Things I'll Never Understand

by Ooshka

AH/OOC Side story for Homestay. Lorena does her weekly shopping and dwells far too much on her past.

A/N Hello! Yes, look I'm over here! Kind of like my toddler I'm probably where you least expect me to be. So I haven't forgotten about the bonus chapters I promised for Home is Where the Heart is. More are coming, definitely. But this has been rattling around in my brain for a while so I thought I would finally get it all down.

So this is all Lorena talking. It dovetails in with chapter 17 of Homestay, when Sookie bumps into Lorena in Mt Albert after that first trip to the zoo. One point to note is that Lorena mentions Dallys several times. It's short for Dalmatian and used to be the common name for everyone who cam from that area of Europe.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

LPOV

There are a lot of things I don't understand these days. For one thing, I don't understand why the cars all have to make that terrible noise. That 'boom-boom-boom' as they drive past. It must be awful sitting inside the car listening to it, but the boys inside don't seem to mind. They never even look at me as they drive past.

These days, I'm mostly invisible.

I continue on up Asquith Avenue, and then into New North Road. It's Tuesday, and I need to do my shopping. I've always found routines helpful. I had a very busy household to run, of course, when all the children were small. I've kept up the routine, although it doesn't take me most of Monday to do my laundry anymore, and it's probably a good thing it doesn't because Monday is the day Portia and Glen come for dinner, and I like to have things ready before they come. Although recently of course I've been busy on Mondays and had to put Portia off, which made her a bit snippy but it's not like she hasn't had a decent amount of meals out of me over the years.

Not that I'd begrudge feeding my own daughter, but sometimes I do think that's the only reason she comes around. Especially when she takes the leftovers away with her.

But Mama always had a routine too. We did the washing together on a Monday, I'd help her. It wasn't that easy in those days of course, no washing machines at all, only a hand-wringer. But at the end of it you felt good, and when Mama said we'd done a good job I felt proud.

First stop is the bank. I want to withdraw some money before I go to the supermarket. I like to pay cash; it's the way I've always done it. When I was first married Malcolm used to leave me the housekeeping every week, a little pile of notes neatly stacked under the sugar bowl. I'd tuck them away in my purse and know that had to get me through to the next week come hell or high water.

It felt good the weeks when I still had some money left over at the end, and I hated the weeks when I had ask for more due to something unexpected. Even worse were the weeks when Malcolm was away for work. The weeks I couldn't ask for more. And if I had to go to Mama she'd get that look in her eye, disappointment. And I could never be sure whether it was disappointment with me or with Malcolm for not providing for his family. But he did. He worked very hard. He was away so much with his job, and it was hard on all of us.

I walk up the steps to the bank and join the queue. I've been coming to this branch for as long as I can remember, but it certainly doesn't look the way it used to. Banks used to be quiet and dark and respectful. I remember coming here with Malcolm when we borrowed the money for our first house, and we were ushered into an office by a secretary who addressed us as Mr and Mrs Compton.

It's certainly not like that anymore.

I finally get take my place at the counter so the teller can serve me. I can barely see her face, partially because of all the screens they seem to have in front of the stations these days, and partially because she's so short. I pass the withdrawal slip and the little plastic card to her across the counter and she punches something into the keypad in front of her.

"Are you having a good day Lorena?" she asks. I wonder when I stopped being Mrs Compton.

"Yes. Thank you" I reply. I stare at the nametag she's wearing and wonder whether I should use her name. It says Hui-Han. I have no idea how you would pronounce that, so I leave it at that. I've been polite.

"You were aware that you could use the ATM outside to withdraw money, Lorena? It would save you some fees" the teller asks.

"I was aware. But…I…it's fine, thank you. This will be fine for today." I wish they would stop telling me that. Bill showed me how to use one of those machines, but I find them confusing. I can't understand what buttons I'm supposed to push. Judith makes tutting noises and tells me I'm not as old as I think I am and there's no reason I can't use one, but she's very impatient when she tries to show me. She's very like her father. Bill was a much better teacher. I miss Bill terribly.

The teller hands me over the money and my plastic card and I put them away in my purse. "We could show you how to use the machine" she says. "If you want. We do it for a lot of pensioners."

I smile at her. I'm not a pensioner. I still have two years until I'm 65. Officially these days I'm a beneficiary. That's what they class me as. Like I'm…like I'm someone who doesn't want to work. I worked. I worked for years before I was married. And then I had five children. It's not like I could go back to work now. For one thing, no one has the accounting machines I was trained to use. I was Burroughs' machine operator, and I was good at it. Very good. But of course these days it's all computers. Bill worked with computers. I never understood what he did, but he was good at it. So there's no place for me in their offices anymore. But of course I didn't have a choice when…when I found myself alone. It was a benefit, or we didn't eat. Mama thought it was slightly shameful. All of it was shameful, and the benefit wasn't the worst thing.

It was the way everyone looked at me after that. How the neighbours looked at me.

She has no idea how lucky she is being a widow. Having that title, that claim on him still. And after everything she did to him, too. And then they all look at her with such sympathy, like she had absolutely nothing to do with it.

But he'd still be here, if it wasn't for her. And she knows it.

I realise the teller wants me to answer her, and I feel a little flustered. "Oh, well. Yes, that would be very nice" I say, because although I have no intention of ever using that horrible machine I don't want to seem ungrateful.

"OK" she says, and then she turns her head to call out to a colleague. "Vasi, can you show Lorena how to use the ATM?"

"Yep" comes a voice, and I see a large, Polynesian woman coming over to us. She's very large. "I'll come around" she says to me, "And take you out the front." And then she turns to the other tellers and says "Back in a moment."

"Thank-you" I say to the teller who helped me, but her eyes are already glued to the next person in the queue, so I put my purse back in my handbag and move away. The person named Vasi is waiting for me by those doors that swoosh open as you approach and she smiles. "So you haven't used the ATM before, Lorena?" she asks as we walk outside.

"Oh. I have" I say. "My son showed me. He works with computers." I pause. "Worked with computers." The tenses are confusing me, and I can tell they're confusing Vasi, so I stop talking and try to absorb what she's showing me. There's a very pretty coloured picture on the screen and there are a lot of buttons. I put my card into the slot she points to.

"Don't worry about the fact it shakes when your card goes in" Vasi says. "That's just the judder, so people can't copy your card."

"Copy it?" I'm slightly alarmed at that. Could someone just copy my card and take all my money?

"Of course they need to get your PIN number too" Vasi continues. "So that's why it shouldn't be anything easy to guess. No birthdays or anything like that."

"Oh" I say, not really sure what she's talking about. Vasi seems to guess this. "The number you put in. The secret one" she continues.

"Oh" I say again. Of course it's a birthday; otherwise I'd never remember what it is. It's Bill's birthday, because I'm unlikely to forget that one. Sometimes I get Sarah and Caroline mixed up, but that's because they're both in May.

But I don't want to think about Bill's birthday anymore so I try to pay attention to what Vasi is telling me. It doesn't make much sense to me, but I nod dutifully and say that I understand and thank her for her time.

"Do you enjoy working here?" I ask. "As a teller?" I'd often envied the women who worked in the bank. When I used to come in here with my children and take out the money from my benefit I'd look at them in their smart uniforms and think it might be nice to work here. And be respected. But even back then they all seemed so much younger than me. Younger and brighter and just…different.

But as soon as I've asked that question I look at Vasi's name tag and realise it says Customer Services Manager. Is that the same as Branch Manager? I don't know, and I don't understand why they have to make everything so difficult these days, when the old ways worked fine. We knew who was who. But it's clear she's not a teller, although she doesn't correct me.

The manager used to be Mr Gordon and he was always very nice to me, always called me Mrs Compton and smiled at the children when we came in. When did he retire? I don't know.

"It's OK" Vasi says. "Keeps me busy, eh?" She laughs. "At least for now." She pats her ample stomach and I realise for the first time that she is not just large she's also visibly pregnant. Her shirt is pulled tight across her stomach in a way which is truly revolting.

I wonder why no one seems to want to wear proper maternity clothes these days. My daughters were the same. Sarah was particularly bad. Four children and I don't think she's ever worn maternity clothes, instead she leaves her stomach hanging out of those ridiculous little tops she's wears that I'm sure would fit her daughter Stella better. She looks cheap, but she doesn't care what I think and I'm long past lecturing her.

I had some lovely smocks I wore through my pregnancies. There was a green one with a lace collar that looked really very nice. And around home I had, well we used to call them muumuus. Nice colourful dresses, especially good for the summer months.

Bill hated those muumuus, but only because his father did and sometimes he listened too much to what Malcolm said. Mind you, Malcolm never liked it when I was pregnant. He hated the fact I got so fat. The first time, I thought it was because of the…circumstances. But it was always the same, each and every time. I'd see the curl of disgust on his lip when he looked my way, but there wasn't much I could do about it. I loved my babies. They were so perfect when they were small.

"Well…congratulations. And thank you again" I say, as I put away the plastic card in my purse and continue up to the pedestrian crossing. Mt Albert is so different to the way it was when we first came here. I don't recognise half of what these shops are. Internet cafes with rows of computers. What are the people doing in there? I peer in one and it seems to be all young men. Young Asian men.

I remember how hard Bill saved up for his first computer. They didn't have places like this then. Computers weren't easy to get. But he had his paper round, and he gave up playing soccer at the weekends to work in the supermarket and the video store and eventually he had enough saved. Although Mama loaned him that last little bit, of course. She was very fond of Bill too. I think it was because he was so much like Papa.

Although she wasn't all that nice to Papa when he was alive. It had been her idea to move to Mt Albert in the first place. Papa had a good job with the Post Office in the city and she wanted something better than living out on a farm near Waiatarua, growing fruit, like her parents had. Living with all the other Dallys as we were in those days. Nowadays no one uses that. Now it's Croatian. But back then no one cared so much. And Mama's mother, her real mother, not her stepmother, had been English. So Mama thought we should be more English too. Well, everyone here said they were a New Zealander, but really they were just English by another name. It wasn't like it is now with all that silly nonsense about being a Kiwi and so on. No you were English, or you were something else. Like a Dally.

And so we moved here, and no longer did I go to school with all my cousins. Now I was the Dally girl. You could tell by my surname.

Papa just did it though. Did what she wanted. Despite the fact he wanted to stay near his mother because she wasn't well at the time. And despite Mama wanting to us to be English we never were. It was quite clear the first time I brought another girl home from school and she stared openly the fact we had wine in the house and she wouldn't eat the cheese Mama offered. Mama cared about good cheese. That's not an English thing to do.

Nowadays the supermarkets are full of cheese. Every type of cheese you could possibly want. And all sorts of other things too, things I can't recognise or pronounce. Sometimes I feel just as out of place as I did when I was the Dally girl whose parents drank wine with dinner because I'm sure everyone else in the supermarket knows what all these foods are and what you do with them but I haven't a clue. Like sushi. Is it really raw fish? Caroline tried to get me to try some once when she was staying with me, but I couldn't face the thought of it. It would be so slimy.

It used to be all about the meat. You'd go to the butcher's and make sure you had good meat and build your meal around that. Chops, steak, minced beef and lamb for pies, sausages. I always made sure Malcolm had good meals when he was at home, because I wasn't sure what he ate when he was away working. Sometimes he'd say he ate in a restaurant and had something fancy, like beef wellington or carpetbag steak, but mostly I think he just ate what he could find.

I worried about him when he was away from home with no one to look after him.

Of course now you can't just cook the meat and boil the vegetables like I used to. Everything has to have something added to it. Spices. Things I didn't know existed when I was first married. I ate dinner there once and she served…what was it? Chicken…Egyptian chicken? Moroccan chicken? I can't remember. Something exotic. I didn't like it, too rich for my tastes and I could see Bill was forcing himself to eat it. He didn't look comfortable, that's for certain. I don't know why she couldn't just make a nice shepherd's pie for him. Poor Bill.

But I don't want to think about Bill. Not again. Not today.

I try to remember if the supermarket was always this far, the walk's not as easy as it used to be. But the walk is good for me. Stops me getting fat and lazy. Malcolm was very keen on keeping fit, long before it was fashionable. He thought it was a sign of weakness if let yourself get fat, and he'd point out the fat women we saw and say how pleased he was I didn't let myself go. And it was true, I didn't. I wouldn't have wanted people pointing at me like that. He and I used to go for long walks around the lake at Western Springs. Although we stopped doing that after we were married, which was a shame. I had other things to do, anyway.

I used to walk a lot with the children of course. Eventually I had a car, but when they were little…when Bill was little especially, we walked.

It doesn't seem that long ago really.

But almost everyone did walk, or take the bus. Cars were luxuries, and Malcolm's car was a business vehicle, so he could travel for work. Even when he stopped travelling, they still gave him a car. My first car was a Morris 1300, old even when it was new for me. I remember that Malcolm would work on it in the weekends, changing oil and sparkplugs and things I didn't understand. Bill would help him. Bill was so very helpful, but he loved this time with his father. They were both good with their hands, could understand the mysteries of the car engine in a way I never could.

Later on of course it became more difficult walking places when I had five children to shepherd down the road, although that's when Bill was so very helpful to me. He would hold Portia's hand and I would look after Sarah and Judith. Caroline was always difficult, she'd refuse to hold Bill's hand and walk off ahead of us. She was always so determined to be her own person.

She reminds me of her father too sometimes. That's of course when she's around. I hope she's coming back for Christmas this year, but every time I ask her she tries to avoid the question. She's gotten very good at avoiding me over the years, and the distance between us is awful. I often wonder what I did to make her that way. But I think it's just her.

I did a good job with my children. It wasn't easy, having so many and having them all so close together. But I wanted a big family, and I was happy to accept what God gave me, when he gave them to me. It was a sign I thought. I sign that I was doing a good job and I deserved those children. God wouldn't have given them to me otherwise. And I loved them. It wasn't always easy but I loved them and they knew that. I'm sure they did. Even when…

But I really don't want to think about that today.

Of course for a long time, I wasn't sure I'd ever have children. Mama certainly thought I'd missed my chance. When I was growing up all the movie stars were…well, they had those hourglass figures that no one has anymore. Except for her, of course. But that was our ideal.

I never had a hope of getting a bust. I was all angles and planes. Skinny. Like a boy. Plus, of course I was a Dally and the boys were suspicious of me.

I had one friend, Marion Sturgess. She was a nice girl, if a bit simple. Big girl, lots of sandy hair. All she could think about were boys and getting one to go out with her. So I went with her to all the dances they held at the Town Hall and the church and we stood on the side and hoped that someone, anyone would pick us.

And when they picked me I could see that they didn't really want me. It was…humiliating.

And then of course all the other girls from school got married, one by one. Marion and I were invited to some of the weddings. And so I watched those girls walk up the aisle on their father's arms and after a while, after a few years, I knew that was never going to be me. By then even Marion was married, with a couple of fat, unlovely babies. She'd let herself go terribly though after her marriage. I would go to visit sometimes and she'd look so sad, but I could understand that. Of course she was sad, her poor husband…was he called Michael? Or Martin? Something like that. He probably couldn't believe who he'd married. She got fat. Disgustingly fat. No one should be that fat.

But I had a good job. I trained to use the Burroughs machine, and I worked in the offices of Bycroft Biscuits. Every day I took the bus to Penrose and sat in the office and the accountant Mr Watson said I did a good job. Of course in those days you didn't use first names in the office…certainly you didn't call the men by the first names. They were the managers after all. But Mr Watson was very nice to me. He was a good man to work for. And I enjoyed my job. I liked watching the machine working and knowing that I was helping Mr Watson look after the finances. That was an important part of any business.

Of course, if I'd been a boy I could have been an accountant. I would have liked that. But in those days you didn't think of doing that sort of thing if you were female. You were supposed to get married anyway, and no one worked after they were married. It just wasn't the done thing. There were women who didn't get married, certainly. In our office we had Miss Pryce, who was sour and mean. One day that would be me. That's what I thought. I'd be like Miss Pryce, but I'd…well, I'd do a good job at that too.

And then he walked into the office one day. Malcolm Compton. He was selling fire-fighting equipment to offices and factories and he came to talk to Mr Watson and some of the other managers. I was twenty six years old and no one had ever looked at me twice, but Malcolm did. He winked at me, and I got flustered and looked back down at my desk as he passed.

He asked me out. To a dance. He was twenty four; he'd been a merchant seaman and had come out from London. He had a tattoo on his forearm. He was beautiful.

He was exciting.

Of course Mama didn't think he was good enough for me, but she'd been telling me for years that I'd missed my chance, that I was on the shelf now and why would anyone want me? I was too smart for my own good. I was too thin. I cared too much about my clothes. I was too selfish.

And the final straw was when I cut my hair.

My hair was so thick and heavy and it used to be murder in the summer, always getting stuck to the back of my neck. When I was young Mama used to sit and brush it every night and I liked that, but when I was older it was just a burden.

So I cut it. I cut it all off. I got it cut like the models you saw in the magazines from London, the ones who were starting to have a figure like mine, although Mama used to say that I didn't have a figure, I was just skin and bones. But one day I looked around and it didn't seem to matter anymore. Girls were wearing miniskirts and pantsuits and nobody wanted hips or a bust anymore. It was liberating. And so was taking off my hair. I had it cut like the Vidal Sassoon models. I loved it immediately and never wanted to grow my hair again. I thought it made my neck look longer and more elegant. I had a nice neck, when I was younger.

Mama hated it, and cried because I looked like a boy and I'd never find a good husband.

Malcolm complimented me on it though. It's one of the first things he ever said to me, "I like your hair." But he was from London and knew about those kinds of styles. It wasn't new by any means, but things moved a little slower in New Zealand.

He said "I like your hair" and I just knew in that instant that he was the man I wanted. He was beautiful, and he may have been younger than me but he was so sophisticated. He'd lived in London, visited the nightclubs. He'd been to Hong Kong. He wasn't like those sweaty-palmed boys at the dances, the ones who tried to pretend I didn't exist or that was I something I wasn't.

Malcolm knew I was special, I was sure of it.

I was so wrong.

By now I'm nearly at the supermarket, the terrible garish yellow building with its awful name. Pak'n Save. I negotiate crossing the entranceway and am nearly hit by a large grey car. I don't think they even see me there. Judith keeps telling me I need to be 'road safe' whatever that is, but really, when did people stop letting pedestrians go first? I don't understand it.

As I enter the supermarket I see a young mother dragging a child out by his arm. She's yelling at him to "cut it out." I wonder what 'it' was. The child doesn't look scared though, he looks aggressive, like he might turn on his mother at any moment. And then he yells "Le'go o'me!" at his mother. "I hate you!"

I looked away. It was never like that in my day. You respected your parents. I never shouted at Mama, never. And if I misbehaved, well then I knew what was coming. The hairbrush on the back of the legs. Not that she really hurt me, but it was shameful more than anything.

My brother Tome got worse.

But of course these days you aren't allowed to hit your children, not even lightly. Some children need it though I think. I never really believed in it, and I didn't have to resort to it, although God knows, Judith could test the patience of a saint and Caroline would argue with me until she was blue in the face if she thought she was right. Sarah was just…well inattentive most of the time, but hitting her wouldn't help that. So no, I didn't believe in discipline like that. I had good children. Everyone told me so. When we all walked along the road, the children in the matching cardigans I'd knitted for them, holding hands, their little faces smiling, people would stop me and say what lovely children I had. And I did. They looked lovely. And they had manners. Honestly, I don't think I've ever heard a please or a thank-you out of any of Sarah's children, I think she was too far off in her own little world to instil that into them. It's such a shame.

But I did it. I did it without resorting to discipline. Excpet…well; I don't need to think about that either.

I stand at the entrance to the supermarket, where the boxes of special offers are piled up almost to the ceiling and I look for my list. I did bring it, didn't I? I look in my handbag, but it doesn't seem to be there, and I'm flustered and someone nearly knocks me over with their shopping trolley. I don't understand why I'm so invisible to everyone today. Every day.

When I did become invisible? Was it when Malcolm left? Or before that? I can't remember now and I can't remember what I did with my list and it's worrying me because I can't remember a lot of things these days and I don't want to end up like Mama. Judith looked at me funny when she found the lemons in my handbag that time and I don't want that to happen again. I'm her mother; she's supposed to respect me.

They're all supposed to respect me.

But she doesn't. She does her own thing. Like the wedding and her insistence in not only getting married in a church where the priest is a virtual stranger, but she wants to wear white as well. When her child is two years old. It seems disrespectful somehow, like the rules don't apply to her.

Of course neither Sarah nor Portia have ever been married and both of them have children. I remember when Sarah first told me she was pregnant. She was so young, and I told her we'd just have to deal with it as best we could. Back then I still held out hope that she'd get herself on the right path. But she's careless with her life like she's careless of most things and three children later I have given up on her.

And Portia…I never expected it from Portia. But she's always been jealous of Sarah and I think somehow she thought. Well, it's a terrible thing to say about your own daughter but I think she thought she was missing out on some attention. She's spent her life thinking she's missing out on some attention, when really, I loved them all equally. I'm sure I did.

So I suppose at least Jessica has a father, although I can't imagine why she wanted that Calvin. He's so…foreign.

I find my list in my handbag, and breathe a sigh of relief. I'm not that bad after all. I peer at it closely. I think it might the list from the previous week, it looks familiar. But is that just because I only wrote it this morning?

It will have to do. I pick up one of the plastic baskets and start making my way around the aisles where everything seems too big and too colourful for me.

Of course I very nearly didn't wear white to my wedding. Mama was against it and said she couldn't take the shame of it. I didn't understand. This was what she'd wanted for me for so long, the church wedding, and the good husband. Children. Why was she so set on making it all difficult for me?

So I did it. I wore white. It was the first, and probably last, time I outright defied her. Oh, she threatened not to come to the wedding, but Papa talked to her and she calmed down, although I don't think she was happy about it. It was very hard to make Mama happy.

I was happy though. I was happy on the day we got married. Poor Malcolm, he was so nervous he barely spoke the whole day. But I think he was happy. Then. I think he was happy then, once he'd got over the initial shock of finding out I was pregnant. Malcolm said he was being careful, and it wouldn't happen and I didn't know any better, of course. You didn't in those days. Who would have told me? Mama didn't give much away, other than to tell me what my duty was to my husband, but by then, I was already pregnant. And the girls at school, Marion and the like, it wasn't like they knew either.

All those weddings I went to, so many of them were followed by a baby shortly afterwards. I may have been older but mine was no different. And six months later Bill was born.

But of course in those days that was what you did. You married to have a family. To have children. You didn't marry just because of the…the…physical side of it. I mean, I didn't mind it, but it was never something I craved. I did it when Malcolm wanted and that was that. And he didn't seem to be someone who was all that…passionate either. We worked well together.

I certainly didn't know as much as the girls these days do. I walked in on Sarah and Judith talking about it once. Sex. In so much detail. Things I just never knew…not even when I was married. I didn't know how they knew so much…and they made it sound. Well, it sounded very different from what I did with Malcolm. But it was nice all the same. I liked it when Malcolm showed me that attention. When he wanted to be with me.

Although he did used to say how disappointed he was that I fell pregnant so easily, and he'd try to get to me take that pill, but I couldn't. It went against everything I believed in. Those children were given to me, because I deserved them. Because I'd waited and I'd prayed and I did a good job at bringing them up.

But the way Malcolm started to look at me when I would tell him I was expecting. He'd look hurt, and disappointed. Like I did it on purpose. To him. He loved them, he did. He'd take them out to get ice cream and he loved his children. They were always so happy when he was home and not travelling. He covered the top half of the North Island for his job, and he was away a lot of course, but when he was home, he could be so much fun.

Sometimes. Sometimes he was fun.

But he didn't want any more babies. And the last time…well, the last time I never told him anyway.

I never expected it to happen of course. We'd moved past that kind of physical relationship. In a way it was nice. Companionable. When Malcolm was around. He'd stopped travelling for work, and was now a Sales Manager, but he still went out with clients and friends and he wasn't home all that often, but I was used to looking after the children by myself by that time. And Mama helped. She'd come around on washday. That was always Monday.

You didn't have all these fancy things like disposable nappies. Well, I think they started to be available but I couldn't afford them. Plus I liked seeing all the clean, white nappies on the line and know that I'd done a good job with the washing.

But of course all the girls used those disposable ones. There are shelves and shelves of them here in the supermarket. Even when Sarah was complaining of not having enough money for food she could still find money for those. And for her cigarettes. Although as she says, they keep her thin and I can see that. The girl barely eats. I worry about her, because although I'd hate her to let herself go and get fat, not when that Matt doesn't seem to want to make an honest woman of her which is really the least he could do after all these years, I look at her sometimes and think she's too thin. You can see all her ribs for one thing.

I worry about her, I worry that she isn't taking care of herself and I worry that no one will when she's old, that Matt will disappear and she'll be alone and she won't even have been his wife. She'll have no claim on him. She'll be nothing, and it doesn't seem right. I tried to tell her that she shouldn't have children with him before they got married. Sure she had two children already, but that didn't mean she had to risk everything again. But she didn't listen. She was in love and wanted to celebrate that love with babies.

In my day you got married, and then had babies. And granted, sometimes it was quicker than it should have been, but at least we did it in the proper order.

Although I could never understand why she waited so long to have babies with Bill. I mean they'd been married for what? Two years before she even got pregnant, and she'd known him long enough by then. And Bill, he'd never even looked at anyone else. Not like that. But she's selfish, and wanted to put her career first. They all do these days, those bright girls who go to university and use computers and become managers and things we could never dream of being. They're selfish, and they've made things topsy-turvy. No one knows if they're coming or going anymore.

I realise I'm still standing there staring at the nappies, and I move off. I wouldn't know which nappies to even buy, but I rely on the girls to hand them over when I babysit, and I like babysitting. It's something I'm good at; after all I did have five children of my own. Although some of the grandchildren are easier than others. I have to watch Glen to make sure he doesn't help himself to food, but at least he's polite. Sarah's children are a handful and I don't like to have them all too much and now that Jacob is 13 he starting to look at me as though I'm nothing.

Jessica is…well, she's like her father. And she never sits still. And then there's the other two. The ones I had recently. Bill's daughters. All I have left of him really. Especially Amelia. So bright, just like Bill. But she's like Mama too, determined and sure of herself.

Felicia just seems…slow. I worry that she isn't walking yet. I think losing her father affected her and I worry that her mother won't recognise that, too caught up in her own dramas. Bad enough that she wanted to go back to work. Why now? Bill provided for her, he had insurance. She doesn't even have a mortgage to pay. But that's what they're all like these days. They want to be fulfilled. Outside the home, or something. Somehow a line full of clean washing doesn't count as a job well done now. And why would it? When you can just put the nappies straight into the rubbish. No one values the old ways, the way Mama brought me up. How to run a household, keep things clean, everything looking smart. That was my role when I was married and I was good at it, even if Malcolm wasn't sure about my cooking at first. But I got better with practice.

And it isn't easy feeding seven people on a budget. Luckily I'm not a big eater, and when I wasn't pregnant sometimes I could just skip meals. If Malcolm was home I'd tell him I ate with the children. Bill noticed when I wasn't eating though, and tried to make me, but I'd tell him I was fine and that I'd had a big lunch. I was certainly never going to be one of those women who sat around all day eating cake and getting fat. No, I was too proud for that. Proud of my figure and I wanted Malcolm to be proud of me too.

I'm not sure he was, but he did used to agree that it was good I hadn't let myself go.

So nowadays of course it's easy to shop for one in comparison, even though I don't have a lot of money and the prices are horrendous. It's not long before I have everything I need and I can queue to pay. I just hope this was the correct list, because I'm sure I've bought some of these things recently. Although it doesn't make a lot of difference, because I tend to eat the same things anyway. Two Ryvita crispbread with cottage cheese has been my lunch as far back as I can remember.

I look in the basket. Soap I think, did I need soap? But there are people standing behind me and I don't want to leave my place. They'll think I'm a doddery old woman and I'm sure I'm not. I'm only 63.

When Mama was 63 she seemed very old, but it was different for her generation. And of course by then Papa had died and she'd moved in to our house to help me. Because…well it was better with two adults. Plus her pension money helped out immensely.

I take my turn to pay and hand over the cash. I notice that everyone else uses their little plastic cards, but it feels better to pay cash. That's what Malcolm always said, pay cash and you know where you are. And he was right. He may have had a lot of faults, but he never got us into debt. Some of the people we knew were always buying things on hire purchase. New fridges, washing machines. Colour TVs when they first came out. But not us. No, we waited and we saved up and it was better to buy things when you had the money for it.

I didn't own a video recorder until…oh, well Bill was an adult and he bought it for me. He had one, as a teenager. He'd saved up money from his jobs to buy it, and on a Saturday night he used to bring it into the living room and put on a movie for his sisters. He was always so thoughtful with the girls…well; he had to be in a way. I tried not to put too much on him, but he was such a lovely boy, so helpful. And he'd always kept me company. When I was up with the girls he'd come and sit with me and we'd have a cup of tea and it was our special time together. We'd talk and he was such a little grown-up even before…well, even when Malcolm was still there. We'd talk about our days and sometimes I'd get out the Vanilla Wine biscuits and we'd have one each, and I'd say it was very naughty but it was our little treat.

I loved those times, I really did.

I put my shopping into the shopping trolley and start off again. I remember when they used to have people who packed the shopping for you. You never had to do it yourself. One person worked the cash register and another one put them in bags. Of course they used to hire a lot of intellectually disabled people to do that, although Judith says that's not what you call them, I can't remember what term she uses…special something. Of course when I was younger the world was crueller and they were retards. Or mongols. But you never saw them. Mama's cousin had one and it went into care and I didn't even know until I had children of my own and Mama told me one day. It wasn't something you talked about. Lovely people though, and it was such a good job for them to have working in the supermarket. No responsibility.

I wonder what work they all do now.

I start the long walk home again, dodging the cars in the carpark again. Nowadays everyone has a car. I can hear someone calling to their child, "Watch out, Rocco!" I wonder why no one can give their child a normal name in this day and age. I always made sure that my children had nice names, names people could pronounce. Admittedly Bill wouldn't have been my first choice, I liked David. But Malcolm insisted that we name Bill after his father in England. I think he hoped that we'd be left something in his will, and we were, but not as much as Malcolm hoped. After we got the letter saying what we were to receive I didn't see Malcolm for the rest of the day. He said he was going out and I didn't see him again until he slipped into bed in the early hours of the morning, reeking of beer and cigarette smoke. The pubs had been closed for hours.

I didn't want to know where he'd been.

I suppose I should be glad that Amelia and Felicia have the names they do, given what she's called. It seems cruel to give your children names like that. But I guess that was Bill's influence. He believed in using proper names too. When Sarah was pregnant with Stella, she wanted to call her Starr. Thank goodness Bill talked her out of that one; he was the one who came up with Stella as an alternative. But she got worse after that. I'd never heard the names Brianna and Jaden before Sarah used them.

But Sarah was past listening to Bill by the time she had them. Past listening to any of us. I don't think that Matt is a good influence on her. Judith says it's all the marijuana they smoke, but I can't believe that. Don't want to believe that. I didn't bring my children up to be drug addicts. They're good people.

And that was the hurtful thing about all those lies that she spread. As if Bill, of any of them, would do that sort of thing. He'd sooner…well, he just wouldn't do it. She was clearly lying. He was stressed and tired from working so hard, helping her because she wanted to keep that job of hers, and of course he wasn't himself. But he'd been the man of the family since he was 11 years old and people like that, responsible people, people other people count on, they're not the ones who use drugs. They just don't. Bill was a good boy. He was my good boy, and he wouldn't do that to her.

He wouldn't do that to me.

I realise that tears are threatening to fall, and I stop on New North Road and stare very hard at the bright blue sky and blink until they go away again. No one notices me, but that doesn't mean to say they won't try to cart me off to the loony bin if I stand on the street crying. Mama would be appalled. She wasn't big on emotion. Even when…even when it all happened she just told me to pull myself together, hold my head up high and carry on.

So I did.

But now I can't stop thinking about it all. I want to stop but the memories come flooding back. This is the trial of living by yourself, it's just me and the memories now and the bad ones sometimes over-run the good and I'm left re-living that day again and again and again, wishing I'd done it differently, wishing I could take it all back.

Wishing my life away, as it were.

I knew. Of course I knew. But not in so many words. I barely knew how it worked between a man and a woman…the idea of men…together, was so foreign. More foreign that I'd ever been as a Dally.

So I suspected, but not until a few years had passed. And by then, what could I do? I thought about getting an annulment, but the shame of it would have been too much. I didn't want to admit that I'd waited for so long and my choice had been so poor. I had a good marriage, a good family. At least on the outside. Better to have that charade.

And Malcolm travelled for work, of course. So I didn't need to know. He was away for a week or so at a time and when he came back we just carried on. Pretended it was OK. I played my role, and he played his. And I was good at my role.

But I think Malcolm got tired of his. The world changed after all. And he didn't want to be a husband and father anymore. At least, I assume he didn't. He wouldn't have done what he did if he still wanted us.

I'd been a good wife. I'd done everything I supposed to do. I looked after the house, I had his children and I saved our money.

We'd saved up for the bed when we were first married. We'd started with a second hand one that a friend of Malcolm's gave us and it was lumpy and the mattress was stained. I hated that bed. But we saved hard and eventually we bought a new bed. I'd felt so grown-up when we walked into the shop and paid over the wad of notes Malcolm pulled out of his wallet. It was a Thursday night, late shopping night. I was eight month's pregnant with Bill, and wearing my green smock with the white lace collar. I borrowed Mama's sewing machine to make it myself, from a Butterick pattern that I cut out on the dining room table.

We'd been to church. With Mama. And I walked in the bedroom. They were in our bed. They were in my bed. They were in my house. This was my space; this was where we played our parts and pretended it was OK.

But I couldn't pretend it was all OK after that. Not when I walked in the room and saw them. Saw Malcolm. Saw who was with him. He was only 18; he lived at the end of our street, with his parents. I'd see him drive past on his motorbike. Sometimes he'd wave at the children and I.

But he wasn't waving now.

For a moment I was stunned. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to shut the door so the children didn't see. Pretend I hadn't seen. Pretend it was all OK, and this was a mistake and we could pretend it had never happened.

But then Malcolm spoke. Said he was sorry, didn't mean to hurt me, wanted me to understand that this was who he was really was, that he was sick of hiding it.

And then I felt it bubble up in me. The rage. So much rage. Rage for all the years I'd spent pretending it was all OK. It had never been OK, it was all a lie. A horrible, horrible lie and I'd lied too. I'd lied to myself and everyone else. I'd lied to my children.

Their father was a monster.

Malcolm thought I'd let him get away with it. Thought we'd cover it up and go on as before or, at least, that he'd leave on good terms.

There were no good terms though. He got dressed while still trying to explain himself to me. I stopped listening. I could hear the children in the other room and hoped they stayed away. The boy got dressed too, and then he pushed past me and ran out of the house. I never saw him again.

"Get out" I said to Malcolm, as quietly and evenly as I could. Trying to keep that rage inside, because if it came out I wasn't sure I could control myself. "Get out now."

Malcolm smiled at me. He actually smiled; he thought this was all a joke. That I was a joke. He'd been laughing at me for years, behind my back, with God knows how many others. They'd all been laughing at me and my stupid, stupid, stupid life.

"GET OUT NOW!" I screamed and then I started pushing him out the door of the bedroom.

"Lorena…just let me say goodbye to the children" he said as I pushed him towards the front door.

"They're not your children" I hissed. "Not anymore. You're scum. You're dead to me, to all of us. Just get out."

And he was nearly out the door, me pushing not realising my own strength, but Malcolm didn't want to go and I was making him. "Lorena!" he said, more harshly this time. "You can't do this, this is my house."

"No it's not. This was never your house." And he was almost out the door, and then Bill came into the hall and saw us.

"Stop it!" he yelled at us. At me. "Stop it! Don't hurt Daddy!"

"Daddy has to go, sweetheart" I said to him. "Daddy needs to leave now."

"No, I don't" Malcolm protested. "I can stay…Bill, tell her!" His eyes pleaded with Bill. It was a dirty trick.

"Mummy" Bill said, sounding younger than he was. "Mummy, don't."

"Daddy has to go" I repeated. It was true, he did. I didn't know what I'd do if he stayed. Couldn't trust myself in his presence. I'd hurt him. Worse than I was hurting him now, but no worse than he'd hurt me.

"Daddy!" Bill cried, and I managed to get Malcolm out the door and shut it behind him. Only he didn't go. He stood there banging on it as I locked it. "Lorena! Lorena, let me back in!" he called.

I didn't answer, too worried about whether or not he could break it down, and if he had his keys. I put the deadbolt on, hoping that would hold.

"Mummy, you let Daddy back in right now!" Bill said to me, and I noticed the girls were starting to crowd around now too. They were all so young, Judith was just a tot. They had no idea.

"I can't" I said to Bill. "Daddy doesn't live here anymore."

"Yes he does!" Bill argued. "He's our daddy and you can't make him leave. You can't! I won't let you!" and he tried to push past me to unlock the door.

But I held my ground and as bad as it felt to be fighting with my son, I knew that if Malcolm got a foot in the door again we were doomed. He was evil, and he'd poisoned us all. I wasn't going to let him poison us again.

Bill was crying now. Crying and yelling and hitting at my arms, but I didn't budge. Malcolm was still banging on the door. "Go to your rooms, please" I said to the girls. "It will be lunch in a minute." They didn't move for a moment, frozen to the spot. In fear, I suppose. God knows what I looked like, mad-eyed and wild-haired and angry. So very, very angry. Angry with everyone.

But then Caroline took the other three and led them away. Bill wouldn't go, he was sobbing and hitting at me and I needed him to stop.

"Daddy is a bad man" I said to him. "Daddy can't stay here because he's done bad things."

"No he hasn't!" Bill wailed. "It's Daddy, I want Daddy."

"I'm right here, Bill" Malcolm yelled from the other side of the door.

"If you don't go right now Malcolm Compton, I'll call the police. It's illegal you know!" I yelled back through the door and the banging stopped. That fixed him. I heard him walk down the front steps and out of our lives.

"I want Daddy" Bill said, but he was just sitting on the floor crying now. I hated this, hated Malcolm for putting us through it, but it was like ripping a sticking plaster off. We'd be better when it was over. When he wasn't a part of our lives anymore.

"Daddy is gone" I said again. "He won't be coming back."

Bill stood up to his full height. He was nearly as tall as me. "I hate you!" he said. "You're evil and you sent Daddy away for no reason! I wish it was you who'd gone."

In that moment he looked so much like Malcolm. And it wasn't fair. Bill was my son. He was the one who helped me; we had our special moments together. He was supposed to be on my side. I wanted him to be on my side.

And I hated that he wasn't.

It makes me sick to think about it now. But I hit him. I hit him across the face with all the force I could muster and he stumbled sideways onto the hall mat. He locked shocked. I'd never hit him before. Not like that. Not to hurt him.

But I wanted to hurt him. He'd hurt me and I'd taken all the hurt I could manage for one Sunday morning. He rubbed his cheek and said "I wish you'd DIE!" and then he ran off to his room.

At that moment, I wished I was dead too, even though it was sin to do so. But I pulled myself together and I marched into Bill's room and I told him he couldn't cry, that we couldn't be sad, that he was the man of the house now and I needed him to be strong for me. We didn't need Daddy. Daddy was gone and we were better off without him because we still had each other. And then I walked out of his room and burst into tears. I didn't want the children to see me cry. Not ever.

Bill didn't talk to me for three days. He'd just stare at me sullenly or refuse to meet my gaze. The girls were upset, they knew about the fight and asked about Daddy, but I lied and said he'd gone away for work.

And then Malcolm telephoned and said he wanted to talk. I didn't want to talk. And I didn't want to know where he was or what he was doing or who he was staying with. I told him to come and pick up all his things while I was out shopping and the rest I'd burn.

He came. He must have. When I got home it was all gone. I had to tell the girls the truth after that. I sat them all down and said Daddy had gone away but it was better because he was sick and if he stayed with us that sickness would infect us all. So he'd gone away to protect us. "When is he coming back?" Caroline asked.

"I don't know" I said, but I knew. Never. He was never coming back.

"I want Daddy" Judith said crying, and Bill gave her a hug, which made me so proud, but then he looked at me and said "She made him go. She hates Daddy. She's the one who's evil!" and he ran to his room, and I had to tell the girls that Bill was a bit upset, but he'd be alright soon.

I hoped he would. And in the meantime I wasn't. Of course it could have been one of those things, and I'd had a good run up until then, but I lost the baby. It was very early on. It wasn't even really a baby.

I didn't tell anyone. Well, I never told the children until it was certain. Bill was getting good at guessing though. He had with Judith. I didn't know if he knew about this one. I never told him.

I had to go into hospital for a night while they got rid of it. I lay awake all night, lying in my bed in the ward while the nurses whispered in the corner and other patients coughed and snored. I'm not the best sleeper anyway, but here, with the lights on and the people moving, there was no chance of sleep.

God had taken away my baby. I didn't deserve that one. I hadn't been a good mother. I shouldn't have hit Bill.

And the worst thing, the worst thing was the knowledge that I'd had my children with that…that…monster. He wasn't even sorry about what he'd done. In our house. In our bed. He didn't think it was wrong. He couldn't see that he was committing a sin and he was going to hell.

And I'd had his children. I'd been blind to it for so long and I'd ruined my life and theirs. At least this baby had been spared that.

When I came home Bill ran to me and hugged me, it felt good. "I thought you really had gone" he said, looking up at me. "I thought you'd gone because I told you to. I'm so sorry, Mummy."

"Oh no, sweetheart. It's fine. I'm here now" I said, hugging him tight. It felt good to have Bill on my side again. It felt right. He was mine, after all.

"But I did it" Bill said quietly. "I wished you were dead…and then…" he looked up, and his eyes were shiny with tears. "Did God take the baby instead of you?"

I thought for a moment, and it was a very long moment. One of the longest of my life. I hadn't realised he'd known. Mama had stayed with the children and I knew she wouldn't have said anything. You didn't talk about things like that. You just picked yourself and carried on. She'd had a baby born dead, between me and Tome. But she only ever mentioned him once to me in her entire life.

"Maybe" I said to Bill, and I knew it was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn't stop myself. "So we'll all have to be very good from now on, won't we? And you'll have to extra-specially good for me."

And I'm sure I only did it so he wouldn't make the same mistakes his father made. If Malcolm had believed in God, if he'd gone to church with me, if he'd realised the extent of his sinning he wouldn't have gone down the path he did. He wouldn't have ripped our family apart for one moment of pleasure in my bed.

He wouldn't have broken my heart.

But I knew then that Bill would never break my heart. He never wanted to break anyone's heart. He tried so hard with her, he loved her so, and she threw it all back in his face. And I'm not sorry I told Amelia she tossed him aside, because she did. She was supposed to love him and take care of him. She promised. She promised before God. But when things got tough she threw him aside as if he was rubbish, as if none of it meant anything to her, as if she didn't care if her children had a father or not. As if Bill had betrayed her.

She knows nothing about betrayal.

I stop walking and take a few deep breaths. The air is such a pleasant temperature in November. I feel like winter was so long this year, I couldn't shake the chill in my bones for months and months. But maybe it will be summer soon and things will be better. I realise that I must look over my summer dresses and see if any need cleaning.

Clean clothes are almost as good as new clothes.

I pass some women though in full head to toe clothing. Only their faces show. I marvel at their brazenness, their ability to stand out as so remarkably foreign. I remember how much I hated being the Dally girl and cannot imagine what it is like to be them. How confident they must be in their own skin.

And then a voice calls "Nana!" and I look up to see Amelia's little face smiling at me. She is a lovely child, although far too fond of the television, but they all are these days. And her mother is there too, of course. And, most unexpectedly, some tall man I can't place. Is that her brother? I never used to be this bad at remembering things but I cannot recall what her brother looks like, and I'm embarrassed. Surely her brother was shorter and looked more like her?

I say hello and she asks if I've recovered from my food poisoning. Unfortunately these days everything upsets my digestion. I tell her I have and I still can't place that man.

She introduces him as someone she worked with, and I'm too stunned to shake his hand. I think it's the rudest I've ever been in my life. Was she out to work just to find a fancy man? Is Bill really that easily replaced? And I want to ask her that, and say that if he is then please tell me where you find them, these replacements, because I want one too.

But I don't, I hold my tongue while she stutters and looks flustered and he just stares at me. The first time today I haven't been invisible it feels like, and they're both staring at me, trying to drill into my brain.

Well, they deserve each other.

She hustles the children away and I say goodbye to Amelia who tells me she's getting a marshmallow. Poor child. She overfeeds her, she really does. Its clear Amelia will have her figure and I really don't think it should be encouraged. She should be limiting sweets, not doling them out at every opportunity.

As I wait at the crossing on Mt Albert Road I turn back to look at them. She's putting Felicia in the car and he's staring at her with an intensity that makes my heart break. He's looking at her with such longing. Bill looked at her the same way, and it makes me wonder what it is that makes her so attractive?

And I wonder why no one ever looked at me like that. And I know that at my age I should be past all of that. Should have been passed it long before Malcolm ever left me, but I'm not and although it does us no good to wish things were different, at least that's what Mama used to say, I do. I wish everything was different.

And I will never, ever understand why she looks at me that way, like it's my fault it happened. Like I'm the bad person. When I did a good job. I did the best job I could. I made mistakes but everyone does and one day hers will come back to bite her and then she'll know what real heartache is, when it eats you up slowly over years and years. She'll know.

The buzzer sounds and I continue on down New North Road towards home. The shopping seems to have taken longer today and I'll be glad to get there. Put my feet up. I feel like I deserve a rest.

A/N Waiatarua is pronounced Why-ah-tar-roo-ah.

Thanks for reading!