Chapter 7 #2
Time had never moved the same since that night.
As usual, she reminded herself that she wasn’t that teenager anymore—Ronnie Madonna was a grown-ass woman with old feelings and old problems, trapped in a relationship she didn’t want with a woman she hated, resigned to work minimum-wage jobs forever, like her mum, but it could be worse. Yes, it could definitely be worse.
“I can’t believe it’s been ten years since the night we met.”
Nev rubbed her back, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
Ronnie opened her eyes. “Why did she give me your address?” The taxidermized barn owl stared at her from its perch in the corner.
Nev had inherited the owl from her mother, had it flown in from Christchurch.
It had arrived in a box with a dead mouse; bizarre coincidence or a postal carrier’s idea of a joke.
“No idea.” No eyed deer.
“We would never have met, otherwise.”
Nev held her loosely, looked thoughtful. “We would have met two years later when Debbie Collins told me you were looking for work. The real question is, why did Debbie tell me you were looking for work? Did she know your dad?”
Ronnie shrugged.
“Reckon I should put animatronics in it. Clap on, clap off, that sort of thing.”
“What would it do?”
“Normal owl stuff. Turn its head, hoot, ruffle its feathers. What do you say?”
“It could have a remote.”
“Nah, I’d lose it the next day. Better be voice-activated. Like Alexa.”
Ronnie laughed. Nev did, too. The older woman’s laugh was silent, a vibration in her ribcage. Ronnie closed her eyes, asking her neck and shoulders to relax. They sort of did. “It could be on a timer, but random.”
“Only sensible suggestion so far. Maybe Deb was doing Peg a favor.” Debbie was pub owner Peggy Collins’s youngest child and lived with her. “Why would Peg…” Nev fell silent. “Ah.”
“What? Tell me.”
“I told Peg about the break in. She must have told Deb.”
“That doesn’t explain why Debbie connected us.”
“Neighborhood karma,” Nev said. “People like feeling they facilitated a resolution. We’re probably overthinking it. They probably just thought ‘there’s a dyke, she should work for the other dyke.’”
Truth.
The documentary ended. On her request Nev put on the 1994 performance of Riverdance at the Eurovision Song Contest. The lead male dancer in the flowy silk shirt and blonde mullet looked like a younger version of Nev.
“This brings back memories,” Nev said.
Ronnie checked her phone. A missed call from Reg, a text from her cousin and two texts from Mikey. Nothing from Rainbow.
“Why did you never have kids?”
“Reckon I never met the right person at the right time.”
Ronnie understood. Plenty of incredible people never met the right person at the right time.
Being single wasn’t a reflection of any inadequacy or lack of desire—at any age.
Nev’s pajamas were buttery-soft, acid-washed chambray.
Ronnie lay half-entombed by pillows, feeling lucky for this compassionate woman’s affection and pampering, like she was doing something illegal and getting away with it.
Truly, she was the robber who had never left.
Nev leaned over to turn off the light. Ronnie complained until Nev came close again.
Under normal circumstances Nev would have teased her about having mommy issues, but not tonight.
Nev was warm and soft. She smelled like sheep, lavender, and vermouth.
Ronnie was not completely clueless. If Nev had been twenty years younger or Ronnie had been twenty years older they would have tried to be lovers.
They might have dated. Class and education differences had never created tension in their friendship, maybe because Nev was in a different stage of life.
Flat on her back, eyes closed, Ronnie tried not to think about Rainbow.
It was a strange feeling. Nev’s hand was muscular and callous-rough in her own but smaller and colder.
She didn’t need to say thank you. Sometimes she did.
It was obvious that she was grateful. Nev knew that she admired and looked up to her, although every time Ronnie said so, she threatened to have Ronnie committed.
Ronnie didn’t mind being the big dumb one who moved rocks.
She knew she had the better end of the deal.
She couldn’t understand why a powerhouse like Nev hadn’t been scooped up yet. Ronnie’s boss was the ultimate package: looks, brains, and personality. Ronnie only had the face the genetic lottery had given her, and had an easy time finding lovers.
Nev sighed. “Do you want the pep talk now or in the morning?”
“Morning.”
“Love you, Dain’y.”
She smiled against the older woman’s flat chest in the dark. “Love you more.”
Ronnie woke to a pounding headache and the smell of coffee. Nev set the French press on the end table near her head: the older woman’s sense of humor in a nutshell, understated into oblivion, a nod to the years she worked for the French press.
“Take a leak and hop in the ute. I want to be back before noon.”
Ronnie peered at the table. “Cup?”
Nev returned, placed a ceramic mug in her palm. Ronnie levered herself upright onto her elbow and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Cream?”
“In the fridge. Help yourself.”
“Shitty room service.” She sipped the coffee black.
Nev returned with the cream, poured a generous splash in Ronnie’s cup.
“Ta.”
“Don’t get used to it. Up.”
Nev opened the passenger side door for her.
Now that the sun was hot, pushing nine o-clock, Nev’s patience for what she called ‘faffery’ appeared to be in steep decline.
“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not a skinny little bird anymore who can fly loop-de-loops on a half-pipe and bounce off the ground like rubber.
Gravity is not your friend. Your ex is out of line. Don’t let her treat you that way.”
Ronnie’s wrist hurt.
“You are winning at life.”
She felt a sudden pressure in her chest and swallowed. Maude would never hurt Rainbow.
“I feel better today.”
“Knew you would. Magical how that happens.” Nev glanced at her and back at the road.
Gum trees flew by the window.
“You’re young. From where I’m sitting, you’re a kid. I’m still bunging dings out at my age. You’re right where you’re supposed to be. Doing bloody well compared to other people.”
“You think?”
“You’re a hard worker, Dain’y. You’re reliable and honest. You’re a fantastic mum. You pay attention to your kid. It’s normal to be off the rails in your twenties. You think Barney or Ric-Rac have it all figured out?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You are winning at life,” Nev repeated. “You just can’t see it yet.”
It was noon when Nev dropped her and the dogs off at the donga park in Tinaroo.
The clinic had been cold and bright. A doctor in watermelon-patterned scrubs had fiddled with her swollen wrist, pushing and pulling bones back where they were supposed to be.
Now it was in a black cast elbow to thumb and throbbed in a way that made it hard to think.
Nev walked up the front step of Ronnie’s rectangular aluminum trailer. The cardboard door swung inwards. “Pound a glass of water, watch footy and eat something that doesn’t appear through a window and come in a bag. No work on the farm today.”
“I’ll see how I feel later.”
“Tomorrow I’ll line you out with projects around the house.”
Her truck, which she had left at Upsend Downs, had already been parked in front of her donga.
Small town magic.