The Choke Read online

It was as if the open window carried my voice away with the wind. Dad kept going. Dray Road only led to the Worlleys’. Nobody lived out here but them. I felt as if something inside me had come loose, like a screw from Aunty Rita’s Torry. It bounced and rattled inside my chest and gut. I didn’t want to go the Worlleys’. I didn’t want to see Jamie. I didn’t want to see his scar, or the cousins.

  Dad took the White Ox from behind his ear. ‘Light her for me, would you, Justine?’ he said. He took the metal lighter from his pocket and passed the cigarette and the lighter to me. There was a girl on the lighter only wearing underpants, lying back with her legs in the air. I held the cigarette in one hand and the lighter in the other, then I flicked the lighter until a flame jumped from the spout. But the flame wouldn’t stay, and the White Ox didn’t light.

  Dad looked across at me. ‘Put it in your mouth.’

  I put the White Ox in my mouth.

  ‘That’s the girl. Now light her up.’

  I flicked the lighter under the cigarette.

  ‘Put it under the bloody cigarette.’

  I put the flame to the White Ox and Dad nodded. ‘Get it going, Jussy,’ he said. ‘That’s the girl.’

  I sucked back the smoke. I coughed and smoke came out my nose and mouth. The White Ox was alight.

  I passed the cigarette to him and he sucked it back. ‘Best ciggie I ever took a drag from,’ he said.

  I looked out of the window. I tasted ash and smoke. I didn’t want to go to the Worlleys’. I wished we could keep going and that the best ciggie wouldn’t end.

  When he came to the road that led down to Mother Margy’s and the circle of caravans, Dad kept driving past the turn-off. I breathed out and my chest went quiet. Maybe we weren’t going to see any Worlleys and this was the way to somewhere else…

  Soon we came to a narrow dirt driveway. Dad turned into it and I saw a caravan, with a table and two chairs set up outside. There was a white plastic horse and a blue sandpit next to the chairs. Dad stopped his truck. There were piles of bricks and silver paper and wood, and rocks and rubbish near the caravan. Away from the caravan, down the hill, I could see a big flat concrete square, and a doorway without a door. It was a half-built house. I looked over the fence and recognised the back paddocks of the Worlleys’ farm.

  A small white dog came out of the caravan, barking at us. Then Stacey Worlley came down the steps behind it and I knew: this was Stacey Worlley’s caravan. Stacey and Brian moved into their own place after they got married. Pop told the Isa Browns, Bloody Brian Chisholm, what a bloody fool taking on that lot.

  I couldn’t talk. I didn’t know what to say or how to tell Dad we didn’t go to the Worlleys’ anymore. Pop said, No more. He said, The Japs didn’t take my balls; they took a river of blood. Fucking Ian! Why had Dad brought me here when he knew Stacey was married to Brian? Dad knew about the wedding. He didn’t go—Brian didn’t want him there—but Pop told him about it, and Mother Margy told him too. Stacey rode in on a white horse with a veil over her eyes and her wedding dress draped over the horse’s back. Dad knew that. He said, Brian can’t ride a fucken horse to save himself, and Pop said, It wasn’t Brian on the fucken horse. It was Stacey, and Dad said, She can’t ride either—not a bloody horse, anyway.

  Today she wore a short pink dress—not long like the wedding dress—and she was carrying a little baby girl. I looked around for the wedding horse. Pop said they put jewels in its reins and painted its hooves black. They said the horse was pure white and that’s why they paid what they did. Not a hair on the animal any colour but white. The stereo played ‘Save the Last Dance For Me’ when Stacey rode the horse down the aisle. She wore a veil over her eyes so all she saw was mist.

  The dog kept barking. ‘Here, Honey!’ Stacey called. ‘Shush, girl.’ She bobbed the little girl in her arm, then she went to Honey and picked her up with her other arm. The dog licked the baby on the cheek. ‘Honey! No!’ said Stacey, bobbing them both. She wore lipstick the same colour as the dress. Her shoes were pink too, and had a heel that pushed her forward.

  Dad opened the door of the truck. ‘Get out, Jussy. Go say g’day,’ he said.

  I sat without moving. I didn’t want to say g’day to Stacey Worlley. I hardly spoke to her even before the fall-out. Pop said, Never again, never a bloody Worlley. Stacey was older than the rest of us, and didn’t go on the slide or ride a bike. She screamed at Lachie and Jamie and the other cousins, ‘Bloody boys!’, and Jamie called her Longhorn Stacey even though she was his older sister.

  Now Stacey was looking at the truck, her mouth open as if she didn’t know whether to be excited or scared. I couldn’t see Brian anywhere.

  ‘Get out, Justine,’ Dad said, his eyes on Stacey.

  I got out on my side and Dad got out on his. We stood in front of the truck.

  ‘Go on,’ Dad said to me. ‘Go say g’day.’

  Stacey said, ‘What are you doing here, Ray?’

  ‘Go on.’ Dad pushed me towards her.

  ‘G’day, Stacey,’ I said, looking at her pink shoes. The heels left holes in the dirt around her feet. Before the fall-out Stacey used to sit on Dad’s knee. Sometimes they left the party and went for a walk, and when they came back Stacey’s face was soft as she leaned back against him. Dad kissed her neck and she said, Don’t, don’t, then he did it more.

  ‘Hi, Justine,’ said Stacey. ‘You’ve grown.’ She hardly looked at me; her eyes were on Ray.

  Dad said, ‘Brought Jussy over to meet your little girl. Thought you could do some girl talk together.’

  Stacey shook her head at him, a smile playing on her lips. She put Honey on the ground and the dog sniffed around our feet. Dad grinned. He touched Stacey’s baby under the chin. ‘Who’s this little cutie?’ The baby wore pink too, matching Stacey. She had a bow pinned to her hair and she was sucking a dummy. In her arms was a torn yellow rabbit.

  ‘This is Sherry,’ said Stacey.

  ‘She’s gorgeous,’ said Dad. ‘Like her mother. How old is she?’

  Stacey tried to hide her smile. ‘She’s one and a half. Brian reckons she looks like him.’ She straightened the bow in Sherry’s hair.

  ‘Nah,’ said Dad. ‘She’s got your eyes. Baby blues. What do you think, Jussy? Isn’t she a little cutie? Don’t you think she looks like her mum?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I answered. The baby sucked at the dummy and watched my dad. Her eyes were like the two blue centres of flowers.

  ‘You going to invite us in, Stace?’ said Dad. ‘Maybe the girls can get to know each other. Practically cousins.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Just like the good ole days,’ said Stacey.

  ‘They were good days,’ said Dad. ‘Haven’t known better.’

  ‘And then you left.’

  ‘Biggest mistake I ever made.’

  Stacey chewed at her lip. ‘What do you think, Sherry? Shall we invite them in? Give them a drink?’ She kissed Sherry’s cheek.

  ‘Now you’re talking,’ said Dad.

  ‘Just a quick one,’ said Stacey.

  ‘Just a quick one,’ said Dad.

  Stacey turned and walked towards the caravan and we followed. Honey ran in circles at our feet.

  The caravan was set up inside like a house; there were photos of Brian and Stacey on their wedding day. There was a picture of the white horse as it came down the aisle. Stacey’s wedding dress hung over its rump. There was another picture of Stacey holding Sherry, who held the torn rabbit. There were couches and chairs, and in one corner there was a big television. It took up a lot of the room. Everything was facing the television: the photos on the wall, the glass golf trophies on the shelves, the furniture, the baby toys on the floor—dolls, plastic cows and sheep, a small pram—the bar stools and kitchen counter, all faced the television, waiting for Stacey to turn it on.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Dad, looking around. ‘Brian’s really takin’ care of you.’

  ‘The house will be built soon,’ said Stacey, bobbing Sherry in one arm. ‘Goin
g to be three bedrooms, plus a games room. Brian wants a pool table.’

  ‘Good for him,’ Dad said. ‘Can he play pool?’

  Stacey took a bottle of drink from the freezer, see-through, like water. ‘You know he can,’ she said.

  ‘I know you can,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve watched you playing pool very closely.’

  ‘Ray,’ said Stacey, shaking her head at him. She took a bottle of lemonade from the fridge, and two glasses from a cupboard above the stove. She did everything holding Sherry. Sherry sucked on her dummy and watched my dad. Honey darted around our feet as if she didn’t know where to stop. Stacey tried to put ice into the glasses, but it was hard with Sherry in one of her arms. She said, ‘Can you take her for a sec?’ to Dad. Dad held out his arms. Sherry started to cry. ‘Oh, Sherry, no need for that.’ Stacey took back the baby.

  ‘Let me do the ice,’ said Dad. ‘You hold the baby.’ He pulled the ice from the tray and put it into the glasses. ‘Teamwork,’ he said. He poured a lot of the see-through drink over the ice. ‘How long did he leave you for this time?’

  Stacey sighed. ‘He hasn’t left me, Ray.’

  ‘I don’t see him anywhere.’ Dad pretended to look behind the door. ‘Unless you’ve got him tied up in the bedroom.’

  ‘He’s making money,’ said Stacey. ‘You’ve heard of that? Making money?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it,’ Dad poured lemonade into their glasses.

  ‘The honest way, I mean.’

  ‘How long is that going to take him?’

  ‘I dunno,’ she said, grinning suddenly. ‘Ages.’

  Dad passed Stacey her drink. He reached out and chucked Sherry under the chin. ‘Such a cutie,’ he said. He went to the door and looked out. Then he turned back around. ‘Must get lonely here. Just you and the little one.’

  Stacey sat on an arm of one of the chairs. ‘We’re okay. Mum drops around. Uncle Ian. And at least I know when Brian’s coming home.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Dad. ‘At least you know that. Cheers.’ He raised his glass.

  ‘Shut up, Ray.’ Stacey got up again and took a packet of chips down from the cupboard. Her dress showed her legs as she reached; they were the same colour as the cream Mother Margy poured onto Dad’s apple pie. She tipped the chips into a bowl. ‘What do you want to drink, Justine?’ she said.

  ‘She’ll have whatever’s going,’ said Dad.

  ‘Lemonade okay?’ said Stacey.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  Stacey poured lemonade into a plastic cup. She patted one of the chairs facing the television. ‘Sit down,’ she said. She put the chips on a small table beside the chair. I could smell baby shit. There was a bottle of milk on the kitchen counter.

  ‘Must get tough though,’ said Dad. He leaned against the kitchen counter, his legs, hard and tight in his jeans, crossed one over the other.

  ‘Nothing you can help me with.’ Stacey put Sherry onto the floor, pushing one of the dolls towards her, then sat on the chair next to mine. ‘Ian comes around if anything needs doing. Belinda picks up stuff from the shops.’

  ‘You used to like my help.’ Dad sat down on another one of the chairs.

  ‘Used to.’

  ‘Used to feel pretty good, didn’t it?’ Dad leaned forward and pinched Stacey’s thigh. She pulled away. ‘Used to feel real good,’ he said, sipping from his drink.

  Sherry started to cry. ‘Oh,’ said Stacey, picking her up from the floor. ‘You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart? I have to put her down. Bubs missed her nap today, didn’t you, petal?’ Stacey kissed Sherry on the top of the head.

  ‘Shame,’ said Dad. ‘Jussy would love to have a play. Wouldn’t you, Justine?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ said Stacey, carrying Sherry out of the room. ‘She’s terrible when she’s tired.’

  Dad walked slowly around the room, looking at the photos of the wedding horse, of Sherry, of Stacey with the veil, of Brian in his wedding suit. He drank from his glass and shook his head. ‘Brian fucken Chisholm.’ He poured more drink into his glass. ‘What do you think, Justine?’ he said, looking at the picture of Brian up close.

  ‘About what?’ I said.

  ‘Who the fuck knows?’ he said.

  Stacey came back into the room. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Now I can relax.’

  Dad held out his drink to her. ‘To us,’ he said.

  Stacey didn’t lift her drink.

  ‘Come on, Stace,’ said Dad.

  Stacey sighed.

  ‘For old time’s sake.’ Dad held out his glass. ‘Come on, give it up, what’s the harm?’

  ‘Alright then, for old time’s sake,’ said Stacey, lifting her drink.

  They touched their glasses and both took a long sip, looking at each other over the rims. ‘Cheers, darlin’,’ said Dad.

  ‘You’re a bad boy, Raymond,’ said Stacey.

  ‘I love it when you say my name,’ said Dad. ‘Say it again.’

  I looked at the patterns in the carpet. They were brown diamonds.

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘You know what. My name.’

  ‘Raymond.’

  ‘And again.’

  ‘Ray!’ Stacey made her eyes wide at him.

  ‘Just one more time, sweet Stacey.’

  Stacey looked at me. ‘You want to see what’s on television?’ she said. She leaned over to turn on the television. My dad never stopped watching her; if I’d looked into his eyes I would have seen her there, trapped.

  ‘Television looks good,’ he said. ‘Big.’ But he wasn’t looking at the television; he was looking at her legs and her short skirt.

  Stacey flicked from channel to channel; when she came to a cartoon she said, ‘There you go.’ A baby elephant floated down through the sky with its trunk curled around a blue feather. I took a drink of the lemonade. ‘How’s your old man?’ said Stacey.

  ‘Pain in the arse,’ said Dad. ‘How’s yours?’

  ‘Same,’ she said, swinging her crossed legs up and down. ‘What about your love life?’

  ‘What about it?’ said Dad.

  ‘You seeing anyone?’

  ‘I’m seeing you.’ He took another long sip.

  ‘You know what I mean. Are you seeing anyone?’

  ‘Like I said—you.’

  The baby elephant landed and a mouse wearing a hat came up to him. There will be a way out of this, my friend—or should I say new friend—there will be a way. We just have to think. Think!

  ‘You’re not answering my question,’ said Stacey. ‘Have you got a girlfriend?’

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I, your honour?’ said Dad.

  ‘With you that doesn’t mean much,’ said Stacey.

  ‘Come on, darlin’, stop giving ole Ray a hard time. There’s no girlfriend. It’s good to see you.’ Dad took the bottle of see-through drink from the freezer. She put up her hand to try to stop him filling her glass, but he kept going. ‘Want to sit outside?’ he said.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, standing. She looked at the television. Dumbo wouldn’t let go of the feather; that’s how he floated. He couldn’t let go. ‘Doesn’t the elephant know he doesn’t need the feather?’ said Stacey.

  ‘I need the feather,’ said Dad.

  ‘Ray.’ Stacey shook her head at him.

  ‘Come on, let’s be out there when the sun goes down,’ said Dad.

  ‘Still romantic.’

  ‘You know it, sweetheart.’

  They went to the door. Honey followed.

  ‘We’ll be just outside, Justine,’ said Stacey.

  The baby elephant had to save his mother. It was up to him. Otherwise she would die in the cage. Dumbo had to fly. But how could he? I ate some of the chips and drank the lemonade. Dumbo jumped from the basket then he came down slowly, and everybody cheered. There was no way he could do it, but he did it. The movie finished. I sat on the floor and looked at Sherry’s teacups and pretend biscuits. I pushed a truck with a bear in the tray acros
s the brown diamonds on the carpet. I got up and looked at the photo of Stacey riding the wedding horse. The horse’s eyes were the same shining black as Silver’s. It had ribbons plaited into its mane. Stacey was smiling. She wore thick lipstick. The news came on. Outside it was getting darker. The door opened and I heard Stacey say, ‘It’s in the pantry. Don’t forget ice.’

  I wondered how long we would be here, visiting Stacey. What would Pop say if Dad didn’t take me home soon? What would he do if he knew Dad had taken me to the Worlleys’? Dad came inside and looked around the kitchen. Honey was at his feet. She sniffed me, then went back outside. ‘Where’s the pantry?’ Dad called to Stacey through the door.

  ‘Next to the stove, Dumbo!’ Stacey called back.

  When he found the cupboard by the stove, Dad pulled out another bottle of see-through drink. He never looked at me, as if I was as see-through as the drink. He went back outside, leaving the door open.

  ‘So what happened with the girl in Shepparton?’ I heard Stacey ask.

  ‘What girl?’

  ‘The one who called the cops.’

  ‘You heard about that?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘She was crazy. I was always thinking of you. She knew. I think I even called her Stace.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘No bullshit. Why do you think I’m here?’

  ‘Ray, I’m married.’

  ‘I know, Stace. I know. I missed out. Biggest mistake I ever made. But I can still see you, can’t I? Have a laugh. Get to look at you. Where’s the harm in that? You’re gorgeous, Stacey. Drop-dead gorgeous. I hope Brian tells you that.’

  ‘Bit hard when he’s away.’

  ‘That’s where I come in, sweetheart. Happy to say it all day long. You still make me weak at the knees. Here, feel ’em.’

  I heard Stacey giggle.

  ‘Shaking, right?’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Stacey.

  ‘You want to take me on a tour of the house?’

  ‘What house?’ said Stacey. ‘It’s taking forever.’

  ‘It’ll get there. Come on, take me on a tour.’

  Stacey came to the door. ‘Go on, Honey, go inside. You can’t come or you’ll run off chasing rabbits.’ Honey came into the living room. ‘Back soon, Justine,’ Stacey said. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her hair had come loose and hung around her face. She was like a small pink candle melting at the sides. She closed the door of the caravan.