of ourselves. We guessed that’s what she’d want to hear.
No-one came to the door. We walked around the house peering in windows. It was a decent-sized home, at least two bedrooms - and neat; she had to be doing alright. Then we sat on the step and waited. I glanced at Kit and realised it was very timely that we should be looking for a bath and a comb and a bit of ordinary food. She rolled up her jeans and looked at the mass of mosquito bites; some were serious sores. She put a dob of spit on each one to relieve the itch, a trick I’d shown her.
Then around six, a woman pulled up in a large blue convertible American car, got some stuff out of the back and walked towards us. At first I thought it was someone coming to visit, she was so far removed from the look of our mother. She must have been about thirty-five and she had on skin tight pink slacks, a roll-neck sweater and a red leather jacket. Her bright blonde hair was piled up like a movie star.
Her perfume arrived first, and then she got right up the path before she saw us. We both stood up and faced her. She stared for a second and then she said, ‘Gail’s kids.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You’re … Aunty Deb? We’re sorry to land on you like this but …’
‘You look like crap, worse than your picture. I told Gail I couldn’t help.’
‘You … you’ve spoken to our mother?’
‘She sent a letter in ‘56. She sent your class photos as well, as if that might encourage me to take you off her hands. I told her it was time she got on with the job herself. Not a good listener, your mother. So she’s packed you off anyway, eh?’
‘No, we quit,’ I said. ‘We just took off. We got your address out of the phone book. We knew you lived …’
‘Gail doesn’t know where you are?’
I had to think what to say. Would she prefer one answer or another? We were still standing on the veranda and Aunty Deb was still looking up at us. I noted her bright red lips, her sparkly handbag slipping off her shoulder and the shopping bags hanging heavily. I couldn’t get over her piled up bottle-blonde hair.
‘We just took off,’ I said. ‘We didn’t say we were going. We didn’t tell her where we’d go.’
‘We left once before,’ Kit said. ‘In Melbourne. We went into the city so she probably thinks we’ve gone there again.’
I didn’t want Kit to say that. I didn’t want her to say anything. Too much information doesn’t always help your cause. Aunty Deb gave me a shopping bag, walked past us and put her key in the door. I was aware again of her powerful fragrance; God knows what we must have smelled like. Aunty Deb sighed.
‘Well, it’s not like I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘You … you were expecting us?’
‘The Moon arcana. I pulled that card two days running. The second time right next to the Sun. Twos: twos everywhere, and two figures like Adam and Eve reaching out to each other and the twin protective towers right next door.’
Kitty and I must have stared a long time. What could we say? I assumed she was a little touched like so many others of her generation.
‘You better come in and clean up,’ she said. ‘Make you look a bit more like those school photos. And don’t call me Aunty Deb. Debbie will do.’
I have just entered ‘the bad books’. I had a terrible night last night. I awoke to hear noises in the passage, first a low moaning, then a soft wail or crying, and in the light coming under my door I could see a figure walking up and down. It scared the shit out of me - for some reason I got it in my head that it might be one of the long-dead inmates returning to haunt us.
We’re only allowed to shut our doors after bedtime, but locks are banned. So I got up in the dark and found my walking stick. It has a ‘T’ handle on it and I jammed it firmly under the doorhandle. I tried to sleep. The luminous hands on my little traveller’s clock said it was half past two. I distracted myself by closing my eyes for a long while, then opening them to observe the new position of the luminous hands. I tried to concentrate on those hands. Why is luminous paint luminescent? It’s because it’s made with phosphorescent sulphide and when exposed to light it absorbs UV black light and in return, gives off white light.
Eventually I dozed off but somewhere in the very early hours there came a knock, knock, knock and I could hear the doorknob turning. I shit myself again and pulled the pillow round me. Then I thought I heard a voice - it sounded as if my name was being called. I pretended to sleep.
All of a sudden there came an almighty crash and my door burst open, sending my cane flying. I’m pretty sure I yelled. Then the lights came on and there was Nurse Osborne and a male assistant standing over my bed. Osborne looked furious and immediately started into me. ‘What’s the idea of locking your door? We’ve had suicides in here, you know!’
Forget suicide - if only they knew how close I came to a heart attack.
When they left, my stomach turned and I felt like vomiting again. Can’t do it in my hand basin though. Since my gall bladder op I don’t digest food properly and the big bits won’t go down the plug hole.
This morning I am just starting to feel better when in comes Nurse Osborne again. At least I was dressed and I was sitting on the bed reading through my notes.
‘What was that all about?’ she demands. What can you say to that?
‘I was sleeping, the situation only escalated when …’
‘We don’t have situations around here, Mr Smythe - at least not on my shift. You’ll learn to behave like everyone else - there are no exceptions. And on my shift you’re my responsibility.’
I put away my writings. Osborne stands there un-blinking, hands on hips. She sighs dramatically.
‘Unfortunately I’m going to have to submit a report.’
Suddenly I see a way to get on her better side.
‘You don’t need to,’ I say. ‘I’m sure I’ll get over it and I can see no good reason to put yourself on report.’
Her mouth falls open.
‘Not me!’ she yells. ‘I’m reporting you and your ob-structive behaviour!’ She stares hard, then huffs and stomps out. No point arguing. But the upshot is that now I have a serious blot against my good name, and all because of a ghost in the passageway.
Debbie was a ‘rocker’; she told us so herself. We used to sit in her lounge and she’d play all the new songs on a little turntable. She had a big stack of singles - 45s they were called. On the first day I told her we’d heard Bill Haley and the Comets on the wireless.
‘You heard of Elvis Presley?’ she said.
‘Course,’ we chimed. ‘We like him, don’t we Kitty?’
‘Yeah he’s great,’ Kitty said.
