Came Back to Show You I Could Fly Read online

  ‘Fancy that, I never imagined you as a babysitter. No, don’t go. I’ll shout you a drink.’

  Seymour looked down at the hand, large and implacable, as solid as a heavy white china plate. Angie’s fingers were scarcely visible and he had the unpleasant sensation of watching a leopard’s paw placed over a trapped butterfly. Angie gave a vicious little tug and finally freed her hand, but the man still didn’t go away. He held out two dollars to Seymour.

  ‘How about you go over to the canteen and get yourself a drink?’ he said affably.

  ‘He’s got one already,’ Angie said and Seymour felt her shoe nudging his stealthily under the table, signalling him not to go. In embarrassment he pretended to suck on the straw, trying not to gulp air so that the man would know the waxed container was empty.

  ‘Your escort for the day, is he? Bringing you any luck, any big wins?’

  ‘We’re getting there.’

  ‘You want to try that Bruce O’Neill filly in race six. Long odds, but you never know, you might end up with something. Say four-hundred-and-fifty dollars or thereabouts.’

  ‘I can pick my own horses.’

  ‘Four-hundred-and-fifty dollars would be a tidy little sum to win. Come in handy for paying off outstanding debts, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘If anyone owes anyone else that much, I’m sure they’ll settle eventually,’ Angie said. ‘They always do, don’t they?’

  ‘But they never took so long about it before. Still, you know me, I’m easy going. I’ll even give out more credit if it’s needed, if people want to pop around this evening and pay something off their accounts. After they’ve delivered their little chums back to the sandbox.’

  Angie took out her mirror and applied lipstick, adjusted the veil on her hat, and although she looked composed enough, like any girl tidying herself after lunch, Seymour saw that her hands were shaking a little.

  ‘I won’t be dropping in this evening or any other time,’ she said. ‘I don’t need to. I’ve got my act together now, going really well, you ask anyone.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’

  ‘This time’s different. Jas and me, we’re making a real go of it.’

  ‘From what I heard, young James won’t be around for the next couple of years, will he?’

  ‘Look, I haven’t got time to sit around talking to you,’ Angie said coldly. ‘I made it clear enough last time. Some people are pretty dense about messages. I won’t be dropping in, but you don’t have to get in a stew about…I’ll send it to you through Rick or Gayle or someone, okay?’

  She stood up and the man remained seated, tapping his white fingers lazily on the table top, smiling up at her. Seymour was suddenly filled with animosity so powerful it catapulted him to his feet and around to Angie’s side. He took her hand and tugged her away. The man seemed to have no claim to be part of the sparkling blue and gold day. He was like a mismatched piece of jigsaw puzzle that didn’t belong with the clean animal smell of horses, the turf like a stretch of sea water enclosed by white rails, the sun gilding the passing women in their charming summer clothes.

  ‘Don’t forget, Debbie,’ the man spoke softly after them. ‘I don’t like my books being out of order.’

  ‘Angie, who was that guy?’ Seymour whispered, but Angie didn’t reply and didn’t seem to be listening to him, either. She seemed to be away in some other world of her own, with her eyes functioning automatically to steer her around people and obstacles, but he knew that she wasn’t really seeing them. After a few attempts at conversation, Seymour shut up and just sat in the stand while she went off periodically to place bets, waited for her to emerge from her silence and be cheerful, scatty, generous Angie again, the best companion he’d ever known. But that didn’t happen until far into the afternoon, and he had no way of knowing if she’d won or lost money, for she didn’t tell him. The betting, somehow, had ceased to be for pleasure and had become a grimly serious affair with her, strong enough to block out his presence. He waited patiently, and then, although there was still one more race scheduled, she said it was time to leave.

  ‘Let’s get out of here before all the traffic,’ she said, smiling brightly at him as though the past two hours hadn’t even happened. ‘You’ve got no idea what this place is like when everyone’s trying to leave at once and all the trams are packed. Have a nice day, did you, love?’

  ‘Yes, it was great,’ said Seymour, for although the shadow of that man lurked unpleasantly about in his mind, he still had most of his original winnings. ‘Thanks for letting me come to the races with you. It was beaut.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Angie said. ‘Know what? I’m glad you wandered in off the alley that morning! You’re really good company, Seymour. I’d have gone nuts in that flat not knowing what to do with myself and Jas being…We’ve had a fantastic time, haven’t we, all the places we’ve gone to?’

  ‘Better than Morris Carpenter ever had.’

  ‘Morris Carpenter? He’s finished and done with, died of gloom disease, it finally caught up with him. Let’s play something different, let’s play Mangel Wurzel. What, you’ve never heard of Mangel Wurzel? Well, it sort of goes like this: Eee, lad, wha thee been oop to then, haring off to sinful gambling places with that there young hussy from down t’lane? Don’t you deny it, now, our Seth and our Gertie seen thee with they own two eye!’

  Seymour grinned. Angie had altered her face so she looked like a pernickety old village woman. He could almost see floury hands and an apron.

  ‘Such goings on!’ scolded Angie. ‘Never took place when old squire were oop t’ big house, I can tell thee! Ecky thoomp! A body can’t sleep peaceful with things cooming to this pass, a nice young lad like you, pockets stuffed with wicked gambling money, belly full of apple cider…Thee ought b’rights be out in fields a digging oop them there turnips!’

  She played Mangel Wurzel all the way on the tram out to Victoria Road, but as they walked up the alley, a brisk little wind scurried along the dark flagstones and Angie shivered suddenly in her thin dress.

  ‘More rain and thunder on the way. I hate these cool changes,’ she said. ‘You can feel the air getting colder; ugh, it’s like something creeping up on you in the dark! Well, here’s your gate and you’re home with fifteen minutes to spare. Honest, I don’t understand why you flap so much about always getting home before that Thelma. She can’t eat you. I’m like Cinderella’s godmother, always got to get you home before you turn into a pumpkin. Or a mangel wurzel. Ouch, tottering around in these shoes all day…hang on while I take them off. My poor feet, what I’d like to do is fall into a bath filled up with that scented bubble stuff and stay there for about a hundred years! Stay there for ever and never come out…’

  Seymour climbed the locked gate and gazed down at her. ‘If you’re tired you could have an early night, Angie,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, could I now?’

  ‘Well, you never look after yourself, so someone has to nag. After you have dinner, a proper one and not three cups of coffee and a million cigarettes, you ought to go straight to bed.’

  ‘Can’t,’ said Angie. ‘I’m going in to get changed into Senorita Rosita. You haven’t seen Senorita Rosita yet, have you? It’s red and black ruffles with a big red rose on one shoulder. Then I’ve got to go out again, all the way back into town and I won’t be home till late. So, yah.’

  Seymour could tell she was tired by the blurred lines of her face and the way she stood slumped against the fence, shoes dangling by their straps from one hand. Even the feather on the jaunty little hat had drifted from its anchorage to curl limply by her cheek.

  ‘You’re nuts!’ he said. ‘Who says you’ve got to go out? You shouldn’t…’

  ‘Anyone would think you were my elderly uncle, the way you carry on,’ she scoffed, and attempted a skittish dance on the flagstones, holding out her skirt with one hand, but her bare feet on the stones traced meaningless, fuzzy patterns. ‘I’m not a bit tired. I’m going into town to rage, and if you were a bit older
, I’d maybe take you with me. No, I don’t mean that! I wouldn’t ever take you where I’m going, it’s not a very refined place. Your aunty Thelma wouldn’t approve, for a start.’

  ‘She’s not my aunty, I keep telling you. I reckon you’re crazy to go out again. You’ll maybe get that flu thing back all over again. There’s going to be a big thunderstorm, you can feel it building up, just like yesterday. You’ll get soaking wet, Angie…’

  ‘Morris Carpenter would be pleased.’

  ‘…seeing you never wear that raincoat, what’s its name again?’

  ‘Agatha Christie,’ Angie said. ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in that, but I can’t chuck it out, either, seeing my mum gave it to me only last Christmas. I’ll be fine, I can look after myself. You’d better go in now, buster. I’m glad you liked the races and the horses and one day when I’ve made a million you can come and live with me in my mansion in Gresham Avenue and we’ll go to the races every week. You can wear a white carnation in your buttonhole and we’ll turn up there in a big silver Rolls, how about that?’

  ‘Wow, only I’d better drive, seeing what happened to your other car,’ he said. ‘I don’t fancy getting tied up in power lines, I’d sooner dig mangel wurzels all day. Don’t stay out too late, Angie. See you tomorrow.’

  She waved and turned to go away up the alley, and to Seymour, still watching from the gate, she seemed to be reeling with tiredness, each footstep a conscious effort. ‘Hey, Angie,’ he called anxiously. ‘Listen, I just thought of something. You know how you always see me home down the alleyway? Well, if you go out tonight and get home late—and this is a rough area, Thelma say so—well, who’s going to see you home safely down the alley in the dark?’

  ‘That’s not a problem, Seymour,’ Angie said lightly. ‘That’s never any problem.’

  I won’t go round there and see him!

  The baby hang on to that, getting a house with Jas hang on to that, my baby

  I WON’T go round there and see him! I won’t go round there and

  Make a fresh start I can do it what if S. ever found out I can do it I can do it Jas wish you were here make Mum and Dad proud of me hang in there I can do it I don’t need

  I WON’T GO ROUND THERE

  Take it five minutes at a time Angie take it easy now lots of other people get there Judy did my baby think of my baby wonder what colour hair it will have OH GOD IN HEAVEN I CAN’T STAND THIS ONE SECOND LONGER

  Negative thinking take it easy Angie sure you can ring up Jude or someone hop under the shower wash hair go for a walk scrub kitchen floor keep busy I won’t go round there

  Lynne David think of Lynne and David think of flowers my flower shop I can do it yes I can yes

  I won’t go round

  Today is the beginning of the rest of my life

  Today is the beginning of the rest of my life

  Today is the beginning of the rest of my

  I won’t…

  Chapter 10

  Thelma sprained her shoulder and took a couple of days from work to rest it, and Seymour realised just how small the house was with two people cooped there, neither of them able to avoid the other for very long. Although she didn’t seem to enjoy his company, she berated him when he stayed in his room for long periods. ‘Is that what you do when I’m at work, stay in your room and sulk?’ she scolded, more tetchy than ever with the pain from her shoulder. ‘You’re making heavy weather of this situation, young man.’

  ‘But I wasn’t…’

  ‘I can’t help it if you’re not allowed out on your own. You know very well why you can’t go out. Your father’s not to be trusted. He’d be whisking you off to Queensland, using you as a lever to try to get poor Marie to go back to him, we all know the pattern. Sulking won’t help things. When all’s said and done, it’s only temporary until your mother moves to the new place.’

  So he joined her reluctantly in the living room on the clinging vinyl chairs where he knocked ornaments from small tables with his restless elbows. He pretended an interest in the boring midday movies she watched, but his presence pleased her no more than his retreat to the back room. Every time he shuffled his feet she sighed with pointed forbearance. While she watched television or read the paper he leafed, limp with heat and boredom, through all the books in the shelves. Whenever possible, he slipped out the back and stood peering through the gate slot across the alley at Angie’s place, even though he didn’t catch one glimpse of her.

  He felt aggrieved about that. Wasn’t she even slightly concerned by his absence? He thought forlornly that she could at least come to his back gate and call over it, make sure that all was well with him. If you were truly friends with someone, you’d worry if they didn’t show up. Perhaps it was all a phoney act on her part, that big sister stuff. He glared across the alleyway, but nothing stirred beyond Angie’s open gate. There was a white dress on the clothesline there. It hung, motionless in the heat, as dry as timber, but no one came to fetch it in, and it was still there the next day.

  Finally one morning, Thelma moved her shoulder cautiously and decided it was improved enough to return to work. Seymour pulled a secret face of relief. He didn’t think he could have borne one more day of her austere company.

  As soon as she left he hurried across the alleyway and knocked on Angie’s door, but although it was ajar, she didn’t answer. He pushed it open and shook his head at the horrendous state everything was in. Angie’s attitude towards housework was always lackadaisical, but now it looked as though a storm had careered through the room, snatching things from their places and dumping them on top of other things already on the floor. Angie was asleep, lying fully dressed on top of the blankets, and while he automatically put the jug on to make coffee, she suddenly plunged into some alarming dream situation which made her thresh about and cry out.

  Seymour patted her gently until she opened her eyes. ‘Hey, it’s okay, don’t be scared,’ he said. ‘It was only a bad dream. I get them like that sometimes.’

  But Angie kept trembling, wrapping her arms around her as though to contain the shaking, and her face was a bewildered mask of smeared cosmetics. Mascara lay in caked black smudges across her cheeks. Seymour dampened a towel under the tap but she just looked at it blankly when he held it out. He dabbed clumsily at her face.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Now you’ll feel better. Have you got the flu back again, Angie? Well, I did warn you. If you don’t look after yourself properly, you can’t expect…’

  That’s if she ever did have it in the first place…The thought rolled about in his mind, heavy as marble.

  To his embarrassment, she burst into tears, groping for tissues in a box that proved to be empty and flinging the box across the room at a wall. He stood by helplessly until she stopped crying, just as abruptly as she’d begun. She sniffed once or twice like a child and dug her knuckles into her eyes, then she lit a cigarette.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of me,’ she said shakily. ‘I’m just feeling a bit down, that’s all. I’ll be okay. I’ll get up in a minute and have a shower and get dressed, only there’s no hurry, I don’t have to go anywhere in particular. I don’t have to go out to North Road any more, did I tell you? Not today or tomorrow or the day after that, either. I got kicked off their rotten useless program…’

  ‘Yes, you told me. Here, Angie, have some coffee.’

  She drank half a cup, then huddled back against the bedhead, the tears drying on her face and her eyelids drooping then snapping open again. She plucked at the sheet, making a little hole in a patch of frayed threads. Seymour began to talk, not wanting her to fall back into that wild place where she’d been in her sleep. He told her about Thelma’s sprained shoulder and the movies they’d watched and how tedious the past days had been.

  ‘So that’s why I couldn’t come over to visit,’ he finished, feeling guilty, even though it hadn’t been his fault. She’d looked so white after that day at the races, so tired. He should have nagged a bit more and somehow prevented her
from going out again that night. Maybe then she wouldn’t be in this state, wouldn’t be so…peculiar. He made a grab for the ashtray and just managed to stop ash from spilling all over the blanket. Everything she did seemed uncoordinated, even her languid responses to his chatter didn’t somehow mesh. He wished she’d wake up properly, then they could go out somewhere, out into the clear morning which sparkled like wine held in a glass up to the sun. But she just continued to sit there, hunched up, gazing at the hole she was making in the sheet.

  ‘Angie, are you listening to me?’ he demanded, exasperated, and she finally made an effort and dragged her gaze upwards.

  ‘So,’ she said. ‘You had a good day at the races yesterday? Really did you enjoy it, or were you only pretending?’

  ‘It wasn’t yesterday we went to the races, Angie. It was Wednesday, don’t you remember? Yesterday I couldn’t come over, or the day before that. Thelma was at home. I haven’t been over for…’

  ‘This place is past a joke,’ she said fretfully. ‘In ten minutes I’m going to get up and springclean, wash the curtains, vacuum everything. It is a mess, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, I guess you could say that. Ash all over the place doesn’t help, either. You aren’t going to have another cigarette, are you? Come on, you just put one out.’

  ‘Bossyboots,’ she said. ‘You’re like this teacher I had at school, what was her name, Miss Rydges…Rydell…oh, I can’t even remember her dumb name! God, I hate it when I can’t remember things.’

  ‘Don’t try and change the subject. Now’s a good time as any to give up smoking, while you don’t feel well. You said at the races you were going to give up without fail, cross your heart. What happened to that?’

  ‘Don’t nag! Tomorrow, maybe.’

  ‘It’s in the papers all the time, how it makes people get lung cancer. If you give up, it adds ten years to your life. Ten whole years you can buy new earrings and wacky-looking clothes. Don’t you want all that extra time?’