Harlequin Rex (35 page)

Over
several
visits
he
continued
to
call
into
the
salon,
at
first
just
putting
his
head
around
the
chipped,
blue
doorway
for
a
few
words
with
both
of
them
before
going
over
to
the
hotel,
but
then
Rebecca
began
going
for
a
coffee
with
him
on
her
break.

‘Just
as
long
as
you
realise
you'll
get
nothing
out
of
me,
you
know.
I'm
married.
'
And
she
held
up
a
large
hand
with
its
very
modest
band.
‘All
clear
on
that?'

‘Sure
,'
said
David.
‘It's
just
nice
to
have
someone
to
talk
to
on
the
days
I
come
through.
'

So
it
was,
but
David
imagined
that
Rebecca
must
often
have
been
bored
with
hairdos,
in
a
town
of
a
few
thousand
people
whose
claim
to
fame
was
the
sperm
whales
passing
offshore.
He
told
her
stories
of
Australia
and
Europe,
some
of
them
his
own,
some
borrowed
to
impress.
He
knew
he
was
making
progress
when
she
asked
him
not
to
come
to
the
salon
any
more;
that
she'd
meet
him
at
the
beach
frontage,
or
the
corner
past
the
hotel.
It
showed
that
she'd
become
aware
that
it
could
seem
they
were
meeting
for
sex,
and,
because
she
persisted
despite
that,
the
possibility
of
it
being
so
was
tacitly
admitted.
‘I
don't
mind
meeting
to
talk,
'
she
said,
‘just
as
long
as
you
know
you
won't
get
anything
out
of
me.
'
Again
he
avoided
the
cheap
and
obvious
rejoinder.

In
a
prosaic
sort
of
way
she
was
quite
interested
in
his
life:
where
he
lived,
how
efficient
a
housekeeper
he
was
for
himself,
why
he
had
given
up
farming,
the
expense
of
travelling
overseas.
Her
own
talk
was
of
the
salon,
and
gradually,
increasingly,
her
home
circumstances.
There
wasn't
anything
else. J
eanne
was
okay
to
work
for,
but
there
weren't
any
opportunities,
Rebecca
said,
no
future
in
it,
not
at
all.
Her
husband
was
a
crayfisherman,
but
didn't
have
a
boat,
or
quota,
of
his
own.
Fishing
was
getting
tougher.
‘It's
all
a
percentage
catch
sort
of thing,'
she
said.

Sometimes
they
sat
on
the
marram
grass
and
shingle
bank
by
the
sea;
sometimes
they
would
sit
in
the
truck
cab
at
the
lookout,
or
by
the
seal
colony.
The
more
it
was
obvious
they
had
little
in
common,
the
more
he
relaxed,
and
the
more
she
appealed
to
him.
He
wanted
only
one
sort
of
contact
with
her;
nothing
else
to
give
purchase
on
either
side
for
sensitivity,
or
obligation,
or
pain.

Rebecca's
Nan
was
in
her
eighties,
almost
completely
cut
off
from
life
by
Alzheimer's
disease.
We
begin
by
being
enshrined
in
our
bodies,
and
end
by
being
imprisoned
there.
She
had
a
small
unit
by
the
overhead
bridge,
and
David
and 
Rebecca
first
met
there
on
a
day
the
southerly
made
it
too
cold
for
the
foreshore,
or
even
the
cab
of
the
truck.
‘I
have
to
do
her
hair
later,
you
see,'
said
Rebecca
as
additional
justification.

‘Is
it
a
stew
today?'
asked
the
old
woman
as
David
entered
the
living
room.
‘I
hate
any
meat
disguised
with
a
gravy.
You
never
know
what's
gone
into
it,
do
you.'
She
wasn't
sick,
but
her
voice
had
the
terminal
hoarseness
of
old
age,
and
her
stockinged
feet
were
uneven
and
discoloured,
like
a
bag
of
marbles.

‘She
thinks
you're
Meals
on
Wheels,'
Rebecca
explained.

‘No,
no,
meat
should
be
cooked
alone
and
plainly
visible,'
said
Nan
firmly,
as
though
Rebecca
had
been
sticking
up
for
stew.

‘Nice
to
meet
you,'
said
David.

‘I'll
just
make
your
bed,
Nan,
then
we'll
have
a
cuppa
together.
'

There
was
just
the
toilet-cum-bathroom,
a
sitting
room
with
its
annex
kitchenette,
and
the
one
single
bedroom
into
which
the
old
woman's
country
marriage
bed
was
shoe
horned
so
that
there
was
barely
space
to
walk
around
the
walls.
Rebecca's
Nan
talked
of
the
eleven
pieces
of
junk
mail
she'd
received
that
very
morning,
while
David
followed
her
granddaughter
into
the
bedroom.

‘Stop
it,'
said
Rebecca
when
he
came
close
behind
her
and
gripped
her
hips,
but
all
that
was
gathered
in
the
room
of
hopelessness,
loss
and
decay
became
the
powerful
incitement
to
defiance.
‘She's
just
out
there,
and
I
have
to
be
back
to
help
Jeanne
by
two,'
but
she
was
easily
toppled
from
the
alley
alongside
the
bed
on
to
the
handmade
quilt
of
her
Nan's
life,
which
smelled
of
Deep
Heat,
unwashed
wool
and
exhalations
of
bewilderment.
‘What
on
earth
would
I
want
with
power
tools,
even
at
half
price,'
said
Rebecca's
Nan.
Rebecca
tried
to
close
the
door
completely
with
a
kick,
but
David
was
already
sitting
on
her
to
undo
her
salon
smock,
her
blouse,
her
skirt.
She
knew
it
was
no 
use
showing
him
her
wedding
ring
again.

‘Easy
on
now,'
she
said.
‘Easy
on.
Nan's
just
out
there.'
She
had
a
wide,
white
belly
with
the
umbilical
twist
like
a
small
delicacy
on
an
uncooked
pastry
top,
and
a
pink
welt
beneath
her
breasts
from
the
edge
of
the
bra.

‘They
clog
up
the
box
for
the
good
mail,'
said
the
old
woman.
‘I
don't
want
any
hot-air
balloon
rides.
I
don't
want
country
and
western
music,
exercise
bars,
or
trolleys
to
wind
up
garden
hoses.'

Rebecca
made
little
noise
during
it.
Her
head
went
progressively
back
with
an
open-mouthed
smile.
The
old
woman's
walking
stick
tapped
with
unaccustomed
and
poltergeistal
energy
on
the
bed
end
where
it
hung,
and
Rebecca
brought
her
heavy
arms
and
legs
around
David's
back
to
restrain
his
efforts
to
get
maximum
height
for
each
plunge.