Cheryl Wilson 

If you haven’t read Chapter One the link is at the end of this post.

Being neighborly

Standing in light rain Anna flashes a toothy smile as she hands the rattled mother a plate. “This cake is espeshly for you, it is my nonna’s secret recipe, she post it from old country –“ “Thanks Anna, but I must go the baby is crying.” Anna hastily follows her inside. “Yes, your Preshus cry lots. You go to Doctor?” “I’ve seen the Doctor and he says there is nothing wrong, though I don’t think he’s got a bloody clue.” “She might be tithing, Pamla.” “Tithing?” “Yes, growing her first tith.” “Oh, teething. I didn’t think of that.” “When baby tith they have sore gum and cry all the time. You must take specially good care.” Anna, to her ears, sounds just like her knowall mother. “You have to get something to fix her,” she’s adding, acting the matron and folding her arms, “it what mothers always–” “Do.  Yes I already know. Only what happens next, Anna?  What should I give her?” “You ask Baby Health Centre, they all signora so they know everything.” “And if I’d known it was going to be like this, always howling, always pooping themselves, and now sodding teething, I would never have gone there…. ever,” she replies.  “Never ever,” she adds snatching the baby up from the cot, “There has got to be more to life than this.” “Here, let me hold her,” says Anna – and Pam, after mutely giving Precious over, disappears into the yard for a restoring smoke under the clothesline. 

Up to now she had deliberately put to one side the fact that her baby was unplanned. That she was quietly excited when the Doctor had broken the news.  That David, not in attendance had really turned out a bonus, as the Doctor also suggested an address – in case, being twenty, she decided against. While deep down she’d suspected if David had known, he’d likely have agreed with the Doctor. So never mentioned his advice to David, or to anyone else. Not even Marilyn, who never took chances and had gone straight on the pill; and though she’s now taking it herself feels it really is a waste of her time and also her husband’s money. 

Back in the house, her neighbor walks the kitchen and gently rocks Precious, while the baby gazes into Anna’s smiling face. “She is beautiful baby,” says Anna softly, “I can see also she look like you before you get little bit fat.  How old is she now?” “Seven months” answers Pam. “Aah, yes.” Anna is handing her back. “I remember my last daughter that age. Not long before.” She stops, then wistfully adds, “She was pretty baby too – and had lot of black hair like Frank used to. We still keep photos of her.”  Anna sighs. “Yes, Preshus, you are smiling at me I know, and soon you will be big girl with all life waiting in front of you…” She then looks directly at Pam. “It a very lucky thing, my other daughter have a job as a very good hairdresser. She is buying, think you call it a salon? It is in Carlton.” “Good for her,” says Pam. “Yes, I think I might have seen her once or twice. Outside your house.” Of course she has, as the girl is around Pam’s own age, and far too pretty with long chestnut hair for you to miss – she’s noted David’s head swivel whenever he spots her. She actually tried smiling in her direction one time, but was ignored as the other checked her face in the rear view mirror, then slid inside her little red car and sped off. “How old is your other daughter?” asks Pam, vaguely aware she hasn’t noticed a younger girl around. “Does she go to boarding school, or something?” My daughter, Nadia?” says Anna quietly.  “No.  No school. Nadia died when she was very young… she went to sleep in her cot and she never wake up.” Pamela has turned ghastly white. “I think you should sit on chair you don’t want to drop Preshus” she adds. Pam does as Anna bids. “Sorry, I give you shock. I say too much. I come back another time.” And quietly lets herself out the front door. She hears Anna’s wire door squeal open, then slam shut again. Suddenly aware of how life can be so fragile, and so wretchedly cruel Pam bursts into tears. Then plants wet salty kisses all over her daughter’s thatch of dark spiky hair, down her soft chubby neck smelling faintly of Johnson’s powder, and vows she’ll take care of her daughter forever. 

“This tastes great,” David’s telling her, as he walks in some hours later munching a thick wedge of cake. “Don’t tell me you made it?” “Of course not, I never have time. Anna did.” “Ok-ay,” he goes, and sits heavily on the double bed. “Well guess what, it’s happened. Two weeks from now I’ll be in Tom’s book shop. It’s long hours but means we can buy our own furniture and rent something better. “Rent?” she says. “But aren’t we buying in Essendon?” “No Essendon’s out of our league. Seen the prices lately?” “But you promised – “ “I can’t be held responsible, Pam. You’d need to be working too. There’d be a hefty mortgage to cover.” He is looking at her in a new way, his face is sharp. “My father says Frankston or Dandenong are the places for a really cheap deal. But let’s face it, Dad, I told him, who’d want to live in either suburb, as they’re the pits!” His eyes glint with greed, “Especially when I’m buying with a view to future selling!”He has also not mentioned this to her before. It’s obvious he’s been discussing their future with his awful Real Estate father and also Tom bloody McDonald. Leaning over she flicks off the bedside lamp and turns her back on him. He pulls a face as he heads to the spare room.

In hindsight the only reason she hasn’t really exploded was that he did hand her the first pay envelope. It was unopened, (though that was a last) and inside it was a substantial amount. He told her to take the usual for housekeeping, plus a one off sum to buy she and the baby a little something each.  He then quietly pocketed the rest. Weeks on, she has finally dropped her standards, and is hobbling down her neighbor’s concrete drive. The pretty spangled court shoes, that were available in one size only, are slowly killing her. She clutches Precious, also Anna’s empty plate; and she is showily attired in the expensive pink mohair sweater and new stretchy black nylon pants. While Precious is rather gorgeous in the new pink furry jumpsuit plus matching beanie, and is sporting her very first tooth – though it is hid by the huge pink dummy her mother has wedged in her mouth. 

They are greeted by an older but still handsome Tony Curtis lookalike. “Hello” he smiles winningly, “You must be Pamela. Anna has mentioned you.  I am Frank.” He sportily flicks a dyed black forelock of hair and cuts to the chase. “I am sorry but Anna is at work.” “Work? I didn’t realize Anna – “ “She started three weeks ago. On Thursdays and Fridays. At a fruit shop in Coburg.” “Oh!” goes Pam, and miffed it’s not her. “Well now I know why I’ve not seen her.” “Anna did not want to disturb you on her days off. I think she is worried that you find her a nuisance.” While Pam worries if her face shows it’s often the case. 

“Anna is also busy improving her English,” he confides. “She is convinced that I have the better hand. I was twelve when I came here – Anna did not arrive until she was twenty – the same year we met. I’d done a mechanics course but ended working shifts at Ford… and I will be there forever!” He flashes the Tony Curtis grin. “If you want to come in and wait it is not a problem,” with which Pam responds, “Look, no, I won’t hold you up.  And here is Anna’s plate, say thanks from me.” “Of course, Pamela.” His smile lingers. “Your little daughter is pretty. Anna mentions her many times, I can see a resemblance to you.” “I had better go” she tells him. “In that case I will let Anna know that you called.” He slowly closes the door as she limps down the drive – and feels a tad vulnerable – Not that he meant anything, was only trying to be neighborly – it’s more that today she is wanting something, anything else to do. 

Helen, home early for a change, hears the phone rings. “How are you Pam” she gushes, so pleased to hear her daughter’s voice. “I’m okay, I guess.” How’s the baby? How is David?” “Well he’s making good money. But I hardly see him.” “With long hours it’s always the way, love,” she answers. “Why these days I hardly see you myself.” “I’m bored mum.” “But what about your friends?” “What friends mum, I haven’t heard from Marilyn for ages.” “But have you rang Marilyn?” queries Helen, sweetly, diplomatically, even if Ron recently made remarks to her about his Marilyn never calling Pam. Girls! thinks Helen as her daughter is prattling “No mum it’d be a waste of my time.  Anyway Marilyn’s got Royce and they’re living together now. And even when I go out for a coffee with Fay, Fay that I worked with, Precious bawls all the time so Fay has gone quiet too.” “Maybe I can babysit one Friday night, so you might do something with Fay.” responds Helen. “Or you could even go out for a romantic candlelit dinner with David!” with which her daughter hangs up in her ear. 

Spilling the beans

“Hello” says Helen brightly, pecking Pam’s cheek. “And hello there my little darling” she coos, kissing her granddaughter, “Let’s go inside, shall we?” Then wrapping both arms around the expensive tweed coat, adds “I have some news.” “What is it?” goes Pam. “I’ve heard from someone in Queensland. He’s a friend of your father. His name’s Darcy Murphy. He is visiting Melbourne and wants to meet me – “ “Meet you for what, mum?” “I’m not too sure. Though he’s a Solicitor. Here let me take Precious,” she says, changing the subject, “and let’s have some tea.” “And?” queries Pam, reaching for cups, “What about this Solicitor?” She is trying hard not to grin. “Maybe my father wants to divorce you.” “Well I don’t think that’s quite the case, though Mr. Darcy implied on the phone there could be money – a payout involved.” Here she smudges the truth, “He really didn’t go into detail – he said it can wait.” “Hmmf!” snorts her daughter. “Why doesn’t my father come to Melbourne himself?” “He is unwell, it seems.  Also it’s not up to me to say who should or should not come down.” Frowning, Pamela pours tea, as Helen lowers her granddaughter into the playpen. “I’ve news also mum.  I am thinking of going back to work.” Her mother looks up. “And who will take care of Precious?” “I might ask Anna.” “Is that wise? I thought you didn’t like her.” Pam’s face colors. “Things change mum.” “Whatever you say,” comments Helen, while thinking how helpless she looks, that there must have been another spat with David. Next she is trying a diversion of sorts: “How is David’s new job?” “Maybe you should ask him yourself. If you can catch him.” Pam’s scanning the horrid clock, long bolted to the kitchen wall – that has on it Elvis’s leering face. “I’m wondering,” she starts uncertainly, “if you’d like to… stay. Because he won’t be home until –“. Seeing her mother frown she rushes on, “There’s the lamb casserole I made for last night – that wasn’t touched.“ “He must be awfully busy indeed!” interrupts Helen, and rattles various toys in front of her granddaughter’s face.  “But as much as I’d like to stay, love, really I can’t. There’s a function on tonight for one of our very good clients. He spends a fortune with us.” She knows it’s a terrible excuse though still adds “It’s his fiftieth” – and reaching out, attempts to pat her daughter’s shoulder. “Just thought I’d ask, mum,” goes Pam, and dismissing her scoops up Precious as Helen straightens herself, smooths her coat then steps back and assesses Pamela’s disappointed face. “I spoke with Richard recently” she tells her, “he would love to hear from you. Perhaps you might ring him in Sydney. Although he did hint he may come down soon.” ”Well that’s something,” concedes her daughter. “But one thing I can divulge is that you will both get a legacy from your father. I can’t say anything more.” She kisses Pam’s cheek. “It will make a difference to your life, you can trust me on this.” 

Stay tuned for Chapter Three, the final chapter.

Here is the link to Chapter One.

Heart Beats – Chapter One

About Cheryl Wilson 

Writing stories may be a way of life or as an escape from real life. I enjoy inventing characters and placing them in surroundings once familiar to me – especially our inner northern suburbs during the seventies. I also write shorter pieces about real people who are closer to my heart.

Copyright Cheryl Wilson, October 2024. All rights reserved; this intellectual property belongs solely to Cheryl Wilson.