Thrown Down (3 page)

Before too long she managed to get herself a job in a snack bar used by truck drivers, some of whom were local guys and some were from interstate, but all had large appetites and many of them thought they were God’s bloody gift to women. Dennis had been a local Melbourne boy who did some interstate stuff as far as Canberra and Sydney.  She knew that Dennis had noticed her in that way that men do because of all the looks and the way his eyes went up and down her. He called her ‘freckles’ because the sun that she was so unused to had brought them out all over her face. Her strawberry blond hair had also become a little lighter since she’d arrived ‘down under’. She had a good thing going with some of the other boys who teased her rotten but she could give as good as she got and all the time they were playing their games Dennis would hover in the background without saying anything, just observing and sending her a nod and a wink from time to time. Dennis was a couple of years older than Patricia although they were both still in their early twenties. She loved the way he strutted around in his jeans and his seemingly endless collection of checked patterned shirts. He had a sexual allure about him that she’d never come across before with his dark hair and dark eyes and what was, to her, such a funny accent.

Dennis finally got around to asking her out one Thursday afternoon back in 1977 when the rest of the snack bar team were attending a party to celebrate the Queen’s silver jubilee. Patricia hadn’t wanted to attend. Her Irish Republican instincts were still too strong to get any pleasure out of celebrating the British crown but instead of giving her real reasons she just told her work mates that she should work so that the rest of them could go because she was the last one in. She thought it was only fair. Dennis came in and put some coins in the juke box. Seconds later the sound of Dusty Springfield singing ‘The Look of Love’ filled the place and Dennis took her in his arms and they started dancing.  She did genuinely fall in love with him and went out with him for all the right reasons. But more than that, by getting together with Dennis she’d be laying down the kind of roots that would remove her from her past forever. When Dennis asked about her family back in Ireland she told him they were ‘all gone’ and that she’d been an only child. She didn’t like lying to him but she couldn’t tell him the truth. And yet he trusted her. He never questioned anything of the brief story she told him.   

The pregnancy test six months later was positive so Dennis said he’d ‘do the right thing’ and marry Patricia as soon as they could organise it. Not that he hadn’t wanted to. As soon as he met her he knew that she was the only girl for him so it wasn’t exactly difficult to say his vows in church and his family embraced Patricia almost as one of their own. Then when their son Shane came along they were well on their way. Shane was joined a couple of years later by his sister Phoebe and then two years after that Michael came along. They’d all done well for themselves and Dennis and Patricia often joked about how they could possibly have bred three such clever kids. Shane now worked as a lawyer for a local firm based in Melbourne. He was married and had given them their two gorgeous little grandkids, Peter and Lauren. Phoebe was married but was devoted to her career in teaching for the time being and didn’t want children yet. Michael was training to be a nurse and lived in the city with his girlfriend Summer. She didn’t have to worry about any of them. But she did because she was their Mum.

She remembered how strong her own Mammy had been.  Night after night she and her sisters had listened as one of her brothers got the living daylights lashed out of him by their father and his belt. There’d been so much violence in their household growing up. But her Mammy had stayed upright throughout it all even when their father turned his fists on her. She was a hero in Patricia’s eyes. Her halo would never slip. The only fault she would lay at her mother’s door was the covering up of everything that went on in the house. All the rows, all the fights, all the violence given out by their father, none of it would ever be spoken about. It was all swept under the carpet and she thought her Mammy would never be comfortable in today’s world where everybody seems to think its right to confess all. Not that Patricia would ever do that herself. There were some things you should never confess to.  

The violence didn’t end at their front door. They lived a couple of blocks back from the Falls road and the violence was everywhere as soon as they stepped out onto the street. They were a besieged community. They’d had the guts to stand up to the British liars and pigs but they’d paid a bloody high price for it. But still Mammy would never speak a word of badness against the British soldier who would treat her like an animal if she looked at him the wrong way when she was making her way down the street. It had been that outside violence and the causes for it that had inspired Patricia to go down the path that led to her leaving Belfast in the end.

She stopped at some traffic lights and her head was swirling around with memories of that far distant world of her upbringing. It was all so different from the life she had now and sometimes she wondered how on earth she’d managed to get here. Who from those early days would recognise the respectable married woman she’d now been for almost forty years? Her marriage to Dennis had been solid throughout and neither of them had sought company elsewhere. He’d been an absolute godsend. They’d had their ups and downs like most couples but there’d never been a time when they thought they might not get through whatever crisis was happening at the time. Money had been short at times when the economy had been in recession and the demand to have truckers take goods around the country had dipped. But that’s when Patricia had pulled her weight and got herself work doing all sorts of stuff from postal sorting to supermarket checkout just to keep the family’s head above water and avoid the need to dip into their savings. They’d survived. They’d got through. Dennis was good with money and he’d made sure they had a good enough pension to provide the comfortable retirement they were enjoying now. She’d also always been relieved that Dennis had never asked her questions about her past. When they first met he’d just accepted her story that she’d ran away from Northern Ireland because of the troubles and been desperate to start a new life and that she had no family. He’d never questioned what had happened to them and on the rare occasions when the subject did come up he said that if she ever did want to tell him he’d be ready to listen but he’d never push her into telling him. Now they were going to grow old together and sit on the back porch each summer evening with a beer or a glass of wine in hand. Patricia counted her blessings alright. She was as psychologically distant from her early days back home as she was in sheer physical distance from the streets she learned to navigate in ways that would avoid death.

She parked her car and picked up her handbag and her empty shopping bag before proceeding towards the supermarket entrance. Even with her dark sunglasses on she couldn’t help but see Marjorie Reynolds walking up to her with her usual all embracing smile. God, why did it have to be her she bumped into? She couldn’t stand her. She’d only asked her and her husband Reginald to her sixtieth because Marjorie was a friend of a friend and it had been one of those things that had seemed like politeness. It was like looking at someone who’d just stepped through a time slip from the 1950s. Marjorie always wore high collar blouses and skirts that were never above her knee. Her hair was the same kind of old fashioned Doris Day style too and her makeup was always blue eye shadow applied with about as much care as a two-year old could muster. The whole ensemble was finished off with a pair of oh so comfortable court shoes. It wasn’t just that Patricia couldn’t stand her. She actually hated her and wanted to find the nearest shopping trolley to ram her with.

‘Hi Patricia!’ gushed Marjorie. ‘Suffering from the consumption of too much alcohol I see’.

God, the woman had the knack of making everything sound like you should put yourself on the naughty step.

‘Well the champagne was flowing rather freely, Marjorie as you know’.

‘Yes and that’s precisely why I didn’t indulge or let Reginald indulge either. Whenever someone puts cash behind a bar it always ends in casualties like the way you’re feeling now’.

Poor Reginald, thought Patricia. He and Marjorie had been married for years but they’d had no children. Patricia sometimes wondered if they’d ever actually had sex. Marjorie had once told her that she irons Reginald’s pyjamas and all the sheets and pillowcases and when there’s a fresh lot on she won’t let him move around in bed in case he creases them all prematurely. She’s always telling of the things she won’t ‘let’ Reginald do. If Patricia ever talked to Dennis in terms of either letting him or not letting him do something he’d have shown her the door years ago and rightly so. You can’t talk to a grown man like that. Her Mammy came back into her thoughts. God love her she’d never known what it was like to be part of a good marriage with a good man. Patricia wished her Mammy had been able to pull herself away from Patricia’s father and find a good man to be with who would’ve treated her right. She might’ve been able to know some personal happiness if she had.          

‘Well that’s where I’ve obviously been going wrong all these years, Marjorie’.

‘And that dress you were wearing, Patricia? I mean, full marks to you for carrying it off as well as you did’.

For the party Patricia had bought a black one piece dress with a strap over each shoulder and a low neckline. It was short too, the hem just about covering the important stuff and showing off her still noticeable legs. When she’d seen it in the shop she’d had second thoughts about buying it. She loved it but she wasn’t sure if it was seemly for someone her age. Her daughter Phoebe had been with her and she told her mother to go ahead and buy it. ‘Not many women of your age have got your figure Mum so go on and live dangerously’ Phoebe had encouraged. So she had and by all accounts it had gone down a storm except with Marjorie the bloody mother superior here.     

‘Thank you, Marjorie, I loved every minute of wearing that dress’ said Patricia, suddenly intent on rubbing it in. ‘It made me feel so feminine and gorgeous to be honest’.

‘Even if a little daring for someone of your tender years?’

‘Life is for living, Marjorie, and for having fun whilst you still can’ said Patricia who doubted whether Marjorie had ever allowed herself to have any fun in her whole damn life. ‘Well I must get on with things. Dennis and I are having a special dinner for my birthday tonight and there are a couple of things I need to get for it’.

‘Well take it easy on the wine or else you’ll be good for nothing again tomorrow’.

‘Goodbye, Marjorie’.

‘Goodbye, dear’.

Goodbye dear? Patricia could’ve slapped her. Marjorie was six years younger than her and yet the patronizing cow still called her dear. Urgh!

Patricia ran round the supermarket in a bit of a daze. Her encounter with Lady Marjorie had brought on a slight relapse of her hangover and she just wanted to get home, get a cup of tea, get in the bath and get ready for tonight.

Patricia luxuriated in a hot bath to which she’d added various scents and oils and by the time she got out and toweled herself dry she began to feel more human again. She slipped into a dress that she’d had for a while now and which was one of Dennis’s favourites. A grey  one piece, still short but with a higher neckline and long sleeves. She put on black high heels and a thick black belt with it and had bought some black tights too. She sprayed herself with some of the Chanel perfume that her son Michael had brought her back from his holidays in Thailand and then she was ready. 

‘Good heavens above’ said Dennis slowly as he watched his wife walk up to him. ‘First last night and now look at you. Anybody would think it was my birthday not yours’.

‘You know I always like to dress up for you’ said Patricia who wrapped her arms round Dennis’s neck and kissed him. He’d lit candles everywhere and it all looked so romantic.

‘You’ve done that alright’ said Dennis. ‘I am one very lucky man. You look a million dollars, freckles’.

Patricia felt lucky that Dennis had managed to stay tall and lean and still didn’t show any sign of the beer gut that so many men of his age do. He was still as handsome. Just an older version of that cute young guy she fell in love with all those years ago.

‘Some wine, madam?’

‘I would love some, sir’.

‘I thought so’ said Dennis, putting on a little flair. ‘I opened this little number from the Barossa valley a while ago to let it breathe. I think you’ll find it’s to your liking’.

The next morning Patricia woke up feeling heaps better than she had done this time yesterday. She and Dennis had gone much easier on the wine over dinner last night and when they got to bed they’d made love and then drifted off quietly to sleep in each other’s arms.

The sounds she could hear were the sounds of the country. They had one of the typically Australian style of suburban house that was all on one level and spread out to include three bedrooms with a separate lounge to the open plan kitchen and dining area. They’d moved into it just before their son Michael was born and they’d done a lot to it over the years including re-decorating three times. The area was well and truly part of Melbourne’s eastern conurbation and although the traffic on the highway into the city could be hellish it didn’t take long to get there by train. But they were also at the foot of the Dandenong Hills that headed east across the state of Victoria and that gave some magnificent distant views. When Dennis woke up they snuggled up together and lay there awake with their eyes closed.