The motel wasn’t too far from Alfie’s so Shane dropped Moira off to wheel and deal. It was a khaki-brick place, single-storey and sliding-door office. Not a lot of rooms but they all looked vacant given no cars were parked in the spaces. She slid the door across and tipped the pram back to hurdle the floor rail. The air was chilled but still muggy. An air-conditioner rattled in the window and made the ground hum. She picked up the bell on the counter and gave a shake.
Through an archway hung with plastic beads for flies a hunched-forward fellow emerged, the beads pattering over his shoulder like dried rain. He had a thick bent nose and purple veins bruising his cheeks. He was clean-shaven but bushy white hairs sprouted from his T-shirt and wreathed his neck.
‘What can I do for you?’ he said in a thin nasally voice with phlegm in it.
‘I’d like a room, please.’
Her neck stiffened into her ‘lies’ position, in case lies were needed. Her chin lowered over her throat till it almost touched her collarbone. She rested an elbow on the counter and studied the man’s puce face for a moment. His eyes were bleary and green. She’d not seen him around town. Perhaps he was new. Perhaps he’d never had experience with trants. That would make it easier.
‘This hot weather!’ She smiled, and chatted some more about the weather. Then said she’d like a room to freshen up in on Tuesday, please. She and her daughter will be in town on business and this weather made freshening-up necessary. She leant on the counter with both elbows, a flirting leaning. Her smile twisting up on one side. ‘How much for a freshening up on Tuesday? Not for the night. Just a few hours during the day?’
‘Same rate as if you were staying,’ the man said, shrugging. ‘Seventy-five dollars.’
‘But can’t you just give us a few hours and a special deal?’
‘Sorry. Can’t. We still have to clean the room like you’d stayed.’
‘Come on, you can break the rules.’
‘I’d like to. But seventy-five is the rate.’
‘You don’t look like you’re full.’
‘True.’
‘Then how about thirty for a freshen-up. That’s thirty dollars you wouldn’t otherwise get.’
They haggled for a few minutes. She kept smiling and got the man to play along. They settled on forty dollars for a three-hour booking. He wanted some money in advance and when Moira couldn’t produce it he put his palms on the counter and cocked his head, doubting her.
‘I’ll be back in sec. My husband Shane’s the money person.’
She bustled the pram out the door and headed towards Alfie’s.
She got no further than the bowls club corner when the wag started coming her way. It pulled over on the opposite side of the road. Shane hung his arm out the window and smacked the car door.
‘He’s not bloody there. His shop’s closed and there’s a note stuck up saying
Till further notice.
’
He swung the wag around. He gripped and ungripped the steering wheel impatiently while Moira buckled the baby.
‘It’s Monday. He always opens sharp on Monday.’
‘Maybe he’s sick.’
They drove to Alfie’s and got out and cupped their hands to the window for a glimpse of someone. Moira waited while Shane checked round the back. He jiggled the chain locking the mesh gate and called out. He looked into the neighbours’ yard but it was a vacant building with only weeds around it. He returned to the front door and again cupped his hands. ‘Till further notice. How long’s further notice?’ He put his hands on his hips and kicked at the cracked footpath. ‘The pub. There’s a phone there and a phone book with local numbers.’
They drove to the Barleyville Hotel and parked under the peppercorn near the bottle-shop entrance. Moira fanned Mathew with a newspaper she found on the ground. Shane went to do the phoning. He was only gone a few minutes.
‘Phone’s engaged.’
But the phone book did have his address: 5 Croke Crescent.
It was a no-through road with four newer-style houses of dark stucco and roller-door garages. Alfie’s house stood out because it didn’t have a preened garden. The lawn was sunburned bare and had a parched nasturtium border. There was a rusted horse sulky for decoration. And a pelican sculpture cut from tyre rubber. The surrounds were hazy with grey scrub low enough to see over into pale paddocks. The gutters of the horizon ran with their usual false waters. Moira made the comment that it might be new but not welcoming. Give her their place any day: much homelier.
She took Mathew and stood behind Shane while he tapped the front door knocker. They heard mumbling and cursing from inside and the door opened and there was Alfie with reading glasses on the end of his nose like wire eyes and his real eyes glaring. He pulled the door closed behind him. He was wearing check slippers.
‘What’s this about?’ His voice was almost a whisper and he looked about to see if neighbours were watching. ‘Why you coming to my house?’
He had his watch in his hands but didn’t play with its lid. He squeezed it in his fist and pulled on its chain.
‘You weren’t at your shop.’
‘I’ve closed the shop for now.’
‘We got business.’
‘As you know, I’ve had the authorities snooping. They’ve been round again. I’ve suspended trade until I’m free of them.’
‘What about the truck you was hiring me?’
‘Just be patient. And do you mind not coming to my house?’
‘Come on, Alfie.’
‘Don’t
Come on, Alfie
me. First you start asking to use my computer. Then you want me for a character reference like we’re best friends. Then you want to rent my jewellery. Now you come to my home. My place of residence.’
‘You weren’t at your shop and I got stuff ready for Melbourne.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘What?’
‘He’s jerking you around, Shane.’
‘I know. I know. Listen, Alfie. Don’t play silly buggers.’
‘Are you intimidating me?’
‘What?’
‘Are you trying to intimidate me? I’ll have no business with you. Please leave my property.’
‘I’m not trying to intimidate you. We had an arrangement.’
‘Please leave.’
‘What about the generator? We had a deal on a generator as well.’
Moira tugged Shane’s shirt tail. ‘Let’s get out. He’s turned on us.’
He pushed Moira’s hand to let go of his shirt. ‘I’m coming. I’m coming.’
Alfie went inside his house and closed the door.
They got in the car and sat arguing about whether to knock again and try reasoning. Moira said no, she had a bad feeling: if Alfie was having serious trouble with the authorities, best stay away in case the trouble jumped to them. She won because Shane was superstitious of her bad feelings. And this bad feeling came supported by crows. A few let out haggard squawks overhead as if warning him off.
He drove in the direction of the trotting track for Moira to do her baby bathing but she asked him to go to the motel first. She explained about the manager wanting a deposit. She was braced for Shane going back on his word and objecting to a motel now his dealings had fallen through. He did want to object. He was in that kind of temper.
Shane did the sums in his head and didn’t like the balance. In his pocket he had eighty dollars cash. In their bank account they had not much more, though it was rotation money day on Thursday which meant a few hundred. As for his antique trove, he might have to burn the stuff or traipse off to dealers in other towns he’d worked with. No better than crooks, most of them, unreliable. But at least they didn’t turn on you. Such an injustice, not being able to sell quality. If he went to Melbourne and tried to flog it where would he start without causing questions?
Shane felt a failure and put on a whistling act as he drove. If he didn’t give Moira motel money it would look like he didn’t support Zara. Truth was he didn’t support her. He was embarrassed that a fifteen-year-old girl had more prospects than him. He hoped deep down she didn’t get the job. Mind you, her money might be needed.
He was losing face and couldn’t think how to bolster himself. He turned off the trotting track road and towards the motel. He unbuttoned his shirt pocket and gave Moira forty dollars from it.
‘You sure?’ she said.
‘Course. Sorry about the generator.’
‘Who needs a generator? Noisy things, generators.’
He changed from a whistling act to problem-solving hopefulness. ‘Just a hiccup. All this is just a hiccup. I’m not going to be beaten. I’m working on a solution.’
He tapped his forehead as if he had ideas he was not yet ready to share.
By the time they got home he had enough bravado to put his hand on Rory’s shoulder and lecture him about how this sort of thing happens in their trade. ‘An occupational hazard. Nothing to worry about. Normal.’
‘So what’ll you do?’ Rory said.
‘I’ll think of something.’
He winked at Rory. He kept his smiling up but it wasn’t easy. His mouth muscles were heavy with worry. ‘I’ll tell you what we do. We’ll keep it.’
He hadn’t thought this through. It was more for the boy’s sake.
‘We’ll keep it. We’ll take the curtains and use them to doll this place up a bit. Treat ourselves. Get rid of that glad-wrap window and make one of the leadlights fit. We’ll pick the eyes out of the rest for selling and I’ll hop in the wag and try my old contacts. It means a lot of travel, but what a waste to dump anything.’
He waved his finger as he spoke and his voice got faster. He’d convinced himself he had a viable strategy.
‘Come on,’ he said, leading the way to the shed, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. ‘Rory. Midge. Come on. Work to do.’
That’s how they spent the day. Cleaning up a leadlight window to slot into the house wall. They’d have some chipping away at weatherboard to do to make a bigger hole for the frame. Two of the velvet curtains could be cut to size for the house. The longest would make a dramatic addition to the porch, draped across the front and sewn in place with twine. Their royally gold ropes would tie them back when needed.
Then Shane came to his senses. Gold ropes. Velvet curtains. Leadlight window. ‘Someone drives past and these’d stick out like dog’s balls.’
Yet one indulgence wouldn’t hurt, would it? Just a temporary ornament that Moira would get a kick out of.
It was Midge’s idea to hang the chandelier. Shane took the idea over and told Moira it was his. Midge didn’t mind because he was used to that.
They carried the thing on a blanket from the shed to the L-shape. Moira was told to close her eyes and not look while they did the hanging. Shane leant his ladder against the tallest tree and climbed. A rope was tossed over a thick limb. He hitched one end through the chandelier’s ring. Midge and Rory on the ground gripped the other end. They took the weight and pulled down in a winching fashion. Shane held the chandelier steady by hugging it against his stomach.
‘Up. Keep going,’ he called. ‘Higher.’
He climbed the ladder further, the chandelier’s tails tinkling against his body.
Two steps from the top he made Midge tie the rope off by hooking it around the trunk and doing a double knot. He let the chandelier go. It swung out and back. He reached to stop it hitting the tree. It swayed in smaller arcs until almost still, the faintest of wind chimes.
It was late afternoon and the air had stopped breathing for the day. The sun was sitting on a bronze tray. The dusk light filled the chandelier’s braids and they looked like amber.
‘Open your eyes, babe.’
Moira gasped.
Shane climbed down and stood beside her. Midge took a few steps back, mouth open at the beauty. Zara laughed at it and then stared and cocked her head, captivated. Rory watched it and said, ‘I helped pinch it, Zara. I helped, eh, Shane?’
‘Shh.’
As night fell, no one disturbed the crystal hush by speaking. Moira served a meal while above there was a meal for the eye: the Milky Way wore white gloves and brought its best silver service. The chandelier glistened as they dined.
17
Big Tuesday.
The motel’s TV reception was poor but Rory didn’t care. He had a bed to lie on and watch. Moira told him to turn down the sound or he could get out and go bother Shane and Midge who were in the wag waiting their turn for showering. Zara was taking forever and probably using up the water but Moira let her go on and get herself smelling pure and gleaming. When the girl did finally finish she dreamily dried her hair with the drier attached to the bathroom wall by a thin chain.
Moira had a bottle to feed Mathew, but there was no privacy to do it. She let him make his spluttering hunger cries. She placed him on the pillow end of the bed while she ironed Zara’s jeans. The motel iron had a burning odour so she used a wet handkerchief to dampen the denim and prevent scorch marks. She made a cup of tea and ate the complimentary biscuit, saying to Mathew, ‘This is the life.’
When Zara was ready to dress, Moira sent Rory outside. She took Mathew into the bathroom and stripped naked and got under the water. It was a bath-style shower, which made the process easy. She sat and let the water rain on her back. She put the plug in and washed Mathew in the puddle between her knees. When the puddle was hip high she turned off the taps and leaned back and fed him using her nipple-to-bottle system. Such a drugging feeling to be reclined in wet warmth that she had to rouse herself with a shot of cold water—one blast of it across her shoulders with Mathew held at arm’s length to escape the spray.
She let herself stay naked and damp to get the most benefit from the air-conditioning. Mathew was already asleep from his feeding. She put him on the bed and dressed him in a nappy and light cotton top. She ironed her best flower frock and painted her cracked toes red. Zara was at the mirror behind the front door, leaning close to it and painting her eyes and lips into shape. She kissed her lips back in on themselves to get the sheen right. She put the Salvos jewellery on. The necklace was a touch long but Moira adjusted it by putting a knot in the length, close to the clasps where it wouldn’t be noticed. With that done the last task was the hair. Moira sat the girl down on the edge of the bed and brushed her cropped scalp into a neat part.