Natasha Stewart
The ice cubes had already started to melt. They came served with capsicum, the gin and tonics that is. It was fancy stuff from Western Australia. Who knows why the salesman came down to Ricky’s. Who knows why he came to Jindaloo. This wasn’t exactly the type of place where folks drank a lot of gin; here mother’s ruin came in the form of rum, beer, and pokies. The man was suave and charismatic, and Anna had taken him home with her for just one night. Obviously his charms worked on Ricky too: a bottle always sat behind the bar and a gin and tonic was always served with a slice of green capsicum.
‘Aren’t you gonna go home, love?’ Anna had been the only one inside the pub for the past hour. Ricky’s was usually full on a Friday night. They came in loud and they left even louder. There was always a game on TV even if it wasn’t footy season; Ricky had set up a VHS player and had recordings of everyone’s favourite games so they never went without. Not tonight. Ricky was only sticking around in case someone from out of town drove through.
Anna knew she should leave but she couldn’t manage to pick herself out of the chair. ‘How about a bite to eat?’ she asked, before Ricky shuffled back to the kitchen. It didn’t matter what turned up on her plate, as long as it wasn’t another homemade pie or casserole. Over the last couple of days she wished they’d turn up with pills and vodka instead.
Even when Maggie was at her grandma’s house, Anna never managed to eat at Ricky’s alone. Her table-for-one always featured a steady stream of people. It was a little like speed dating. They’d come and sit down for five minutes, have a bit of a chat, and then be on their way. No one stayed for too long, but you were never alone. Without a plate of food in front of her, demanding attention, it was a little unsettling sitting alone inside the pub. The televisions were all switched off tonight, and Anna was left with only her capsicum gin.
She glanced her eyes around the room. The ‘Jindaloo Pub’ sign hung above the bar, but you’d never hear a local call it that. Ricky’s dad, also Ricky, bought the pub seventy years ago. Ricky took over before Anna was even born, and to any local it had always been ‘Ricky’s’. It wasn’t just for drinking … well, maybe it was. Anna had shared a drink at Ricky’s for birthdays, christenings, confirmations, grand final wins, and even deaths. Everything that happened in Jindaloo revolved around this small pub. Then her eyes landed on Ricky’s photo wall that took pride of place behind the bar. It was Maggie. Her golden blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders and her bright blue eyes stared out from the photo.
Anna came home to Jindaloo six years ago. She had tried Sydney, had really wanted it to work, but somehow the big city just made her feel more isolated. About three months after coming home Maggie was born. Anna was the only one who knew who Maggie’s father was, but in Jindaloo she could have picked a surrogate father figure from any of the men who knew the little girl. For the past six years Maggie had charmed just about everyone who lived in the small town.
Ricky emerged from the kitchen with a veal schnitzel smothered in gravy. He hesitated and Anna knew how much he wanted to just sit down and ask her how she was going. How she was feeling. If she wanted that she’d have been at home where there would be an abundance of stubbies and sympathy.
Ricky left her and retreated behind the bar, polishing glasses that already glistened. Anna took to the schnitzel slowly. She cut it into small pieces just like she’d do for Maggie. It wasn’t until the schnitzel was neatly cubed that she took her first bite. There were plenty of women around Jindaroo who put on a better meal than Ricky’s. The schnitzels were always a tad overcooked, and always a bit too salty. You could see it on the faces of the travellers passing through. They always looked forward to a wholesome country pub meal, and they always left a little disappointed. The only wholesomeness at Ricky’s came from the people, and without them there wasn’t much joy in the salty schnitzels.
With Ricky silently working behind the bar Anna could have almost been back in Sydney. There it was usual to be in the same space as someone else without saying a word. The city was filled with elevators, buses, trains, and even restaurants where people were alone together. It had never felt right to Anna. Sometimes she’d try and strike up a conversation on the train to work, and every now and again someone’s face would light up and let her in. Most people smiled politely but kept their attention elsewhere. They read their books and newspapers, checked their watches, or counted the threads of the seats they sat on; they did anything except connect.
The pub had been silent since most of the town had emptied out of it earlier that day, except for a phone call Ricky had quietly taken fifteen minutes earlier. Then it broke. One by one the pub slowly began filled up again.
Tom McLean was a farmer, and a farmer’s son. He was Anna’s first kiss. He was a lot more handsome now than he’d been at twelve. ‘Maggie wouldn’t want us all to leave you alone today.’ He’d been there that day they pulled that tiny blue body out of the water. Tom placed his hand over hers, covering the small picture she was holding. The picture of a small girl with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Tom picked up her fork and grabbed a piece of schnitzel. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’
‘It’s better now.’ Anna let the tears fall.