It’s only three days till Christmas. It’s hot and the air tastes different. You don’t have to be a believer to taste it because it’s there for anyone, regardless. It’s especially strong in the heat of the day. Heat does something to the resin in the Christmas trees lashed to the bollards outside the greengrocer’s – the pungent scent of sap affects the brain like a drug and buried memories float into consciousness. People are sleeping naked, rolling about in hot beds searching out a cool patch on the sheet and women of a certain age remember wearing baby-doll pyjamas.
Meg has demonstrated remarkable business acumen. She ordered extra stock well ahead of time and negotiated on certain lines with other stores in the block. In this way, repetition has been avoided - to an extent.
Doug feels guilty. It was agreed that he’d help out during the Christmas rush but he’s tied up at Acacia Lodge Hostel for the elderly. Meg is managing just fine but all the same, he was concerned that in the shopping mayhem, less than honest folk could come into the shop and go unnoticed. So he’s placed a large plastic toad by the entrance. It has a battery-operated sensor that triggers a loud croak when anyone crosses the threshold. The kids have been marvellous Darren is dividing his time between helping his mother and working for a bakery. It’s his first taste of the work force. The Aussie Pie Shop hired him and a pie costume. Dressed as a meat pie, he travels up and down the footpath on roller blades with a tray of sample size pies. Lily has been feeling a little left out so Meg suggested she dress as a Christmas fairy and blow bubbles for the children passing by. Meg has a talent for smoothing things over.
So this patch in the strip looks and smells great and those more experienced than Meg are saying that consumers are spending more this year than ever.
For a moment all is quiet in the shop. It’s strange how customers come in waves. The toad is silent. Lily is resting on the step, her chin in her hand, eyes glazed. The afternoon sun, lights up the tinsel in her hair and the glitter in her wings. She’s eleven – too old to believe in fairies. Meg watches her, framed by the door, like a picture. A breeze ruffles the fairy dress and a moment later the chimes in the shop tinkle. Meg is 40 and still believes in fairies. She squeezes herself next to Lily on the step, tucks a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and tugs at her skirt to hide her knees. She wants to tell Lily a story.
‘Where I grew up, all the houses in our street, except for one, were made of wood. The house next to ours was a brick house. It was older than all the others. I used imagine a time when it stood alone in the street surrounded by paddocks, stables, chickens and fruit trees. My mother told me the house was “Victorian”. Well I thought, “der … Melbourne is in Victoria.”
'Mum made friends with the lady who lived in the brick house. Her name was Mrs Coulahan. She was a widow and lived with her son Mitchell, who was studying to be vet. Mitchell had an orange bitzer called Warrigal. He told me that Warrigal was an Aboriginal word for dingo. ‘Warrigal’ is the first word I ever learnt from another language.
'All sorts of animals visited the Coulahan’s back garden. Mitchell had a way with them – a cockatoo with no feathers, a border collie with a bucket on its head, a blind rabbit. Animals came and went but Warrigal was always there. I knew about these animals because I used climb the fence and talk to Mitchell and Mrs Coulahan.
'Mrs Coulahan was a sad person; she had rheumatoid arthritis and her joints were swollen and misshapen. I heard that she was given injections of gold and imagined liquid gold going into her veins and it travelling and spreading through this hidden network of canals under her skin. Mrs Coulahan never dressed in street clothes because she never went anywhere. She wore cotton nighties with flowers and matching brunch coats in soft pastels. In cold weather she wore quilted dressing gowns – lemon, rose-pink and lilac. Her hair was always neat and stiff with spray and she wore frosted pink lipstick. I thought she looked lovely.
'One day, my mother cooked some extra and made up a plate for Mrs Coulahan. She said, ‘Mitchell isn’t home for meals much and it’s easy for people on their own to slip out of the habit of eating properly.’ It was my job to deliver the meal: two rissoles, mashed potato and beans. The bottom end of a Tupperware was balanced over the food. It was midday - a few days before Christmas, and this was my first visit to the other side.
'The front gate was made of heavy iron. I had to put the plate down and push hard with both hands before it’d swing open. Then I had to climb two steep stone steps to the gravel path that led up to the front door. As I moved up the path, I felt the garden close around me. This was the most beautiful garden on earth.
'It was never weeded or pruned. This garden was wild. Giant blue and white agapanthus flowers weighed down their stalks, paper-thin rose petals shifted and fell with the slightest breeze, sea-side daisies, violets and thyme were reclaiming the path. I had to be careful where I put my feet. Jasmine hung heavy on the fence, tangling its way through lavenders alive with bees and when I made it to the veranda I saw that the ancient iron posts were wrapped with a creeper thicker than my arm. I put the plate down for the second time and pressed the bell. And while I waited for Mrs Coulahan to come to the door, I listened to the garden.
'It seemed a long time before I heard shuffling, a fumble, then the door swung open. For a moment Mrs Coulahan looked surprised by the sight of me with the food, then she smiled, lifted the Tupperware and said, "Ah rissoles. My favourite. Let’s take them down to the kitchen shall we".
'I followed Mrs Coulahan down the length of the house. It was dark in the hall and the ceiling was high. I coughed – the house had a hollow sound. ‘We don’t have carpets. Mitchell is allergic.’ I looked down. We were walking on wide boards, polished from years of feet.
'I always had plenty to say over the fence but now inside for the first time, words dried up. I stood with my back against a cupboard, holding the plate, I felt nailed to the spot. Mrs Coulahan was kind. "Put the plate there dear, on the table. Would you like a cold drink?"
'I shook my head.
'"Well, would you like to have a look around my old house? I don’t have visitors anymore, this is a fun for me."
'I ‘d always wanted to see inside Mrs Coulahan’s house.
'"Well now, where shall we start? Let’s look in Mitchell’s room. He isn’t here today but he won’t mind as long as we don’t touch anything."
'Mrs Coulahan led the way. She stopped in front of a door, opened it and pushed me gently into the room. Sun streamed in through windows that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. In places the light was broken and dappled by leaves on trees growing just outside. The wood in the room glowed with waxy warmth. Mitchell’s double bed looked huge, crumpled and high with pillows and a tangled quilt. Thick books were scattered on the floor, posters on the walls, a guitar leaned in a corner and there was a cage on the desk. I looked back at Mrs Coulahan. "That’s Fergus. Mitchell brought him home from the university. I thought you’d find him interesting. Take a closer look."
'It was a white rat stretched out, fast asleep.
'"Come. I’ve got a bath with legs." Mrs Coulahan closed the door and I followed her down the dark hall to an intersection. "Down there dear – the door at the end - if it hasn’t gone for a wander."
'The door handle was low and the bathroom air was cold on my face. It was true; the bath did have legs, short legs with paws resting on rectangular terracotta tiles. The plumbing was visible. Long, narrow, pipes were fixed to the wall with taps at the bottom for filling the bath and taps in the middle for the shower. The showerhead was huge and round, bigger than a plate. And there was a basin on a pedestal, the white surface cracked and crazed was big enough to bath a baby. And there was a plug on a chain and a green stain under the cold tap. Above the basin was a mirror and on either side were small sash windows with crumpled glass in the lower frames. Lined up on the windowsill, like surgical instruments, was shaving equipment. The glass blurred the greenery outside. One of the windows didn’t close properly and a shoot was coiling its way inside.
'Back in the kitchen Mrs Coulahan was waiting for me. There were two glasses of lemon cordial and on a plate, two Chocolate Royal biscuits. I was reaching out to take one when Mrs Coulahan held up a crooked finger and said, “Mitchell and I have a special way of eating Chocolate Royals. Watch me and do what I do.” I stared into Mrs Coulahan’s eyes and copied every move she made – mouth open, a reflection. Together we reached out, took a Chocolate Royal each, raised it to forehead height (marshmallow facing inward) then WHACK, smashed the chocolate coating in the space between our eyes, lowered it and then picked out and ate the pieces.
‘Do you and Mitchell really do this?’ I asked.
‘Every time. Now I’m going to ask you to help me make my day bed. I’m not strong enough to do it myself.’
'The day bed was in a small glass room attached to the kitchen - a place where inside met outside. She pointed to a narrow bed next to a small round table with a collection of dusty cacti and some tattered magazines. “Now pull back the sheet and I’ll climb in. That’s a girl. See that waste paper basket? Put that upside down near my ankles. It keeps the weight of the bedclothes off my feet.”
'Mrs Coulahan’s feet and ankles were dry and scaly; she had bunions and crossed toes. “That’s the way. Now you can spread the sheet and blanket over me. Tuck me in and I’ll be snug.”
'I wanted to do it perfectly for Mrs Coulahan.
'"Thankyou, you’re a good nurse. You can go out the back door if you like and say hello to Warrigal."
'As I was about to leave I said, "Mrs Coulahan … Your garden?…Well, it’s the kind of garden where you could see a fairy don’t you think?"
'Mrs Coulahan looked at her hands and I thought she was going to cry. Her bottom lip shook. I wished I hadn’t said the ‘fairy’ word. I felt I’d said something childish. But Mrs Coulahan didn’t seem to think that. She considered the question seriously, then turning to face me, whispered, "Yes. And I did see a fairy once."
'"Where?"
'"Here. In this room."
'"How big?"
'"Forty centimeters."
'"That’s big."
'"Then Mrs Coulahan said, "But I don’t believe in fairies. It’s a choice. I choose not to."
'It was time to leave.
'I went through the kitchen and out the back door. Warrigal was sleeping in a patch of sun and his tail thumped when he saw me. I scratched him behind the ears, he rolled over and I found the spot on his tummy that made his leg kick in the air. The garden swayed about me. I followed the path around the corner of the house and squeezed between the laundry and some massive hydrangeas. I could see the double concrete troughs and a round machine with rollers on the top and there was a smell of damp. Then … just as I turned into the drive I was stopped by a loud snort of breath.
'A horse! It was enormous with slender legs, chestnut coat, a black mane and tail and a white star on its forehead. Its eyes were black and soft and I could smell its sweat. I saw the definition of muscle on its chest and veins like creatures. I’d only ever seen horses from the car. I had to touch it but I was frightened by its size. I thought if I moved slowly, so the horse couldn’t tell I was coming closer, it would stay still and I could stroke it. Minutes passed and all I did was shift my weight from one foot to the other. The horse watched. Then without warning, it tossed its head, blew loudly through its nostrils and shook its mane.
'I felt the adrenalin. It came from the base of my spine – like fire it shot through my arms and legs, up my neck and out the top of my head. I ran down the driveway but before I reached the street my feet left the ground and I flew. I flew fast – up and over the six -foot fence and landed lightly on the other side – my side.’
Lily looks up at Meg, ‘True?’
Meg says, ‘I tell you now without a lie. I left the earth, I touched the sky.’
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