watch the Melbourne Cup from there.’ Vivien looked blank.
‘You must have heard of the Melbourne Cup, Viv.’ She shook her head.
‘It’s one of the most famous races in the world. I’ll take you one day.’
‘Is it some sort of Melbourne treat?’
Disgusted, Eddie muttered. ‘You’ll see.’
Vivien tried to think of something good to say about Eddie’s hometown. ‘The park must be lovely in spring. Did you come here often when you were a youngster?’
‘A few times. School picnics and that.’
‘Let’s sit down for a few minutes, Ed. My legs feel like jelly.’
They sat on a bench and he asked, ‘Do you still chuck up every morning?’
‘Less so lately, thanks to Gran, her ginger ale and dry biscuits.’
‘That’s somethin’.’ He looked further down the path; a walk to the shelter could wait, time to head back. He jerked upright. Struth! It couldn’t be. It was. Ida pushing a pram with her left hand, a toddler gripping her right. Jesus, his feelings for her were still bloody strong; the pain reared up, bit into his gut. Why the hell did it all go wrong? Memories of her dancing, laughing, snuggling in his arms, her body pressed against his. Jesus! He couldn’t think straight, had to stand and wave, ‘Ida. Hey, Ida.’
Ida stopped, gasped. Shocked as he was. She smoothed her hair, smiled the same sweet smile he remembered, then hoisted the toddler onto her hip. ‘Eddie Bertoli. I can’t believe it.’ She paused and ran her eyes over him. ‘You look well.’
‘So do you, Ida. Not a day older. Meet my wife, Vivien.’ In his loneliest nights, Eddie had imagined running into Ida with a beautiful girl on his arm. Reality was better; the beautiful, and today, radiant, girl was his wife.
When Vivien stood and offered her hand, Ida looked uncomfortable, but managed, ‘Pleased to meet yer’ I’m sure.’
Vivien’s smile was its most dazzling. As posh as he’d ever heard her, she cooed, ‘How do you do, Ida. I’m delighted to meet an old friend of Eddie’s.’
Ida’s toddler was wriggling in her arms, the baby in the pram started bawling and she began to walk away.
‘Don’t go yet, Ida. Give me the nipper to hold for a sec and settle the one in the pram. It’d be good to catch up.’
Eddie bounced and swung the toddler while Ida rocked the pram until the baby slept.
‘What are the names of your children, Ida?’ Vivien asked.
‘The boy Ed’s spinnin’ about is Bert and the baby’s Doris, after me mum.’
‘A pigeon pair. Well done, Ida,’ Viv paused, then grinned. ‘You won’t have to keep trying, will you?’
Ida knitted her eyebrows. She turned to Eddie. ‘Mum died just after Bert was born. She had the dropsy. Swelled up so much, it was hard to find a coffin to fit ‘er.’
Conscious of Vivien spluttering, about to giggle, Eddie tried to say the right thing. Ida probably missed the vinegary old bat.
‘Sorry, Ida. I know you were close.’ He paused. ‘How’s the hubby?’
‘Apart from the gout and a bit of rheumatism, he’s not too bad. Sleeps a lot.’
‘That’s too bad.’ Now he’d twist the knife. ‘But then he’s a good bit older than you, Ida. Ten, twenty years?’
Vivien stuck her nose in. ‘Eddie and I are expecting. His gran’s been looking after me. She’s wonderful.’
Ida grabbed Bert from Eddie then, tugging him along beside her, took off down the path with a faint, ‘Goodbye, Ed.’
‘So, that’s the girl whose name’s on your tattoo?’
‘Yeah. She broke me bloody heart.’
‘She doesn’t look like a heart-breaker.’
Eddie snapped. ‘How do you know what’ll break a bloke’s heart?’ He paused. ‘We sort of grew up together.’
Vivien looked up at him. ‘Of course I know about heart break.’ She paused. ‘Ida wanted to talk to you some more. I probably frightened her off.’ Eddie seemed lost. ‘You must have loved her very much.’
‘Yeah. I did. She knows me better than anyone else.’
‘And we don’t know each other at all.’ Puzzled, she kept on at Eddie, trying to understand him. ‘What happened with Ida?’ Do you want to tell me?’
He flushed. ‘No. Leave it alone.’ He looked down at her. ‘The shop’s lookin’ good now. What about comin’ and havin’ another look?’
Vivien shuddered then sat again and shook her head. ‘Not yet, Ed. I’ll wait until it’s finished.’ She shrank from the thought of her future with Eddie. ‘I know! Why don’t you recite some more of The Sentimental Bloke?’
He knew what she was up to, but scrolled the verses through his head. ‘You might like this one,’ and launched into a couple of verses of The Kid.
My son! Two little words, that, yesterdee, Was jist two simple, senseless words to me; An’ now—no man, not since the world begun, Made any better pray’r than that … My son!
My son an’ bloomin’ ‘eir … Ours! . . . ‘Ers an’ mine! The finest kid in—Aw, the sun don’t shine— Ther’ ain’t no joy fer me beneath the blue Unless I’m gazin’ lovin’ at them two.
A little while ago it was jist “me”— A lonely, longin’ streak o’ misery. An’ then ‘twas “’er an’ me”—Doreen, my wife! An’ now it’s “’im an’ us” an’—sich is life.
Eddie waited for Vivien to clap her hands at least, but bugger-me-dead, she was almost bawlin’. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’
Vivien nodded. ‘It’s very sentimental, Ed, but it’s you and Ida, not us. I’m sure you recited it for her. Didn’t you?’
‘If you must know, I did.’
‘You’re a good performer, Ed.’
‘I don’t need you to sugar the pill. I do that for meself.’
‘Let’s head back; it’s getting chilly.
Vivien failed to keep up with Eddie who strode ahead as if he were trying to distance himself from her. He said a quick goodbye to Gran, nothing to her and left to the whine of the truck’s engine as Eddie floored the accelerator.
Chapter Six
Melbourne 1936 Mixed Business
Vivien waited for the first customers of the day; the shop bell clanged and in they came.
‘That’ll be one and sixpence please, Mrs Pearson.’ ‘Threepence change for you, Mrs Burns.’ ‘A shilling, Mrs Flood.’
The women scurried out, their shopping clutched to their flattened breasts. They were always together, bought the same loaves and milk. You’d think for once they’d try something different before all the life was sucked out of them.
Vivien couldn’t remember where she’d put her wedding ring. Her fingers had been swollen for weeks, the skin ready to burst. Eight months and two weeks pregnant, her ankles swollen and her back aching, she waited for the next regulars.
The bell again. Mrs Peters this time with her two brats. Boys and their horseplay, pushing, shoving, elbowing. Her baby might turn into one of those. She’d still be expected to love it. Vivien shook a box