A Shaw Thing – part 6
A Shaw Thing – part 6
Madeleine’s story
It wasn’t long before we were fourteen. I did try turning them away at number thirteen – partly superstition, partly just trying to be strong, but it didn’t work. Two of the neighbours called me a bitch, said I had so much that it was wrong not to share. Talk about the pots calling the kettle black! They weren’t exactly sharing the load, yet I was supposed to share more because … because my house was bigger to start with and because Gerald had worked hard to get us in a good financial position. The price you pay for trying to get ahead, to look after your family …
By the time we were fourteen, the cracks had started to show. Nicholas’ PTSD would often disturb us during the night, but it was worse for Zayn as they shared a room.
Sometimes Ava and Kaylin would squabble during the day, over stupid little things, but of course they weren’t stupid and they weren’t little as far as the girls were concerned. And ‘squabble’ is probably a nice way to describe their banshee screeching. I’d forgotten how self centred teenage girls could be. And don’t get me started on what it was like when their PMS coincided!
One of the later drifters, Frank, just wouldn’t fit in. He had issues about the younger girls having opinions, said they should shut up, that they were young and stupid and didn’t know what they were talking about. He wouldn’t help around the house – that was my job, and the job of any other female in the place. Zayn tried talking with him. Tried explaining that if he wanted to stay, he had to fit in. There were thirteen of us trying to make it work and we weren’t going to change to be like him. If he wanted to live here, he had to adjust, had to help, or Zayn would happily find a cart and take him back to the bridge he’d been found under. I couldn’t believe how graceless and ungrateful the dickhead was.
The years have gone by and slowly, as two then three of the older drifters have died, we’ve managed to create a little breathing space in the house. Fortunately, Frank was the first to go. And they say there isn’t a God! I just hope she’s a he, because Frank won’t cope with a female supreme being.
Sadly, Reuben was only with us for three years, but I am happy to think that his last three years were warm and safe, and that we were able to bring him comfort and friendship and, yes, love.
Nick finally started to take an interest in life again, and began working in the community market garden at the end of the street. He’s still fragile, but he has a sense of purpose now. He even smiles a little from time to time. He’s teaching young Brady how to prune and graft. I’m not sure how interested Brady is, but I think he understands that it’s a good thing to let Nick just teach him anyway.
Ryan and Gretchen have managed to keep their relationship together all this time – don’t ask me how in such cramped conditions – and will soon be replacing Reuben with a baby of their own. They’ve said if it’s a boy, they’ll even call him Reuben.
Life is still cramped, and despite our comparative comfort, it’s physically tough. As a community, we don’t have the comforts, the defences against the weather, or the medicines and defences against disease that we used to have. It doesn’t take long for a nasty virus each winter to ‘thin the herd’ and I often wonder what the future holds.
Not that I’ll be here to see it – I know I’ll be joining the ‘thinned’ herd members most probably sooner rather than later.
I worry about Zayn and Ava not having me or their parents to guide them. I still don’t know what happened to them. I was babysitting the week that the net crashed as my son and his partner had gone to Aitutaki for a well-earned rest. I didn’t hear from or see them again. I hope that one day they’ll all be reunited, but it’s been over a decade now, so that beacon’s dimmed, almost extinguished by my never-ending common sense.
I’m so tired. I feel like I’ve lived through the ‘Rise and Fall of the Western Empire’.
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