(no subject)
I need you to be as awful as you can, plus tell me where i can cut stuff out, i'm 250 over.
She fills the kettle and sits it on the old white stove. She sets out two of the good china teacups and a plate on the tray and reaches for the tin next to the fridge marked "flour." This was her hiding spot when the boys were little. She would keep the milk arrowroots, her coconut ice or their favourite chocolate muffins in the tin and after turning the kitchen upside down the boys would still never find the goodies. The treats would appear in front of their confused and amazed eyes. The muffins would hardly last a second, crumbs clinging to the boys' cheeks as they gratefully smiled through mouthfuls of wet cake. She smiled with the recollection and pondered which biscuits to set out, the montes or the vo-vos? The kettle's whistling broke the warm silence. When the tea was made Madeline balanced the tray carrying two small pink-iced biscuits, the cosy-covered teapot and the prized cups through the dark hallway to the lounge room. The only light in the room came from outside, it was bright and the white curtains blazed filtered orange light. Madeline didn't turn on the light though; the habits from her poor childhood were too hard to break. She sits down with the tray on the small table in between the two armchairs. She begins her knitting; it's a hat for the new baby. The grandfather clock behind the door ticks away the hours as the light outside grows stronger then fades.
She dreams of her husband. In her large bed she shivers until she nuzzles into his hard, warm body. Her back bends to fit the curve of his heaving chest and he wraps her in his arms. She dreams of their arguments and their romances. She remembers the hot nights in Perth spent fishing on the rocks, swearing and laughing with him as they reeled in their catch. She feels his breath on her neck, the hairs tingling with the sensation. She remembers his work-worn hands and the sour smell of his awful aftershave. She smiles in her sleep and nuzzles in closer. In the morning, half awake, half dreaming, Madeline is the happiest she will be all day. She explores the hollows of his collarbones with her hands, his skin stretched and tired. She reminisces with him over Mikey's first day at school and gossips over Jim's new girlfriend. He always agrees with her, smiling through his thin lips, eyes brightening as she laughs. As her eyes open and she sits up, she looks to his side of the bed. The pillows are still in place, plumped and propped, and the bed sheets hardly ruffled. Confused and anxious she looks around their bedroom. Her eyes dart to the mantle. Framed by old family photos is a dark blue urn. He is there, young and in uniform, fading on the sepia paper. Memory sweeps over her. She turns back wanting to sleep again but can't, her dreams now tainted by reality.
"Hello, Mrs Mainsley speaking" Madeline answers the phone.
"Hi mum."
"Hello, darling, how is everything?"
"Fine, everyone’s fine; Anna started high school the other week, so she's pretty tired."
Madeline is confused, the hat won't fit Anna.
"She's too young, isn't she?"
"Mum, she's thirteen in April." Madeline will have to give her knitting to St. Vinnies.
"I'm coming down to Sydney next week, just reminding you I was going to stay."
"Of course dear… Lydia came over the other day, Jim. You know she still comes over every Sunday for a cup of tea. She said to say hello, said she hadn't seen you and the girls in a while. You should call her."
He sighed, clicked his tongue "Yep, mum, I'll do that."
She was tired. She wandered back to the lounge room and cleared away the tray, the biscuits uneaten and the pot cold and full. She made dinner, one of those meals the nice young lady brings over once a fortnight and puts in her freezer. After her meal, had in silence in the dark kitchen, Madeline walked to the hall and began up the stairs. Her knees ached as she pulled herself upwards. She stopped to rest. When she reached her room, she sat on the edge of the bed and lay down, too exhausted to wash herself or get into her nightgown.
Her son, Mikey was eleven when he decided he wanted to be in the army, just like Dad. He was currently off on some rebuilding mission on one of the small islands in the Pacific, she could never remember.
He called her, the line static: "Hi mum" his voice faint but cheerful.
"Hello darling, how are you?"
"I’m coming home soon, mum, Lucy's pregnant!." She smiled, pride swelled up in her chest "It's a boy, he's due in late-July."
She had to sit down. It would be nice having a little one around again, it had been so long. Mike and Lucy lived in the next suburb so it would be easy to see the baby, plenty of babysitting opportunities. She had it all planned in a second, they would go to the parent-teacher nights or dinner parties and he would come over to her house. They would sit and watch those bright television shows on in the afternoon and she would spoil him rotten with treats and stories about his dad when he was young. It was going to be wonderful, really lovely. Madeline smiled. She wished him well and hung up. She went back to the dark lounge room to resume her knitting.
"Hello?" Jim sing-songed in the empty hallway. He turned into the old lounge room, quickly noticing the changes. The old television was gone to be replaced with a small box television, the rug had disappeared and the naked floorboards remained. He glanced towards the twin armchairs. His mother was asleep, her gnarled and messy knitting in her lap. Jim's heart sank just looking at her, visits were getting harder. Beside her sat the teapot and two iced vo-vo's. He saw in this decrepit, shrunken lady only a skeleton of the woman she once was. It's there in the pout of her lips, and there the crease between her brows. She'd had it hard. Dad died when Jim was only thirteen, Mikey was eleven. Jim was close to his father. It was dad who let him have beer on the hot afternoons sitting on the verandah watching the sun sink behind the purple blaze of the jacarandas that seemed epidemic in their suburb. It was Dad who'd taught him how to fish. It was mum who made him iron his pants before going out and cooked the awful, bitter vegetables that appeared on his plate nightly. He missed Dad terribly after he died and somehow it was Mum's fault. That unfaltering composure and hard grip on his hand at the funeral, she didn't care Dad was gone. He made it so hard for her, acting up whenever he could. Jim sighed with the recollection. He hated this house, hated coming here and reliving his childhood.
Jim put his bags up in his old room and went to make dinner. The kitchen was a mess. Her cupboards were bare, dishes piled up in the sink and cockroaches emerged from every shadow. A sour smell hung in the air that made Jim frown. He ordered dinner and waited next to his mother in the old armchair. He was tired, he and Jill were having some problems and the girls were being difficult. The trip to Sydney was supposed to be a break. Mum's condition only reminded him of the inevitable end of mental and physical decay. They sat in silence. The bell rang and Jim came back in with the hot pizza. She smiled at him as they ate.
"When are the girls coming to see me? I haven't seen them in ages, Jim."
"I don’t know, mum, soon."
They ate in silence.
"What have you been up to, mum?"
"Oh, nothing really. Lydia came over and we had tea today, you know she comes over every Sunday, has done for years. Did you call her? She always asks about you and the girls."
"Things have been really busy at work and I - "
"Well do it now, No time like the present, James." His childhood was filled with nonsense idioms; she always used them when she was pushing a point. They reminded him of screaming in hallways and slamming doors.
"Mum… I'm sure Lydia will forgive a couple of days," trying to be calm., she had always been a big nag.
"I tried to raise my boys well," Madeline said to herself more than anyone really "Lydia was so good to us when you boys were young. It was hard, your father not there and I- "
"Mum, don't push it" Jim's voice raised over the top of her, forceful, his eyes wide, eyebrows high. Madeline looked down at the cheese on her shaking fingertips, her hands never steady these days.
"I don't know where I went wrong with you, Jim" she said in a small voice.
"Look, mum, just shut up alright, I’ll do it later." He didn't know why he was so angry; all of the impotent frustrations of his years in this house were flooding over him.
"You're brother turned out fine, in the army, doing something for the country," she continued.
"Mum, just stop it." Madeline flinched at the force of his words.
He took a deep breath, couldn't stand it, her, any longer "Lydia is dead, she died four years ago. She hasn't come to tea for a long time. And Mike? You call getting addicted to morphine in Timor doing something? He o-d'd last year, living on the streets. He left his new baby for a needle."
He sat down, staring hard at his mother. He knew she didn't deserve it, being back in this house always upset him. She lifted herself up out her chair, not looking at him. She was shaking. She laboured up the stairs to her bedroom. Tonight she had lost a son and a sister. She was going back to her husband.
Jim sat in the old lounge room. He picked through an old photo album. His mind raced back to a time when visits to his mother weren't so heart breaking. Darkness grew about the room.
She fills the kettle and sits it on the old white stove. She sets out two of the good china teacups and a plate on the tray and reaches for the tin next to the fridge marked "flour." This was her hiding spot when the boys were little. She would keep the milk arrowroots, her coconut ice or their favourite chocolate muffins in the tin and after turning the kitchen upside down the boys would still never find the goodies. The treats would appear in front of their confused and amazed eyes. The muffins would hardly last a second, crumbs clinging to the boys' cheeks as they gratefully smiled through mouthfuls of wet cake. She smiled with the recollection and pondered which biscuits to set out, the montes or the vo-vos? The kettle's whistling broke the warm silence. When the tea was made Madeline balanced the tray carrying two small pink-iced biscuits, the cosy-covered teapot and the prized cups through the dark hallway to the lounge room. The only light in the room came from outside, it was bright and the white curtains blazed filtered orange light. Madeline didn't turn on the light though; the habits from her poor childhood were too hard to break. She sits down with the tray on the small table in between the two armchairs. She begins her knitting; it's a hat for the new baby. The grandfather clock behind the door ticks away the hours as the light outside grows stronger then fades.
She dreams of her husband. In her large bed she shivers until she nuzzles into his hard, warm body. Her back bends to fit the curve of his heaving chest and he wraps her in his arms. She dreams of their arguments and their romances. She remembers the hot nights in Perth spent fishing on the rocks, swearing and laughing with him as they reeled in their catch. She feels his breath on her neck, the hairs tingling with the sensation. She remembers his work-worn hands and the sour smell of his awful aftershave. She smiles in her sleep and nuzzles in closer. In the morning, half awake, half dreaming, Madeline is the happiest she will be all day. She explores the hollows of his collarbones with her hands, his skin stretched and tired. She reminisces with him over Mikey's first day at school and gossips over Jim's new girlfriend. He always agrees with her, smiling through his thin lips, eyes brightening as she laughs. As her eyes open and she sits up, she looks to his side of the bed. The pillows are still in place, plumped and propped, and the bed sheets hardly ruffled. Confused and anxious she looks around their bedroom. Her eyes dart to the mantle. Framed by old family photos is a dark blue urn. He is there, young and in uniform, fading on the sepia paper. Memory sweeps over her. She turns back wanting to sleep again but can't, her dreams now tainted by reality.
"Hello, Mrs Mainsley speaking" Madeline answers the phone.
"Hi mum."
"Hello, darling, how is everything?"
"Fine, everyone’s fine; Anna started high school the other week, so she's pretty tired."
Madeline is confused, the hat won't fit Anna.
"She's too young, isn't she?"
"Mum, she's thirteen in April." Madeline will have to give her knitting to St. Vinnies.
"I'm coming down to Sydney next week, just reminding you I was going to stay."
"Of course dear… Lydia came over the other day, Jim. You know she still comes over every Sunday for a cup of tea. She said to say hello, said she hadn't seen you and the girls in a while. You should call her."
He sighed, clicked his tongue "Yep, mum, I'll do that."
She was tired. She wandered back to the lounge room and cleared away the tray, the biscuits uneaten and the pot cold and full. She made dinner, one of those meals the nice young lady brings over once a fortnight and puts in her freezer. After her meal, had in silence in the dark kitchen, Madeline walked to the hall and began up the stairs. Her knees ached as she pulled herself upwards. She stopped to rest. When she reached her room, she sat on the edge of the bed and lay down, too exhausted to wash herself or get into her nightgown.
Her son, Mikey was eleven when he decided he wanted to be in the army, just like Dad. He was currently off on some rebuilding mission on one of the small islands in the Pacific, she could never remember.
He called her, the line static: "Hi mum" his voice faint but cheerful.
"Hello darling, how are you?"
"I’m coming home soon, mum, Lucy's pregnant!." She smiled, pride swelled up in her chest "It's a boy, he's due in late-July."
She had to sit down. It would be nice having a little one around again, it had been so long. Mike and Lucy lived in the next suburb so it would be easy to see the baby, plenty of babysitting opportunities. She had it all planned in a second, they would go to the parent-teacher nights or dinner parties and he would come over to her house. They would sit and watch those bright television shows on in the afternoon and she would spoil him rotten with treats and stories about his dad when he was young. It was going to be wonderful, really lovely. Madeline smiled. She wished him well and hung up. She went back to the dark lounge room to resume her knitting.
"Hello?" Jim sing-songed in the empty hallway. He turned into the old lounge room, quickly noticing the changes. The old television was gone to be replaced with a small box television, the rug had disappeared and the naked floorboards remained. He glanced towards the twin armchairs. His mother was asleep, her gnarled and messy knitting in her lap. Jim's heart sank just looking at her, visits were getting harder. Beside her sat the teapot and two iced vo-vo's. He saw in this decrepit, shrunken lady only a skeleton of the woman she once was. It's there in the pout of her lips, and there the crease between her brows. She'd had it hard. Dad died when Jim was only thirteen, Mikey was eleven. Jim was close to his father. It was dad who let him have beer on the hot afternoons sitting on the verandah watching the sun sink behind the purple blaze of the jacarandas that seemed epidemic in their suburb. It was Dad who'd taught him how to fish. It was mum who made him iron his pants before going out and cooked the awful, bitter vegetables that appeared on his plate nightly. He missed Dad terribly after he died and somehow it was Mum's fault. That unfaltering composure and hard grip on his hand at the funeral, she didn't care Dad was gone. He made it so hard for her, acting up whenever he could. Jim sighed with the recollection. He hated this house, hated coming here and reliving his childhood.
Jim put his bags up in his old room and went to make dinner. The kitchen was a mess. Her cupboards were bare, dishes piled up in the sink and cockroaches emerged from every shadow. A sour smell hung in the air that made Jim frown. He ordered dinner and waited next to his mother in the old armchair. He was tired, he and Jill were having some problems and the girls were being difficult. The trip to Sydney was supposed to be a break. Mum's condition only reminded him of the inevitable end of mental and physical decay. They sat in silence. The bell rang and Jim came back in with the hot pizza. She smiled at him as they ate.
"When are the girls coming to see me? I haven't seen them in ages, Jim."
"I don’t know, mum, soon."
They ate in silence.
"What have you been up to, mum?"
"Oh, nothing really. Lydia came over and we had tea today, you know she comes over every Sunday, has done for years. Did you call her? She always asks about you and the girls."
"Things have been really busy at work and I - "
"Well do it now, No time like the present, James." His childhood was filled with nonsense idioms; she always used them when she was pushing a point. They reminded him of screaming in hallways and slamming doors.
"Mum… I'm sure Lydia will forgive a couple of days," trying to be calm., she had always been a big nag.
"I tried to raise my boys well," Madeline said to herself more than anyone really "Lydia was so good to us when you boys were young. It was hard, your father not there and I- "
"Mum, don't push it" Jim's voice raised over the top of her, forceful, his eyes wide, eyebrows high. Madeline looked down at the cheese on her shaking fingertips, her hands never steady these days.
"I don't know where I went wrong with you, Jim" she said in a small voice.
"Look, mum, just shut up alright, I’ll do it later." He didn't know why he was so angry; all of the impotent frustrations of his years in this house were flooding over him.
"You're brother turned out fine, in the army, doing something for the country," she continued.
"Mum, just stop it." Madeline flinched at the force of his words.
He took a deep breath, couldn't stand it, her, any longer "Lydia is dead, she died four years ago. She hasn't come to tea for a long time. And Mike? You call getting addicted to morphine in Timor doing something? He o-d'd last year, living on the streets. He left his new baby for a needle."
He sat down, staring hard at his mother. He knew she didn't deserve it, being back in this house always upset him. She lifted herself up out her chair, not looking at him. She was shaking. She laboured up the stairs to her bedroom. Tonight she had lost a son and a sister. She was going back to her husband.
Jim sat in the old lounge room. He picked through an old photo album. His mind raced back to a time when visits to his mother weren't so heart breaking. Darkness grew about the room.