Pat — suddenly felt so deeply rooted in her life that moving seemed impossible. Grief lodged in her throat like a piece of food
that wouldn’t go down.
‘I remember when we first met,’ she said to Pat, ‘how impressed by you I was. That beautiful old house. I still miss it. You had five children and you worked, I was so
impressed.’
‘I’ve become a very ordinary little old lady, Marie, slumped in front of her television every night with tea and biscuits.’
‘You never liked television.’
‘I made friends with it after Marcus died. I’m addicted to The Chaser .’
‘Oh yes, they’re so funny. Did you see the episode where they came to Mosman?’
‘With the plan for the mosque? Yes.’
Edwina clicked back across the parquet. ‘Let’s check that, shall we, Marie?’
‘They can be very naughty sometimes,’ said Pat, in a teacherly tone.
‘I nearly died,’ said Marie. ‘It was hysterical.’
‘What was this?’ said Edwina.
‘ The Chaser . In Mosman. Showing everybody plans to build a mosque.’
‘Oh, I was in that.’ Through the layer of plastic, Edwina began to massage Marie’s scalp.
‘Really?’ said Pat, bouncing a wink off the mirror to Marie.
‘Yes, I had no idea! I was completely taken in!’
‘What did you say?’ Marie asked.
‘That I didn’t think a mosque would suit Mosman, of course.’
‘You know they’re all down at Cliffo beach now,’ said Pat.
‘Who?’
‘The Muslims. In hordes. I was down there recently with Phillip and I couldn’t believe my eyes. You see the women in their scarves preparing all the food for the men. Ugh, those big
fat men swimming and so on while the women sit out of the way in their heavy black clothes, sweating and serving them. And I thought to myself, What on earth are you doing, you dopey women?’
Edwina peeled the plastic off Marie’s head. ‘I’ll miss you, Marie.’
‘I haven’t gone yet.’
Marie thought Dr Cayley must be wrong but she swallowed her pills obediently along with her Panadol, laxatives, Swisse women’s vitamins, and fish and evening primrose
oil. Prompted by Penny, she had unearthed the pinball machine in the cellar. Bought decades ago as a folly, it was fought over incessantly, the pings and whirls driving Marie and Ross mad. The
children acquired friends who ignored their parents at the door, trooping straight into the house with the glazed-eyed resolve of addicts going to their dealer. The pinball machine was also admired
at advertising parties: its glass top, and seclusion in the rumpus room, a magnet for the cocaine coterie. Then seemingly overnight the machine was abandoned and had sat rusting in the cellar ever
since. What could you do with such a hulk? And how could she have forgotten its existence? As her house emptied, Marie began to feel the impact of its perimeters as though she were a pinball
herself, rattling through the rooms and decades, and all those pills in turn inside her body, seeking targets.
She asked Fatima to come an extra day and help clean out the cupboards. She stood there supervising as the refuse of a rich life spewed forth. Toys, an old tennis racket, broken banana chair,
bug catcher, gumboots, school textbooks, two pairs of children’s ski boots and twenty years of National Geographic . ‘Would you like any of these things, Fatima?’
‘No thank you.’ Fatima smiled.
Marie noticed Fatima had molars missing and thought of the reminder notice for her root-canal therapy. She sat with Mopoke in the rumpus room flicking through the old magazines while Fatima
ferried things to the garage. A man with a scar or a strong, damaged face may often be judged more attractive than one with unmarked features , wrote an anthropologist in the 1970s. Marie
corralled the National Geographic magazines into a pile. ‘You can leave those.’
More than a purge, the cleaning became a forced investigation. Marie was dismayed by how much of her past was signified by things. How
that wouldn’t go down.
‘I remember when we first met,’ she said to Pat, ‘how impressed by you I was. That beautiful old house. I still miss it. You had five children and you worked, I was so
impressed.’
‘I’ve become a very ordinary little old lady, Marie, slumped in front of her television every night with tea and biscuits.’
‘You never liked television.’
‘I made friends with it after Marcus died. I’m addicted to The Chaser .’
‘Oh yes, they’re so funny. Did you see the episode where they came to Mosman?’
‘With the plan for the mosque? Yes.’
Edwina clicked back across the parquet. ‘Let’s check that, shall we, Marie?’
‘They can be very naughty sometimes,’ said Pat, in a teacherly tone.
‘I nearly died,’ said Marie. ‘It was hysterical.’
‘What was this?’ said Edwina.
‘ The Chaser . In Mosman. Showing everybody plans to build a mosque.’
‘Oh, I was in that.’ Through the layer of plastic, Edwina began to massage Marie’s scalp.
‘Really?’ said Pat, bouncing a wink off the mirror to Marie.
‘Yes, I had no idea! I was completely taken in!’
‘What did you say?’ Marie asked.
‘That I didn’t think a mosque would suit Mosman, of course.’
‘You know they’re all down at Cliffo beach now,’ said Pat.
‘Who?’
‘The Muslims. In hordes. I was down there recently with Phillip and I couldn’t believe my eyes. You see the women in their scarves preparing all the food for the men. Ugh, those big
fat men swimming and so on while the women sit out of the way in their heavy black clothes, sweating and serving them. And I thought to myself, What on earth are you doing, you dopey women?’
Edwina peeled the plastic off Marie’s head. ‘I’ll miss you, Marie.’
‘I haven’t gone yet.’
Marie thought Dr Cayley must be wrong but she swallowed her pills obediently along with her Panadol, laxatives, Swisse women’s vitamins, and fish and evening primrose
oil. Prompted by Penny, she had unearthed the pinball machine in the cellar. Bought decades ago as a folly, it was fought over incessantly, the pings and whirls driving Marie and Ross mad. The
children acquired friends who ignored their parents at the door, trooping straight into the house with the glazed-eyed resolve of addicts going to their dealer. The pinball machine was also admired
at advertising parties: its glass top, and seclusion in the rumpus room, a magnet for the cocaine coterie. Then seemingly overnight the machine was abandoned and had sat rusting in the cellar ever
since. What could you do with such a hulk? And how could she have forgotten its existence? As her house emptied, Marie began to feel the impact of its perimeters as though she were a pinball
herself, rattling through the rooms and decades, and all those pills in turn inside her body, seeking targets.
She asked Fatima to come an extra day and help clean out the cupboards. She stood there supervising as the refuse of a rich life spewed forth. Toys, an old tennis racket, broken banana chair,
bug catcher, gumboots, school textbooks, two pairs of children’s ski boots and twenty years of National Geographic . ‘Would you like any of these things, Fatima?’
‘No thank you.’ Fatima smiled.
Marie noticed Fatima had molars missing and thought of the reminder notice for her root-canal therapy. She sat with Mopoke in the rumpus room flicking through the old magazines while Fatima
ferried things to the garage. A man with a scar or a strong, damaged face may often be judged more attractive than one with unmarked features , wrote an anthropologist in the 1970s. Marie
corralled the National Geographic magazines into a pile. ‘You can leave those.’
More than a purge, the cleaning became a forced investigation. Marie was dismayed by how much of her past was signified by things. How
Similar Books
