At home that night her father was forced to light a fire although it was so warm they had to keep the windows open. The problem was the rising damp so the rain snuck up the walls like sap from the foundations. It bloomed in white and furry mounds on the painted hallway and, more seriously, in Celine’s built-in wardrobe. Sando was a “bush carpenter.” He had strung cords beneath the high ceiling of the little living room and all Celine’s clothes hung safe and dry, like sails above their heads.
Gaby’s bedroom wall was damp as well, but she had happy pants to make. By the time she was threading elastic she was called to set the table and found Celine removing the skin from chicken thighs which meant, twenty minutes later, short-cut coq au vin. She lit the candles.
Celine was in a good mood, translate as maybe stoned. She had actually AGREED to inspect a house in Coburg on the following weekend. All this was on her tape. She and Sando drank wine from long-stemmed glasses. They were “loose as gooses.” Sando got himself all folded in his chair. He had news but he held onto it, that was his way, to have treasures hoarded for a rainy day: he had got the funding for the day care centre for the migrant workers. You could see he was in love with them. His eyes caught the reflection of the candles. His mouth stretched along the coastline of his wobbly smile.
Celine was not competitive but she had good news as well. The Footlights Collective had been given a “development grant.”
They finished the bottle, Gaby said, and then they got stuck into the cask wine so it was time to leave them be. She returned to the elastic waistband of the happy pants. Downstairs everything continued chill. They were playing Astral Weeks. For God’s sake, find something new. Gaby read about Etruscan Mania and drifted into sleep.
On Friday morning a fresh mass of rainclouds were rolling across the Great Australian Bight but the serious rain did not arrive in Carlton until early evening. Then the fat drops hit the iron roof so heavily that they all had to shout. The rain made her happy, and safe, and the house filled with delicious smells as Celine reheated the leftover chicken. And everything felt like it was soothed and better until Gaby caught Celine cheating on the mashed potato. She was using water instead of milk. It’s healthier, Celine said. Translation: I am beautiful and you are fat.
Gaby returned to her room and locked her door and sat cross-legged making Bree’s wrapping paper, lettering with a thick gold Sharpie.
i’m skinny, so i must be anorexic.
i’m a girl who eats lunch, so i must be fat.
i wear black, so i must be a goth.
i’m into death punk, so i must cut my wrists.
i’m irish, so i must have a drinking problem.
i like brancusi, so i must be a poser.
i hang out with gays, so i must be gay too.
i’m a virgin, so i must be a prude.
i’m single, so i must be ugly.
i’m christian, so i must hate homosexuals.
i’m young, so i must be naive.
i don’t like the sun, so i must be an albino.
i’m intelligent, so i must be weak
i’m a westie, so i must be obese.
i like blood, so i must be a vampire.
i love kafka, so i must be a loner.
i don’t like to talk about my personal life,
so i must be having problems.
i have been to therapy, so i must be crazy.
i’m not like everyone else, so i must be a loser.
i’m a teenage girl, so i must not have a clue.
She returned to the kitchen. Celine criticised her for having gold paint on her hands, then announced that she had to cancel her visit to the Coburg house. She said the grant money had to be spent on a workshop over the weekend.
What a liar.
If we don’t spend it by Monday we have to give it back.
You said you got the money yesterday.
I just found out yesterday, sweetie. Apparently we’ve had it for a year.
Yes, this was a lie, Celine said on tape, but the point was: she knew Sando had gone and bought the house without her. She had found the account from the solicitor. She would not mention this for years.
Well, her husband said quietly, perhaps you could pop up to Coburg at lunchtime. And look at the house then.
You sneaky wilful bastard, Celine thought. The drag is, darling, she told him, I just can’t. The workshop is out of town. Of course there was no workshop but she already knew what she would do.
Sando laid down his knife and fork.
At Moggs Creek actually, Celine said, coming around the table to kiss his neck.
Sando stood, took one step around his wife, and scraped all his mashed potato into the tidy. Never mind, he said, staring deep into the bin.
No-one knew it but this was really the last day in the family’s history. It was then, exactly, that Frederic called through the window from the street. Gaby watched her mother with amazement. How pleased she was to see him all at once. Come in. He must come in. Celine was so completely false, but WTF: Gaby’s eyes were blurry as Frederic passed beneath all the hanging clothes. Her father finally lifted his foot from the kitchen tidy and gently helped the visitor escape his sodden coat.
Frederic’s black hair was like seaweed on a martyr’s skin. He was offered food. He accepted. He sat next to Gaby and did not look at her.
Thank you for bringing the ball back, Sando said. Gaby was relieved. Weren’t you baby?
We go to school together, Frederic said. His eyes hid behind his gluey lashes. You could see the candles deep inside his head.
Celine served him more mashed potato than she would ever give a girl.
You arrived at a historic moment, Sandy said.
Dear Jesus, Gaby thought, please do not embarrass me.
We have found a house to buy in Coburg, he said. (What the fuck was he doing?) Do you know Coburg?
My dad lived there for a while.
Sandy was thinking, oh shit, oh what have I said? His dad is Matty Matovic. He lived in jail in Coburg, oh shit.
And how was that? Celine smiled brightly.
Shut up, Gaby thought.
Frederic actually smiled at both of them. Where is the property you are interested in? he asked.
Patterson Street.
Patterson Street is cool.
Celine was acting “excessively delighted.” He knew Patterson Street? She could not stop looking at his lacquered nails.
They shot Jimmy Gifford there.
Shot? said Celine.
The film, said Sando quickly. He means they shot the film there.
I never heard of Jimmy Gifford, said Celine. Who was in it?
Gary Waddell, said Frederic, and it was, most likely, on account of this single brilliant lie that Frederic, in spite of what he did, would remain golden in Sando’s eyes.
Frederic grinned like Vengeance.
We were going to look at the house tomorrow morning, said Sando.
Frederic was smiling blatantly.
We’re sad because we’ve just found out that Gaby’s mum can’t come.
I’ll come instead, said Frederic. Obviously.
Obviously? No-one really knew what to say.
I made a present for Bree, Gaby told Frederic. She was smiling too, could not stop.
You’re so social, he said.
Happy pants.
Show me, show me. He splayed his hands across his cheeks and made Celine smile, not because she liked or didn’t like him but because, clearly, she thought he must be gay i.e. no trouble here.