Dawn was on the telephone talking to Joy.
“Don’t you say anythink,” she said severely. “Don’t you let on one word or I’ll never speak to you again. It’s Christmas after all.”
“I don’t see what difference that makes,” said Joy. “He’s gone, hasn’t he? Christmas or no Christmas. We have to know sooner or later, it might as well be sooner.”
“Now you just listen to me, Joy,” said Dawn sternly. “I promised Mum faithfully not to let on I knew a thing. She made me swear. I’ve only told you because I reckoned you’d guess something was up anyway and cause more trouble trying to find out. So you’re not supposed to know a thing.”
“Oh yes, typical,” said Joy, “typical. I’m the youngest so I’m not meant to know anything that’s going on even in me own family. Typical. Well, I can always find out, I don’t need your help, do I?”
“Honestly, Joy,” said her exasperated elder, “have a heart. I’ve told you what’s going on, I’ve told you as much as I know. I just don’t reckon it’s a good idea to go blabbing about it on Christmas Day. And how would you like it? She’s trying to put a good face on, she doesn’t want to talk about it, it stands to reason. So just keep quiet, okay?”
“Oh, if you say so,” said Joy airily, admiring her smart new sandals which she had just bought at Farmer’s, bugger the Goode’s staff discount. “I don’t care, I just think it’s ridiculous to have to pretend, with your own family. I wouldn’t want to pretend, if it was me it happened to.”
“No, well you’re different, aren’t you?” said Dawn. “Everyone isn’t like you. Patty likes her privacy, doesn’t she?”
“Patty likes her secrets, you mean,” said Joy. “She always was that secretive. Well, she can keep her secret for all I care.”
“Good,” said Dawn. “So you won’t say anythink. And don’t say anythink to Mum either because she doesn’t know I’ve told you. She only told me because she was that worried. She said do you think he’s gone for good? And I said of course not Mum. Frank won’t get far. I had to say that to stop her worrying about Patty. But I don’t know. Frank’s a dark horse, I’ve always thought so.”
“Oh God,” said Joy, “Frank’s not a dark horse, Frank’s a drongo. Get far! He couldn’t get from here to Manly without a guide. He’s just buggered off somewhere in a stew, he’ll be back, worse luck. Poor old Patty.”
“That’s no way to talk now,” said Dawn. “Frank’s all right, he’s just a bit—”
“Stupid,” said Joy. “Dim.”
“Quiet, I was going to say,” said Dawn.
“And he’s being even quieter at the moment,” said Joy, cackling with laughter.
“Joy,” said Dawn, “you’re awful.”
That was Joy all over: awful.
“Anyway, at least we know one thing,” said Joy cheerfully.
“What?” asked her sister.
“We know it’s not another woman,” said Joy.
“What do you mean, another woman?” said Dawn.
“What do you think I mean? I mean, it’s obvious Frank hasn’t left Patty for another woman.”
“How do you know that?” asked Dawn, unsure on whose behalf she ought to take offence at Joy’s assertion.
“For God’s sake, Dawn,” said Joy scornfully, “just take a look, if you ever get another chance. Frank’s not exactly Casanova.”
“Well, and a good thing too,” said Dawn stoutly.
“There’s no need to go completely in the other direction,” said Joy. “Frank doesn’t hardly seem to know what women are for.”
“And what are women for?” asked Dawn.
“I’ll draw you a picture,” said Joy, “the next time I see you. And you can give it to Frank if he comes back. Then you’ll both know.”
“Joy,” said Dawn, “you’re awful. And how come you know so much about Frank?”
“I can just tell,” said Joy, “and anyway you only have to look at Patty. Et cetera. I think she’s better off without him. She should buy some new clothes, have a good holiday, go to the Barrier Reef or somewhere, and start again.”
“Yes, well, that’s one way of looking at it,” said Dawn, “but I can’t see Patty doing that.”
“No,” said Joy, “that’s too true. Never mind. I won’t say anything tomorrow: we’ll all have a real happy Christmas. Now what—” and the two sisters turned to one last conference on who was responsible for which viands on the morrow, when all her offspring and their husbands (where available) and their children (where present) were to converge on Mrs. Crown bearing jointly and severally all the provender essential to a proper Anglo-Saxon Christmas dinner, with all the trimmings.