Content Warnings (click to reveal)
Discussed: sexism
Smoko
Pat says his missus is acting strange. Nev is relieved. He can’t put his finger on what’s happening with his missus either. Nev finds himself relying more and more on Pat to keep his sense of reality in check. A good mate is essential.
Nev and Pat were mechanics at Henley’s garage and stopping at the Albion on the way home was a workday ritual. Here they discussed the ins and outs of their world in brief sentences, slicked and swallowed with cold schooners. In the summer of ’74 the air clung thick and humid around them sitting perched at their regular table nursing their third round. It had been a long day. Hot as hell in the workshop and customers complaining about jobs taking too long and costing too much.
Nev pulls a long swallow, the cold balm soothing his insides.
‘She’s not herself these days,’ he tells Pat. His Evie! Not doing the things she ought to be doing and doing things she has no business doing. If Nev could put a word to it, he would.
‘It’s Whitlam,’ says Pat darkly, ‘givin’ our women ideas.’ Nev grunts. Him and Pat were labor party blokes but they hadn’t signed up for this.
‘Anyway, I’m off.’ Nev drains his glass and gives Pat a quick nod.
Nev hadn’t told Pat about the course Evie had enrolled in. The course to go to university.
‘Why’d you go and do that for?’ Nev had gaped at Evie when she’d told him.
‘The kids are grown and gone. What do you expect me to do?’
‘What you’ve always done!’ he’d spluttered.
‘Which is?’ Evie had faced him, hands on hips.
‘Well, this …’ Nev had swung his arms wide, taking in the house around him.
Nev peels off his King Gee’s and lets them drop on top of his work boots at the back door before pushing open the flyscreen into the kitchen.
Evie is taking her apron off and grabbing her bag.
‘What’s going on?’ Nev says, a twist in his gut.
‘I’ve got evening class. We talked about it.’ Evie gives him a quick peck on the cheek, leaving behind a meat pie and boxy television set.
‘A man shouldn’t have to come home to this!’ Nev states the obvious to an empty room.
Nev takes a deep drag from his cigarette, squints through its wispy exhale. A memory bubbles up, his brother Col’s trick pulling the tablecloth fast from under plates, dishes, knives and forks – even the salt and pepper shakers had remained in place. Col’s triumph, his unease.
At smoko the next day the boss gives Nev a brown paper bag.
‘Evie dropped by, said you forgot these. She’s a good sort, your Evie.’
‘Yeah,’ Nev mumbles. Then, suddenly,
‘She’s doin’ a course …’
Nev waves his hands waiting for words to appear.
Meg Rowe is a poet, teacher, and writer with a keen interest in contemporary Australian fiction. Her poetry, short fiction, and reviews have been published in the QWC Q-Poetry chapbook series, Story Links, Lemonade: Letters to Art and The Long Way Home anthologies. She lives and works on unceded Ngunnawal and Ngambri Country. Smoko recognises the work of Gough Whitlam to advance women’s rights. You can follow Meg @megrowe_writer and her website megrowe.com.au.
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