Free Mahalia by Joanne Horniman

insistent that he care for Mahalia by himself, wanting to show everyone, himself included, that he could do it.
    â€˜No thanks,’ said Matt. ‘We’re right.’
    â€˜Aw, Matt,’ said his mother, in an exaggerated pleading voice, trying to make a joke of it, ‘ Let me have her for a couple of days – I’d love to look after her, give you a break, everyone with a baby needs a break!’ She addressed the last remark looking into Mahalia’s eyes, who smiled at her and giggled.
    Matt smiled, and pretended he hadn’t heard her. He could be stubborn, and proud. Alone at last with Mahalia, he opened the letter.
    Emmy hoped they were well. She thought of Mahalia. Knew Matt would be looking after her. She couldn’t come back just yet. She was sorry.
    Emmy always put a circle for a full stop and over the letter i. She used a little i instead of a capital when she meant herself.

8
    Virginia came back at a time when Eliza was there and Matt agreed for her to join them. Eliza was democratic. There weren’t a lot of takers anyway for the empty room, despite the friendly household and the veggie garden and the optional singing lessons .
    Virginia was warm and easy-going and idealistic, but talkative. She raved on about everything. ( Man! said Otis, after he’d met her. She sure goes on! ) She went on about politics, about the drug problem, about how all she wanted to do was to make documentary films about the way kids lived on the streets, shaking her head in bemusement at the shortcomings of society. She laughed and smiled just as readily though, and Matt didn’t mind having her around at all.
    Mahalia had entered a shy stage, aware that she was a distinct person from everyone else around her. She was wary of this new person at first, turning her head away if Virginia spoke directly to her. But soon she allowed Virginia to feed her, laughing so hard at the faces she pulled that mashed vegetables spilt from her mouth and splattered onto the tray of her highchair.
    The house didn’t spook Matt so much now that Virginia was there. He doubted that she ever did go to the TAFE course she was meant to be doing. She hung about the house all day. ‘Mind if I come in?’ she’d say, standing tentatively at the doorway of Matt’s room, then coming in with two cups of coffee, and lowering herself onto the floor. Mahalia could push herself about on her stomach now, and she moved over to where Virginia sat and thumped her with a fat hand. ‘Ow,’ said Virginia, pulling a face, and Mahalia laughed, and hit her again.
    â€˜Brute! You’re a little brute!’ said Virginia, rolling her over onto her back and lifting up Mahalia’s singlet to kiss her on the belly button.
    Matt looked away. Emmy used to rub her pregnant belly with olive oil. It was a graceful, heavy shape, like a droplet of water, but with a tracery of blue veins. Her belly button had popped out, an untidy knot of skin.
    â€˜You know, I’d like to have a baby,’ Virginia told Matt. ‘Someone of my own to look after. I reckon it’d be all right, you know?’ She shrugged. ‘But . . . it’ll never happen.’
    â€˜You never know,’ said Matt.
    Virginia shook her head. ‘Nah,’ she said. ‘How old you reckon I am?’
    Matt shook his head. Twenty-five, he thought, but didn’t say. Sometimes he thought Virginia seemed seventeen, same age as him, she was so shy and goofy and young-looking. But she had tiny wrinkles round her eyes.
    â€˜I’m thirty-four,’ she said. ‘And I’ve never met anyone yet I’d want to have a baby with. It’ll never happen.’
    Matt recognised the phrase. It’ll never happen . Sometimes he thought that about himself, about lots of things. About getting a job. About playing bass in a band. About Emmy coming back.
    It’ll never happen.
    But Mahalia had happened. He was still sometimes