Authors: Fiona McGregor
‘Give her her lunch in her room,’ said Leon. ‘Hopefully it won’t be too disturbing up there.’
‘Yeah, and I’ll pack her clothes beforehand,’ said Blanche. ‘God, it’s exhausting just to
think
about it.’
‘I’ll get her comfy on the couch while you set up her bedroom, and I’ve arranged for Carla to come at five o’clock.’
‘Good on you, Leon,’ said Blanche.
Leon smiled. He toed the bull grass. ‘You could run a vegie garden down the side of this yard.’
‘Nice idea, but there are seven other tenants here.’
Leon pictured the blackboy down in the corner, but there was no way he’d be able to move it. He’d just said that to make his mother feel good. It saddened him to lose that plant. He
looked at the Deco building. He was surprised at how nice it was. ‘How much is a flat like this worth?’
‘Hmm. Four or five hundred?’
‘Jesus.’
‘Is that all?’ said Clark.
‘The market’s gone down. It’s cheaper than Potts Point and places like that.’
‘Is it?’ Leon said in surprise. ‘I could almost afford a little place like this with my share of the estate.’
‘Of course you could, if you get a job.’ Blanche nodded encouragingly. ‘Easily.’
Clark said something but an electrical whine began over their heads, drowning him out. They looked at one another in consternation. The noise was coming from the flat above.
‘It’s a bloody circular saw,’ Leon said. ‘They’re renovating.’
Clark could see the silhouette of someone in the kitchen, a couple of panels propped up next to them. ‘It’s Sunday!’
‘They can’t do that,’ said Blanche. ‘We’ll have to get onto the council.’
‘I’m going to the toilet,’ said Leon.
Clark looked Blanche up and down.
‘Your pregnancy’s beginning to show. You look great.’
‘Really? God, I haven’t said anything at work. Maybe it just shows to people who know about it.’
‘Janice used to say the best time to be pregnant is seven months. She used to come home and talk about pregnancy esteem, how well people treated her. Why are you worried about them seeing
at work?’
‘Because a pregnant woman is a retrenched woman?’
‘I thought you were leaving.’
‘I will to give birth.’ She read his disappointment immediately. ‘Don’t give me a hard time, Clark, okay? It’s my decision.’
After all that, thought Clark, she doesn’t want to change. Unbelievable. His phone began to ring. ‘Sorry.’ He fished it out of his pocket and saw Sylvia’s name flashing
on the screen. The circular saw started up again. ‘I have to take this,’ he said, and walked to the end of the yard. ‘Hallo?’
‘Hi. I was just ringing to see how you were, how everything was going.’
Her voice was very faint. Clark leant against the paling fence, trying to hear. There had been no contact since the split at the beach. He scanned the rest of his day: nothing that
couldn’t be put off, in case Sylvia wanted to see him. ‘I’m okay. Just rolling along. You?’
‘Yeah.’
He thought he could hear her sniffing over the whine of the saw. Another phone was ringing somewhere. He pressed his to one ear, blocking the other with his finger. He rose on his toes to look
through the paling, found a chink of harbour. He still couldn’t hear what Sylvia was saying.
Blanche was waving at him. She approached across the grass, her phone pressed against her thigh. ‘I have to go, Clark. Fatima’s at the house and she can’t get in.’
‘Okay, okay. Can you hold on a sec?’ he said to Sylvia.
‘Do you know where there’s a spare set of keys?’ Blanche asked him.
‘Doesn’t Fatima have her own set?’
‘She forgot to bring them. She thought someone would be there to let her in.’
‘Leon would know.’
‘Leon!’ Blanche shouted back at the building. ‘I’m coming now, okay, Fatima?’ she said into her phone.
Clark watched his sister walk away. ‘Sorry,’ he said to Sylvia. ‘What did you say?’
At last, her voice came to him.
‘I said, I miss you.’
My heartfelt thanks are due to many people who played crucial roles during the long period it took to bring this novel into existence. Debra Adelaide and Emily Ballou for
their astute, encouraging responses to early drafts. Sarah-Jane Norman for the same, and her patience and love. Basso art collective and the other Berliners in whose apartments the final drafts
were written. Marika Blossfeldt and staff at Polli Talu Arts Centre, Peter Bishop and staff at Varuna, both for invaluable residencies. My erstwhile tattoo shamans eX de Medici and Megan Oliver for
their art and lore. Robert Brain for permission to quote from his book
The Decorated Body
on page 72, as well as feedback on an early draft. Christos Tsiolkas and Sophie Cunningham for their
unstinting friendship and peer support over the years. Sinéad Roarty; and Ian See for his proofreading. Last but most, my publisher and agent, Aviva Tuffield and Fran Moore, who never
stopped believing in this book even when everybody else, including myself, did.
Indelible Ink
could not have been completed without them.