Slights (4 page)

I found so many things when digging in the backyard. The pile grew by the back door, then I rinsed each item in the laundry sink. I found an old, squashed bottle top, a broken piece of an LP record, a fabric poppy and a little metal Dogs of War lunch box, one of those airtight boxes which buckle when kids sit on them. Inside were the remnants of a sandwich and an ancient box of raisins. People would pay money for these things, if I could wipe the rot off. I remembered a boy at school who'd had a lunch box like this. Little Pauly, who liked me, wanted to be me. It was a simple kiss, but I didn't know what to call it. I sat on my Dad's lap and whispered in his ear. "Pauly touched me in a funny way."

  Dad squeezed me until I cried out. "Don't cry, baby. No one will ever hurt you."

  It was the school holidays and I thought nothing more of Pauly. A week into the holidays, though, his face began to appear on the TV between the cartoons and in the paper, which Dad didn't let us see, but we saw it everywhere anyway.

  "There's Pauly!" I said. I couldn't wait to get back to school to see my famous friend. My Dad had to work very hard for the next few days, because Pauly was missing. He had gone for a ride on his bike, all prepared with his Dogs of War lunch box and he was never seen again. I soon forgot Pauly and his kiss.

I dug and I found a whistle, a small bell, a foam ball and a compass.

My licence was taken from me. I had a difficult interview with my employer about keeping my job open.

  He said, "You may be popular with the customers, but we need clean drivers here. You can't run a courier company with dodgy drivers. Even if you work the phones till you get your licence back, it's on your record."

  "I'm not a dodgy driver." I was the most cheerful of all the drivers, a joke with every parcel delivered. I loved the job.

  It wasn't hard to be cheerful. People are desperate for a smile; they like you to be nice to them. Some of the regular clients gave me gifts. Books, perfume, stuff they probably got for nothing. They never asked me out or tried anything, though they pushed their kidding as far as it would go.

  So I lost my job and my mode of transport in one. And my mum, of course. I lost her too. My car was towed to my place rather than the tip. I couldn't stand the thought of it being discarded.

  "Nothing came up, I take it?" He was in casual clothes, I had seen him for a few hours half a year ago, yet he expected me to recognise him. Well, I've got an eye for faces.

  "Hello, Laurie. Not much," I said.

  "I wondered if you'd like to go see a movie or something," he said. "Just if you weren't doing anything."

  I saw, in a sudden flash, the two of us having a drink after the movie. Him saying shit about it, me not being able to think of a word. And what movie would we see, anyway? I knew he wouldn't like my kind of movie. And what would I say if he wanted me back at his place? I wouldn't know where the toilet was, how the fridge worked, how warm the heater made the place.

  "Why don't you come in and we'll talk about it?"

  He smiled.

  "Are you off duty then? Do you want a beer?" I said.

  "Sure."

  It turned out he had a flatmate, so we always went to my place. I had things there just in case, so I could say, "I've got some brandy at my place, why don't we go there?" Or it was chocolate cake, or a DVD, something I could entice him with. I could say I'd left my contraception at home, but he used condoms anyway and wouldn't understand my caution. Knowing him, he might say, "Don't worry, we'll just hold each other," and that would be irritating. It was the usual trouble, though. Why do things have to change? He started wanting more of me, friendship, confession, emotion, and I didn't want a best friend. I didn't know how to tell him, so I just said he was a dud root. I didn't think I'd ever need him as a cop so I didn't care. He took it well, anyway.

  "I thought we had something," he said.

  "Maybe we could have," I said, to give him something to dream about, "but I just feel repelled by the shape of your penis. Not even hypnosis could help me get over that."

  He kept in contact. Called me when he met women, said, "They don't think I'm funny looking."

  I did call him once, professionally. My neighbours, the Rat Traps, complained about the noise I was making. It was only music. So I threw a rock through their window. Only it was the wrong neighbours, so they complained too. The police arrived; I called Laurie.

  "I didn't know what to do," I said.

  "I'll be right there." And he was. He talked to the other cops and it was fine. I thanked him by smiling at him and telling him how much I missed him, how sometimes I wondered what could have been.

  He never asked me about the boys I'd babysat, and I didn't mention the steps Lee and I had taken. They didn't need to know about the sexual fumblings we played at. They shouldn't think he was in my power. He had been, though. Right from the first time, when I was sixteen. The father, Mr Walsh, always picked me up and drove me home. He was a talkative, ugly man with spiky blond hair far too young for him, who would ask me about school and not notice if I didn't answer. Gab gab gab, not even flattering me by trying to impress me. I was just a set of ears. If he'd read a good book I'd hear half of it on the way there, half on the way back. Even mystery books – he'd tell me the whole thing. I finally shut him up when he was reading
And Then There Were None
, the Agatha Christie one. "I'm only half-way through but by golly it's good. Can't believe I never read it as a youngster, maybe it was a little risqué. I don't know. Anyway…" Blah blah blah he said she said.

  When we reached their house I told him who did it. He almost cried. He left the motor running, sat in the car waiting for his wife to emerge. She never shut up, either, always talking back instructions to people who didn't listen. They were going to a party. "Just a duty thing, we'll be home in a couple of hours," but these two never were. I could imagine it: "We really must go, oh, is that new?" "Yes, isn't it marvellous? Such a bargain, too, and there's only twenty thousand of them in the world."

  Whatever it was would keep the women talking, so he'd get another drink and find another victim. They loved it. I'd seen them in action at my place, poor Mum trapped and almost tearful at the assault.

  Their son Tim was eight then and at the TV and he didn't look up the first time I showed. Lee was sitting on the couch, watching his brother watch TV.

  "Hi, Lee," I said. He looked at me. I smiled.

  He said, "You didn't make the joke."

  "What, hi lee contagious or something?"

  "Everyone makes the joke," he said. He smiled at me. He pulled a cigarette packet out of his pocket and began to toss it up and down, spinning it higher and higher.

  Tim changed the channel. It was close to adult viewing hours and I let him watch anything. He liked documentaries, and movies. We saw one about a Civil War and he wanted to know where the men were taking the woman.

  "How come she doesn't get to die?" he said.

  I said, "They'll probably rape her and then kill her."

  "Oh," he said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable thing. Who knew what he had seen? There are family events no one ever discusses. We certainly had enough in our family.

  I said, "Anything to eat?"

  "I'll have a look," Lee said. I followed him to the kitchen.

  "There's heaps if you know how to cook," he said. I realised how perfect his skin was, how red his cheeks. He looked so young, but he had a man's voice.

  "I don't cook," I said. I opened the fridge and stared in. It was a horrible fridge, full of veggies, milk, meat, cheese. I would never be old enough to think that all meant food.

  "Have they got any money?" I said. Tim was with us now, using an instinct I had to admire.

  Lee shrugged. "They hide it from me."

  Tim said. "There's grocery change in the linen press and Dad's change in his drawer. He's got a magazine there, too."

  I laughed. "Your future girlfriends," I said. Tim reddened.

  "I haven't looked," he said.

  "Of course you haven't." I didn't intend to tease him but I couldn't resist. "So do you like the boozies or the furry bits?" I said.

  Lee laughed like a pistol. "Ya wanna fuck one?" he said. There was more cruelty in his voice than in mine. I was just having fun. He began threading the needle, in and out, one forefinger through the circle of his thumb and other forefinger. He made an ugly, sucking noise.

  "Oh, yes, that's just what it's like," I said. I hoped he knew I meant it wasn't, that I knew he had never had sex and had no idea what it was like.

  He stopped and stared at me. He seemed to realise that I wasn't a babysitter, I was an older woman.

  "Wanna smoke?" he said. Tim sucked in his breath, shocked. "You're not allowed," he said.

  "Go collect the money and we'll get some pizza," I said. He went to disturb the sanctity of his parent's bedroom. Lee and I went outside. We sat on the swings.

  "You'll have to teach me how to do the drawback," I said. He gave me one of his strong cigarettes. I had not even had a puff before; this seemed like the perfect time to learn. He was trying to be cool but he was in awe; he wouldn't laugh at me.

  "You'll cough the first time," he said, a kindness which made me forgive him cruelties in the future.

  "Close your lips around it all the way."

  "Like a dick?" I said. He didn't know.

  "Now just kinda breathe in, but only through your mouth. You haveta pretend it's air."

  Tim came and watched us smoke. He sat crosslegged on the grass, fascinated at this glimpse of the adult world. I took to smoking as easily as I did driving. We got pizza and more cigarettes, we watched a true murder mystery on TV.

  I babysat those boys for a good two years.

  It all changed after Mum died. The Walshes forbade me visiting once their precious boys had been interviewed by the police. I had placed their children in the path of the law, and that was not suitable. Lee called me; he loved it. He was big time; he'd been questioned by the cops.

  "Ya shoulda heard me. I raved about you and your Mum. I kept hoping I was saying the right things. I mean, you never even mentioned your Mum. I told them you always raved about her, said how much you loved her. I told them all these little stories I said you used to tell us; about outings, little adventures or something. And Tim told them you showed him hundreds of pictures of her. That was good wasn't it?"

  I was a little stunned. I knew they'd done me a favour; the cops would give up the idea that maybe it wasn't an accident after all. But it shocked me they would think it was necessary. Did they have discussions and decide I needed saving? What had they seen which made them think I was capable of killing my mother? I missed the babysitting, but we kept in touch. I liked being with those two. They thought I was something special; always did. That was worth plenty.

at nineteen

I was still a child at nineteen. Up until the day my mother died she looked after me. Shopping was the worst without her. I never even watched her do it, never went with her. Now I didn't have my car, or my licence. How could they take my licence away? And tell me I was supposed to be grateful for it? I could never find the right change for the bus and I hated sharing transport. To quote Prince Charles, "
People
do that." And I could never figure out the protocol of the aisles in the supermarket. There's a certain end to start at, a certain direction you're supposed to go, or else people glare.

  I wondered how Mum had done it every week; she was not a clever woman, yet somehow she returned home with bread and tins, ham, spices, fresh chicken, eggs. She only shopped in the supermarket, and she always said, "If you learn nothing else from me but this, it's okay. Supermarkets have high turnover of fresh food. They can afford to buy the best. You can't get that from those grubby little shops." Her joy increased as supermarkets grew. She'd come home with bags of jars and new vegetables, three different cuts of beef, herbs to crush, cheeses, "Would you look at this?" I never found it very interesting.

  Which is probably the thing. If I was interested in the details of food, buying, cooking, perhaps shopping wouldn't be such hell. I just like to eat the food. On the days when there was not much food left, before she did a big shop, she'd make golden syrup dumplings. I never have golden syrup, or flour. I can't remember to buy them.

  I miss her golden syrup dumplings. She did them just right.

  Shopping really was a bore, and so irritating I pulled half my hair out. There seemed to be some sort of politeness I wasn't interested in. You were supposed to shuffle quietly behind the people in front; but that's just time wasting. On one visit, the man in front was so slow I trod on his heel and he stepped half out of his shoe. When I finally made it to the check out, an old woman was there before me, and she fumbled in her bag, fumble fumble, so I stepped in front, saved myself probably twenty minutes. I left the right money on the counter and walked away. Perhaps the check-out chick sighed at me; perhaps not. If I used a credit card people sighed and huffed, so I used a credit card. I can't help but feel angry at my mother whenever I have to shop. I'm too busy to fend for myself. I've got too many important things to do to shop amongst the nobodies and keep my place clean. Carpets are meant to be dirty; that's what they're made for. Filthy feet, rolling about. Not to eat off.

My activities caused some interest in the street. Mrs Di Matteo stuck her nose about, watching me dig, looking for clues that I was crazy, until I called her an old bag. She was not impressed; I don't think she's much more than forty.