Mallawindy (22 page)

‘Oh, God.' She could remember. She could remember.

‘Oh God.' Emma? Black shiny hair. Brown eyes.

May, money in her purse. Leaf after leaf of money. Taking the leaves out, giving them to the man, and the man giving Ann Elizabeth the big beautiful doll. Her pick. She got first pick. Her own. All for her. All for her. Liza got the leftover doll. Got the blue-eyed doll in the pink dress.

‘Oh, God. Oh God, Annie. We're in there, in that house. Something of us got lost in there. We have to find it, to stick us back together. I've got to get in there. I have to, Annie. But not now. Tomorrow. Tomorrow in daylight when the sun is too bright for demons. We'll come back tomorrow, Annie.'

She followed the road back to town. She bought chips at a take-away and returned to her motel bed late, too afraid to sleep. Daylight was filtering beneath the heavy curtain before she closed her eyes, and her subconscious tried to sort out the day's litter in dreams.

It took her to a room with a heavy door. It took her to a golden syrup tin filled with bloody worms. It took her to red fishes, swimming in a sea of blood, then it took her to the demons, and when she screamed, her subconscious tossed its hands in the air and said, ‘I wash my hands of this matter,' and it left her to scream her way through a labyrinth of nightmares until Edna Harper and her rattling breakfast tray woke her at eight.

At two that afternoon, Ann drove back to the property. If her father was there, she'd leave. If Sam and May were home, she'd play the role of successful city girl. Perhaps no-one would be home,
and she'd be free to wander the grounds and peer in windows. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe it would be more than enough.

The house was set well back from the road. Feeling for the gate latch she had known as a child, her hand reached too high. She watched her hand slide down, down, down to waist height. It was the same latch. Only the child had grown. Defiantly she drove her car through, leaving the gate swinging wide. If their demons were on her heels on the way out, she'd need no gate to slow her flight. She parked in front of the house, and sat a moment, breathing deeply. No sound. No movement. Nobody home?

The lion-head brass knocker was still on the front door. She rattled the lion's jaw, and snarling teeth gnashed. Then the door opened and a tiny woman stood before her.

‘Aunty May?'

May's hand rose to cover her mouth. ‘Ann Elizabeth? Oh my dear, dear child. It is you.' Her arms reached out, drew Ann into the wide hall, and the door closed behind her.

Cold. Ice cold, cold to death, but May's arms were warm, and her tears were wet. For minutes she stood in the hall, holding her niece to her and weeping, repeating words, silly words. ‘It has been so long. I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry. Forgive me.'

Then there was a drawing back, a gathering of herself. ‘What a foolish woman I am. Come. Come through to the lounge. Whatever will you think of me, Ann Elizabeth?'

On robot's feet, Ann followed where she was led. She swallowed, striving for control as May urged her to sit, then sat beside her, hugged her.

‘I ... I – ' It was all wrong. Long-rehearsed words died on her tongue. ‘I ... I'm ... I'm sort of – ' Ann grasped for words now. ‘I'm here. I can't believe I'm here. I can't think, Aunty May.'

‘So pleased. I am so pleased you came back to me. So pleased you wanted to come back. So very pleased, my dear, dear girl.'
She released Ann and wiped at her eyes. ‘Let me look at you. Let me feast my eyes on you, you darling child.' She sat back. ‘My goodness. You're the girl in that advertisement.'

Ann shrugged, but the words shifted her from the old reality into an easier new. ‘That's me,' she said. ‘And it was the biggest mistake I've made yet.'

‘Every time I see it, I feel that I know the girl, and I do. Oh, Ann Elizabeth. If you only knew how much I've wanted to see you. How many times in the past I've set out to drive to Mallawindy, then turned back. I had so many fears for you, my dear, and to think ... just to think of what a success you've made of your life. Forgive me. I'll be fine in a moment.'

It took more than a moment. Five minutes of tears and laughter followed, before she asked, ‘What has brought you back to me today?'

‘I should have phoned. I didn't mean to come in. Not really. Well, maybe I didn't think you'd be here. Is Dad down here?'

‘Were you expecting to see him?'

‘No. Just the woman at the motel said – . I haven't seen him for years. I'm living in Melbourne now. I ... I just came to see you,' she lied. But it was the right thing to say. May hugged her again.

‘Jack was here, but he's gone now. You are lucky to catch me home. Sam and I spend little time in Narrawee. We've still got the Thomas's in my old home. You'd remember the Thomas's from when you were here, Ann Elizabeth. They run both properties for us now, and do a wonderful job.' She sprang to her feet. ‘My pasties.' She hurried through to the rear of the house and Ann followed her, her eyes roving, taking in the old rooms, barely changed in the eighteen years since she had been here, her fingers running along the wallpapered passage. Flock wallpaper. Blue and gold. Then down two steps and into the kitchen, where the odour of yesterday was strong.

‘I remember that smell, Aunty May. Cornish pasties. I used to
help you make them. I remember folding them, fluting the edge with a little wheel.'

‘You loved my pasties. Do you know, dear, I was sitting here, wondering what to fix for dinner tonight, and I felt this craving for Cornish pasties. I must have known you were near to me. I made four. Will you stay tonight?'

‘I've got a room at the motel,' Ann admitted.

‘Ann Elizabeth! You didn't. You go around there at once and get your belongings. Good Lord, if it was learned that one of my relatives was staying at Bill Harper's “Eye-sore Motel”, I'd never hold my head up here again.'

‘She knows who I am. She's a talker.'

‘A talker is putting it mildly. That woman! I fought her and her husband tooth and nail, trying to prevent them building there. It's an ugly hideous thing and right at the entrance to our town. You run along now, and I'll have a shower and fix up my face, and we'll start our visit again.'

Your hostess sheaths her claws neath velvet glove

While cool blue eyes conceal a thousands lies.

Her honeyed tongue, that speaks sweet words of love

gives no replies . . .

She'll twist, she'll dodge with many an artful quip,

she'll parry with claw, and turn you from recall.

So tip-toe. Take great care you do not slip,

or down you'll fall.

Then eyes will fire with gleeful enmity

Her tongue, a rasping thing will sear, will burr,

As you cower down before my enemy,

You'll hear her purr.

Annie E. Burton

Two o'clock and alone in the one room she'd never wished to enter, Ann's light still burned bright. The novel May had loaned her hadn't been able to claim her mind. When she finally placed it down, she saw Annie's message on the inside flyleaf.

Annoyed, she removed the page, folded it, tucked it into her briefcase. Her obligation to keep these messages, that turned up in odd places, was never questioned. She made no attempt now to
analyse them, but she cherished each one. Past experience had proved them to be the name calling of a coward as little Annie ran for cover.

To her knowledge, she had not fainted before – and certainly not since she was nine. Prior to nine, she had little recall. Maybe she'd blacked out often back then. That part of her life was like a permanent black-out. Something strange had happened the night Mickey died, but it had been a ... a non black-out ... a walking from black-out into light. An awakening.

She lay on her back, thinking, while her eyes searched the walls, the ceiling of this room, once called the girls' room. It was the room she and Liza shared. The walls were old, cracked. She followed a crack down to a wardrobe, and remembered it. Her small frocks once hung there. Small shoes had been placed neatly side by side on its floor. Were they still there? The urge to look grew strong. On tiptoe she crept from her bed, opening the squeaking door. The wardrobe was bare, containing only the scent of age.

Back between the sheets, she pulled up a blanket and slid low in the bed. Dawn was near with its accompanying chill. ‘Sleep,' she said. ‘Sleep and please God, no dreams, no screaming,' and she reached for the light switch, plunging the room into darkness that closed in like a black void.

She lay stiffly there, waiting for Annie or the demons to pounce. She searched corners for them, knowing they would come, and that her screams would send May's ghosts scuttling for cover.

‘Uncle Sam,' she whispered. A horse rider. Slim shadow, with her father's shadowy features. Her memory of the younger May was clearer. She'd probably spent more time with May. Sam, like everyone else, would have preferred Liza. Pretty golden Liza. Ann attempted to conjure up the face of her sister. She couldn't. All that came to mind was the chocolate box photograph on the kitchen wall.

Her muscles tensed in this bed. For a moment, she felt the heat of Liza beside her. They had shared this same bed. She sat, pulled
up the second blanket, wondering if her father had slept in this bed. Almost incestuous. A smile became a yawn. She snuggled down, allowing her mind to map the layout of the rooms.

The total darkness was a blanket. Heavy. Inviting. The total silence after the noise of St Kilda, too complete. She rolled to her side, hearing the crisp rustle of sheets.

‘Ann dear. Ann Elizabeth. Are you awake?'

Springing upright, her eyes only closed for a second, Ann was near blinded by white light. She caught a glimpse of movement against the white light from the window.

‘It's nine-thirty, you old sleepy-head.' May, already dressed for town, kissed Ann's brow. ‘ I ' m off to do some shopping this morning. I thought you might like to come with me, otherwise I'm afraid it's a morning with the painters. I'm having the external woodwork done today. It's been some time.'

‘I slept like a log. I didn't even dream. Ten minutes for a quick shower and I'll be with you, Aunty May.'

She shopped with May, all the while remembering, and in the afternoon, she wandered alone through musty rooms. Few were furnished for use. Each hour was like the page of a book opening readily, then closing with the knowledge that the book was here to be reopened at will.

May asked no questions, and Ann preferred it that way. She wasn't ready yet. Again she spent the night in the comfortable bed. No Annie. No dreams. Roger had been right. Perhaps she should marry him, go to America, let his will send all the demons away.

The following morning, May found her in the rose garden, her nose buried in lost perfumes. She was tasting dewdrops, and she laughed, caught out being a child.

‘Uncle Sam used to know all the names of these roses,' she said. ‘I used to know some of them, Aunty May. This big one is the Peace rose, isn't it?'

‘It is, dear.' May named a few more beauties. They touched the blooms, smelled buds and wandered.

The painters were back. Their scaffolding on the west side. May spoke to them for a few minutes then came to stand with Ann at the overgrown lily pond.

‘Do you remember the day Liza fell in the pond, Ann?' she said.

Ann shook her head. ‘I can't get a picture of Liza being here. For some reason, I have blocked her out of my mind.'

‘Do you remember the big bushfire up in the hills?'

Again Ann shook her head, then she turned to the hills. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘Yes. I can. Yes. The big wind. The wall of flame and the smoke ... and the fire leaves all blowing down here, and –'

‘Yes, dear. And all the cleaning up the next day. Ash and leaves everywhere. The house smelt of smoke for weeks.'

‘That wasn't long after we came, was it?'

‘Only days. Remember the blue dress I made you to wear to church that first week? I made it from one of my own frocks.'

‘I remember that dress. I've always remembered it. And the mirror. The long oval mirror. Do you remember the day we came, Aunty May, and you sat at the sewing-machine and made twelve pair of bloomers out of a sheet?'

‘I certainly do. The shops were closed and Liza kept wetting her pants.'

‘I thought you were magic. I thought you were the magic lady. Mum couldn't sew. I'd never seen anyone just cutting into material and turning it into something. It was magic. Aunty Bessy gave me her old machine when I was about eleven. I wanted to be magic too, so I did it. Just cut and sewed.'

‘Liza loved my dress-making scissors. Can you remember the day she cut up a frock I was sewing for you?'

‘Purple. I remember the dress. Purple with white smocking.' Ann's hands moved to her breast. ‘White smocking down the front, and on the tops of the pockets. I loved pockets. Did she set fire to the sewing-room curtains one day? Did I empty a vase of flowers over them?'

‘Oh, my word, yes.' They walked and they laughed and they remembered. It was easy, so easy. May was the magic lady again and she held the secret key. She was unlocking all the doors as they walked and talked an hour away.

‘And the doll I bought Liza. Remember the day she threw it in the incinerator because she wanted yours?'

‘I remember my doll. She had real hair I could comb. You bought me a tiny comb with blue birds on the handle.'

‘Did I, dear?'

‘Yes, you did. I've still got it. The doll was Emma. Emma's comb. I've always kept it.'

‘I still have Emma. She slept on the bed in the girls' room for many years before I finally packed her in a box with your books. She's in the cellar.'

‘Cellar?' Ann turned away from May's eyes, her own half closed, searching a garden suddenly grown cold.

May stepped back. She'd allowed herself to be carried away by remember games, but the cellar was forbidden territory. She looked at her watch, looked at the house. ‘The painters will be expecting morning tea soon, and I have nothing in the house. Come inside and we'll mix up a batch of scones.'

Ann turned towards the cellar as her aunt walked away. ‘Did I ... did I push Liza down some stairs one day, Aunty May?'

‘Quite the contrary, darling. She was the bully.'

‘Did we go to school down here?'

‘For a few weeks, dear.'

‘I sort of remember it. A book. It smelt ... shiny. Is the school close?'

‘A block east of the church, Ann.' May led the way to the kitchen and busied herself with flour and eggs. ‘You used to read to me from your reader every night. You loved the little poems, and you learned them so quickly.'

‘And Liza?'

‘Oh, she wasn't ... wasn't interested. She liked the television.
Do you remember the teacher? Miss Simons? She's still here.'

‘I can't even remember Liza, Aunty May. It's like she's been cut out of all the pictures of my years, and placed in a photograph frame on the wall. I can't remember what she looked like down here, what she wore. I know we slept together in tha
t bedroom, but all I can bring back is the heat of her beside me in the bed. Maybe I don't want to remember her?'

‘She was a little minx, hopelessly spoiled. A head of golden curls, and sweet small features. All pink and plump and gold was Liza, but she bit, she scratched, she screamed. Everything you owned, she wanted. It is no wonder you don't like to remember her. When you first arrived here, you shrank from her, gave her your toys, even your slippers when she screamed for them. I attempted to alter that and Liza wasn't pleased. She wouldn't have a bar of me. She preferred Sam. He ... he pandered to her every want. She was a greedy little girl – '

‘Dad used to take her away with him in the car. I know that, and she'd come home with beautiful shoes, and dresses. They all fitted me, even the shoes.'

‘Your father brought her here. He loved showing off his treasure. With no children of my own, I envied your parents.'

‘Mum put one of the dresses on me one day, and the shiny red shoes. Dad, he ... he – '

‘Would you like to look at the photographs? I have some delightful ones of you.'

‘I have to know it all, Aunty May. That's why I came back here. I've got to know what went before, or I ... I can't move forward. I feel as if I'm only half of me.'

‘It will come. Don't try to force it, sweetheart.'

‘The doll. Emma. Could you – '

‘I'll pop down and find her for you. Would you like to give the painters a call for me? Tea in the kitchen in fifteen minutes.'

The doll was as Ann had left it, a little faded, a little dusty. She straightened a small white sock, wiped dust from the shiny
black shoe. ‘Ted Crow,' she said, when the painters had climbed back to their scaffolding. ‘That name has been inside my head forever, Aunty May. Why do I know it? Who was Ted Crow?'

May shook her head.

‘Who was he, Aunty May?'

‘He ... he helped out in the garden. He ... he disappeared on the same afternoon as Liza. How much do you remember of that last day?' She waited long for the reply. Ann was staring out the window at the cellar door.

‘Nothing. Just his name and the smell of apples.'

May took the doll. Studied it long, then she said, ‘Ted Crow arrived at our back door one morning, looking for a free meal. We ... needed help at the time, dear. What do you remember about him?'

‘It's weird. It's like Liza. He's been cut out of the picture too. Just a blank white shape, but I can describe him to you. English. About forty. Sandy hair.'

‘Good Lord. You remember that?'

‘It's mad. How do I know what he looked like, but not remember the man?' Her face was pale, her eyes had grown darker. ‘Was he English, around forty?' May nodded. ‘Tell me why I know him? Why I've remembered him. What did he have to do with that day? What happened to me, Aunty May? I have to know.'

‘It is a day I have tried to forget, to put behind me. ' May stopped.

‘Please.'

When further words came from May, they were cold, emotionless. ‘Three children in town had been struck down by meningitis. My dearest friend's son was left deaf by the disease. He was only two. You and Liza were in my care. I became paranoid, darling. That last week I didn't send you to school, I was afraid to take you into town. Foolish, foolish woman. Then something so much worse happened.

‘Sam had to go to Queensland, you see. He was considering
buying a property in Queensland. The flight was booked. He had to go. He left late on the Wednesday. The next day ... The next day, I ran out of bread. I ... I left you and Liza watching a movie on television. I told you not to move. “Don't leave this room,” I said.'

‘The gardener was here?'

‘Yes. He was here ... in the rose garden. He was fond of Liza. He let her follow him around. A man of many strange moods
, but he loved beautiful things, loved the garden, and how he made it bloom. I had no reason to distrust him with you and Liza, and I was gone for less than half an hour.' May shook her head. ‘He ... he wasted no time that day.' She stood before the window, breathing deeply. ‘No time at all. I ... I was told later, by a reliable source, that he had previously shown an unhealthy interest in ... in small children. I ... I should have known. I should have known, but I didn't know.