Indelible Ink E-Book

Fiona McGregor

• Herausgeber: Atlantic Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

Marie King is fifty-nine, recently divorced, and has lived a rather privileged suburban existence. And though her three adult children have moved out, they are telling her what to wear, making her buy smarter furniture, and urging her to sell the family home and with it her beloved garden. Marie feels trapped. On a drunken whim, Marie gets a tattoo - the beginning of an unexpected friendship with her tattoo artist, Rhys. Her children are mortified by their mother's transformation, but have their own self-absorbed challenges to deal with: workplace politics, love affairs and the real-estate market. Before long, Rhys has introduced Marie to a side of her city that she never encountered before and she begins to realise that the affluent world she has left behind has kept her in its clutches for far too long.

Leseprobe

INDELIBLE INK

Fiona McGregor is the author of four works of fiction: Au Pair, shortlisted for The Australian/Vogel Award; Suck My Toes, winner of the Steele Rudd Award; chemical palace, shortlisted for the NSW Premier’s Award for fiction; and most recently Indelible Ink, winner of The Age Book of the Year and shortlisted for the Indie Book Awards and the Barbara Jefferis Award. She was voted one of the inaugural Best Young Novelists by the Sydney Morning Herald in 1997. Fiona is also the author of a travel memoir, Strange Museums, as well as being known as a performance artist. She has performed live across Australia and Europe, and her video works have been seen internationally.

First published in trade paperback in Great Britain in 2012 by Atlantic Books, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

First published in Australia in 2010 by Scribe Publications Pty Ltd.

Copyright © Fiona McGregor, 2012

The moral right of Fiona McGregor to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

Epigraph taken from A Magic Mountain by Czesław Miłosz © Czesław Miłosz Royalties Inc. 1975. Used by kind permission of HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

Parts of this book, in slightly different form, previously appeared in HEAT, Griffith Review, The Best Australian Stories 2006 and Meanjin.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Trade Paperback ISBN: 978 085789 412 0

E-book ISBN: 978 085789 413 7

Printed in Great Britain

Atlantic Books An Imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd Ormond House 26–27 Boswell Street London WC1N 3JZ

www.atlanticbooks.com

Thou shalt not make any cuttings in thy flesh on account of the dead or tattoo any marks upon you: I am the Lord.

— Leviticus 19:28

Please Doctor, I feel a pain.

Not here. No, not here. Even I don’t know.

— Czesław Miłosz, ‘I Sleep A Lot’

Contents

INK

BLOOD

WATER

Acknowledgements

INK

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YEARS, the children were all at Sirius Cove for their mothers birthday. A westerly had been blowing since morning, depositing grit on the deck as the family brought out food and fired up the barbecue. Leon, who hadnt been in Sydney for over a year, was struck by the effects of the drought on the city and the emptiness of the house since his parents divorce. Ross had taken his most valuable furniture and artworks with him, and Marie as lone inhabitant seemed to have shrunk and the house to have grown. Passing the cabbage tree palm that grew close to the deck, Leon leant out to touch the bark, thick and hard as an elephants hide. An old habit that comforted him.

Clark moved the seedling that Leon had given their mother away from the heat of the barbecue. It was sinuous and elegant with narrow delicate leaves. Whats this?

Agonis flexuosa. Leon broke a leaf off and crushed it near Clarks face, releasing a sharp peppery smell. It needs to be planted soon.

We can look after it for you, Mum, said Blanche.

Clark placed chicken on the griddle. Yes, please, he said to Hugh, who was pouring wine.

Marie was walking back to the kitchen. I might have a spot for it down near the banksia, she said over her shoulder.

Blanche sent Leon a look, which he ignored. She was wearing a hat with a wide floppy brim so her mouth, full and always painted red, was the only thing visible. It was smiling wryly.

The children sat down to eat.

Wheres the wine? Their mothers vexed voice travelled out. Wheres my glass?

Here, Mum.

Ive poured you a glass, Mrs King, Hugh said.

But I had one in here. The wine shed had in the kitchen was in a bigger glass, and the last of the Queen Adelaide Riesling, which Marie was convinced didnt sit on her breath as heavily as the Taylors Chardonnay that Blanche and Hugh had brought.

Mum. Will you come and sit down, before it gets cold?

There it was, stashed behind the toaster. Marie returned to the deck, flushed and happy, with her Riesling. This is the first outdoor meal of the season, she announced. I think we should drink a toast.

The weathers beautiful, said Hugh.

I think its sinister, said Clark. Its the last day of August and it feels like summer.

Dense blue harbour pushed against the canopy of trees below. The flapping of sails from yachts going about was close enough to have come from next door. They had moved the table against the glass doors for maximum shelter, and pinned the napkins down with cutlery.

It feels so weird without Pat Hammet, Leon said ruefully.

She stayed in that house on her own for nearly ten years after Judge Hammet died, you know, said Marie.

Yeah, and left the place totally run-down, said Blanche.

I liked it run-down, said Clark. I liked Pat. That house was amazing.

The new neighbours, the Hendersons, had pulled down the Hammets one-hundred-year-old Gothic pile shortly before the Kings divorce. They had rebuilt so close to the fence that Maries winter light was almost gone, and in place of the front garden was a four-car garage for Rupert Hendersons fleet of vintage Jaguars. There were surveillance cameras on the front wall, and the back garden, facing the harbour, would soon be a swimming pool.

Pats still around, said Marie. I see her up at the Junction sometimes. Salt of the earth. She pushed out her chair.

Where are you going, Mum?

To get more wine.

Youre not supposed to be moving, said Hugh. Ill go.

No, no, I know where it is.

Its like this entire city has obsessive-compulsive disorder, Clark went on. Nothings allowed to be more than ten years old. Theres no patina. Its so philistine.

Remember the Hammets before Pat moved out? said Blanche. The flagging down the bottom was caving in. I went over there to give her some Christmas cake, and there was this giant bush rat dead in the middle of the path

Apparently that house could have been heritage listed. It could have been saved.

it was so foul.

Its about history, our need to destroy our history.

A lot of the interior timber was cheap and poor quality, Hugh said to him.

It couldnt have been. Clark spoke with his shoulders hunched, bracing for a sneeze. Bloody cat must have been sleeping on the chairs again. He looked around the room but couldnt see Mopoke anywhere. He glared at Hugh instead. It wouldnt have lasted.

Im afraid it was, Hugh said with an insiders authority. I think were often so desperate to look historical that we make these decisions on sentiment, and its nonsense.

I was meaning in a bigger sense.

Its bricks and mortar. It needs to last. Architects in the past werent necessarily better. If someone built Gothic in Mosman now, thered be an outcry.

Leon lowered his voice and inclined his head to his siblings, subtly avoiding Hugh. I was thinking how much Mum is the house. You know, Dad was all the stuff, and now thats gone you dont feel his presence much. Its really just her.

She should replace the furniture before the house goes on the market, said Blanche. With the chaise longue and armchairs gone, the bookshelf had become the prominent marker on this side of the room, and most of the books looked tatty.

Why buy new things when youre about to move to a smaller place? said Clark.

Because it looks like shit?

Why dont you wait until she says she wants to sell, said Leon.

Marie returned with another bottle of wine. She handed it to Hugh, then held out her glass.

Might help to get a bit more furniture in here, Hugh said.

I mean, I actually like it with less furniture, said Blanche. I like the sense of space. Like what Leon was saying ... I mean replace.

So do I, Marie agreed. Do you want more chicken, Hugh?

Thanks. Thatd be great.

Marie spooned extra sauce on. Poor Hugh. After all these years the boys still hated him. Even Blanche was embarrassed by him. Marie also thought Hugh was an oaf, but as her children thought she was a drunken fool, she often found herself siding with him, out of guilt as well. She thought that family get-togethers would be better without Ross, but his legacy of carping remained. Even little Nell, if here, would probably be making snide remarks. The physical elements of heredity were inexorable, but the gestures and tones seeding generation after generation seemed more like psychological afflictions that she, as mother, should have thwarted. Then again, as at least half the afflictions had come from her, there wasnt much she could do apart from sit back and watch them replicate. Yes, actually, Hugh, as oafish as he was, being free of the King afflictions was a relief. Marie never expected Blanche would marry this man with his thinning, colourless hair, his thick rugby neck, yet she liked Hugh for the same reason that she disliked him his dreary predictability and assumed her daughter felt similarly. It was also a relief finding things to agree on with Blanche.