Broken (8 page)

After a while, Mattie tore her eyes away from the baby and looked up at Jake, sitting on the side of the bed with his face mirroring the same marvel. Their eyes met and tacitly acknowledged the miracle they had created. Life. An independent human being capable of loving and being loved. A member of a family, part of a team. Their son
.

M
attie walked the children to school the following morning. It was such a beautiful spring day, cool but with a crisp clarity that was invigorating, it seemed almost criminal to take the car when she was in no rush to go anywhere else. In fact, for the first time in years, the day stretched out before her with barely any demands at all. The Centrelink forms were all signed and the unit was so compact that keeping it clean took hardly any time, nor was there any need to do gardening anymore. Or repaint a wall, or file paperwork, or iron Jake's collection of business shirts. And the fact that she had only just moved in meant that there were no cupboards to be cleaned out, or linen to be reorganised, or bathrooms to be scrubbed.

It was a strange feeling, heady with indolence and intrinsic guilt. But she determined to enjoy it while she could and, after the children were safely delivered, continued her walk down towards the Mont Gully town centre. There, she window-shopped and browsed her way along the main street, going inside the pet shop and looking at the puppies that wrestled amongst the straw and leapt against their glass enclosures to attract her attention. For a moment she toyed with the idea of buying one now and pre-empting Jake, but the possible consequences of this stilled her hand. This thought allowed the altercation with Jake to filter through her defences, so she shored them up again and ignored the sick feeling that had come with it.

The shops finished at a huge intersection that guided a flood of
traffic along Burwood Highway and around the town. Mattie crossed at the lights there, intending to continue her stroll back in the direction she'd come, but instead her eye was drawn to the huge pastel mural adorning the community centre that, alongside the local library, was set back from the main shopping strip behind a grassy verge with park benches and a winding gravelled path. The mural featured an array of active figures – a man with a small boy astride his shoulders, a woman pushing a pram with a happily waving baby, a builder with a ladder under his arm, a pair of schoolchildren running along hand-in-hand. The figures stretched from the entrance and around the edge of the community centre, finishing with the schoolchildren and a leg kicking back in front of them that belonged to the next character, most of which was obviously on the rear wall. Underneath the figures, rippling up and down beneath their feet, was a stream of deliberately childish red lettering that read:
It's
your
community – so come on! Get connected!

Mattie stared at the mural, and the lettering, for quite a while. She'd been past the community centre countless times, either on her way into town or out, or when taking the children to the library, or just during her weekly shopping trips. And if someone had asked her to describe it, she would have been able to give a detailed description of the building, the mural, and probably even the message. Yet never had she
really
read it. Or perhaps, more to the point, never had it really meant anything.

Get connected. That was exactly what she needed to do. Establish roots that went a little deeper than they did at the moment so that she could thrive, blossom. With the gravel scrunching under her shoes, Mattie walked up the meandering pathway towards the community centre. Once there she pushed open the glass door before she could have second thoughts and entered the foyer. It had a crowded, busy feel, even though she was the only person there. To her right was a wall holding rack upon rack of leaflets about subjects ranging from apprenticeships to sexually transmitted diseases, while straight ahead was a huge noticeboard with glossy posters and small handmade signs thumbtacked onto every spare space. Posters about health issues
(Violence against women – Australia says no!)
and photocopies advertising local events
(St Mary's fete – be there!)
as well as laboriously printed
scraps pleading for the return of family pets
(Lost! Ben, a five-year-old German Shepherd – family grieving. Reward offered)
.

An exercise or dance class was in progress somewhere in the building, judging from the faint beat of music and the occasional hollow litany of foot thumps. To Mattie's right, next to the racks, was a passageway leading further into the centre and to her left was a window with a sliding glass panel set into it and a sign above reading Community Advisory Centre, with a smaller sign underneath instructing people to ‘Ring if Unattended'. There was a silver bell sitting on the narrow window ledge.

As soon as she walked over, Mattie could see there was no need to use the bell as the office was occupied by a woman currently on the phone. She was large and middle-aged, with copper-tipped brown hair cut in a severe bob that contrasted oddly with the softness of her rounded features. She noticed Mattie standing at the window and smiled, rolling her eyes to indicate that she was trying to wind up the call. While waiting Mattie occupied herself by reading some of the notices on the board ahead. Next to Ben's ‘missing' poster was a notice from Tamara offering her babysitting services and another from Wendy detailing her house-cleaning skills. After a minute or so, the woman in the office hung up the phone and came over to the window, sliding back the glass panel with the rattling sound of ballbearings rolling smoothly.

‘Sorry ‘bout that.' She folded her arms on the inside ledge and rested her ample bosom on them, smiling cheerfully at Mattie. ‘My name's Beryl. How can I help you?'

‘Well, I've just, um-well, ended up with more spare time on my hands than usual and I thought I'd like to do, maybe some voluntary work or something?'

‘That's excellent!' said Beryl enthusiastically. ‘We always need more volunteers. And there's
heaps
of different things you can do. Did you have anything particular in mind?'

‘Not really.' Mattie glanced around for inspiration. ‘Um, what about what you're doing? Is that voluntary?'

‘Absolutely! And you'd be more than welcome, that's for sure. Now,
you'd need to do a course in community service but it's great fun. You'll enjoy it. And you get a diploma too! It's a proper course, y'know. Accredited.'

‘How long does it go for?' asked Mattie a bit doubtfully.

‘Only a couple o' months. And you don't go every day Here, I'll get you the paperwork and you can have a good gander at home.' Beryl hoisted herself away from the ledge and ambled over to a filing cabinet, the middle drawer of which was already open with a stack of papers piled precariously on top. Beryl rummaged through the pile, grunting with success when she located what she was after. She came back over to the window and passed a couple of stapled A4 pages through to Mattie. ‘There you go then. That'll tell you all you need to know. But mind you don't give up on the idea if you don't think this is what you're after, because there's all sorts of other things. Meals on Wheels, literacy programs, reading to the elderly. And much more.'

‘Thanks.' Mattie smiled her appreciation as she folded the paper in half.

‘But y'know, just between you and me –' Beryl leant forward conspiratorially – ‘I reckon this here's one of the best. You get to meet some real interesting types.'

‘What sort of things do you do?' asked Mattie curiously.

‘Oh, you name it! Lots of people come in off the street, like you, asking about sports around here, or clubs they can join. Stuff like that. We also get a lot o' council queries, and complaints too! Then there's the phone! Never stops!'

‘People ring up then?' prompted Mattie, reluctant to end the discussion.

‘All the time. Some real sad cases. Lonely people – we've got a few regulars. They know who's on when and they've got their favourites. Then there's the shy ones. And the desperate. They're the worst of all. No money, or food.'

‘What do you do for them?'

‘We put most of those onto the charities. Salvos or whatever. Every now and then you get something unexpected.' Beryl grinned, obviously relishing this facet. ‘Like the other week this young girl walks in off
the street with a baby and a suitcase. She'd come from interstate, had nowhere to go. Just hopped on a train and split! Y'know, between you and me, I reckon she was running away from some bloke.'

‘That's terrible.'

‘Yeah, but gutsy too, don't you reckon?' Beryl continued without waiting for an answer. ‘She wasn't saying why she shot through but I sent her over to the DV outreach anyway. They'll organise her till she finds her feet.'

‘What's a DV outreach?' asked Mattie curiously.

‘Well, DV's domestic violence of course. And the main centre's in town so they have outreach services for us in the suburbs. But the point is,' Beryl indicated the folded paper in Mattie's hand just as the phone rang from within the office – ‘you'll have a ball. Trust me.'

‘Well, thanks for your help.'

‘No problem. Hopefully we'll be seeing you soon!'

Mattie moved away as Beryl slid the window closed and then made her way back to her chair where she picked up the telephone again. Hesitant to leave just yet, Mattie only went as far as the noticeboard where she started perusing the signs more thoroughly. She absently straightened Ben's ‘missing' poster while she wondered if he'd ever been found, or whether Tamara received any babysitting jobs, or whether Wendy actually made a living from cleaning other people's houses. And did anybody ever respond to the notices about the dangers of smoking while pregnant, and breast examinations, and domestic violence? What about requests for people to join a weightloss support group, or help out with the community newspaper, or hold a Tupperware party?

Mattie's eyes flicked back to the little printed square extolling the virtues of a Tupperware party and, as she read it through again, a brilliant idea seeded itself in her mind. Not a Tupperware party, but something party-plan, something a bit different. The excuse to do something proactive, to ring up old friends and maybe turn those who were just acquaintances into actual friends. And it wouldn't matter if not too many came, because with party-plan it was acceptable to have any number between three and thirty. It wasn't like throwing an actual
party where numbers made a statement that could be lethal. No, this was foolproof. It was perfect.

The day passed quickly. After leaving the community centre, Mattie stopped off at the library and researched party-plan options on the Internet. She left feeling even more motivated, with a list of possibilities as well as a couple of novels and a leaflet about a book club that met once a month. When she got home, she made herself a cup of coffee and got to work. First, she narrowed her list of possibilities down to three and then spent some time mulling over them before choosing her favourite. Called Whimsicalities, it offered an eclectic mix of pottery, giftware and ‘whimsical knick-knacks' that were ‘absolutely guaranteed to entertain you and your friends'. Mattie made the call, reaching the consultant on her mobile and booking a party for a Saturday afternoon in three weeks' time, in mid-November. The consultant, Sharon, gave her a rather breathless spiel about the range of products and promised to drop some invitations around soon. Mattie hung up, feeling an odd mix of trepidation and triumph.

She spent most of the afternoon happily making lists. A list of people to invite, a list of food to serve, a list of groceries to purchase. It was fun. And she felt invigorated, both by the knowledge that things were starting to fall into place, and by the awareness that she was helping them along. Being proactive. After the lists were more or less complete, Mattie left them on the table and started carrying the folded cardboard boxes from the laundry to the garbage bins. There, she systematically tore them into smaller pieces to fit inside the large blue-lidded recycling bin.

The weather was as pleasant as it had been that morning, and Mattie was just considering tidying her small garden when she noticed an older woman walking slowly down the main concrete driveway towards the bank of letterboxes out by the road. Mattie stood by the garbage bins and watched the woman approach, and then impetuously decided to add to her list of steadily growing accomplishments by introducing herself to her first neighbour. She ran her fingers through her hair and then walked nonchalantly across towards the letterboxes.

The woman, who was unlocking a metal flap at the rear of number two, turned as Mattie approached and watched her curiously. She was dressed casually, in a pair of black pants and a grey and black checked windcheater jacket that was buttoned up all the way to her neck. She was also older than Mattie had first thought, with a deeply lined face and light grey hair that curled softly over her head.

‘Hello,' said Mattie, with a welcoming smile as she made a show of checking her own letterbox, which she already knew was empty.

The woman glanced down at the brass number adorning Mattie's letterbox and then back. ‘Ah. You must be the new one,' she said, in a rather strong accent that Mattie guessed was German. ‘Just moved into unit one, have you?'

‘That's right. My name's Mattie.'

‘Hilda.' She smiled at last, her multitude of facial lines deepening. She turned and gestured towards the unit that backed onto Mattie's. ‘From just behind you.'

‘Nice to meet you,' said Mattie.

Hilda's black-button eyes flicked over Mattie and settled back on her face, all in an instant. She nodded, as if in approval. ‘You have nice little children. I spoke to them yesterday when they were out in your yard. Very nice. Polite.'

‘Would you like a cup of coffee?' asked Mattie impulsively, astonishing even herself.