Free For Love Alone by Christina Stead Page B

a gibbering ghost—”
    â€œMother,” shrieked Anne, “oh, don’t.”
    â€œMy chookums,” said her mother, “don’t be so sensitive. Annette is a bit frightened to stay there, and so I don’t often leave her alone. But after all, we do get it nearly rent free and the woman is so sweet, though a little reserved at times, a bit fretful. Poor thing, she is worried all the time. She told me she doesn’t sleep at night, afraid he will come back and ring the bell, or even climb in at the window.”
    â€œMy goodness,” said Teresa. They were coming down a winding dirt road towards a gully, still partly bushland. It was about a mile from there to Teresa’s own home. They passed suburban brick dwellings with white fences in front and well-grown gardens. The name-plates on their gates said, “Mon Repos”, “Idle-a-While”, “Just Home”, “The Raft”, “Banksia”.
    â€œShe told me,” said Aunt Bea, very low with a slight laugh, “poor thing, that she did not believe in you-know between married people.After she had been married two years she refused to have anything more to do with men, and I suppose that is why he went mad. It might have helped anyway. ‘Telopea’ is the name, there it is, three houses down. It’s a blessing to me, a front room, airy, use of the kitchen and bathroom, and a quiet woman, the girl out all day. She lets me use the piano too, and says it brightens the house up to hear me warble all my old light operas.”
    Gay and confident, Aunt Bea, loaded with parcels, swung open the gate of “Telopea”, went up the neat brick path, put her latch-key in the fresh-painted green door. The first door on the right was hers. This was standing open. It was a small room, almost filled by a large double bed, the former marital bed of the Percys, a wardrobe, a wash-stand, and a kitchen table covered with a cloth at which the mother and daughter ate. The corners and free spaces were filled with sewing-baskets, trunks, knick-knacks, doilies, boxes in cretonne, all things brought in or made by Aunt Bea, to furnish her home. The girls took off their hats and sat on the bed while Aunt Bea went to see if the kitchen was free, “For if she is there, I don’t disturb her, she’s a little moody at times. No wonder, poor thing.” Mrs Percy was there, said Aunt Bea when she came back, and in one of her moods, a bit cranky. She had just looked at Aunt Bea over her shoulder and not even given her a how-do-you-do, but you could hardly blame her, her troubles had turned her queer. So they would just sit on their stomachs and wait.
    â€œTake off your dress, if you like, Terry,” said Aunt Bea, “or stretch out just as you are. It’s a very pretty dress, the colour’s just right. We’ll put it in a glass of water, the lovely rosebud, Anne, that you got from Malfi’s bouquet. It will bring you luck. I’m glad you weren’t Malfi’s bridesmaid, although I did think it a bit funny at the time, but always a bridesmaid, never a bride—it’s better not. What a day! My dears, I’ll never forget Malfi’s wedding day. My cherub, take off Mother darling’s number nines. I ache in the understandings. Wootch! Flow gently sweet Afton. Ouch! I’m like the man who wore tight boots, I am the woman who wore tight boots. Soon I’llget a pair of those elastic-sided button-ups that Aunt Philly wears. Your old mother will hobble to work like Little Tich.”
    â€œOh, Mother,” said Anne, laughing, and putting away the thin, cracked shoes under a faded curtain.
    â€œWell, my dears,” said Aunt Bea Broderick, falling backwards on the bed, “—move over, Terry—what a day! I was over at Aunt Eliza’s at eight. My consul was very nice and said I could have the entire day off. Perhaps that is why Mrs Percy seems resentful this