Chapter 31
the thirty first chapter
MARCO
Our back door has always been this way.
Loosely guarded by a curtain of hideous vinyl fly strips.
A long outdated trend in gaudy retro colours.
The kind that keeps more flies in than out.
I got in trouble on more than one occasion for trying to swing on them.
And by trouble, I mean bruises from Dad.
When’s the last time Mum saw me without bruises, cuts or burns?
Has she ever?
No wonder it took her a moment to recognise me.
It wasn't just my height, I’d been almost five foot nine by the time I left.
Although I did have a growth spurt when Beth and Franko started feeding me properly.
My voice is a little deeper.
And no more country twang.
It wasn't the hint of stubble on my face either.
I’d started borrowing mum's razor when I was fourteen.
But the clean clothes, the styled hair and healthy toned body?
The well rested, well fed, loved and cared for Marco?
That's who she didn’t recognise.
I’m not saying she didn’t do her best, despite the circumstances.
And I know that she loves me.
I’m just saying.
If this is how much I’ve changed, imagine…
I let myself think it.
Imagine how much she might bloom if planted in different soil.
My concern deepens as she makes her way across the kitchen to the doorway.
Her limp has gotten so much worse.
I need to get her to a physio or specialist of some kind.
But the nearest clinic is hours away.
She lacks the transport, money, confidence, and “permission” to leave town on her own.
Ease her into the idea, I decide.
Dad's scared her into staying.
Bet he's made a threat of some kind.
I imagine her a few years from now, celebrating her fiftieth birthday.
Will she be free and safe?
I imagine her blooming in the right soil.
Sitting on a beach with us somewhere, eating all the watermelon she can handle.
Looking gorgeous after a morning of pampering with my hair stylist Josie.
Telling me about the friend she's made at quilting club.
Or the garden that she and Amos's mum have planted in her new back yard.
Will she be smiling more and walking without pain?
Would she let me pay for her to get her teeth and leg fixed?
Will she sleep well at night, knowing that she’s safe and loved.
Knowing that no harm will come to her?
Or will she still be here, watching the door in fear, bracing for my father's next tantrum?
No amount of packet mix cake could make that a day worth celebrating.
So I have to try.
◆◆◆
Pushing my way through the fly strips, a grin spreads across my face.
The rusty Hills Hoist washing line is still there in the far corner.
It was the closest thing I ever had to a swing set.
I’d spin round and round until I was dizzy.
Never invited other kids to visit.
Not hard to guess why.
But now the back yard has been transformed into a vege patch.
She's created three mesh tunnels to protect her crops from pesky critters.
And drunks.
I turn instinctively to look back toward the driveway one last time.
Still no sign of him.
From this side of the house, it will be harder to keep an eye on the front door.
But the fresh air is a welcome change from being cooped up inside those four walls.
It’s not just the putrid stink, or the overstimulation of clutter.
It’s the memories pressing in from every side.
The way this house and that man still make me feel so small and worthless.
With the courage I’ve found during my sessions with Sam, I can almost bear it.
In small doses.
Especially with Amos by my side.
Having him here is a living reminder that I’m free and loved.
That I can leave at any moment.
I see little Mark staring out through the window behind me, trapped in the squalor.
He’s afraid to make a sound.
He hides behind the curtain.
Men are scary to him.
Come play in the garden, I whisper. I promise I’ll keep you safe.
But little Mark turns to watch the door.
I wish more than ever that I could wrap that kid in my arms.
I’d tell him that we made it out.
That we're safe now.
He'd be jealous of the shiny blue truck outside.
The one that can take him far far away from the monsters.
He'd be so happy to know that he’s rich enough to swim at the beach now.
Not just the local pool.
Rich enough to buy a lawnmower, even though he has no need for one.
Rich enough to know that money is worthless unless you feel safe.
With or without Amos, I feel safer than I have in years.
As safe as anyone can feel in a place like this.
That’s worth more than all the beaches and lawnmowers combined.
I walk behind my love, and reach for his hand.
Holding his palm flat, I draw a quick heart with my finger.
The passion in my eyes is returned.
So is the finger-drawn heart.
I plant a stealthy kiss on his wrist while mum's back is still turned.
“Love you,” I whisper.
I’ll never get tired of saying it.
◆◆◆
“You're a woman of many talents, Louise,” Amos says, as we walk closer.
“Beautiful quilts, delicious chocolate cakes, and a gifted green thumb.”
Mum basks in his kind words.
She isn’t used to it.
An hour with Amos Vale is enough to make anyone feel better.
Except maybe Vonnie.
I watch the two of them carefully.
He laughs with her, listening attentively.
He’s learning about how crushed eggshells make the best slug repellent.
As if I needed another reason to love you, I swoon.
He karate chops the air when a horde of flies attack him.
My handsome, endlessly patient city boy is gonna get so many kisses tonight.
I fill the watering can and set it down at Mum's feet.
She thanks me, but says she'll save it for later.
“Best to water these around dusk, love. It's too hot right now.”
We shade our eyes as the afternoon sun sears the land.
Cicadas are noisy buggers out here. Bigger than the ones on the coast.
Crows are more vocal too.
But the only sound I’m bracing for is my father.
And so far, not a peep.
Good. He can fuck off.
Your anger is more than justified, Sam told me last week.
But when you're ready to fully reclaim the power he took from you, it will be a gentle goodbye and a lack of attention that hurts him the most.
A life of anger will only hurt you, not him.
Choose to grow, or choose to harden.
And she’s right.
I don’t want to carry this darkness anymore.
I’m here to take back my power, gently but firmly.
I’m gonna start by loving my mum back to life, just like the plants she’s been tending. Resilience against the odds.
Nurturing and protecting every delicate shoot, guiding it until it thrives.
Despite the harsh conditions.
◆◆◆
I kneel down to take a closer look.
She's clearly spent a lot of time in this garden.
It’s impressive, to say the least.
Tomatoes climb thin wooden stakes.
Silver beet leaves spread wide and glossy.
Clusters of herbs grow thick and green beside rows of beans and zucchini.
“Got the clippings from next door. No garden centre out this way, Amos.”
She leads us further down toward the fence.
“Jean, that's Mrs Ambrose, is getting older now so she said I was welcome to borrow her tools and books, and any cuttings I wanted to take to start a little patch of my own. Here's my little pocket of colour.”
She lifts the netting on the third section of soil.
Bright bursts of marigolds, salvias, and geraniums push through the damp earth.
Each one an act of rebellion in a barren landscape.
These green leaves are her solace amongst the decay.
A place where living things flourish and are sheltered from harm.
“I love your frangipani,” Amos smiles. “That’s my mum’s favourite too.”
She gives him a shy grin.
“It's not much, but I've got Marco's dad convinced that growing this garden will save us money,” she says. “More booze for him, he reckons. Truth is, the more time he spends down the road, the more peace and quiet I get. I feel calm when I've got my hands in the soil.”
“It must feel really soothing,” Amos nods. “Reconnecting with nature like that.”
She’s bathing in his warmth, just like I do.
Validation instead of rebuke.
Someone showing her that she matters.
Her face lights up as their conversation continues.
And I’m beside myself with adoration for them both.
I can see how carefully everything has been cultivated.
The soil has been built up with compost and mulch.
Shade cloth stretches over some of the more delicate plants, protecting them from the ruthless inland conditions.
Row after row of vegetables and flowers have been coaxed patiently from ground that most people would have given up on.
“It looks wonderful, Ma. You’ve put so much time and love into this. Proud of you.”
The look on her face is so tender and childlike.
She’s been craving kindness for so long.
This garden and her sewing cupboard have been her only form of escape.
She’s created something gentle in a world that hasn’t been gentle with her.
◆◆◆
I curve an arm around her shoulders.
We walk over to the wooden compost bin she's made.
It has a few gaps here and there, but it does the job.
“Gotta work with what you have,” she shrugs.
Picking up a bucket of weeds near the fence, she lifts the lid from the bin.
For a second she pauses.
Then I see it too.
“Oh hello,” she laughs, as though she's found a stray cat.
Coiled comfortably among the steaming compost, is a large carpet python.
Its thick patterned body loops in lazy swirls.
Scales catch the sunlight in soft bronze and olive patterns.
The snake raises its head, rising just enough to peer over the edge.
A tongue flickers curiously.
I feel Amos tense beside me, his hand finding mine.
God, this man is adorable.
Sometimes I forget that not everyone grew up in the wild.
In this house, a snake is the least of our worries.
“That thing is enormous,” he whispers.
I fight the urge to say something dirty.
Too easy, I grin.
“Probably likes it in there because of the mice. Don’t ya, buddy?”
The python retreats as I close the lid.
Mum sets the watering can on top of it to give Amos a little peace of mind. At least while we’re out here.