The Children's Bach by Helen Garner Read Free Book Online Page B

reaching for a towel.
    â€˜Sorry!’ said Vicki. She stepped back and slammed the door. She was shocked and moved, like a tourist who, bored in a gallery, has turned a corner and come face to face with a famous painting. She sat down on a kitchen chair with her towel across her lap. The window had twelve square panes. Last night’s dishes stood in order in the rack.
    Dexter insisted on cooking the spaghetti. He stood before the stove in a puddle of oil. The women hid in one of the bedrooms but his volleys of oaths, his tremendous singing drove them as far as the bottom of the yard.
    â€˜Morty!’ he roared. ‘Remember that little old lady we used to see at the Vietnam demonstrations? Must have been 1966. “Fuckin’ m – u – u – urderers!”’ He burst into the drinking chorus from La Traviata .
    â€˜Hey Dexter!’ called Vicki from the back garden. ‘Come and have a look at this!’
    â€˜All right all right all right .’ He appeared at the top of the concrete steps.
    â€˜Look at the sky!’
    It was fiery down low, with scalloped yellowish clouds high up against a grey backdrop.
    â€˜Marvellous!’ said Dexter. ‘How do they do that? Make the smaller clouds a different colour?’
    The three women stood in a row on the path and looked up at him. Their attention! He loved it. ‘That’s what they should have on TV every night,’ he shouted. ‘Not that violent American rubbish. They should have the Sunset Report. Brought to you by the Federal Department of Nature Appreciation.’ He held up his wooden spoon like a wand and dropped the rest of his body into a limp arabesque. Their laughter flowed up the steps to him.
    â€˜Where’s the nearest pub?’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’m going to buy a bottle of gin.’
    Poppy brought a book. When everyone had been introduced she took the end chair and began to read with her hands round her face like blinkers.
    â€˜This is the last time I let you do this,’ said Philip.
    â€˜Do what?’
    â€˜Read in company.’
    â€˜But it’s boring!’
    â€˜It’s rude.’
    Poppy smiled and shrugged. Athena stood by the door and watched. Philip, glancing about him for support, caught her eye. He was surprised: she looked dignified ; her limbs were narrow, her hips were wide, her hands were large and cracked. Her hair looked as if she had cut it herself, pulled it forward and chopped at it. She blushed, and he kept her glance in his and nodded several times: it might have been the courteous nod that accompanies formal introduction, except that they had already been introduced. Elizabeth strode in with an armful of bottles and a bag of ice. Vicki ran out for a lemon off the tree and cut it up. The kitchen was full of people smiling, shifting an elbow or a foot to make room, saying ‘Sorry!’
    â€˜What book are you reading?’ asked Arthur in his loud, sociable voice.
    Poppy turned up the cover to show him.
    â€˜I’ve seen you on TV,’ shouted Arthur.
    â€˜Who, me?’ said Elizabeth.
    â€˜No, him.’
    Philip shook his head. ‘Couldn’t have been me, mate.’
    Poppy looked up from her book and directed a blank, level stare at her father.
    â€˜Yes I have!’ said Arthur. ‘On Countdown. You had longer hair and a sparkly shirt.’
    Elizabeth laughed. ‘Sparkly!’ Philip dropped his head and smiled.
    They began to eat.
    â€˜He doesn’t actually go on TV,’ said Poppy. ‘He makes up songs, and he does sessions at night. Is there meat in this?’
    â€˜If you go on Countdown you get a lot of money,’ said Arthur. ‘They pay you a lot of money.’
    â€˜Oh, they do not,’ said Poppy.
    â€˜Some Countdown people were making a clip in the park once,’ said Arthur urgently. He was bolting his food. ‘They said I might be able to go in it. They were going to pay me about