Mothers and Daughters (5 page)

‘That feels better,’ she said. ‘I was dying in those tracksuit pants. Do you even wear them up here?’

Amira laughed. ‘Not so far. The locals pull out jumpers and act all affronted if it gets below twenty-two degrees . . . Tess
and I just shake our heads. I guess it’s all relative. Wine?’ She lifted the bottle, dripping, from its ice bucket.

Morag shook her head.

‘Not yet. Just some water to start. I’m a bit light-headed.’

‘Too long on the plane with Fiona?’

Morag smiled. ‘No, it’s the heat, and the light. It’s incredible, isn’t it? It’s clearer, somehow . . . sharper.’ She began to rummage through her bag on the table in front of her. ‘Before I forget, I’ve got something for Tess. I’ll give it to you and you can pass it on. It’s a letter. From Callum.’

‘Callum?’ Amira asked, raising her eyebrows. ‘For Tess?’ I didn’t think they’d spoken since primary school. Were they even in any classes together last year?’

‘Who knows?’ said Morag. ‘I was surprised too. French, maybe—if Tess even did French?’

‘Amira had to think. ‘Yes, she did, though I don’t think she got past
croissant
and
merde
, and she hasn’t opened her textbook since we’ve been here.’

Morag passed across a long yellow envelope. ‘How’s that going? She’s doing School of the Air, isn’t she? Does she like it?’

‘Yeah, she does. Where I teach only goes to year seven, so it was that or nothing. And it’s “school of the net” these days—it all comes by email. She’s at work on it every morning when I leave, but she always seems to be finished and off at the beach by the time I get back.’ Amira shrugged. ‘I’m not sure if the material’s too easy or if she’s just much quicker because she’s not being distracted by classmates.’ She held up the envelope. ‘Or boys.’

‘Shit, I’m ready for a drink.’ Fiona slid into the seat next to Morag. Amira quickly tucked the letter into her backpack.

‘Caro, you too?’ she asked, picking up the bottle.

‘Thanks,’ said Caro, sitting down and holding out her glass. ‘The girls have gone for a swim. I said I’d come and grab them before dinner.’

Amira poured the wine. ‘I booked early—six o’clock. I thought I’d better, seeing as your stomachs are still three hours ahead. We’re just going to a local place, the Aarli Bar. It’s down the hill, in town.’

‘So we can walk?’ Fiona asked. ‘You don’t have to drive?’

Amira nodded.

‘Excellent.’ Fiona pulled Amira’s glass to her and sloshed in more wine, draining the bottle. ‘Drink up, then. We’ve got ten months of Friday nights to catch up on. Cheers!’

‘Cheers,’ said Caro, lifting her glass high. ‘To the week ahead. To friendship. To us.’

‘To us,’ echoed Morag and Amira. Fiona was already taking her first long swallow.

‘You’re so sentimental,’ she said to Caro as she put down the half-empty glass. ‘To wine,’ she toasted instead, then burped loudly, neglecting to cover her mouth.

‘Oh, Fiona,’ Caro complained.

‘I’ll really enjoy having a drink tonight, actually,’ Amira said. ‘Kalangalla’s dry—you know that, don’t you?’

‘You’re kidding,’ said Fiona, pausing with her glass halfway to her mouth. ‘We’re on holiday, without our husbands, and it’s fucking dry?’

‘I’m positive I told you. I assumed you’d realise, anyway. Most communities are, at least those like Kalangalla.’

‘The boring ones, you mean?’ said Fiona.

‘The ones where everyone’s trying to make a go of it. No grog, no domestic violence, no sniffing . . .’ Amira took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to relax her tone. ‘Look, you can have a drink, but you’ll have to buy it and bring it up yourself, then keep it in your room. No sem sauv on the beach. Some of the people there are recovering alcoholics. They don’t need the temptation.’

‘Faaaark,’ exhaled Fiona. ‘What about smoking? I may have to take it up again if I can’t drink.’

‘Plenty of smokers,’ said Amira. ‘You’ll fit in well.’

‘Do you miss it?’ Caro asked. ‘Drinking, that is.’

‘Oh, I still have one occasionally, with dinner. Some days I need it after work. As I said, it’s fine if it’s not a public thing.’ Amira toyed with the stem of her glass. ‘What I do miss—at least, I used to—is my mobile phone. There’s hardly any coverage on the Dampier Peninsula. That’s why I’ve been emailing you all so much, and I let Tess go on Facebook. We needed to stay in touch somehow.’

Fiona rose from her seat, clutching her purse. ‘I think I better buy another bottle, pronto. No booze, no mobiles—and I’m guessing there won’t be a Krispy Kreme either?’ Amira laughed and shook her head. Fiona let out a low whistle. ‘I’d better come back with a bloody good tan, then.’

When dusk fell they hauled Janey and Bronte out of the pool and set off for the restaurant. Amira pulled two frangipanis
from a tree at the side of the road and tucked one behind her ear, handing the other to Janey.

The girl buried her nose in it and inhaled deeply.

‘Thanks. I was wondering what that scent was.’

‘It’s always stronger at night,’ Amira said. ‘Lovely, isn’t it? I put them on my pillow sometimes.’

The afternoon had been a lot of fun. It was great to see her friends again, to fall back so easily into their teasing banter. Amira and Tess had both settled into Kalangalla quite quickly, but it felt different to be with people who really knew you, she thought, people who’d minded your kids, slept at your house; people from whom there were no secrets. The night air was warm, and she was looking forward to eating out—there were no restaurants in the community. She’d order two threadfin salmon, maybe three, and they could pull off the flesh with their fingers . . .

‘Ya fuckin’ moll! Ya cunt!’

An Aboriginal man was standing, swaying, in the road just ten metres in front of them, barefoot, his blue singlet torn and damp. Before Amira could react he reached out and hit a woman cowering next to him, the blow spinning her around and sending her sprawling to the bitumen. There was a dull crack as her head hit the road. A third Aborigine emerged out of the darkness, bent down and prised the bottle she’d been holding from her fingers, then disappeared back into the sandy scrub between the town and the bay.

Caro clutched Janey to her, rooted to the spot. Behind them, Fiona, Bronte and Morag looked on in horror. The first man
nudged the woman with his toe, then ambled off after his friend. ‘Fuckin’ moll,’ he repeated as he left.

It had all been . . . exciting, Janey thought as she sat in the Aarli Bar reliving the scene. She knew that wasn’t how she was supposed to feel—she was meant to be scared, horrified, preferably both, but there you had it. She just felt thrilled. She’d never seen someone knocked out before. On the TV, sure, all the time, but it was different in real life; it was in your face. A small jolt of adrenalin buzzed through her as she recalled it again: the smell of the man—beer, urine, BO; the crunching sound his fist had made as it connected with the woman’s jaw; the way her knees had folded together, like a deckchair, as she sank to the ground. Janey’s mum had grabbed her after that, buried Janey’s face in her chest—something she hadn’t done for a good ten years, thank you very much—but it was too late. Janey had seen what had happened, and part of her had enjoyed it.

Sadly, though, that was where it had ended. Almost as soon as the woman had hit the road, the air rushing out of her with a grunt, Fiona had seized Bronte’s wrist and hauled her to the restaurant, its burgundy sign glowing up ahead. Her own mother had followed suit, of course, continuing to shield Janey’s eyes as if she was five. Caro only let go when she had Janey seated and was pushing a barley sugar from her bag into Janey’s hand, no doubt in case she was suffering shock. Morag and Amira were nowhere to be seen.

‘How was the arm on that guy?’ Fiona asked, her voice slightly too loud. She caught the eye of a waiter, who picked up some menus and came towards them. ‘Bloody Mike Tyson. Or Lionel Rose, really.
He
was a boong too.’

Her mum didn’t even try to shush Fiona this time, Janey noticed, just ducked her head and fiddled with her cutlery.

‘A bottle of red, please,’ Fiona said to the waiter. He went to open the wine list and she shooed him away. ‘Just red. I don’t care what sort. Whichever one you can get here quickest.’ Bronte blushed.

‘Someone’s going to have a sore head tomorrow,’ Fiona went on. ‘God. Welcome to Broome. Beware of the locals.’

‘Do you think she took his grog?’ Janey asked.

Her mother looked up.

‘Janey!’ she warned.

‘It’s a fair question,’ said Fiona. ‘They’re always fighting over something—booze, women, land.’

‘I don’t know how Amira stands it.’ Caro sighed. ‘Imagine living with that all the time.’

Bronte cleared her throat, a puny sound, like a kitten sneezing. ‘She said her community was dry, remember? That’s probably what they’re trying to prevent. I’m sure it’s different there.’

‘Yeah, well, it would be better if they just learned to hold their drink, like the rest of us,’ said Fiona, ‘or got a job, so they didn’t just sit around, pissing on. That’s our taxes, you know. We’re paying for their dole and their beer.’

The waiter returned with the wine. Fiona held out her glass insistently, then moved it away before the waiter had finished
pouring, ruby liquid spilling onto the table. Though it had been her fault, he apologised and pulled out a cloth.

‘Can I have one too, Mum?’ Janey asked.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Caro. ‘Of course not.’

‘I do at home. Dad always lets me. You know that.’

‘We’re not at home now, and you’re in training. Two mineral waters please,’ her mother instructed the waiter without consulting either Bronte or Janey.

‘Diet Coke,’ Janey called after him, but she was too late. She sank back in her chair. They were supposed to be on holiday, weren’t they? Couldn’t her mum cut her some slack for one night?

Amira and Morag arrived, looking flustered.

‘I’m starving. Have you ordered?’ Amira asked, squeezing herself into the seat next to Janey. She could use some Diet Coke too, Janey thought.

‘Not yet,’ replied Caro. ‘We wanted to wait until we knew that everything was OK. You were alright, I mean. What happened?’ ‘I didn’t want to just leave the woman lying in the street,’ Amira said. ‘I stayed with her while Morag ran down to the police station. It’s not far. Everything’s close in this town.’

‘Weren’t you scared?’ asked Janey.

‘Not really. I didn’t think the men would come back. They had what they wanted. I was more afraid the woman would stop breathing.’

‘Well,
I
was scared,’ said Morag from the other end of the table. ‘I didn’t want to be there in the dark, near all those bushes. I kept thinking about snakes.’

Amira laughed. ‘Not at night. Not the legless variety, anyway.’ She turned to address the others. ‘She did a great job though—had the cops back there in less than ten minutes, and by the time they arrived the woman was starting to come round.’

‘I should have stayed,’ Janey’s mother said to no one in particular. ‘I didn’t realise she was unconscious. I was just worried, you know? I wanted to get Janey out of there.’

‘What did the police do?’ asked Bronte. ‘Did they find the man who hit her?’

Amira shrugged. ‘They didn’t really look. They were more concerned with getting the woman to hospital. She’ll know who it is—she can tell them later. They probably know too.’

‘So you went back to the station and made a statement?’ Fiona was leaning forward, wine in hand.

‘No,’ said Amira. ‘I told the sergeant I was working up at Kalangalla, in case he needed to get in touch, but it won’t go to court. It never does. They couldn’t get through all the cases.’

Fiona drained her glass and put it down. ‘Well, well, well,’ she said slowly. ‘I thought you would have been prosecuting it yourself. That’s why you came here, isn’t it, to save the darkie? Are you giving up that easily, or have you gone off them now you actually have to live with them?’

Amira picked up a menu and opened it, speaking without looking at Fiona. ‘It’s far more complicated than you could ever imagine. I’ve learned to pick my battles. Let’s eat.’

Later, when they’d finished their dinner and were heading back to The Mangrove, they passed the spot on the road
where the man had punched the woman. Janey examined it as carefully as she could in the dim light, looking for blood, a clump of hair or maybe even a tooth, but there was nothing, no evidence of what had transpired.

‘Does that sort of thing happen a lot?’ she asked Amira.

It had been a few hours, but Amira knew immediately what she was referring to. She sighed.

‘A bit. I wish you hadn’t had to see it.’ She turned and smiled at Bronte. ‘Your mum is going to be dining out on it all week.’

Bronte just stared at her feet. ‘Hopefully she’ll get so pissed tonight she forgets all about it.’

Amira laughed. ‘There’s a fair chance of that, I’d say.’

After they’d finished eating, Fiona had pushed back her chair and insisted that the adults kick on.

‘Cocktails, dancing . . . Is there a nightclub here, Amira?’