when she wrenched her face away and said, ‘It’s time to go in.’
‘Yes!’ said William and reached for his fly.
‘NO!’ said Gertrude and pushed at his shoulders. She struggled, feeling about in the dark with William still oozing all over her, sucking at her neck. She crawled out from under him and was gone. William was left engorged, panting and alone in his mother’s car. He scratched his head, straightened his tie and sighed. He drove to the Station Hotel but there was no sign of life. The soft yellow light at the top of The Hill burned, so he drove towards it, stopping at the base to smoke a cigarette. Mona said the Dunnage girl had apparently travelled and was driving Miss Dimm spare, always at the library ordering in strange books. Ruth Dimm said she even received a French newspaper in the mail every month.
He drove home. His mother was waiting. ‘Why?’ she cried.
‘Why not?’
‘You can’t marry her, she’s a heifer!’
‘I can if I like,’ said William and raised his chin.
Elsbeth stood looking at her only son and shrieked, ‘You’ve been had – and it doesn’t take too much imagination to work out how.’
William’s voice rose to the Beaumont shrill. ‘I want a future, a life –’
‘You’ve got a life.’
‘It’s not mine!’ William stomped off towards his room.
‘NO!’ his mother wailed.
He turned. ‘It’s either her or Tilly Dunnage.’
Elsbeth collapsed into a chair. On his way past Mona’s room, William called, ‘And you should find someone too, sister.’
Mona’s wet rubbing halted under her blankets and she bit the sheet.
William went to see Alvin Pratt the next day and by evening all had been arranged for William to marry down, thus reinstating his mother to her rightful place.
12
M arigold Pettyman, Lois Pickett, Beula Harridene and Faith O’Brien were standing at Pratts’ vacant window. Alvin had removed the specials advertisements from the glass two days ago. Purl, Nancy and Ruth joined the gathering crowd. Finally Alvin, dusty and scone-coloured, leaned into his window, scooped away a few dead blowies, and rested a catalogue open on a page featuring five richly illustrated wedding cakes. Beside it he placed a two-tiered, elaborately decorated and perfect wedding cake on a silver tray. He smiled lovingly at his beautiful creation before carefully closing the lace curtains hanging behind.
Inside, Muriel, Gertrude and Tilly leaned together over the haberdashery counter flicking through a magazine. Molly sat beside them in her wheelchair, watching out the door.
‘Lois Pickett always looks like a tea-stained hanky,’ she said.
Tilly gave her a black look.
‘And we all know how unbalanced Marigold Pettyman is, these days.’
The wedding gown they were looking at was strapless with an overly clinched waist held by a bunchy satin sash which gave way to an overskirt of unspectacular beaded net. At the bodice top there was another bunch of satin, a bow, fit to camouflage any cleavage.
Gertrude pointed to a picture and said, ‘That one, I like that one.’
‘It’s beautiful, Gert,’ said Muriel and stepped back to picture her daughter wearing the white wedding gown.
‘It’ll hide those thighs of yours,’ said Molly. Tilly pushed her mother over to hardware and parked her in front of a shelf full of boxes of nails. Molly was right about the thighs but Gertrude had a waist Tilly could emphasise, which would also help with her hips. Then there was the square bottom and shapeless down-pipe legs and matching arms, and under that cardigan Gertrude was hirsute, so bare skin was out of the question. She also had a pigeon chest. Tilly looked again at the gown. ‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘we can do much better than that,’ and Gertrude caught her breath.
• • •
Teddy was leaning on the bar and Purl was telling him all about the wedding,
‘… so of course Elsbeth’s furious, Ruth said she hasn’t posted the invitations yet but Myrtle Dunnage
‘Yes!’ said William and reached for his fly.
‘NO!’ said Gertrude and pushed at his shoulders. She struggled, feeling about in the dark with William still oozing all over her, sucking at her neck. She crawled out from under him and was gone. William was left engorged, panting and alone in his mother’s car. He scratched his head, straightened his tie and sighed. He drove to the Station Hotel but there was no sign of life. The soft yellow light at the top of The Hill burned, so he drove towards it, stopping at the base to smoke a cigarette. Mona said the Dunnage girl had apparently travelled and was driving Miss Dimm spare, always at the library ordering in strange books. Ruth Dimm said she even received a French newspaper in the mail every month.
He drove home. His mother was waiting. ‘Why?’ she cried.
‘Why not?’
‘You can’t marry her, she’s a heifer!’
‘I can if I like,’ said William and raised his chin.
Elsbeth stood looking at her only son and shrieked, ‘You’ve been had – and it doesn’t take too much imagination to work out how.’
William’s voice rose to the Beaumont shrill. ‘I want a future, a life –’
‘You’ve got a life.’
‘It’s not mine!’ William stomped off towards his room.
‘NO!’ his mother wailed.
He turned. ‘It’s either her or Tilly Dunnage.’
Elsbeth collapsed into a chair. On his way past Mona’s room, William called, ‘And you should find someone too, sister.’
Mona’s wet rubbing halted under her blankets and she bit the sheet.
William went to see Alvin Pratt the next day and by evening all had been arranged for William to marry down, thus reinstating his mother to her rightful place.
12
M arigold Pettyman, Lois Pickett, Beula Harridene and Faith O’Brien were standing at Pratts’ vacant window. Alvin had removed the specials advertisements from the glass two days ago. Purl, Nancy and Ruth joined the gathering crowd. Finally Alvin, dusty and scone-coloured, leaned into his window, scooped away a few dead blowies, and rested a catalogue open on a page featuring five richly illustrated wedding cakes. Beside it he placed a two-tiered, elaborately decorated and perfect wedding cake on a silver tray. He smiled lovingly at his beautiful creation before carefully closing the lace curtains hanging behind.
Inside, Muriel, Gertrude and Tilly leaned together over the haberdashery counter flicking through a magazine. Molly sat beside them in her wheelchair, watching out the door.
‘Lois Pickett always looks like a tea-stained hanky,’ she said.
Tilly gave her a black look.
‘And we all know how unbalanced Marigold Pettyman is, these days.’
The wedding gown they were looking at was strapless with an overly clinched waist held by a bunchy satin sash which gave way to an overskirt of unspectacular beaded net. At the bodice top there was another bunch of satin, a bow, fit to camouflage any cleavage.
Gertrude pointed to a picture and said, ‘That one, I like that one.’
‘It’s beautiful, Gert,’ said Muriel and stepped back to picture her daughter wearing the white wedding gown.
‘It’ll hide those thighs of yours,’ said Molly. Tilly pushed her mother over to hardware and parked her in front of a shelf full of boxes of nails. Molly was right about the thighs but Gertrude had a waist Tilly could emphasise, which would also help with her hips. Then there was the square bottom and shapeless down-pipe legs and matching arms, and under that cardigan Gertrude was hirsute, so bare skin was out of the question. She also had a pigeon chest. Tilly looked again at the gown. ‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘we can do much better than that,’ and Gertrude caught her breath.
• • •
Teddy was leaning on the bar and Purl was telling him all about the wedding,
‘… so of course Elsbeth’s furious, Ruth said she hasn’t posted the invitations yet but Myrtle Dunnage
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