Published: 29 May 2017

It had been more than a moth since Awen last visited Alice’s house. He had often thought of Bert’s trunk and its contents, also the contents of the room and how it pronounced a long gone age, imagining what it would have been like to live in Bert’s time. To have travel by buggy or steam train if the distance became too vast, even by horse and being alone in the wide outback and how simple life must have been, free from the restrictions of modernity. He imagined McDonald and Billings riding by his side, McDonald complaining about the distance between pubs and how rank the beer was, Billings simply agreeing with most of McDonald’s complaining. He smiled at the thought of it all and wondered how Sam, Elyan or Ashe would fit into his scenario of life so long ago. Another smile as the notion came to mind of Elyan, how he would manage with the number of men in those days far outnumbering the females. Frustration would have worn his brother’s fingers to the bone, while his hand would have become as callused by manual manipulation as those of an axeman. A hand trolley some called it, slapping the monkey, pulling the pudding but whatever the title Awen humoured at his brother’s imaginary dilemma.

Awen’s dreaming soon returned to the reality of good food, music and a night at the movies, wondering if he could cope with isolation and simplicity in a time when the only entertainment would be what you created yourself, or watching a bar room brawl. Life without hot water at the turn of a tap, or a daily relaxing shower and how they must have stunk, wearing the same clothes day after day but everyone probably stunk; therefore it would have gone unnoticed. He imagined bad breath, sweaty arm pits and crotches, bringing to mind Charlie Grant from Willow Creek.

The Grant family, all seven of them, lived some distance south of town in an area called Taipan Hill, so named for the numerous sightings of reptiles on the slight rise behind the house. Home for Charlie was an old and almost uninhabitable farm house without running water or electricity. On bath nights, water would be drawn from a near by creek and boiled in a copper, a ponderous choir but with five kids and an ample supply of buckets, quickly achieved.

Charlie bathed in the washing trough once a week, or so it was alleged and even the day after bath night, he still arrived at school stinking of body odour and rotting teeth. Being the youngest Charlie was last into the trough, by then cold and sullied with other’s dirt and body oils, adding even more grot to his already grimy body.

Did Bert also stink? Awen guessed so, fortunately imagination came without the sense of smell.

Arriving through Alice’s front gate Awen noticed the grass needed cutting; he checked his watch which was still a novelty, given to him by his mother for Christmas past and most flash, imitation gold, leather case and unlike most displayed the date. Perceiving it to be the twenty-seventh he remembered it to be the day Ashe had arranged to return to do the mowing.

‘Maybe I should go and remind him.’ Awen envisaged as he entered into the house. ‘Maybe not he seems capable enough to remember,’ he corrected and marched directly to the kitchen to fill the refrigerator with the weekend supply. ‘That’s strange,’ Awen thought, remembering he had left the photograph of Bert on the kitchen bench, now it was on the small breakfast table some distance away, leaning against a empty canister marked rice. ‘I mustn’t loose that; it’s the only picture I have of Bert.” He scolded himself and placed it safely aside. “Maybe I should have Herbert Syme at the chemist copy it.”

Standing amid Alice’s living room Awen inspected what was once her life, her legacy to the future from the past. His mother would clear everything, sending it to the opportunity shop; his father would sell the house contents included as a job lot, using the proceeds to invest in something he considered worthwhile but Awen still felt he was only the caretaker, without authority to destroy the ambience of the house. His was to tread lightly through Alice’s existence, to observe and understand not to destroy.

Except for his mother’s dusting and disposal of most of Alice’s clothing the rooms were as she had left them, yet it seemed different. Objects appeared to have been moved. It was more feeling than certainty, as he had no actual recollection of where they were originally positioned but their placing triggered a lopsided sensation, similar to what one would experience while viewing a drawing of a three eyed human or a five legged animal. Also there was an ambience in the room, a presence or sensation of not being alone, while the lighting didn’t feel right, having a dull warm glow even with the brilliance of sunshine streaming through the windows.

Awen’s feeling of presence increased, “come on whose there?” he called loudly, turning his head this way then that expecting his brother or another to bounce from behind a couch, from a dark corner, behind a door shouting their surprise. His solitude didn’t feel right, he was alone yet not alone and felt as if strange eyes were upon him, watching, exploring him judging his character.

“I’m coming to get ya!” He laughed nervously but heard only the sound of his own breathing and some song bird tuning its throat beyond the window. ‘Imagination;’ He thought and opened a beer before approaching Bert’s room with the intention of understand more of the man, “you’re spooking yourself,” he concluded while taking a deep breath, followed by a long draft of beer before turning his interest to Bert.

The breeze from the opening door danced dust within the shafts of sunlight streaming through the window. Awen remembered closing the curtains during his last visited, now they were open but again who had been inside. He thought of Ashe, the man had known Alice well and possibly she had given him keys but why would he wish to enter. Besides he held the only key to Bert’s room, Alice had told him so, as Bert had lost the spare at the same time as that to the trunk. His conclusion was he simply thought he had closed the curtains and with no other suggestion available he lay across the bed, his eyes fixed upon the plaster ceiling rose. ‘That’s odd,’ he thought, ‘the room has been empty for years but there isn’t one daddy-long-leg, not one single thread of web and I don’t think Alice had been in any condition to reach such a high ceiling.’ He gave a nervous grunt, “you’re spooking yourself,” he once again declared loudly, believing the sound of his voice would chase away his mounting anxiety, then lifting from the bed he direct his attention towards the trunk.

Retrieving the bundle of letters Awen returned to sit on the bed. All of the envelopes, sixteen in total, were addressed to Bert and post marked within a six month period, nothing before or after. All were short in text, declaring fondness and longing, all signed M and all appeared to be from Risdon Downs. Some of the letters described life on a large cattle station, while mentioned the property owner, names of ringers but never what kind of work the mysterious M did, or anything that gave away the writer’s gender. Awen conceived M to possibly be a governess, simply initialling her correspondence because their association wasn’t approved by her or Bert’s parents but letter fourteen took away that theory as M spoke of Mary Higgins being the governess to three children and how she found the outback dry and harsh, coming from County Durum in the old country. So possibly M was housemaid, or cook, unfortunately who or whatever M happened to be, the answer now appeared to be lost in time.

Awen finished with the letters and returned them to the trunk before transferring his attention to the clothes neatly set out on the bed. He released a cheeky grin as the thought of trying them on for size and atmosphere became transfixed. He stripped off his own clothing and stepped into the long-johns underwear, then the mole skin trousers and thick cotton shirt with its faded blue vertical stripes on white and neat patching at the elbows. All perfectly fitting as if tailor made for his frame. Now the woollen socks with much darning at the toes, finally the boots, they were all his size and as the heavy boots stomped loudly on the bare boards he spied an akubra hat hanging on a hook behind the door. Trying on the hat he found it also fitted to perfection, believing an experienced tailor could not be more accurate for size.

Approaching the long wardrobe mirror Awen checked his image. He smiled joyfully and bounced lightly on the boots Cuban heals. It was the belt’s buckle that most interested him, a cowboy on a horse and much too large and flashy for modern day fashion.

Awen left the room to parade through the house in the old clothing and as he did so he became overcome with sexual desire. It progressed from the pit of his stomach and radiated throughout his body to tingle at the finger tips, feeling as if his emotions were being controlled by another and only the sound of a lawn mower in the yard distracted him. Opening the rear door he found Ashe mowing the back yard. Forgetting his state of attire he called.

“Hey John!”

Ashe switched off the mower, turning his head his mouth fell opened, “Bert!”

“No it’s Awen I was trying on some old clothes.” Awen felt embarrassed for doing so.

“You look exactly like Bert in that photograph, even the same clothes. I thought he must have come back to haunt.” Ashe laughed at his foolishness.

“I’ll go and change, do you want a beer?”

“Righto but I’ll finish the mowing first.”

With the mowing of the back yard finished Ashe joined Awen in the kitchen before transferring his attention to the front lawn.

“Are you living here now?” Ashe asked while glancing around the room.

“No but how would you like to live here, sort of care taker.” Awen suggested.

“I couldn’t afford the rent.”

“I wouldn’t charge rent but I would have to keep Bert’s room free and occasionally I may use the small room next to that what was Alice’s.”

Ashe laughed, “Thanks for the offer but I don’t think I could get accustomed to having electricity, I’d probably go blind, besides this place is much too far from the beach, I wouldn’t be able to hear the surf.”

“Fair enough it was only a thought seeing you knew Alice and as you said you are sorta family.”

“Another problem, if I were to leave the bungalow for a length of time, I reckon the council would send in the bulldozer.”

Ashe finished his beer and prepared to return to his mowing.

“Another thing, did Alice ever talk about Bert having a girlfriend?” Awen asked.

Ashe admitted having no recollection of such a conversation, only her brother was somewhat introverted. “Why do you ask?”

“I found a stack of what appears to be love letters and they were simply signed M and from some cattle station out west.”

“Sorry lad she often spoke of Bert but only incidentally like breaking their mother’s good china or going to a bush dance, she did say he was a champion horseman.” Ashe collected his hat and stood to leave.

“One last thing, did she mention how he died?” Awen asked.

“Nope only that he was taken at a young age.” Ashe admitted.

“That’s also what she said to me.” Awen had once again reached an impasse on Bert and felt most disappointed.

“You did know Alice kept a diary a journal of sorts, right from a little girl so she said. It should be around the house somewhere.”

“No I didn’t, have you any idea where she may have kept it?”

“Not a clue, I better get on with it, I have Ma. Tanner’s lawn to do yet and I promised Violet Riddell I would take a look at her sticking kitchen drawers. Tell you what, why don’t you come over to my place Saturday night and I’ll cook up some grub?”

Awen agreed and watched as John Ashe descended the stairs. As the man reached the last step Awen clearly heard a voice.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Awen instinctively answered and turned towards the question. He was sure someone had asked if Ashe was a sodomite but there wasn’t anyone in the room. “Now I’m hearing voices.” He shuddered believing he imagined so but why should his mind conjure the word sodomite? He knew of the word and what it inferred but had never used it before, not even in jest.

After finishing the mowing Ashe once again came to the rear door and knocked.

“I’ll be off then.” He called.

“Hang on a moment I have you money here.” Awen met him at the door, “Would you like another beer?”

“Na better not, as I said I still have another lawn to do. Ashe pocked the money and gave a gentle nod. “It’s still good for Saturday?” He reminded.

“Sure, would you like me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself; around seven if that is alright.”

“No worries.”

Once alone and with reverence, Awen returned Bert’s clothing back to the room but no matter how he tried, could not place order into the folding. ‘There is a real art in folding clothes,’ he thought and pushed a loose sleeve into a gap but dogmatically it fell away. He attempted once more before giving in to his lack of ability. ‘I supposed you need to be a woman.’ He satirically concluded before transferring his thoughts to finding the journal suggested by Ashe.

Where could the journal be hidden, or had his mother disposed of it while clearing out the numerous old newspapers and paperback books and it had gone to the tip. He thought not, as such a personal item would be kept safe away from prying eyes. Or if he were to keep a diary it would be so, knowing how his mother found nothing in his room private, even the bodybuilding magazine he hid under the mattress was soon discovered. It was for the stories and to learn ways of bulking without too much effort, Awen had weakly protested and to boost his justification and protect his image, he later hid a Man magazine in the very same spot. True to her form it was found and without comment confiscated.

Awen’s search for Alice’s journal took him past sundown, forgetting he was to meet McDonald and Billings at the Railway Hotel for their weekly drinking session. While taking a shower he had a strong feeling he was being watched. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw movement but on further scrutiny, nothing. Stepping from the shower he scanned the bath room, then the hall. “Hello is there anyone there?” he called but was alone. “Settle down mate. You’re spooking yourself,” he again announced loudly and finished his shower but the sentiment lingered and in certain rooms felt stronger, mostly along the passage and at the door leading into Alice’s bedroom but even after checking every dark corner and loudly cooeeing along the passage, through doorways and with a droll grin peering under the beds, the conclusion remained the same. He was most definitely alone.

By the time Awen joined his mates at the pub they were already on their second drink and had been joined by Ken Wilson, a class mate from their final school years and the town’s football champion, who had turned down an offer to play for the local league with possibility to play for the state. Awen ordered his beer before joining them at their usual table.

“Ken I haven’t seen you in yonks.” Awen admitted and took his seat beside Wilson, pushing him further along towards Billings. “You’re growing a beard?” He added, noticing the scruffy ginger stubble across the lad’s face, “and you’re putting on a little condition.” Awen patted Wilson’s belly.

“More like bum-fuzz.” McDonald mocked.

“I’ve been busy making money mate.” Wilson smiled and winked, ignoring McDonald’s quip.

“Are you still going steady with Peggy Barrett?” Awen asked.

“I am – and engaged to be married come the spring.” Wilson proudly announced.

“What does Peggy think of the bum-fuzz?” McDonald asked, reaching his fingers to pinch onto the short stubble. Wilson pulled away.

“She likes it; tickles her in all the right places.”

“You’re a little young for marriage?” Awen suggested displaying his usual conservative trait.

“I don’t know I’ll be twenty in March and my parents were even younger when they had me, mum had just turned seventeen when they married.”

“Yea and with a shot gun up your old man’s arse.” McDonald declared.

“That’s true but if dad hadn’t borrowed his old man’s car I wouldn’t be here to talk about it.” Wilson agreed.

“What’s this scheme of your’s to make money?” Billings asked.

“Marrying Peggy is the plan mate, her old man’s loaded and I’ll never have to work again; get some cushy job in one of his business, you can guess the rest.”

“What about your football career?” McDonald asked.

“I gave that idea up. You only make real money at the top and it takes too long and too much puffing to get there; and too many broken bones. Marrying into money is easier.” Wilson boldly explained and checked the time, “Best I be going, can’t keep the little woman waiting she may change her mind.” He quickly finished his drink smiled, nodded and was gone.

“You’re late where have you been?” Billings asked of Awen.

“Over at the house.”

“Rich boy eh, maybe a man should marry you.” McDonald sneered and quickly finishing his drink before encouraging Awen to get the next round. On the way to the bar Billings called after Awen. “Hey get a jug I’m sick of pushing my way to the bar every ten minutes.

Awen returned with the beer. Directing his conversation to McDonald he spoke. “By the way I’m telling you this now so you don’t come back at me later; I’m having dinner at Ashe’s place tomorrow night.”

“Why would you want to have a meal with Ashe?” McDonald suspiciously demanded.

“Not so much want, but he mowed Alice’s lawn this afternoon and I didn’t have any money on me to pay him. “Awen lied.

McDonald displayed a measure of concern. “What happens if the fag jumps you?”

“No is a strong word and I’m positive I know how to use it, besides I don’t think he like that.” Awen answered.

“Maybe so but you wouldn’t fine me going for a meal.” McDonald assured giving a shudder of expectation towards his perception of the man.

“Why McDonald, are you scared you wouldn’t say no.” Billings sarcastically offered. McDonald’s lip turned upwards in disapproval but refrained from obliging an answer.

“Hey Billings isn’t Len Williamson’s old man the caretaker at the cemetery?” Awen asked diverting the conversation away from Ashe and his pending dinner arrangement.

“As far as I know he is, why do you want to know?”

“I’ve told you about Alice’s brother Bert, I wanted to find where he is buried.”

“He doesn’t work weekends, you will have to see him at home, besides there is a list of stiffs on the wall at the office, it reads like whose who of the last hundred years.” Billings laughed at his own humour but laughed alone.

“Who is this Bert you’re always on about?” McDonald demanded.

“He was my Aunt Alice’s brother and died quite young; I’ve been trying to discover what happened to him.” Awen explained.

“They all died young back then.” Billings suggested.

“I wouldn’t say all, Alice was in her nineties.”

“She didn’t die back then, did she?” Billings corrected.

“This is becoming a dry argument and I’m thirsty and the jug’s empty, whose turn for the bar?” McDonald interjected.

Both lads answered in unison. “It’s yours McDonald.”

Awen didn’t return to the house that night. He had a little too much to drink and didn’t feel up to walking the extra distance to Alice’s, besides something was eating away at him and he didn’t feel right in sleeping over in his intoxicated state, also he wished to enquire of his mother if she had seen Alice’s diary before he returned to resume his search.

Waking with a thick head to the smell of coffee, with a throat that felt as if gravel had been poured down it for most of the night, Awen, wearing nothing but his underpants and tea-shirt, joined his mother in the kitchen.

“You were in late last night?” Margaret indicted as she fussed over a pan of eggs and bacon, her voice laced with disapproval.

“I met up with McDonald and he’s hard to drag away from the pub.” Awen yawned and exhaled. The scent of beer breath filled his nostrils, he swallowed with a dry mount but the breath lingered.

“Do you want breakfast?” Margaret offered, her hand hovering over extra rashes of bacon.

“Who’s in?”

“Sam and Ely are both but your dad didn’t come home, said he had a special order to fill, so he would stay at the office.”

Staying at the office was Margaret’s euphemism for bedding down with his fancy woman. The boys knew so but for the sake of peace and their mother’s feelings they accepted her idiom, besides Awen hadn’t heard of any special order, if so as foreman he would have been instructed to arrange overtime or an early start. Wisely he remained silent.

“I ask again, do you want breakfast?”

“I don’t think so, tea and toast will do.” Awen suggested.

“You should eat breakfast it’s the most important meal of the day.” Margaret returned to her pan.

“Mum when you were cleaning out the old books over at Alice’s, did you see anything that could have been a diary?” Awen asked.

“I don’t think so, mostly old paperback books, Mills and Boon, that kind of thing and a lot of newspapers, some were quite old. Why do you ask?” Margaret answered as Sam appeared at the kitchen door.

“Good morning all.” Sam yawned and sniffed the air. “Umm Margaret I could do with a double helping of that bacon.”

“You should have kept the newspapers they may have been interesting and had something about Bert.” Awen protested.

“I didn’t mean that old. Breakfast’s almost ready, is Ely up yet; isn’t he working this Saturday?”

“I could hear him snoring as I passed his door.” Sam answered then turned his attention to Awen, “hey kid you look terrible, what were you doing last night?”

“You can guess what and he’s turning out like his brother.” Margaret sighed at the thought. Sam agreed.

“Come on mum I only had a few pots.” Awen protested.

“A few too many if you ask me.” Margaret reprimanded while arranging toast in a fancy silver rack that had once belonged to her mother. A rare reminder of a woman she felt she had to love but did not like. A woman who out of jealously had from an early age, set one sibling against the other until they were smart enough to realise what was happening. “Anyway what was it about a diary?”

“I’ll go call Ely.” Sam suggested.

“John Ashe told me Alice kept a diary and I wanted to see if there was anything about her brother Bert in it.” Awen offered, carrying the breakfast plates to the table. As he did so a disturbance was most audible from the direction of Elyan’s bedroom as Sam attempted to wake him.

“Fuck off Sam!”

Margaret turned towards the commotion. Tutting disapprovingly she returned to Awen’s request.

“That was long ago, you don’t want to know about that lot they were all bad.” Margaret answered negatively, once again her thoughts returned to her own mother and grand mother, bringing back memories she had attempted to bury.

“In what way do you mean bad?”

“Strange I suppose more than bad, your grandmother, my mother had a mean time with her mother that’s what caused most of her problems.”

“Still there’s no harm in knowing about them.”

“If you must but I don’t know anything about a diary and I defiantly didn’t see it among the old books. Would you like me to clear out the rest of Alice’s belongings?”

“Na I’ll do it sooner or later.”

“What about all the tools in the shed, I could have Lenny Fairchild clear the sheds with his truck.”

“I may need them, besides I was thinking of offering some to John Ashe, he does a lot of odd jobs.”

Margaret checked her breakfast table. Something was missing. Butter, she went for butter, “Oh while I think of it, if you see Mr. Ashe thank him for the fish.”

“What fish was that?”

“The fish you will be having for tonight’s dinner, he brought it around yesterday afternoon after fixing Violet’s kitchen drawers.”

“I won’t be in for dinner tonight.” Awen remembered his invite to dine with Ashe.

“That makes only me and Ely for tea, so well have it tomorrow.” Margaret calculated, believing soon with Donna living away and her boys becoming independent, she would need to only cook for herself.

As Awen spoke both Elyan and Sam arrived together pushing and shoving at each other into the room, Sam jovial but Elyan in a most petulant mood. Spying Awen he spoke, growling his objection. “I hope you’re not coming to the breakfast table dressed like that!”

“I was just going to change.”

“I should hope so.”

“Ely it’s nice for you to join us.” Margaret presented as Awen departed to dress for breakfast.

“I don’t think I could face bacon and eggs, just tea and toast if you don’t mind.”

“I’ve done them now, I can’t put the eggs back into the shells or the bacon back onto the pig and you know you’re father hates waste.”

“That’s alright Margaret, I’ll have his share.” Sam suggested.

“Also Elyan I have a little job for you.” Margaret took her place at the table. Elyan hesitated. It was always serious when his mother used his full name. As a child it was to announce he was in trouble, as an adult it was the preamble for some task he didn’t wish to be given.

“And what would that be mother?” He seriously asked while lowering his voice towards disapproval.

“As your dad’s not home and you have a vehicle, you can go to the station and collect your Aunt Doris.”

“Shit no; don’t tell me the old biddy’s had another row with Greg.” Elyan protested.

“Shit or not love, she coming on the midday service.” Margaret answered, meaning to display her displeasure for his language.

“I agree with Ely.” Awen called from the passage as he returned.

“The two of you can behave yourselves; she is your father’s sister and should be treated with a measure of respect.” Margaret warned.

“How much is a measure?” Elyan asked.

“How long is she staying?” Awen, reaching the breakfast table added.

“Only a few days; and no she hasn’t had a row with Greg, she has an appointment at the hospital.” Margaret advised.

“To remove her tongue I hope.” Awen buttered his toast and gave a glance towards Sam for support.

“Don’t bring me into it young fellow, I think she’s alright, besides I won’t be here.”

“Lucky you;” Awen concluded.

“Neither will I;” Elyan appended with much relief. “I’m having a few days down the coast with Stella and will be leaving after work this afternoon.”

Margaret released a disappointing sigh as it was her first hearing of her son’s intention.

“How did you get dad give you time off?” Awen asked somewhat surprised their father would be so generous.

“I have my ways, besides that’s the privilege of being number one son and not the kid.”

“So Ely you won’t be in for tea either?” Margaret suggested.

“Correct again mother.”

“When were you all going to advise me, after I had cooked the meal?” There was a snap in Margaret’s tone but realising she could do no more than complain, she took a deep breath and slowly released it, “well?”

“We’re telling you now mother and long before you start preparing the meal.” Elyan answered somewhat insensitively.

“Then that makes me and Doris for tea and Ely you can pick up Doris before you go.” Margaret insisted.

If you are following this story, let Gary know what you think of it:Gary Conder

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