Colleen Davison

Where there's smoke,

There's fire! The color and perfume of the formative years had succumbed to a more sedentary life. Two almost single mothers in their mid thirties, milled around in Ivy’s kitchen, in Chester Hill a suburb of western Sydney. “Oh, what a night!” Laura sang, reminiscing their Disco days. Flinging the tea towel around her backside to emulate a skirt, she joked, “Do you think my bum looks big in this?”. With hands deep in dishwater, the deliciousness of dinner lingering in the air, Ivy congratulated her friend, “Thanks, the quiche you brought was a life-saver,” she said, “it’s one of the only things my kids don’t have to be force fed”. The four little rascals had kept them on their toes all afternoon. Only a couple of years apart in age the two boys and two girls, a pigeon pair for the mothers', were great playmates and the regular visits to each other’s homes guaranteed a distraction from routine and a release from the tension of their difficult situations. Laura had been a close friend, having met Ivy when she commenced her training as a registered nurse at the Children's Hospital, in Parramatta; ten years prior. They were in the same induction group of 1977 and had fast become chummy. Years down the track, the two women relied on each other as confidants and for moral support, especially through their turbulent marriages. Ivy crept from the front bedroom having put the last of the children to sleep. ‘Phew’, she said with a sigh of relief, as she plucked a bottle of cheap and nasty from the fridge. Champers Laura? She asked. Laura rolled her eyes “Duh!”, she giggled, “cocktail of course!” and she watched Ivy lace the two glasses with orange juice to disguise the bitter talons. Laura twirled her wedding ring around her finger, listening to her friend relay the most recent events that warranted her estranged husband Rob's latest eviction from the house. “Can you believe it? Rob was brought home by the police, pulled over leaving Sefton Pub!” Sefton Hotel was notorious as a den of ill-repute. Strippers flung themselves around poles in the public bar; and like rats to a sewer, it drew all manner of reprobate. It was not a good look for a married man with two children. “What a Sleaze! Laura snarled, looking up from the table in solidarity with her friend. “Degenerate! thinks he's Peter freaking Pan.” Ivy grumbled. Adding to her irritation “You should have been there,” “I came rushing out to the Police car, thinking something terrible had happened!”. “He falls out the door, staggers up the driveway, reeking of alcohol and flanked by two policemen”, “Pretty sure they could see my disgust, it was so embarrassing!” “God knows what they thought of my expression”... “Chooks bum where a face used to be!” Laura mused. "Bloody moron couldn’t help but seize the opportunity to be a clown, he turned around and said to the police ‘I’ve done it now boys!’”. Both girls chortled. Ivy continued, “An Officer handed me the car keys,” he said “don’t let him drive Mam” “MAM?!” “What am I a hundred?!” …. Laura snorted champagne through her nose, her hand flew up to save the slobber, escaping her gaping mouth as they both howled with laughter. “Really Laura, I don’t know what’s going on with him?” Ivy shook her head, “Half of the time I don’t know where he is and I can’t get a hold of him on the phone when I need him.” “I reckon he’s seeing another woman, but I can’t prove it”... “Anyway, he’s gone to his sister’s, I told him not to come back until he gets his act together.” Laura poured another glass and with a moments consideration she finally said, “Jeez, Ivy, isn’t it time you left him for good?” I know you’ve got the kids to worry about, but you’ve been doing that essentially alone anyway.” “I know,” Ivy replied, “but I don’t have any means, wish I had a job like you do……….Oh, well, enough about me, how are you doing?” Laura aired her momentary discomfort, repositioning herself on the seat, straightened her back, chin raised high in the air she blurted out “I’m having an affair!” Ivy’s response was wide eyed, she knocked back the full glass with one gulp. Without a thought she shot back “You lucky bugger!” both women laughed out loud and the mood changed to one of intrigue, enthralled she hung onto Laura’s every last word. Considering Laura's husband was a vile wife beater and real psychopath, Ivy gagged "It couldn't happen to a nicer guy!" By the end of the night the hot weather had taken a turn. Thunder and lightening rolled through the house in short bursts, shuddering the old fibro walls. The girls snuck in to check the children had not been disturbed, before retiring themselves. Ivy rested in her bed, Laura already snoring beside her. She laid awake thrilling to notions of how her life might change and become fuller again if only she had a choice; but Ivy felt powerless, and the knowledge that she would need to leave her worthless husband to achieve her desires was overwhelming. Although Ivy had just cause, she lacked conviction. The slow blink of sleep had just begun to sedate Ivy’s mind, when she noticed a strange glow coming from the dining room. Converted from a veranda in the 1950’s the open plan consisted of a half wall on two sides adjoining the kitchen. Opaque lever windows stretched up to meet the low ceiling and allow the light to filter in from the outside. ‘I must have left the outdoor light on’ she thought, narrowing her eyes to see clearer. Annoyed at being inconvenienced from her comfortable doze, she left the bed to flick it off. The room retained its luminosity, now pulsating like a living organism, with intermittent bursts, brighter than its origin. What the hell could create something so intense? she wondered. As she stood marveling the strange gleam a flash of genius crossed her mind. Perhaps its Aliens! Wow! In my backyard! Ivy flung open the backdoor eager to greet the spaceship. Shock and awe swept over her face. The entire garden was ablaze. Fire most furious leapt from the shed beside the garage, engulfing branches of the enormous Oak tree, once the focus of a perfectly manicured lawn. Flames ripped into the washing on the old Hills Hoist clothes line, sending them spinning and twirling, like blazing apparitions dancing to the tune of the wind. “Holly Shit!” Ivy spat as she slammed the door shut. She jolted Laura from her sleep. “Get up” Ivy screamed, “the back yard’s on fire!” half conscious, Laura forced her head from the pillow, squinting to see her friend in a manic flap. “Go back to bed, you silly cow, you’re drunk!” she rattled. “I’m not!” demanded Ivy, pulling the blankets away to jerk her buddy from the bed. The realization that Ivy was not kidding flooded over Laura in a wave of panic and the girls made a dash to the sleeping babes.