Now I sit by my little window and try to see the logic in the rule that denies me a quiet fag in my room. I open the window and blow the smoke into the courtyard which is exactly where they want me to go in the first place. But for me to push my chair right around to the other side of this same window would take more effort than I can afford. I have a little washbasin in my room and I put the butts down the plughole. A tip: flush each time otherwise they swell up and block the sink.
Kitty and I took off again. We caught the tram out to the last stop in Fawkner with exactly one pound in our pocket, two ten shilling notes. One was given to us by the Social Services man who drove us home - out of his own pocket - and the other came from our mother. She told us to go down to the shop and get some food in the house. We figured we were going to eat the food anyway so why not save the ten bob for when we got hungry? At home we packed a canvas bag, took some coins from a saucer in the kitchen to pay for the tram to the end of the line, and off we went on the road to Sydney.
Out on the highway we waited no more than twenty minutes before we had our first ride. This was 1959 and people would pick you up straight away. They remembered the War years and the Depression and they still thought it was a good idea to give each other a hand. Today it’s the reverse; rather than help you up they use you as a rung on their own ladder.
The trip was uneventful so no use repeating it. Except that we slept on the banks of the Murray River at Wodonga. It was March and hot as hell. There’d been a big bushfire somewhere to the east and you could smell the smoke, a faintly acrid scent that caught in the nostrils and though I’ve never seen a fire it gave me the jitters. We knew nothing of the bush and Kit and I lay side by side as close as we could get. Above us in the total blackness a million stars blinked. It made me think of poor dead Milo and the missing theory. The breeze picked up and the leaves and branches rustled and Kitty said the trees were talking about us. Maybe so - how would I know? Then she said she was feeling frightened again, the way she sometimes did in the dark at the Daco. I told her to sleep; I put my arms around her and reminded her of her magic sleigh, something to take her somewhere else.
When we woke the grass was wet even though it was going to be a hot day. We had a loaf of sliced bread and block of cheddar and we gnawed off bits of cheese and drank some of the river water. No restaurant meal could have tasted better.
Two days later we walked up Aunty Deb’s street in Cronulla. She was our mother’s sister and from what we’d been told, the two hated each other. I knew a lot about Aunty Deb from our mother - all of it bad and punctuated with swears and curses. From that bit of information we could tell she was nothing like Mum so we figured she might be alright. Kit rang the doorbell. We waited quietly and just stared at the mat. Welcome, it said. We knew exactly what we were going to say; we’d had four days to figure it out. We’re sorry to land on you like this but we’re desperate. We left home because we need a fresh start, we want a new life and we want to make something 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?