Mallawindy (26 page)

Ann left Bronwyn in town and she drove away from Mallawindy. She wanted a long straight road, where no cops prowled, wanted to flatten the accelerator to the floor and
let the farm land, and farmhouses, farm fences become a grey blur. It was over. Finished.

The city of Warran looked like an advertisement for the wealth of this land when given rain and sun in the right proportions. Only twice had she been there. She drove in circles, cruising the unfamiliar streets, looking for a signpost that may point her south. Her headache left somewhere on the road, her stomach now demanded to be fed. She saw the take-away on the corner.

‘Chips,' she said. ‘Chips out of paper.'

There was a crowd already waiting, all younger than she, or older. Her generation was at home, cooking mush for babies.

That's what I need, she thought. A baby, to raise in love, and with love. Roger's baby. Roger Wilkenson the Fourth, and he'll look like Deadeye Dooley. Oh shit. What am I going to do?

Have a kid a year for two years, then a quickie divorce and no recriminations. That's if I'm not in a nut house after the first week, or an alcoholic after the second.

For five minutes she stood waiting while bodies packed in behind. Slowly she was pressed to the front of the queue.

‘Two hamburgers with the lot.'

She heard the voice behind her and ignored it. A queue jumper. Then the words were repeated, close to her ear, in her ear.

‘Two hamburgers with the lot, and toss in a few chips.'

She swung around, and their noses near brushed in the crowd. ‘David?' Her heart was swimming, drowning in her own gastric juices. ‘David Taylor. What are you doing here?'

‘I live here. More to the point, what are you doing here?'

She looked at his mouth and his eyes above his mouth, and she knew every curve, every line. Her heart beat too wildly. It filled her with its beat, dismembering words before they were spoken.

He filled the silence. ‘Been down at Mallawindy?'

‘Just to say goodbye. I'm off to America.' Tongue tied, she sought for words, then the woman called above sizzling fat, ‘Next. Next.'

‘Two hamburgers with the lot and a serve of chips,' David said.

‘We don't like queue jumpers in Melbourne. I was here before you.'

‘I can't eat two. I presume you're still addicted to chips,' he replied.

‘I live on them.'

‘They suit you.'

‘How is Melissa?' she said. Eyebrows raised, he looked at her,
his head to one side. She explained. ‘I ran into Tony George in Melbourne.'

‘Ah, ah. What's he doing these days?'

‘Selling cars,' she said, and she laughed, and he laughed, and the crowd stared, not in on the joke. But laughter ended and an embarrassed silence grew. Ann dived into the centre, needing to fill the silence. ‘I'm getting married. Five weeks away and I haven't started my dress yet. Each week I leave it, the style becomes less complicated.'

It didn't help, as the crowd of people in the confined area didn't help. Arms brushed arms, drew away. Ann concentrated her attention on the woman behind the counter; a one man army, she cooked, wrapped and made change.

‘So, who are you marrying?'

‘A Yank. His mother actually approves of me, apart from my slim hips,' she said, and it was the wrong thing to say. It brought back memories of disapproval and created another silence. What more was there to say unless she dredged up memories from the past? When in doubt, do as her mother did. Speak of the weather. ‘Wasn't it a hot one today? They reckon in Mallawindy that it's going to be a long hot summer.'

‘When the conversation deteriorates to discussing the weather, it's time to bring it to an end,' he said.

‘You're probably right.' She shrugged and tried again, knowing it would be easier if his eyes would turn away from her. ‘How are your Mum and Dad, anyhow?'

‘The same could be said of feigned interest in family members, but to answer your question, they sold up, retired to New Zealand. Dad is a New Zealander. He's got family there.'

‘Oh!' Nodding, nodding, she prayed for the hamburgers to cook in a hurry.

‘Two hamburgers with the lot, and chips,' the one woman army called.

David paid. He handed the parcel to Ann. ‘ Do you get to eat
the lot or can old friends sit in a car in the middle of the main street and share them?' His lips wore that same smile, but his eyes had lost their laughter. He looked sad, older somehow and the reply on her lips altered mid sentence.

‘It's your town. I don't have to live here.'

‘While they are gossiping about me, they are leaving some other poor sod alone.' He led the way to his car, held the door open, watched her seated, then walked to the driver's door and slid in beside her.

Together they unwrapped the food and together they attacked it as they had in the days of old. They spoke with mouths full, while tomato sauce and hamburger juice dripped onto Ann's T-shirt. David opened a glove box, neater, smaller than her own, and he handed her a box of tissues.

‘You've obviously got a tribe of kids,' she said, wiping at the stain.

‘No.' End of subject. ‘Tell me what you've been up to.'

‘Nothing to tell. I've been in Melbourne for eight years, and it gets bigger every year. I think I'll be pleased to leave it.'

‘No ring yet?' He took the hand seeking a chip.

‘It's at the jewellers.' She looked at him, shrugged. ‘It was too big, then it was too small, and now it's probably too big again. I think I'm just petrified of the thing – scared I'll lose it down a plughole. And it's a great, ugly block. He's not very tall and he's got this idea that big is beautiful. He only wants me so I can inject some long genes into the Wilkenson clan. They're all about five foot nothing.' Determinedly she removed her hand from his gr
asp, and when it was free, she tucked both hands beneath her knees, safe from his touch.

‘Where did you get to that night?'

She shrugged. ‘I rode my bike to Daree, then caught a bus to Melbourne. I've lived in a dozen or so suburbs. It's the way to get to know the place. Every time I moved, I thought I'd find Johnny living next door, but I doubt he's even in Australia. If he is, he
doesn't want to be found. Maybe I'll find him in America. I found an aunt and uncle,' she finished lamely.

‘And a fiance.'

‘And a grey hair the other day.'

‘It still looks as black and wild as I remember it.' His hand brushed the woolly mane over her shoulder, an old habit, but she swung the car door wide, the hamburger laying heavy, somewhere in her chest.

‘I must keep going. It's getting late,' she smiled. ‘Nice to see you, David. Remember me to Melissa.'

‘Where must you go?'

‘Somewhere.'

‘Stay a while. Talk to me.'

‘Melissa will have a search party out.'

‘She's holidaying with her parents in America – won't be home until January.'

‘America and January seem to go together. But I do have to go. I'm pleased I ran into you, David. Have a good life.' She picked up her bag and walked away without a backward glance.

David watched her go as he disposed of the litter. He was in his car when he heard her call. ‘Wait! My keys. I must have left them in your car.'

Their search was unsuccessful. Fingers slid between the seats. They emptied the glove box, checked the floor. ‘I hate keys. I loathe keys! Where in the name of hell did I leave them this time?'

‘Maybe in the shop.'

When she returned empty handed, David was rummaging through hamburger wrappings he'd tossed in the bin. She stood beside him, her eyes hopeful.

‘Are you sure you didn't lock them in your car?'

‘I might have, but I haven't done that for months. Have you got a screwdriver or a knife?'

‘What are you going to do with a screwdriver, hot wire it, take the door off?' His anger was sudden, and for no
He wanted to be gone, wished fervently he'd opened a can of beans and not obeyed the call of his stomach.

‘I've got a spare key behind the number plate. If you haven't got a knife, I'll borrow one from the shop.'

‘I'll have something in the boot.'

She waited while he opened the boot and found his tool-box, but instead of a screwdriver or knife, he handed her a plastic bag, dusty, sticky, full of bits and pieces. ‘Yours,' he said. ‘I cleaned out the glove box before I traded the old car in. For the small amount of time you spent with me, it is amazing how much of your life you managed to leave behind you.'

‘I shed things. You ought to see my car,' she said, her hand delving into the plastic bag in search of better days. She found a woollen glove, three combs, a photograph, a cancelled bankbook, a nest of hairpins, a reel of white thread and the blue velvet box. ‘That's not mine, you nut.'

‘I gave it to you and you tossed it in the glove box with your bobby pins.'

‘Don't be stupid.'

‘Throw it in the rubbish if you don't want it. Sell it, pawn it, stick it on your key ring if you ever find it. It's yours. I'd forgotten about it until a minute ago.'

She flipped the box open. The ring sat in a blue satin pillow. One diamond.

‘Old fashioned now,' he said.

‘I prefer a single rose bud to a vase of gladioli. I thought you'd given it to Melissa.' She locked it away from the light, handed it to him as she took the screwdriver from his hand. He aimed the tiny box at the rubbish-bin.

‘Bullseye,' he said, and he was back in the car, the motor running.

‘You can't do that,' she moaned. ‘David! You can't do that. What's happened to you? You can't throw away something precious.'

‘No? You're a great one to talk, aren't you? You invented the bloody game. Why didn't you phone me that night, or ride to Warran, to me?'

Head down, she ransacked the bin until she found the velvet box sitting on a half-eaten pie. Her eyes accusing him, she took a handkerchief from her purse, wiped the velvet clean, and walked to his window. ‘Please take it. Where is the banker I used to know, the cash coach, guardian of ten thousand postponed dreams? Take it, David.'

‘Try it on,' he said. ‘Put it on. Take it out of the box and try it on your finger – just once. Prove or disprove a point for me. Let me see if I knew you, knew your hand as well as I thought I did back then.'

‘Stop it. Stop that. The world has moved on.'

‘Not for me. Try it on. Prove me wrong. I want to be proven wrong tonight.'

Slowly she did as he asked. She tried the ring on her right ring finger, twisting the small band, attempting to force it over the knuckle, because he wanted her to. But the ring wouldn't fit. She shook her hair back from her face, her eyes huge, hurting in the near dark street, and she handed him the ring. He took it, and the hand that extended it. He slipped it easily onto her engagement finger.

‘I chose it for your left hand,' he said. ‘Right hands are always larger than the left.' His grip on her hand was strong. She stood dumbly there, her head down until the pr
essure relaxed. Then she turned and ran for her car, his ring on her finger, his screwdriver grasped in her hand.

She found her keys taunting her from the ignition. By the time she started the motor and swung around the corner, David was gone.

There were six roads leading out of Warran, but directly opposite the signposts, she sighted a licensed hotel-motel, its light blinking vacancy. She drove in, booked a room, then
walked next door to the hotel where she purchased a bottle of cherry brandy.

A fast glass, a faster shower to wash the dust away, then a second glass of cherry brandy and she was brave enough to dare all. The exchange gave her his telephone number.

‘David Taylor speaking,' he said.

‘Good evening, Mr Taylor,' she said. ‘You are one of the lucky Warran residents to be offered a night at you
r local motel, with the – '

‘I love you,' he said.

‘ – with the Mermaid girl. This is an obligation free, once in a lifetime offer, and not likely to be repeated – '

‘I love you. I have loved you from the day I first saw you and I'll die loving you. Where are you, Ann?'

‘Please present yourself at the Motor Inn, near the Dorby highway, opposite the signpost. Unit six – ' But the connection was broken.

She greeted him at the door, a glass in hand, and it was so easy to slip into his arms where she belonged, and so good. So good to feel the strength of his arms crushing her to him, and his mouth on her own, to taste his breath again, and smell the scent of him. So easy and so right.

‘Oh God,' he breathed against her lips. ‘What have we done to each other?'

‘I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry,' she said, and he kissed each word away while the drink in her hand tilted, releasing the pink stuff to trickle down his shirt. ‘Now we're both stained,' she said, reaching for a tissue. ‘Perhaps it's fitting,' and they were kissing again, her mouth as hungry as his.

Later, so much later, when the world was back in focus, he kissed her and tucked the twisted pillow beneath both heads and he pulled a blanket over their cooling flesh. She hadn't spoken, nor had he.

He wanted to cry. His throat ached with tears, and love, and
guilt, and questions he wanted to ask, but he didn't want the answers, so he held her and kept his silence.

Caught up in a marriage that was no marriage, he had built his memories of Ann into a shrine. And now she was here with him, in this bed, but getting married in January.

Why? Brides might still dress in white, but only one in a thousand made it to the altar with virginity intact. She'd almost been that one in a thousand. He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. Why? Why had she called him? ‘Why?' he finally said. ‘Why in God's name did you do it?'