Duckworth, who attended Lorna’s church did. They’d moved into a house little more than a block and a half from Lorna’s locked gates. Since learning they were not the only Duckworths in the area, they’d become determined to link Miss Elizabeth into their clan.
Amber had a place there, on the periphery, through Norman’s mother Cecelia Morrison née Duckworth. Though considerably younger, Alma had been Norman’s first cousin. Amber had met her parents, Uncle Wilber and his wife. She’d met Alma’s oldest sister when the Duckworths came in force to Woody Creek to attend Norman’s mother’s funeral. It was their invasion that killed Amber’s second son, or forced him to make his entrance into the world prematurely.
Five times Amber had swollen with child. Only Sissy survived her birth. Amber had loved her girl, if only for living. A love not reciprocated. When Amber was released from the asylum with no place to go, Sissy had refused to see her. Your daughter has made a new life for herself —
A new life with the Duckworths. Amber had seen her with Alma and Valda Duckworth at Lorna’s church. On the first occasion, she hadn’t recognised the draughthorse of a woman who’d pushed ahead of her in the queue to get out of the church door. She’d recognised her later, as had Lorna.
‘That obnoxious female,’ Lorna named her. A fair description. Sissy had become obnoxious in appearance and manner.
On the second occasion, as she’d walked Lorna down the aisle to their front pew, Amber, recognising Sissy’s mammoth back, had warned Lorna who’d led the way out through the side door, then through the shrubbery to the car park.
That was the day Amber decided it was time to move on. She’d accrued funds enough to rent her own small unit – somewhere. She’d looked at advertisements until learning that her pension would be hard-pressed to pay the rent on a single bedroom unit.
And was Sissy likely to recognise her? Amber’s once beige-blonde shoulder-length hair was now short silky white curls. Her shoes had once been bought to last, her garments chosen for their lack of colour. In Kew, she’d been able to satisfy her craving for smart expensive shoes, for the pretty hats and the pretty frocks she’d craved in her youth.
Since her release from the asylum she’d been in receipt of a pension. It still arrived each fortnight. Had her benefactor known about it, Amber would have been out on the street. Only last week Lorna had circled a report in the Age of the arrest of one hundred and eighty Greek Australians alleged to have been involved in a conspiracy to defraud the Social Security Department. Amber Morrison’s private mailbox was in the city. She accessed it monthly on hair-cutting days, when Amber’s bankbook had a brief outing before being posted back to Box 282 GPO, MELB.
It amused her to imagine Lorna’s expression should she learn of her own involvement in a conspiracy to defraud. She’d been instrumental in securing Miss Elizabeth Duckworth’s pension, and thus obtaining at no cost to herself her ‘Duckworth’/cleaner/guide-dog/reader/cook.
*
Jenny’s mind was on bank accounts – Georgie’s bank account in particular. She was opening mail addressed to her daughter, hoping for a statement from the Commonwealth Bank and evidence of another cashed cheque. The last statement had shown three cashed cheques, two for uneven amounts, which suggested payment of bills, but one had been for two hundred dollars.
There was no bank statement amongst today’s mail. Bills from suppliers, a three-year term deposit was maturing at a city bank.
‘Nothing?’ Emma asked.
‘Nothing.’
Until circumstances had thrown them together, Jenny and Emma had rarely spoken. Emma, a year or two Jim’s senior, had been raising a family before Jenny became the town scandal. They’d spent a couple of uncomfortable days together, but women, forced to spend eight hours a day in close confines, don’t remain
Amber had a place there, on the periphery, through Norman’s mother Cecelia Morrison née Duckworth. Though considerably younger, Alma had been Norman’s first cousin. Amber had met her parents, Uncle Wilber and his wife. She’d met Alma’s oldest sister when the Duckworths came in force to Woody Creek to attend Norman’s mother’s funeral. It was their invasion that killed Amber’s second son, or forced him to make his entrance into the world prematurely.
Five times Amber had swollen with child. Only Sissy survived her birth. Amber had loved her girl, if only for living. A love not reciprocated. When Amber was released from the asylum with no place to go, Sissy had refused to see her. Your daughter has made a new life for herself —
A new life with the Duckworths. Amber had seen her with Alma and Valda Duckworth at Lorna’s church. On the first occasion, she hadn’t recognised the draughthorse of a woman who’d pushed ahead of her in the queue to get out of the church door. She’d recognised her later, as had Lorna.
‘That obnoxious female,’ Lorna named her. A fair description. Sissy had become obnoxious in appearance and manner.
On the second occasion, as she’d walked Lorna down the aisle to their front pew, Amber, recognising Sissy’s mammoth back, had warned Lorna who’d led the way out through the side door, then through the shrubbery to the car park.
That was the day Amber decided it was time to move on. She’d accrued funds enough to rent her own small unit – somewhere. She’d looked at advertisements until learning that her pension would be hard-pressed to pay the rent on a single bedroom unit.
And was Sissy likely to recognise her? Amber’s once beige-blonde shoulder-length hair was now short silky white curls. Her shoes had once been bought to last, her garments chosen for their lack of colour. In Kew, she’d been able to satisfy her craving for smart expensive shoes, for the pretty hats and the pretty frocks she’d craved in her youth.
Since her release from the asylum she’d been in receipt of a pension. It still arrived each fortnight. Had her benefactor known about it, Amber would have been out on the street. Only last week Lorna had circled a report in the Age of the arrest of one hundred and eighty Greek Australians alleged to have been involved in a conspiracy to defraud the Social Security Department. Amber Morrison’s private mailbox was in the city. She accessed it monthly on hair-cutting days, when Amber’s bankbook had a brief outing before being posted back to Box 282 GPO, MELB.
It amused her to imagine Lorna’s expression should she learn of her own involvement in a conspiracy to defraud. She’d been instrumental in securing Miss Elizabeth Duckworth’s pension, and thus obtaining at no cost to herself her ‘Duckworth’/cleaner/guide-dog/reader/cook.
*
Jenny’s mind was on bank accounts – Georgie’s bank account in particular. She was opening mail addressed to her daughter, hoping for a statement from the Commonwealth Bank and evidence of another cashed cheque. The last statement had shown three cashed cheques, two for uneven amounts, which suggested payment of bills, but one had been for two hundred dollars.
There was no bank statement amongst today’s mail. Bills from suppliers, a three-year term deposit was maturing at a city bank.
‘Nothing?’ Emma asked.
‘Nothing.’
Until circumstances had thrown them together, Jenny and Emma had rarely spoken. Emma, a year or two Jim’s senior, had been raising a family before Jenny became the town scandal. They’d spent a couple of uncomfortable days together, but women, forced to spend eight hours a day in close confines, don’t remain
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