‘You smell real nice,’ I said to Mum, my insides unwinding like rope for the first time in ages. We would see Cassie at the Connolly, and he would say sorry to Dad and Dad would forgive him and then Cassie would come back. He could be back home tomorrow, if everything went well. It all seemed so easy.
On the drive Dad told us he and Mum had their wedding reception in one of the function rooms at the Connolly, used to go there every Saturday for tea after they got married. ‘Maybe we can start the tradition again,’ he said, squeezing Mum’s thigh.
‘That’d be nice,’ Mum said. ‘What do you two reckon?’ She turned around to face us. Her gold bag was resting in her lap. The material was like fish scales and she grasped the strap hard. She never asked us what we thought. Wally bounced in his seat. It looked as though his face was about to burst open like a ripe piece of fruit.
When we got inside we all peered over at the bar. Cassie wasn’t there but it didn’t even matter. ‘Must have the night off,’ Mum said.
We sat at a table in the corner while Dad ordered our meals at the counter.
‘Well, this is nice,’ Mum said, craning her neck to look at what was going on behind her. There were dozens of people already sprawled around tables, talking and laughing, with paper baskets of pale yellow chips, icy colas sweating on the plastic tablecloths. It was like a party; families mostly, and younger kids I recognised from school. Babies strapped into high chairs, and old men with fat guts milling around with pots of beer glued to their hands. Along the walls were the daily specials, and signed footy jerseys in frames. Grey pieces of chewed gum wormed into the carpet like birthmarks.
The smell of smoke and stale beer made my insides feel warm as a bath. I felt like we were a normal family, going out for dinner, as though we did this every weekend.
‘Hasn’t changed a bit,’ Mum said.
When Dad came back with drinks Mum picked up her purse. ‘Might go have a flutter,’ she said, pushing back her chair. She took her wineglass and disappeared into the pokies section.
Dad stayed where he was, drinking his beer and watching the footy game playing on a TV next to the bar.
I felt giddy. ‘Do you think Mum’s going to win?’ I asked.
‘Hey?’ said Dad, distracted.
‘On the pokies?’
‘Don’t know, mate.’
‘Can I have some money, so I can play too?’
‘You’re too young for that,’ he said.
‘No, I’m not.’
‘You have to be of age,’ Dad said. ‘It’s the law.’
I tapped the face of Dad’s watch to hear the click, dragged my finger through a puddle of condensation on the table. I could tell I was annoying him but I couldn’t keep still.
‘Why don’t you go play in the games room?’ Dad said, not looking away from the screen. ‘With the other kids.’
I looked towards the room across from the pokies. There were kids spewing out of it, their voices shrieking through the door. There must have been a ball pit because there were pocked, coloured balls knocking around the entrance. I knew already it would be full of kids from school and there was no way I wanted to play with them.
‘Nah,’ I said, chewing on my straw. ‘Looks pretty crowded.’
When Mum came back she had a big grin on her face, teeth sparkling like cough drops.
‘Look,’ she said, fanning out a wad of twenties.
After we’d eaten Wally went to the loo. He’d ordered nuggets and was shifting the leftovers from his pockets into paper towels to save for later. The staff had started to push the tables against the walls in the dining area, stack the chairs, and had turned on the red and green and yellow disco lights on the wall by the mounted Keno TVs. Adults swarmed against the bar, loud and squawky as galahs. Some were already swaying to the song that played over the speakers even though the fluorescent lights were still switched on. We stood by the toilets, pressed against the wall.
‘Let’s stay for a bit,’ Mum said to Dad, raising her voice over the music. ‘Spend my winnings.’
‘You sure about that, Christine?’ Dad said.
Mum gave me twenty dollars from her purse to go and buy chocolates from the vending machine. She took hold of Dad’s arm and moved to the centre of the room.
When Wally came out of the bathroom he leaned against the wall next to me. ‘What are they doing?’ he said.
‘What does it look like?’
I wanted him to shut up so I could enjoy it. The lights had dimmed and the coloured globes twinkled on the walls like stars. Mum and Dad were looking at each other, grinning and shuffling back and forth with their hands up around their middles like stiff kangaroo claws. When the song changed Mum threw up her hands and clapped them together. Dad pressed his face into her hair as though he was smelling it, and then twirled her around. I felt like I was seeing things in slow motion. Mum looked beautiful, shimmery from the sweat on her forehead and the disco lights as her skirt swished around her knees. I forgot about the twenty-dollar note in my hand. I forgot about everything.
But it didn’t last long. After another minute a woman appeared next to Mum. She had a squashed face, was holding a full pot of beer in her fist even though no one else had drinks on the dance floor. She wasn’t dancing, though. Flailing arms bumped her back, sloshing golden beer over the sides of her glass. She didn’t seem to care about losing her drink. I watched Mum turn to her and smile. She didn’t stop dancing, but maybe she should have, because without saying a word the woman wrinkled her mouth into a prune and spat right in her face. Mum’s arms fell to her sides, her smile collapsing like half-cooked cake. She touched her hand to her face and then looked at her fingers.
The circle around Mum and Dad seemed to swell bigger and bigger, until I couldn’t see them anymore. After a minute Mum appeared from the crowd. She passed Wally and me by the wall and went straight to the exit, bag clutched to her stomach, as though the gold metal was protecting her guts like armour. I avoided Wally’s eye and we followed Dad out to the car park, got into the back seat without a word.
‘Why’d that woman spit on you?’ Wally asked, as Dad swung onto the street.
‘Shut up, Wally,’ I said between my teeth. Even though I wanted to know as well, I knew this would be one of those things we’d all ignore. Another thing we weren’t allowed to talk about.
Dad switched on the radio to a talkback station, turned it up loud.
As we pulled onto the highway Mum took the envelope from her bag, counted her money, licking the tip of her finger with the tip of her tongue. I hoped the money would make her forget about the woman, hoped the one good thing would erase all the bad things. Wally pulled a greasy paper towel out of his pocket and ate nuggets on the back seat. When we reached the turn-off Wally leaned down and had a quiet spew between his feet. No one heard him but me.
When Dad stopped the car Mum went to unbuckle her seatbelt, but Dad grabbed her fingers, wouldn’t let her get out. ‘Go inside,’ he said to Wally and me. ‘I need to talk to your mother.’
‘But the house is locked.’
He took the keys out of the ignition, handed them to me. He hadn’t let go of Mum’s hand.
Wally took the keys from me and we went up to the house. Wally went inside but I stayed on the verandah, watching the car. After a minute Mum got out, came up to the verandah. Dad followed right behind her. No one was crying, no one was angry, and I knew Dad must have sorted it out, said something to make Mum feel better. Mum was clutching the gold purse tight to her chest again and they went inside without looking at me, went inside without a word.