3

Rogers got back to the hotel just in time to catch Doris and Frank about to leave. The family had been together in the sitting-room. Dad was in charge of the bar where there were half a dozen drinkers.

‘Paul!’ Mrs Palmer called in the passage. ‘Where have you been? Things have been happening while you were away. The new teacher’s arrived and Don’s come home.’ She took him by the upper part of his arm and led him into the room. Doris and Frank had their coats on. Flora was sitting at a piano holding a lemonade. A dark young man stood by her; he had thick black hair, glossy with Brylcreem and hanging in loose curls over his ears. He had been singing. ‘Don!’ his mother called. ‘This is the boy we’ve been telling you about. Paul, meet my boy Don, you’ve heard all about him.’

Rogers noticed the firm easy handshake, the lightly sullen hang of the cheeks and lips, sensuous and cheerful. ‘Glad to meet you, Paul,’ Don said in a tone that gave the impression of power withheld. Rogers liked him immediately, though his voice and handshake did not convey it. It was as if Don’s reserve was contagious page 79 and it was a matter of honour among men not to show their feelings.

‘Oh I can see you two will be great pals,’ Mrs Palmer said. ‘Don, Paul’s got an eye on Flora.’

Flora and Rogers looked at one another, admitting and forgiving this revelation.

‘You’ve got good taste then, Paul,’ Don said. ‘I can’t see any as good in Coal Flat myself.’

‘Oh don’t you worry about him,’ Mrs Palmer said. ‘He’s got sheilahs by the dozen. It’ll be a bad day when you can’t get a girl for the asking, son.’

‘Oh, I’m not fussy just now. I’ve got the old girl to go on with.’ He gave her a cheeky peck and she was flattered and excited. ‘Here, Mum’s dry. So are you, Paul. Flora, will you get us all a drink?’

‘We’ve been celebrating while you were jawing,’ Doris said. ‘You missed all the fun.’

‘Yeah, the fun’s over now, Paul,’ Frank said. ‘Come on, Doris, I have to get up at six.’

‘Oh, you pair of spoilsports,’ Mrs Palmer said. ‘Your brother doesn’t come home every day.’

‘Well, we’ve seen him. We’ll see him again,’ Frank said. ‘Long as you’re not thinking of hopping off again after some Christchurch sheilah.’

‘Me,’ Don said. ‘I wouldn’t leave the old girl. Not for a while.’

‘Well, what’s stopping us?’ Frank said.

‘Here, have one on Mum before you go,’ Mrs Palmer said in a tone that meant, ‘I know you’re too mean to pay for any more.’

‘No thanks, Mum,’ Doris said. ‘We’ve got to be up at six in the morning.’

‘Let Frank get his own breakfast for once,’ Mum said.

‘Like hell….’ Frank said.

‘No, I’m not starting any of those habits,’ Doris said.

‘That’s right,’ Don said. ‘You marry a man, you’ve got to get his breakfast. I wouldn’t let my wife lie in.’

‘But she did, son.’

‘Oh her, I wasn’t thinking of her. I was thinking of the next one. Christ knows who she’ll be.’

‘There’s no hurry for that, son,’ Mrs Palmer said.

Flora came back with the drinks. Frank said to Paul, ‘Well, did you find out what you wanted about that kid?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘What, you been working overtime?’ Don said. ‘Don’t do that. You’ll start ageing.’

page 80

‘Were you at the doctor’s?’ Mrs Palmer said with a tone of accusation.

‘Yes. I went to old Mrs Seldom’s first, then to the doctor’s.’

‘I don’t care for that man,’ Mrs Palmer said, with a hint of warning. ‘You can say what you like. When anyone starts talking communism I order him out of the house.’

‘Jimmy and Ben were there.’

‘Oh well, Jimmy, that’s just his nature to be argumentative. I don’t take any notice of him. And Ben, well he’s had a rough upbringing but he’s a hard worker. And he knows better than to talk bolshy in my bar.’

‘I wouldn’t let them in anyway,’ Doris said.

‘But Jimmy used to own the pub,’ Flora said. ‘It wouldn’t be fair.’

‘They’re good customers, anyway,’ Mrs Palmer said.

‘If you drove them away you might make them more bolshy than ever,’ Flora said. ‘We should try to break it down, not harden it.’

‘What I can’t stand is when a man in a decent position like the doctor talks communism,’ Mrs Palmer said. ‘He’s doing the dirty on his own class.’

‘Yeah, fouling his own nest,’ Don said with a slight unusual sneer. It was as if he never thought of politics, because he had made up his mind on them long ago.

‘But, Mrs Palmer, he’s got a right to his opinions,’ Rogers said.

‘Yes,’ Flora said. Since that night in the parlour, Flora had come around more to Rogers’s opinions. They often walked out together and he sometimes expounded his beliefs—social security, a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work, every man as a member of society serving that society, nationalized industry. Flora said that if that was socialism, well—she wasn’t sure about nationalized industry—she must be a socialist herself, ‘But we’ve got those things already,’ she said. ‘Social security, good wages. The mines are nationalized….’ —‘I know,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got to keep socialism alive. It’s not just the legislation I want. It’s the harmonious society I want to see. Everyone working together, everyone like brothers.’ Politics were interesting when Paul talked about them, but she never talked about them to anyone else.

‘Well, let him keep his opinions to himself,’ Mrs Palmer said. ‘I never go near him. I go into town when I want to see a doctor. Old Dr Thomas is as good a man as ever walked the town.’

‘They say he takes dope,’ Frank said.

‘Well, wouldn’t you,’ Mrs Palmer said, ‘if you had to work as page 81 hard as he does? Up all hours of the night. He has to take something to get some sleep.’

‘So is Dr Alexander up all hours,’ Frank persisted.

‘Oh, him, he’s only fit for bringing babies into the world. That time I had the ‘flu and I couldn’t expect Dr Thomas to come up all this way, I had him in and he just said, “Stay in bed and keep warm,” and left a prescription.’

‘Here, Mum, don’t start arguing,’ Flora said. ‘It’s an occasion for a good time, not arguments.’

‘That’s right,’ Don said. ‘I’m home.’

‘Well, so am I going home,’ Frank said.

‘You’re right, kid,’ Mrs Palmer said. ‘We should be celebrating. Come on, Paul, drink up. Here’s to my son!’

‘Who was the boy you were asking the doctor about?’ Flora said.

‘Not Donnie?’ Mrs Palmer said. Don looked up and a flush of guilt crossed his face.

‘No, no. Young Peter Herlihy.’

‘Oh, him. What do you want to worry about him for?’ Mrs Palmer said, and in lower tones to Don, ‘You know, the boy from that house by the dredge. The mother’s—you know—’ She tapped her head. ‘The old man’s a bit peculiar too. We threw him out of here one day. He said something about me, and Dad wouldn’t stand for it. He always sticks up for me, your father does.’

‘I should hope he would,’ Don said.

‘Well, we let Mike Herlihy come in again. He apologized. I’d rather have Jimmy and Ben with all their bolshy talk than Mike Herlihy and his dirty mind. He’ll just have to watch his step, that’s all.’

‘Come on, Frank,’ Doris said. ‘It’s nearly eleven o’clock.’

Mr Palmer came in with a tray of drinks. ‘These are on the old firm,’ he said. ‘Free samples. Come in tomorrow and try some more.’

‘I haven’t paid for any yet,’ Rogers said.

‘You keep your money in your pocket, Paul,’ Frank said.

‘It’ll keep,’ Mr Palmer said. ‘We’ll get it in the end.’

Mrs Palmer drained a whisky in a gulp. ‘Here, Dad,’ she said. ‘I’m one behind.’

‘Oh, you,’ he said, and went for another.

She suddenly sparked up as she always did at the last stage of a night’s drinking. She took Don’s arm and the two marched brazenly side by side singing ‘Lili Marlene’ while Flora played; she chose it because it was a reminder that Don had been a soldier in Italy. She waved her free arm and invited the company to join in page 82 the singing; she marched defiantly intensifying her happiness to be beside her son, and winked in turn at Rogers who grinned sheepishly, and Frank who grinned with a sneer, and her daughters who encouraged her, and Mr Palmer coming back with another whisky, who assumed a look of wild astonishment, and said ‘Gawd! What’s wrong with ya all of a sudden? I thought Paul must ha’ been breaking up the furniture, coming back from the doctor with those bolshy ideas of his.’ Then, to smooth Rogers: ‘It’s like Saturday night at Stillwater, isn’t it?’

Mrs Palmer sat down exhausted. Don leaned on the piano. Mrs Palmer took the whisky and drank it at a gulp. Then, as she always did after her last outburst, she sagged forward and cried.

‘Come on, Lil, that’s enough for you tonight,’ Dad said. ‘It’s past your bedtime.’

Don moved to help her to her feet, but his father said, ‘You stay here, son.’ He grinned. ‘It’s all your fault, you know.’ Flora helped her to her feet, her mother sagging and not looking at anyone, her eyes wet and tired, past caring to say good night to anyone.

‘Right-oh, folks,’ Mr Palmer said. ‘The show’s over. Gawd, it’s eleven o’clock. We’ll have old Rae along if we don’t watch out. You don’t want to go to gaol yet, do you Paul?’