Tiddas Read online

  On Friday night Ellen was excited about the housewarming cum book club meeting she was hosting. It was the first time her tiddas had seen her place with everything unpacked. They’d all offered to help her move but Ellen was as independent as ever and managed most of it on her own, although she had accepted Veronica’s offer of devoting one entire Tuesday to help her sort. It was a small place so getting organised hadn’t taken long, and Ellen had been busy renovating since.

  She lit tea-light candles along the windowsill and turned on some salsa music, loud enough to drown out the traffic pulsing across Story Bridge. She hoped she’d eventually get used to the sounds of trucks at all hours of the night. When she first moved in, it felt as if they were racing right through her apartment. But it didn’t stop her loving the place, her place, and a space she could now call home.

  The flat was full of swatches and brochures, business cards and quotes, which she bundled up and put in a corner. It was cosy, compact, and she needed as much room as possible to host her guests. Five women would be a full house in her flat.

  The walls were painted White Swan – a colour she chose as much for the name as the shade – but they were still bare, and she needed a red rug and a gold lampshade. Other than that she was happy with the transition she’d made from homeless and sleeping on other people’s couches to being a first homebuyer. I’m an adult now, she thought to herself, aware too that her fortieth was fast approaching. And I’ve got a good eye for decorating, she applauded herself as she looked around at what she had already achieved since moving in.

  She heard laughter on the landing and knew the lift with her friends had made it to the sixth floor.

  ‘Welcome to my humble, once ugly abode,’ she greeted the tiddas, bowing and waving them into the tiled entry.

  ‘This looks amazing, really amazing,’ Veronica said, knowing how much the purchase had meant to Ellen, who gave her a hug of gratitude.

  ‘Yes, who’d know from the ugly outside it was quite, let’s say, funky in here,’ Nadine added, looking snobbishly around the space. ‘I think we need a toast to your achievement in fixing this place up.’ She handed Ellen a gift basket of goodies from Mudgee: wine, honey, nuts, pickles and some handmade chocolates. She pulled the wine out as Ellen took the basket from her.

  ‘You love me,’ Ellen cuddled Nadine.

  ‘I love wine and nibblies,’ Nadine said, gently pushing Ellen away.

  ‘Don’t fight it, you love me,’ Ellen laughed, unpacking the goodies.

  ‘Look, I’m not big on giving – or receiving – dust collectors. I like consumables,’ Nadine said, as if it would kill her to agree with Ellen. She looked around for some glasses with a sense of urgency.

  ‘Well, that would be my cue, I guess,’ said Izzy, looking at Nadine. ‘I thought you’d like some nice wine glasses for when you entertain.’ She rinsed them quickly in the sink, much to the agitation of Nadine, who was desperate for a drink and annoyed with the delay in getting one, and took them into the lounge.

  Meanwhile, Veronica handed Ellen a housewarming gift, wrapped carefully in brown paper and string. Ellen unwrapped it slowly.

  ‘Wow, Vee, this is amazing.’ She was overwhelmed with the batik print, but more so Vee’s extreme generosity. ‘I’m a little lost for words.’

  ‘That’d be a first,’ Nadine mumbled as she poured wine.

  ‘That is stunning!’ Xanthe desperately wanted to run her hands over it. Veronica smiled at the tiddas’ appreciation of her gift.

  ‘Is that an Angela Gardner? I’ve got something a little similar at home,’ Nadine asked, not meaning to big-note herself. They all knew her mansion was full of deadly artwork from around the world. ‘It’s actually my prized possession.’

  ‘Why do you say an and not by?’ Izzy asked, a little annoyed as she sometimes could be by her bourgeois sister-in-law, who bought whatever she wanted and never had to think about the price. Izzy herself had a work by the same artist but didn’t mention it; it would only sound like she was competing, and that was one tiff she didn’t want to have tonight.

  Nadine ignored Izzy. ‘Gardner’s a local Brisbane artist, you’re lucky to get her now, Ellen, she’s going to be huge.’ She spoke as if she were an art critic, and moved her hands apart to demonstrate enormity.

  ‘Wow, is it an Angela Gardner, Vee? I mean, is it by her?’ Ellen had a spark in her eye. She’d never owned anything so posh.

  ‘It’s actually mine,’ Veronica shyly admitted.

  ‘What?’ the four other women asked simultaneously.

  ‘It’s mine. I did it. It’s mine,’ Veronica said, as if laying her claim on something more than the artwork.

  ‘That’s seriously impressive, Vee,’ said Xanthe, still gushing. ‘I’d love to give one to Spencer for his birthday. Are you going to do any more?’ she asked hopefully, but trying not to stretch the friendship.

  Veronica was shocked. She had not imagined any of them thinking it was that good. ‘If you’re serious, I’d love to make something for Spencer.’

  ‘How long have you been doing this?’ Izzy asked. ‘You were always good at art at school.’ Izzy recalled Vee being asked to work on the sets of the drama productions at Mudgee High because she could translate detailed sketches into stage-sized backdrops.

  ‘I’ve always sketched, or painted. It was something I could do when the kids were asleep. And when Alex left me, it helped keep me sane, almost.’ Veronica’s smiled dropped with the final word.

  ‘But where did you learn to do batik, Vee?’ Nadine asked, equally impressed with her friend’s talent. ‘It’s not your typical stay-at-home kind of work one does while the kids are napping. Or is it?’ She’d suddenly realised she wasn’t the typical stay-at-home mother either.

  ‘Our last family holiday to Bali was long, too long in fact, given that Alex and I were already living virtually separate lives and constantly arguing. He took the boys out a lot, and while they were doing parasailing and windsurfing, I did workshops.’ Veronica was happy that she had the chance to talk about something other than her children. Her artwork brought her a real sense of achievement; it was something that other people could celebrate as well. ‘I’ve been practising since we got back and this is my first completed work. I wanted you to have it, Ellen. Buying your first home is a big deal.’

  Ellen got teary then and shook her head, unable to speak. She hid her emotion by getting up and propping the piece against the back of the sofa, then leant it against the bare wall.

  ‘Looks perfect already,’ she said, still choked up.

  ‘John helped me turn the guest room into a studio,’ Veronica continued. ‘I spend a lot of time in there now.’ She had planned on working a few hours every day painting, drawing and sketching but in fact she mostly just cried. The girls were watching her closely now, knowing how fragile she still was and how difficult life had been for their tidda during the past few months.

  Izzy jumped up. ‘I’ve got it. Vee, you should enrol in a fine arts degree at QUT. Imagine studying art. And you’re so good at it you might even be able to make a living out of it at the end.’

  ‘What a great idea, Izzy.’ Ellen was excited about the potential for Veronica’s further education as well and offered her endorsement. ‘Vee, I totally think you should do that. I can come with you to Kelvin Grove and you could suss it out if you want.’

  Veronica felt more pressured than flattered.

  ‘Oh, that’s all a bit much, don’t you think? I’ve only done one piece.’

  ‘Just think about it, Vee.’ Nadine put her hand on her tidda’s arm. ‘You’ve got the talent, and you’ve got the time. Why not?’

  All of a sudden, Veronica realised what support she had in her tiddas. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt such happiness.

  ‘Well, dear Vee,’ said Ellen, ‘this is going to look incredibly special on my wall, when I finally get it hung. But for now I think it looks deadly just there.’

  ‘Oh yes. Perfect
. Stunning. Sets off the whole room.’ The women might have sounded generous in their responses, but they were being completely honest.

  Xanthe was impressed at Ellen’s renos too, knowing how much work was involved in turning an older place into something fresh and homey.

  ‘Looks like you’ve done a lot around here already, Ellen. You said it was brown and blokey when you bought it, so this is a massive transformation in a few weeks.’

  ‘I’ve had a bit of help,’ Ellen said nonchalantly.

  ‘Was there a working bee I didn’t know about? Sorry.’ Xanthe assumed the tiddas must have been helping Ellen while she was in Rocky doing cross-cultural awareness training.

  ‘No working bees.’ Ellen smiled with a devilish sparkle in her eye.

  ‘Spill it!’ Izzy knew she’d been up to something.

  ‘I’ve been reno-dating.’ Ellen smiled so broadly her face ached.

  ‘Reno-what?’

  ‘Reno-dating. Dating renovators. Well, not technically renovators, tradies really, and not really dating, just shagging.’ Ellen grinned some more. ‘But hell, they’ve all got amazing bodies.’

  ‘I really think tradies are underrated, generally,’ Veronica said.

  ‘All the tradies we used were great; they do sometimes get a bad rap though,’ Xanthe added.

  ‘Mine got a good rap all right, wrapped up in my sheets.’ Ellen giggled loudly.

  Her tiddas squealed with shock and titillation.

  ‘Details,’ Nadine demanded, ‘for the old married women here.’ She glanced across at Veronica and apologised.

  ‘I’m not old, just not married,’ Veronica said darkly.

  ‘None of us are old,’ Xanthe said, looking sympathetically at Veronica, but then reminding herself that forty might be too old to conceive.

  ‘You want details?’ Ellen was bursting to share. ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, go on,’ Izzy said, feigning disinterest.

  ‘The carpenter who came to put in the new skirting boards, well, did he have the best-packed tool belt I’ve ever seen? Ummm, yes he did.’ Ellen panned the room as if looking for something. ‘I need to find some more woodwork that needs doing.’

  ‘You’re terrible, Ellen,’ Xanthe said, looking a bit shocked.

  ‘And the plumber – well, he fitted the new shower hose, and then he fitted his hose too,’ Ellen laughed at her own joke, and Izzy and Nadine couldn’t resist giggling as well.

  ‘And two days ago, with the sparky, well did the sparks fly with him! There was enough electricity between us to light up the entire Brisbane grid.’

  Xanthe was totally shocked now, Veronica was jealous, Nadine was slowly getting pissed and Izzy didn’t really think or feel anything other than being pleased to see her tidda so happy.

  ‘Aren’t you worried about AIDS?’ Xanthe asked.

  ‘What?’ Ellen thought the question odd.

  ‘Aren’t you afraid of catching something, with all these different blokes?’ Xanthe sounded judgemental without meaning too.

  ‘I practise safe sex, I’m not an idiot!’ Ellen wasn’t sure if she was annoyed because Xanthe thought she was stupid and didn’t know about safe sex, or because Xanthe was stupid and didn’t know about safe sex. Either way, she didn’t like where the conversation was going, especially as it was meant to be a positive one.

  ‘Don’t you feel, you know, a bit weird in the morning, with strangers in your home?’ Veronica asked innocently, having only ever woken up with her husband for twenty years. ‘I know I sound naive, but how does it work?’

  Ellen felt uncomfortable. What was she supposed to say? Well, usually you wake up, make love, have a shower, and they leave. All of a sudden her reno-dating seemed to be less about fun and more about her morals.

  ‘Gorgeous skirt, Ellen,’ Izzy said, sensing the need for a quick change of topic.

  Ellen was relieved. ‘Ten bucks at the South Bank markets, can you believe it?’ She stood up and did a twirl; the multi-coloured cotton flared out. ‘The guy should sell cars he was so persistent.’

  ‘Did you sleep with him too?’ Nadine asked jokingly.

  Ellen ignored her.

  ‘You should’ve bought two, it looks fab on you,’ Izzy continued, doing her best to steer the conversation away from what was increasingly looking like another dig at her tidda.

  ‘It’s perfect for this heat too.’ Ellen wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, shut the sliding glass door and cranked up the air-conditioning. ‘I think we should eat, no?’

  Ellen stepped around Veronica and into the kitchen. She passed out breadsticks and a platter of oysters, prawns, lemon wedges and avocado. Everything was placed on a sleek, white coffee table in the middle of the room and the women rested plates in their laps. The flat was too small for a dining room table, and it was pointless squeezing five of them around the small table she had pushed up against the wall.

  Hours later, the women were still chatting.

  ‘I met this author at the Brisbane Writers’ Festival,’ said Nadine. ‘You all know I hardly ever do big events anymore, not my scene, to be honest they never were.’ She was getting pissed and starting to ramble in her attempt to get the discussion going on the book they were doing for May.

  ‘But I did this one, this festival, and I was sooo glad,’ she slurred. Her tiddas were used to her ways and let her go, this time because they had all enjoyed the novel she’d chosen.

  ‘I was totally blown away by her. And so was Richard. I think he was trying to see if they were related, even though she’s originally from the Torres Strait. Or should I say he was using it as an excuse to talk to her.’ Nadine rolled her eyes, remembering back her husband’s borderline flirting.

  ‘What?’ Izzy shook her head.

  ‘Oh, she’s hot, I mean sexy and funny and can sing. Your brother was drooling. I had to pick his chin up off the floor.’ Nadine laughed; she had never felt threatened by any other women.

  ‘As if, he’d never look at another woman, not in front of you anyway,’ Izzy said, dismissing any suggestion that her brother would be unfaithful.

  ‘Don’t kid yourself. Your brother,’ Nadine pointed her finger at Izzy, ‘is still a man. He still looks at women.’ Nadine crossed and re-crossed her legs, took a sip from her glass. ‘He just knows that no matter where he gets his appetite he has to eat at home.’

  Veronica was dying inside. She couldn’t remember the last time her ex-husband had looked at her with wanting in his eyes. She couldn’t remember if he’d ever drooled over her. All she remembered was that he’d stopped eating at home many, many years ago. She felt a huge flush of sadness and hoped that she wouldn’t start to cry. She hadn’t taken her medication because she knew she’d want to have a drink and didn’t want to mix the two.

  ‘Anyway, I bought her book and loved it. Richard even read it, and you know he only ever reads mine because he wants to see if he’s in there.’ The girls were all guilty of doing the same thing but said nothing. ‘And finally, because it’s time I let someone else speak – ’

  Ellen cut her off. ‘Why? Don’t let go of the microphone on account of four other people with opinions, Nadine,’ she mocked.

  Nadine ignored the comment, and finished her spiel. ‘I really wanted to know what you tiddas thought.’ She looked especially at the Koori women in the room.

  Xanthe leant forward on the couch. ‘I loved Butterfly Song. The main character had career aspirations, lived in the city, had a love life and had commitment to community.’ She nodded, as if to herself. ‘Actually, Tarena Shaw reminded me a little of me.’

  ‘Me too,’ Izzy said excitedly. ‘It was like when I went to uni, although there were far fewer Blackfellas doing degrees back then. She’s an inspiring character and could act as a role model in literature to heaps of young women. I hope they teach this in schools.’ Izzy got out her Moleskine, always writing down notes for potential ideas related to her program. She’d check on Monday if there was a chance of an interview with the
author at some stage, and make sure there were multiple copies of the novel in the library. She was already thinking about hooks for a story.

  ‘Actually,’ Veronica finally found a place she could contribute, not always knowing when it was okay for her to comment on ‘Black’ issues when she was a whajin, or migloo, as they said in Queensland. ‘The new national curriculum has a focus on Indigenous studies so hopefully there’ll be more novels like this in schools.’

  ‘That’s good, because I reckon this is the closest thing to the great Australian novel that I’ve ever read,’ Izzy added. ‘It just encompasses so much of this country’s spirit.’

  ‘I agree,’ Ellen added. ‘It’s a love story, a legal lesson, and a comment on modern Blackfellas just like us.’ The conversation had suddenly become the most analytical they’d seen at book club for a long time.

  ‘For me, as an author,’ Nadine said, cementing her authority, ‘I loved that it was a treasure trove of eloquent writing. I wish I could write like that.’ She sipped her drink, wondering if prose could be so elegant in a novel about murder, crime, blood and gore.

  Xanthe, ever the hopeless romantic, appreciated something different all together. ‘I loved the story of the grandparents, guitarman Kit and Francesca his frangipani princess.’ She smiled, thinking back to the scenes she liked most. ‘I liked how their eternal love was symbolised in the butterfly brooch Kit carved for his lady.’ Xanthe sighed deeply, recalling Spencer’s romantic gestures: breakfast in bed, holding her hand while watching television, bringing home flowers just for the sake of it. He was her Kit, even if he wouldn’t talk about IVF.