stop babbling. ‘Now we’re engaged, we’ll have to get hitched right away, a couple of weeks to get a licence, finish the shop, get a bit of furniture, work another milk round …’
‘Engaged? What are you talking about?’ Vivien wailed.
‘Last night. I know I didn’t give you a ring, but I proposed, you said you’d marry me and er … you could be … you know.’
‘Oh, God. I can’t be pregnant!’
‘A man’s got to do the right thing. I knew you were shickered, but you seemed willin’.’
‘Bastard. Shickered, was I?’ She shuddered. ‘Aargh. You make my flesh creep. I won’t marry you. I love Doug.’
Eddie dampened his anger, snarling, ‘Where’s your flamin’ hero now then? Understand this! If you’re preggers with my baby, you’ll have to marry me.’ He paused, then mocked, ‘I can’t see you runnin’ home to your mother with your tail between your legs.’
As she locked the front door of the bridal store, Chris laughed, ‘Thank God that week’s over. Have you ever seen so many elephants trying to squeeze into XSSW’s?’
‘I’ll be enormous in a few months,’ Vivien mumbled.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘I’m pregnant—it’s positive.’
‘Not Eddie. Tell me it’s not him.’
‘It is. We’re getting married.’
‘You can’t marry that nasty little man. He’s as common as muck. I’ll pay for an abortion. I know a good doctor.’
‘I’d never do that. I’d be riddled with guilt the rest of my life.’
‘Marriage to Eddie will be worse. Why did you let him?’
‘I didn’t. We went out and after I started drinking, everything’s blank until Eddie was inside me shouting. Jesus.’
‘Did he spike your drink?’
‘How would he do that?’
‘Drop in a sleeper when you weren’t looking.’
Vivien look puzzled. ‘I can’t see how. The waiter opened the bottle and poured the first glass. It affected me immediately.’
‘Well, you must have been really plastered.’
‘Doug told me I shouldn’t drink. Maybe he was right.’
‘You poor kid. If drink makes you forget what you’ve done, then maybe you’re better off without it. I was so drunk once I tried to smoke my Bennie and sniff a ciggie, but I always know if I’m shagging someone.’
Vivien couldn’t stifle a giggle at the image of elegant Chris trying to push a cigarette up her nose and smoke her inhaler.
‘Oh, Chris. I shouldn’t laugh, but you always seem so sure of yourself. As for me, I don’t have any choice. I’ll have to marry Eddie.’
‘You could go home, ask your family to help.’
‘The shame of an unmarried, pregnant daughter would be more than my mother could stand. I think she’d rather I died. That would be respectable. I’ll have to ask Helen to get Pa’s consent to the marriage, but I won’t tell her I’m pregnant. She’ll probably tell Mum, who’ll think the worst anyway.’
‘It all sounds like those old-fashioned melodramas when daughters who strayed were sent to die in the snow.’
‘That still happens, especially to Catholic girls.’
‘My poor dead mother would have been delighted if I’d given her a grandchild, whether or not I was married.’
‘Your mother probably loved you. As for mine…’
‘What about when you were a kiddie?’
‘I adored her. She was firm, but loving. I thought I could tell her anything.’
‘What happened?’
‘After we had to leave Lane Cove, she was ashamed, angry with everyone. When I rebelled against Catholic dogma and refused to go to school, I added to her shame.’ Vivien shrugged and looked away.
Chris put her arms around Vivien. ‘Listen to me. Your mother’s shame isn’t yours.’ She paused. ‘You look a bit peaky. Why don’t you finish up here at the end of this week? I’ll make sure you get my commission as well as yours.’
On the next Sunday morning, Vivien paid Mrs Buchanan a week’s board in lieu of notice, packed her possessions and waited for Eddie on the footpath outside Bide a While. After she’d waited for at least half an hour, and began to wonder if he’d changed his mind, the green truck hurtled down the quiet street and, brakes squealing, halted in front of her. Eddie tossed her suitcase onto the tray, helped her into the truck, then gave her chapter and verse on his new Saturday night milk run.
‘Bloody Ernie. He left it in a hell of a mess. Probably sore now I’m on Saturdays and he’s left with Sundays and sweet fuck all. I reckon he screwed the deliveries last week on purpose. Gawd knows what I’ll find tonight. Don’t know if I’m bloody Arthur or flamin’ Martha. He paused. ‘You’re quiet. Anything up?’
Through gritted teeth she hissed. ‘What could possibly be up?’
He patted her knee. ‘That’s all right, then.’
From the rosy pictures Eddie had painted, the shop and dwelling should be a reasonable place to live, but her jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she looked at mouldy walls and ceiling in the dim light from the papered-over glass door and display window. Tools were scattered across the wooden floor next to a make-shift bench, a ladder and planks of wood. Eddie led the way through a doorway at the rear of the shop front to a small passageway and a steep flight of stairs.
‘Up we go,’ Eddie said and bounded to the next floor.
Vivien gripped the bannister as she climbed. Upstairs was worse. From the landing she could see a large room on the right with ripped brown linoleum on the floor, grubby walls and filthy windows looking onto the street; on her left was a long passageway down which Eddie had disappeared.
‘Shake a leg, Viv,’ Eddie called.
Vivien walked down the passageway past two rooms on the left to a large room at the end, where Eddie was lying on a mattress on the floor, leering at her, propped up on his right elbow, holding his head in right hand, and patting the mattress with his left; his trousers lay on the floor. She burst into tears and rushed down the stairs before running out of the shop to the truck where she sat until Eddie appeared with a face as long as a fiddle.
‘That’s where we’ll be living, Viv. Don’t you like it?’
‘I hate it,’ she wailed.
‘Come on, Viv. I’ll have it right in no time.’
‘Yap, yap, yap. That’s all you do. Yap. It’s a dump,’ Vivien snapped.
‘We’ll talk about it later. I want to call on Gran, invite her to the wedding.’
Gran beamed. ‘Your timing’s good. I’ve been baking all morning. I’ll boil the kettle and we’ll have a nice visit.’ She paused and fixed her bright brown eyes on Vivien. ‘You look as if you could do with some breakfast.’
Once he’d stuffed himself on Gran’s fruit scones and apple pie, Eddie could no longer contain himself; he puffed out his chest and blurted. ‘Vivien’s pregnant, Gran. We’d like you to come to the weddin’ in a couple of weeks.’
Gran pursed her lips, peered at Vivien. ‘You sure?’ Vivien’s slumped shoulders and slow nod answered her. ‘Hmph. Well, what’s done is done. At least you’re