Our Magic Hour (26 page)

‘Laisse-moi, bon sang.'

‘It's okay if a bit of water goes in your face. Your mouth was closed. It's okay.'
Sylvie clutched the lane rope. Audrey could see her standing on her tiptoes. She
tried to remember how Nick had taught her, what he'd done differently. All she could
think was how safe she'd felt. ‘I'm sorry, Maman. I'm sorry you got a fright. Maybe
I'm not the best person to teach you. Maybe we should get proper lessons.'

‘You're a good teacher,' Sylvie said. ‘I'm old and trying to learn. It takes me a
lot.'

‘I won't let anything happen to you.' They stood, warm water to their necks. ‘Do
you want to try putting your head under?'

‘Okay.'

‘Then we can go home. Let's hold hands instead of the side of the pool. We'll go
under on three, okay?'

Sylvie nodded. Audrey counted and they sank below the surface,
gripping each other's
wrists. Audrey saw her mother's face through a swarm of bubbles: eyes shut tight,
mouth sealed, hair streaming in the blue chemical space like an effigy of the sun
king.

There was a funny English word Sylvie used to describe Australian Christmases—
uncivilised
,
Audrey thought, or maybe
barbaric
; she couldn't remember. It was funny when Bernie
mimicked her, but the actual conversation was tedious, and they'd had it a thousand
times.

Audrey heard Sylvie moving around the house at six in the morning on Christmas Day.
The air was already settling warm in the rooms. The white cloth was on the dining
table, the good cutlery set out.

She went to the kitchen. ‘Merry Christmas, Maman.' Sylvie was alight, smiling, her
hands stained with beetroot juice. She pushed her hair back from her face with a
flexed palm. The bench was littered with ingredients and objects that did not match.
The room smelled of coffee and rosemary. ‘Can I do anything to help?' The cutting
board was floured. A tray of vegetables sat, sliced and seasoned, ready for the
oven. The turkey was defrosting in the sink, water rolling off its plastic skin.
Sylvie broke eggs into a bowl.

They took turns to shower. Afterwards Audrey sat on the edge of the bathtub and let
her mother plait her hair into a crown on top of her head. When Sylvie was finished
they stood before the mirror, Sylvie behind, with her hands on Audrey's shoulders,
inspecting her handiwork.
‘Voilà,'
she said, pleased, ‘like a
déesse
.' Audrey thought
that her face was too exposed, but she kept it to herself. She squeezed Sylvie's
fingers.

Before lunch Zoe taught her father how to play Go Fish, and Irène watched them. Audrey
sat on the couch, watching Irène. Bernard turned up Elvis Presley's
Blue Christmas
and crooned along with
deadpan sincerity, swivelling his hips for Hazel. Sylvie put
together the feast in the kitchen. When Audrey offered to help, she didn't seem to
hear. Her hands worked neatly; she counted and mumbled to herself as she arranged
the food. Audrey tried to cut the turkey in elegant slices, but it came away in shreds
and thin wedges.

‘I'm doing a shit job of this,' she said. ‘What do you want me to do with the stuffing?'

‘I'm going to have to toss these ones,' Sylvie murmured. She was mixing pretty vegetables,
broccolini and beans and asparagus and potatoes in butter and parsley. She pitched
the spoon at the sink. ‘
Putain
, I've forgotten the bread rolls. It shouldn't be taking
this long. Put the plates and we can serve. Which one for Zoe?'

They sat down at last.

Irène turned to Sylvie. ‘Did you forget the ham.' They did not look at each other,
mother and daughter. Sylvie pushed back her chair with the furious shame that only
women recognise. Her napkin slid to the floor.
Doesn't matter
, everyone was saying
.
We don't need the ham. There's plenty of food here
. There was nothing for Audrey
to do but she went to the kitchen anyway, stood beside her mother so that the others
couldn't see her from where they sat at the table. Sylvie's head was bowed.

Audrey reached for two plates, washed two serving forks, unwrapped the package of
ham David had bought: it was sliced ham from the supermarket, meant for packed lunches,
not Christmas lunch. Sylvie set the plates on the table. Audrey stared at her sister,
but Irène was inscrutable.

Sylvie held the baby and beamed as everyone unwrapped her gifts. They were lavish:
she gave Audrey a cashmere jumper, an enormous box of lotions and creams, a thin
gold bracelet. Audrey was confused by the excess. She thanked her mother over and
over again. She saw Bernie, Irène and David glance at one another. Sylvie was smiling.

In the bathroom Audrey washed her hands with a heavy feeling of unease. Nick used
to laugh at her for jumping at small noises, at always expecting the worst, but growing
up she'd divined her parents' moods preternaturally. Sometimes she just knew. It
helped to navigate what was coming. And yet she could not decode whatever she'd
just seen pass between her brother and sister. She wondered if Sydney had dulled
her senses.

Irène stepped in and shut the door. ‘You need to talk to her. I can't. I'm going
to say something awful. She's been borrowing money from us since October.'

Audrey was still holding the hand towel. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Since she lost her job.'

‘She told me she got a promotion. She's a team leader.'

Irène looked up at the water-stained ceiling. ‘A team leader,' she said. ‘It's not
really funny, I guess. But almost.'

‘She goes to work every day. She wears her shirt and name badge.'

‘She's not going to work, Audrey.'

‘Okay. Don't—yell at me. I had no idea.'

‘I'm not yelling.'

‘Don't
speak
to me like that. It's not my fault.'

‘I'm sorry.' Irène's arms were crossed. ‘She says she's doing more volunteer work
at the hospital. I don't know if she's looking for another job. I just thought she
might listen to you.'

Audrey thought of Sylvie pinning back her hair every morning in the hallway mirror.
Sylvie on the couch in her stockings, fiddling with her earring.
How was work, Maman?
Just the same
.

‘Please,' Irène said, ‘please.'

Audrey found her mother in the kitchen making coffee.

‘Those were really generous gifts, Maman,' she said.

Sylvie kissed her forehead. ‘I like to make my family happy.'

‘I know. And we're really grateful. But we weren't expecting anything this year.'

Sylvie spilled sugar across the bench. ‘
Qu'est-ce qui t'as dit?
Who told you about
my job?'

Audrey went to get a sponge.

‘It doesn't matter. I wasn't trying to make you feel bad, it's nothing to be ashamed
of—'

‘I'm not ashamed. Don't be patronising to me.'

‘All right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I was just saying thanks. They
were generous gifts.'

Sylvie fell back against the pantry door, arms folded.

‘Let's just enjoy the rest of the day, all right?' Audrey said. ‘Forget I mentioned
it. I'm sorry.'

Her mother wiped her hands on a tea towel. She had a look in her eye, a mindless
cruelty that was not really hers.

‘Nick has a new girlfriend,' Sylvie said. Audrey's pain was acute and fleeting. She
felt her arms go weak. Steady, recover, all in a matter of milliseconds.

‘Does he.'

‘Mm,' Sylvie said, sawing the tea towel between her fingers, ‘Adam told me.'

‘Well. As long as he's happy.'

‘I'm surprised you didn't know. Adam didn't mention it?'

‘No. He didn't.'

The coffee was made, the cups lined up along the bench. Audrey looked at her mother's
face for a very long time, and was frightened by the absence of anything tender or
regretful. She excused herself and went outside. She walked to the far end of the
property and leaned against one of the big peppercorn trees. She had to put her fist
to her mouth so she wouldn't howl.

She stayed at her sister's house that night, curled on the fold-out sofa. She read
a Bruno Schulz book from Irène's shelves, battling through pages and pages and unable
to recall in the morning a thing she'd
read. The baby cried out after two o'clock.
She saw the light go on in Irène and David's bedroom, heard their drowsy voices.

She was sitting at the kitchen table when the sun came up, drawing with Zoe's textas.
She could see the blooming sky through the French doors she'd opened onto the backyard
and through the skylight above her.
Red sky at night, sailor's delight; red sky in
the morning, sailors take warning
. The air was sweet. Irène came out in her thinning
dressing-gown and drank a glass of water standing by the sink, holding the baby.
He was awake but not crying. Irène sat down next to Audrey.

‘How did you sleep?'

‘Good, thanks
.
'

‘Could you hold Lucas? I need to get his bottle.' He squirmed slowly, moving his
legs, opening and closing his fists. His eyes focused on Audrey. His hair smelled
milky.

Irène took Lucas in her arms. He guzzled at the rubber teat.

‘He just wouldn't take the breast,' she said, and Audrey made an empathetic noise
in her throat, the noise of someone without children, who did not care. ‘I fed Zoe
until she was eighteen months old.' Audrey watched her sister expertly cradling the
baby. She picked up the black texta. She added birds to her picture, crude dilated
Ms hovering above the trees.

‘Is it good to be home?'

‘Yeah
.
'

‘Yeah, what? There was a
but
coming.'

‘No, there wasn't. I like Sydney.'

‘You like the anonymity,' Irène said, shifting the baby to her shoulder. Audrey was
surprised. Her sister gave a small smile. ‘You forget we grew up in the same house.
I'm sorry you were stuck for longer, but I was there, too.'

‘No,' Audrey said, ‘I don't forget that at all. But how do you—' The right words
fell away from her. ‘I'm happy, but I don't under
stand how you stop thinking about
it all.' She put the texta down.

‘It's hard,' Irène said. ‘Maybe Zoe helped. You have to not be so self-centred. You
can't have bad days. You work it out.'

Audrey had thought her sister understood.

‘Of course,' Irène added, ‘it was toughest for you. I just got out as soon as I could.
Bernie's such a selfish shit, he doesn't know how much time we spent looking after
him. You didn't want to leave Maman. You didn't want to leave Bern. And you didn't
want to leave Dad, either. You felt like you had to stay.'

‘No, I didn't.'

‘Yes, you did,' Irène answered. ‘You told me.'

Zoe thumped sleepily into the kitchen.

‘Morning, blossom.'

‘Morning.' She settled herself on the chair beside Audrey, leaning over to see the
picture.

‘That's really good,' she said.

Audrey laughed. ‘Thanks, Zoe.'

‘You're an
artist
.'

‘Sell it to you for fifty cents.'

‘I have thirty-six dollars,' Zoe announced, ‘from the tooth fairy and also pocket
money from Mum and Dad. And ten that
Mamie
gave me yesterday in my card. And she
gave me a cooking set and a cardigan, and two pet fish. They have to have French
names.' She slid off the chair, ran from the room.

Irène propped the baby on her lap, one hand under his chin to support the weak stalk
of his neck, the other rubbing his back rhythmically.

Audrey cleared her throat. ‘Irène, I felt sort of scapegoated yesterday.'

‘I wasn't trying to scapegoat you,' Irène said. ‘I just thought she might listen
to you. You handle her better.'

‘That's not true.'

‘It is. And I know it's not fair, but I'm so mad at her lately I can hardly look
at her.' She held the baby out to Audrey again. ‘It was harder after Lucas. You know,
you stop working, you stop seeing people. I felt like my world was very small. I
don't want to exaggerate it. I love my kids so much. It's not that.'

There was a desperation to her that made Audrey look away. ‘You don't have to justify
it,' she said.

Irène's mouth was a hard line, like in Bernie's painting. ‘I just wanted Maman to
be a normal mother. I just wanted her to ask. “
Ça va?
Is there anything I can do?
Can I look after him for a couple of hours?”' Her mouth trembled, and tightened again.
‘I mightn't have even taken her up on the offer, but she's my mother. I just wanted
her to ask. She didn't even come around. And you can't resent it, or her, because
it's not her, it's the chemicals.'

Audrey squeezed her sister's arm. ‘I'm sorry that happened.'

‘I am happy,' Irène said. ‘Don't mistake this.'

David appeared then, holding Zoe under one arm, joking about cooking her in a pot
for breakfast. She was shrieking and Irène was hissing
Sh, sh
, but they were all
laughing. The day had started without warning.

She went out with Adam for sangria at a rooftop bar, compared notes on Christmas.
Adam's garrulous extended family, the house on the farm, made for cheerful talk.

Audrey shook her head when he asked about her day.

‘Well, it must have been pretty fucked if you ended up at your sister's,' he said
at last.

‘It just sounds so petty in the retelling.'

‘Go on
.
I live for this stuff. You know that.'