunting sounds of the wind instrument from the Top End was an expected part of the generic ‘Aboriginal experience'.

As she disembarked Izzy started planning the upcoming book club gathering at her place on Friday night. She had mixed feelings about it, and butterflies just at the thought of seeing Asher, which she would have to do eventually.

The solid oak coffee table was littered with finger food – the easiest way to manage the catering. Pistachio nuts, cheeses, olives, vine leaves, falafels, and there were samosas and marinated chicken wings in the oven. Izzy wasn't drinking but she'd stocked the fridge with wine and mixers and had made a passionfruit mocktail. She rushed to change the towels in the bathroom, ran a broom over the balcony, which was constantly littered with falling leaves, and put on some George Benson. It had been six months since she'd had the girls all over together, even though Nadine and Richard had visited since, and Ellen had occasionally dropped by for a river run.

A more-obvious-than-normal-cleavage stared Izzy in the face via the bathroom mirror. Her t-shirt was tight but it still worked. Her jeans weren't comfortable though, so she opted for a linen wrap skirt she'd picked up on sale on Boundary Street. She broke out a new pair of shoes from Wittner with tiny blue tiles across the toe and wondered how long she would be able to walk in them. For the first time in years she let her hair dry naturally, the curls taking on their own new, free life. She couldn't resist running the GHD through her fringe though.

As she was lighting some candles in the bathroom, Izzy heard the sound of heels on the cement stairs. Her tiddas had arrived, all chatter and laughter. Within minutes they had said their hellos, had plates of food on their laps and the book discussion had begun. Izzy couldn't remember the last time a Vixen meeting had been so efficient.

‘This was amazing!' Ellen said with gusto. ‘It was the first novel I've read that talked about native title, social and
emotional wellbeing, Black bureaucrats, police thuggery
and
Black deaths in custody.' She took a breath.

‘And infidelity, stolen wages, Black on Black and white on Black racism,' Xanthe added.

Veronica couldn't be left out. ‘All wrapped up in a skilful multi-murder mystery.'

Nadine shook her head, the shame clear on her face. ‘I'm embarrassed I didn't know about the imaginary line called “the boundary” or the curfew in Brisbane last century.'

Izzy tried not to bite, but it was hard. It shat her that her sister-in-law knew so little about history, but doubted if she were sober more often that would make a difference. She gritted her teeth and was saved by Veronica.

‘I liked how she tried to hide Musgrave Park as Meston and called it the land of the Corrowa people.'

‘What about the characters?' Ellen said, wide-eyed. ‘Because I'm sure I saw a few people I know in there!'

The women laughed; they all knew who at least one character represented in real life, but none of them was game to say it out loud.

Xanthe swallowed quickly, slapped her own chest as if anxious to get something out desperately. ‘And,' she swallowed again, ‘the racist, thuggish old-school cop Higgins, and his unsure-of-his-identity partner, Detective Jason Matthews, didn't do much to help us like the Queensland cops. God!' She shook her head.

‘So true,' they all agreed.

‘All I know is that reading it made me realise people need to choose a side,' Ellen said with authority. ‘You either support
traditional owners begging for their rightful claims to land ownership or you support the developers that governments feel they have the right to sell land to.'

Ellen's mobile rang on her last word. While the women kept talking she jumped up. She saw ‘Mum' flashing on the screen and was tempted not to answer because she knew any conversation, regardless of the purpose of the call, would never be short. She looked at the name again and felt a pang of guilt.

‘Mum,' she said enthusiastically.

‘Ellen Jane,' her mother always addressed her by her Christian and middle name, ‘you've got to come home.'

Ellen could tell by the sound of her mother's shaky voice that something was wrong. ‘What's happened?'

The women noticed Ellen's worried frown; they stopped talking and watched her with concern.

‘Aunty Molly passed away today. Just dropped dead at the bowlo. I can't go through this without you,' she sobbed.

Ellen managed to get as many details about her aunty's passing as she could and promised she'd be there as soon as possible. Then she ended the call and looked around at her tiddas.

‘I'll help with the service, obviously,' she said, wiping her eyes and then blowing her nose.

‘Of course.'

‘Naturally.'

‘That'd be beautiful.'

‘When shall we leave?' Xanthe asked, grabbing hold of Ellen's hand.

‘Yes, when?' Izzy would be heading home for Aunty Molly's funeral too.

‘I'll probably go the day after tomorrow. I have a service in the morning, have to meet another family in the afternoon, and then I can get packed and leave fresh the next day.'

‘I'd like to go with you, if you think that's okay?' Veronica was looking for endorsement but she just wanted to offer any support she could.

‘It'd be lovely to be back there together,' Xanthe said.

‘I guess you and Richard will take the kids down too, eh?' Izzy looked at Nadine.

‘Yes, I'm just texting him now to come and get me so we can start planning.'

The women said their goodbyes solemnly, each with mixed emotions about heading back home to Mudgee to farewell a woman who had been part of all their lives. Aunty Molly was Ellen's biological aunty, but she was everyone's aunty otherwise. Although Xanthe, Ellen and Izzy had been away from country for a long time, they hadn't lost their sense of responsibility and commitment to community, often returning for funerals as a mark of respect. Nadine had always gone back with Richard; and Veronica, long a close tidda, was never far away. She had grown up understanding how significant funerals were to the local mob.

M
udgee airport was tiny, like a Lego building compared to the forever developing Brisbane airport they'd all arrived from via Sydney not long before. They knew they were home when their Aeropelican Jetstream aircraft was coming into land and they could see the township only five kilometres from the runway.

On the flight Veronica was quiet; her own parents long deceased, she reminisced about the good times and then thought about the only family she had left in Mudgee, her in-laws. She felt her usual insecure self, concerned about seeing Alex's parents for the first time since she and Alex had officially separated. Before then, she had always been close to his mother, receiving regular Sunday night phone calls, even when Alex was away on business. They had long shared recipes and a love of a good pot of Earl Grey. But the warmth had all but disappeared since the split, now that Alex was living with a new woman. A mother's loyalty was always going to be to her son, and that was something even Veronica knew she couldn't argue with. However, she vowed to remain a dignified daughter-in-law and role-model mother, urging
her own sons to write and call their grandparents on special occasions. She would maintain the tradition of getting them to sign their own names on Christmas and birthday cards. And she made sure they
always
returned a note of thanks for any gifts sent to them.

Across the aisle Izzy's symptoms of nausea, tender breasts, and fatigue were lessening, but now she felt a plague of butterflies running amok in her belly. She was dreading telling her mother about her ‘condition', and still hadn't had the courage to tell Asher. On top of that she knew that Tracey's patience, however professional, was wearing thinner by the day. She hadn't scripted how she would tell her mother, or what responses she'd have to the questions that were likely to be thrown at her. All she knew was that she needed her mother's love and strength right now, and while she might not leave Mudgee with an endorsement, she knew she would leave with some level of emotional support. The real problem was that her mum was a God-fearing Catholic and there was no way their chat was going to be easy. She hadn't even mentioned Asher's name to her mother before. On top of Aunty Molly's funeral, which all the tiddas were upset about, the next few days were going to be challenging.

Ellen had spent the entire flight reading her notes, making comments on pages she had edited and re-edited over and over again in the previous twenty-four hours. Sick with nerves, she was grateful the family had decided on a church funeral rather than a crematorium or graveside service; it relieved her of the need to keep it together completely, as a priest would do the service. But she'd still assumed the role of
coordinating everything in lieu of anyone else in the family being emotionally equipped to do so. Aunty Molly's sudden death had left the family and her friends not only grief-stricken, but in shock, dazed that a vibrant woman in her early sixties had just collapsed and died, her heart giving way long before her mind or her passion for life.

Before leaving Brisbane, Ellen had spoken to the priest, organised the funeral director, the flowers, the wake, the music
and
written a few words just in case she was asked or felt like she wanted to say something. It was often the case at Koori services that people were given the opportunity to speak, and she'd seen a lot of families disappointed when a Church – regardless of denomination – stuck to a timeframe which limited the mob participating. Negotiating a sense of community in church services was something Ellen prided herself on being able to achieve, but she wasn't always successful. At least in Mudgee, the town was tight and her aunt would be given the due respect and send-off she well deserved.

Staring out the window as the plane made its descent, Xanthe was looking forward to seeing her grandmother the most. In her nineties, Noonie was the matriarch of their large family and Xanthe trusted her judgement on almost any subject. She was determined to get some pearls of wisdom about her inability to fall pregnant. She quietly hoped the respected Elder might have some old ways of doing things that would help her and Spencer conceive. If not, she'd have to pressure her reluctant husband once more about IVF, and that wasn't something she felt excited about doing.

Nadine and Richard had taken the kids out of school and driven the 900 kilometres. They both wanted their children to see the countryside outside of Queensland; the changing landscape and the various flora and fauna along the Oxley Highway. The autumn leaves were breathtaking as they drove through Kamilaroi country and the township of Gunnedah. They stopped and took photos of the Namoi River and a memorial in Abbott Street to Cumbo Gunnerah, the Aboriginal warrior and leader of the Gunn-e-dar people.