Chapter 2: Voices
“That’s all Maggie, love. Mum has lots of work to do today, and that’s on top of the cleaning. Just look at this mess. I think we’re going to have to get rid of that tree. It’s dying.”
Maggie’s mum pointed to the porch outside the door where a sad looking young ficus had dropped nearly all its leaves around the doormat.
“Why don’t you have a swim or go down to the park. We can do some baking together later on, okay? You remembered to take your medicine?”
“Yes, mum,” replied Maggie with a moment's hesitation.
A little later, she sat pensively on the swing at the park. It was three days since she had stopped taking her medicine and as she looked around, the colours and sounds seemed almost frighteningly intense. And that old aura of uncertainty was coming back, like the world around her was not as solid as it seemed, only now it was coupled with a feeling of portent, as if something was about to happen, something important.
It was also three days since she had seen her friend.
Murrumbidgee hadn’t turned up at the park, and Maggie was afraid to visit her in case she met her father again. He had frightened her last time she was there with his strange smell and harsh voice. But she desperately wanted to see her again, and look at her wonderful drawings, and maybe go with her to one of her secret places in the bush. So, screwing up her courage, she set off for Murrumbidgee’s house.
From a distance, the cottage looked peaceful. Someone had obviously done some tidying in the yard as there wasn’t the amount of junk lying around that Maggie had seen before. But as she was approaching the gate, Maggie’s nerves were still on edge. She reached out to lift the latch, and as if she had set off an alarm, the silence was shattered by a raucous cackling.
Maggie jumped with fright before realizing it was just a kookaburra in the banksia tree opposite. Then another laugh filled the air, this time coming from the doorway of the cottage. It was a deep throaty laugh full of warmth.
“Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus, child, you as jumpy as a cricket.”
The woman who spoke was the colour of honey, and was so enormous she could barely fit through the doorway. She had a large halo of frizzy black hair, a smile as wide as her face, and a huge flower tucked behind her ear. Her vast proportions were bound together by a single brightly coloured cloth which shimmered in rolls as she flounced down the steps.
“You muss be Maggie. My Bidgee, she talk about you all the time now. But my Lord, she never tell me how skinny you are. Come on in, child, you need some feeding up. I gotta nice tray of Rose’s special muffins in the kitchen. BIDGEEEEE! You friend is here! Oh but Saint Christopher, I haven’t introduced myself proper. I’m Malila Poloengalolou Fa’afili’i-Cooper, but my friends they call me Rose. I’m Bidgee’s mum.”
This was all said in a breathless torrent as she sailed across the yard to the gate, which swung open with a creak. Then she reached down and enveloped Maggie in a rib-crushing hug that smelt of cookies and frangipani. Maggie felt she was about to drown with so much flesh around her, till Rose released her, turned and shepherded her back to the house.
“BIDGEEEE… where are you, girl?! You gonna come and greet you friend proper?”
Just then, Murrumbidgee poked her head out of the doorway and smiled shyly at Maggie, then retreated as her mum filled the small hallway, pushing Maggie in front of her like a bobby calf down a race.
The kitchen was tiny, with only enough room for a small table squashed against the wall opposite an ancient 3-ring stove and sink. With Rose bustling about in the middle, Maggie had to pull her knees up to her chest and make herself as small as she could.
