Every Year I Am Here

Chapter 2-2-1

Lillian found her sister in the kitchen, head bent, darning a sock.

Patricia looked up and frowned before resuming stitching more vigorously than the task required. ‘Where have you been? You said you would only be gone for two hours. Why did you bother coming home at all if you weren’t going to spend any time with us?’

Lillian contemplated a pile of unwashed clothes in a wicker basket, cooking utensils scattered across the table, and her younger nephew, Thomas, kneeling on the floor rolling a toy train. She scooped him up and pulled him on to her hip. He clutched his train with his left hand and entwined the pudgy fingers of his right around the strands of hair at her nape.

‘Ow! Be gentle, little chum,’ she murmured against his apricot ear.

Lillian took a seat at the table and manoeuvred the small boy so he faced his mother. She tickled him until he erupted with laughter. The ploy to lighten her sister’s mood worked somewhat. Patricia set her darning down, licked her thumb and smeared it across her son’s cheek.

Still sitting, Lillian craned her neck to see into the adjoining parlour. ‘What’ve you done with Peter?’

Patricia studied Thomas’s face for signs of more grime. ‘Alf took him to the wharf to watch the sailboats. The yacht club’s holding a regatta today.’

‘Isn’t that nice of him?’ Lillian couldn’t hide her sarcasm any better than her sister knew how to suppress her irritation. She was sorry Patricia had ended up married to an oaf. At least from observing them she knew what not to accept from a future suitor. Hers would be a marriage of the heart and the purse.

‘He’s doing his best,’ Patricia snapped. ‘You can keep your judgement to yourself, thank you very much.’

‘Oh, so it’s all right for you to say mean things about him but not me? I see how it is.’ Lillian paused before trying to cajole another smile from her sister. ‘Very well, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be out for so long.’ She meant what she said, even though none of it had been her fault.

Patricia pushed her sleeves all the way up past her elbows, revealing forearms browned by the summer sun. Long, delicate fingers that would have been far better suited to piano playing – if only they’d grown up in a different world – resumed flying rhythmically as she turned her attention back to the sock.

In a final effort to placate, before she’d have to admit the whole afternoon was a complete disaster, Lillian decided to confess the reason for her tardiness. Her conscience needed soothing. It was impossible to decide on her own whether the decision to pass the baby to a girl even younger than herself had been the right one or not. It certainly didn’t feel right. She didn’t need to be a mother herself to know that. The image of her unsuspecting saviour rose sharply in her mind. The girl wore an embroidered dress and hat, a mother-of-pearl comb pinned back her rich brown wavy hair and a pair of gold drops hung from her ears. A split-second glance had told Lillian everything she needed to know – the baby would be safe. The girl no doubt had a wealthy, respectable mother who would know what to do, not a poor, dead one like hers and Patricia’s.

For her sister, Lillian loosened the truth: the other girl had offered to carry the baby boy off to the Diamantina Orphanage, which conveniently sat across the road from the cemetery in Dutton Park. Her breath hitched, torn between choosing that ending instead of a much nicer one, where the girl took the baby to her mother instead, to adopt him instantly into the bosom of their luxurious home. In the end, Lillian felt it best to keep her explanation realistic. Even after sharing her contrivance, Lillian found the burden on her conscience only slightly allayed and it disappointed her.

‘Goodness! Poor little chap,’ Patricia said. ‘What a fright for you. Lucky somebody else was on hand to help. I suppose The Diam really is the best place for the child if his mother can’t care for him but doesn’t it only take babies when families can’t afford to keep them? What would a married woman be doing in the middle of a park giving birth by herself?’

Lillian raised an eyebrow.

Patricia tilted her head to one side and rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, well, it’s still unfortunate. I hope a nurse took him in. It’s hardly the baby’s fault.’

Lillian pointed to a slab of bread sitting on a wooden board at the far end of the table. ‘Can I have a piece?’

Patricia nodded. ‘Yes, do. I saved the last of the butter for you as well. After you’ve eaten, would you be a dear and bring in the dry washing so I can hang out the next lot? If you can fold it as well, that would be lovely.’

Lillian felt glad to be able to conclude the visit on a happy note. Easing Thomas back to the floor to continue playing with his train, she descended the three wooden steps beyond the back door and collected napkins from the line of wire strung up between two leaning posts. The honeysuckle climbing the side of the outhouse in the far left corner of the yard released a pleasant scent. Patricia’s vegetable patch was flourishing along the fence. Her sister had a successful green thumb, which was fortunate because her lazy husband wasn’t good at providing very much at all those days. At least Alfred’s industrious father had had the grim foresight to bestow on his son a deposit for the cottage as a wedding gift.

With his miserly approach to spending on his family, despite the fact Alfred had been out of work for eight weeks, he hadn’t yet felt the pinch like many others living in the West End. Lillian suspected Alfred also had other nefarious ways and means to make a pound, ways she hadn’t yet uncovered. To her disgust, she knew – indeed had seen with her own eyes – how he’d begun to enjoy the extra idle hours… by spending her own hard-earned money at the Terminus Hotel over on Melbourne Street.

The screen door slammed against the outside wall as she unclipped the last sun-warmed napkin.

‘Lillian. There you are.’

Alfred swayed on the top step. His voice grated. It was just as well there wasn’t another hour to spare to have to listen to him prattle on.

‘Alfred.’ She acknowledged him through gritted teeth and did her best to keep her expression neutral. ‘Did you enjoy watching the race with Peter?’

Patricia hovered behind her husband’s shoulder, her nostrils flaring. Lillian kept her own sharp tongue on a leash. What had happened to the determined person she used to turn to for advice? Who was this quivering ghost in the shape of her sister? It was a crying shame.

‘Yes, but unfortunately Peter tripped over his own feet and fell over. I had to bring him straight home to his mother because he wouldn’t b****y stop crying.’ Alfred looked down at his son with disappointment. ‘Would ya, boy?’

Lillian watched her elder nephew whimper behind his father’s legs. Fell or pushed? Alfred’s temper didn’t flare only at Patricia.

‘I really must be heading back,’ she said. Anything to avoid being caught up in his avalanche of self-pity.

Despite his injury, Peter burst past his father into the yard. ‘Aunt Lillie, I don’t want you to go!’

‘Sorry, Peter, but I must. I promise to come back next weekend like I always do.’ Despite his pleas, she urgently wished to rid herself of all of them.

‘Have you given Patricia your wages yet?’ Alfred asked.

Lillian grabbed her nephew’s small dimpled hands and swooped him around in wide circles. The promissory note scratched against her skin as she swung him back to happiness and disguised her scowl. ‘Yes I did.’ Well, most of it, except for two small coins well hidden under her bed. They were an investment in her future, one without the hateful Alfred in it. At the current rate, she feared she’d be a wrinkly old spinster by the time the plan could be put in motion.

‘Good girl.’

Lillian slowed and deposited Peter unsteadily back to earth. It was time to retrieve her basket and go. Loading her arms up with clean napkins, she walked to the back steps.

Alfred did not attempt to move.

‘Excuse me please, Alf. I have to say goodbye to Patricia.’

‘She’s busy.’

‘Alfred, please. She asked me to fold the napkins before I leave.’ Lillian was careful not to let a whine creep into her voice.

‘Listen to you. Haven’t you learned a few airs and graces working in that fancy house? Don’t forget I was the one who found you that position.’ His glare dared her to protest but she would not grant him the satisfaction of an argument.

‘See you next Sunday, Patricia!’ she called out instead, depositing the napkins on the step at Alfred’s feet. She crouched in front of Peter and pulled him into a hug. ‘Be a very good boy for me, won’t you? Do you understand?’

The little boy nodded.

‘Look after your mother.’

She pecked his cheek and straightened, pretending not to see the way Alfred warily watched them.

‘Aren’t you going to give your brother a kiss goodbye, too?’

She ignored him and hurried to the side of the house, rushing up the space between the wall and fence while Alfred’s derisive laughter trailed after her. Angry, she strode up on to the veranda, flung the front door open and flew up the narrow hall to snatch her basket.

Patricia looked aghast. Lillian quickly blew her a kiss as Alfred spun on the back step, knocked the clean napkins into the dirt, and lunged at her. Too quick for his grasp, she ducked back up the hall out of harm’s way.

‘Oi, get back here!’ Alfred shouted.

Mrs Lin, from the market garden further up the road, was wandering past the front gate. The elderly woman swung a startled glance between Alfred and Lillian as they erupted from the cottage. Her expression swiftly descended into disapproval. The whole street would soon know their sorry business.

Lillian scuttled past and curtly nodded a greeting, still expecting Alfred’s hand on her shoulder at any moment. Risking a quick glance back, she saw the front porch remained empty. He’d obviously been chastened by the presence of a witness and retreated, deciding she wasn’t worth the bother of a public chase. She knew he would not forgive nor forget her impertinence yet euphoria set in at having foiled him. Each instance where she managed to evade his authority held a hollow victory. However, a needle of discomfit pricked at her. Patricia would be the one to bear the brunt of his chagrin that evening. Lillian chided herself for being selfish but there were so precious few other outlets available to be able to express her frustration.

After such an eventful afternoon, with two lucky escapes, it was a relief to head back to her own lodgings. It had initially infuriated her when Alfred secured her a position at Rosemead. Before Alfred was dismissed, when his boss, Mr Shaw, had mentioned he was in need of reliable domestic staff, he’d wasted no time offering her up. Lillian had watched her brother-in-law sit at the kitchen table to fabricate a reference before sealing it in an envelope. He’d given her instructions to hand it over on arrival at the stately Kangaroo Point address.

She would not be indebted to Alfred. She would not! He was her sister’s first poor decision, not hers. Rounding the corner, Lillian paused to whisper a curse upon his head.

Brisbane River forged beneath Victoria Bridge as she crossed it, sidestepping hand-swinging promenaders and the Sunday devout. She decided to take advantage, before the light faded, to detour through Queen’s Park. Alfred’s hold began to weaken as the greenery pressed in on her senses. The injustice of being unable to kiss her sister goodbye abated. The scent of gardenias wafted across the late afternoon air, evoking memories of their mother’s favourite perfume; a large bottle had always sat on the tiny oak dressing table in their room. Lillian remembered watching her carefully squeeze a spray behind each ear as she readied for an evening of entertaining. Rather than producing sadness at the memory, the scent comforted.