Pritchard - Fabulous Lives: Stories

FABULOUS LIVES STORIES

First published in Australia in 2019

by Margaret River Press

PO Box 47

Witchcliffe WA 6286

www.margaretriverpress.com

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Copyright Bindy Pritchard

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

Cover design by Debra Billson

Edited by Josephine Taylor

Printed in Australia by McPhersons Printing Group

Published by Margaret River Press

Cataloguing-in-Publication entry data is available from the National Library of Australia

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia

trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN: 978-0-6484850-4-9

Bindy Pritchard is a Perth-based writer whose short fiction has appeared in various anthologies and literary journals such as Westerly, Kill Your Darlings and Review of Australian Fiction. Her stories have been shortlisted in numerous writing competitions, and she was runner-up in both the Margaret River Short Story Competition and HQ Magazine/ Dymocks Short Story Award. Bindy has a Graduate Diploma in Creative Writing from Curtin University.

BLURB: FABULOUS LIVES, BINDY PRITCHARD

A lonely woman helps a beautiful man in the midst of Mardi Gras; a suburban father imagines a prehistoric egg to be his ticket out of a losers life; a monkey puppet returns an elderly woman to a childhood secret

At times darkly comic, always deeply affecting, the stories in this collection feature lifes outsiders at critical junctures. In a wry, wise voice, Bindy Pritchard juxtaposes the marvellous and mythical with the quotidian, the whimsical and surreal with the everyday, bringing her motley cast of characters to moments of revelation and, perhaps, re-evaluation.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

These stories would not exist without the love, patience and support of so many friends, family and colleagues. So a big shout-out to my beautiful writing goddesses: Maureen Gibbons, Maria Papas and Dee Pfaffyour wisdom and gift of words have helped shape and refine these stories. Thank you to my very first beta reader, Rebecca Braasch, for her friendship and laughter; Jodie How, for the insightful writerly advice; and the Dampier, Rossy and Rivo friends for your sustaining encouragement. To Caroline and John Wood, heartfelt gratitude for supporting the local writing scene and giving me (and others) a much-needed break with the Margaret River Short Story Competition. Thank you to the incredible talents of the editorial team of Josephine Taylor and Camha Pham, it was a joy working with you both. Thank you to Debra Billson for the fabulous cover. I am also indebted to the generosity of established writers such as Laurie Steed, Evan Fallenberg, Laura Elvery and Cate Kennedy who helped pave the way. Some of these stories were previously published, so thank you to the following publications and their editorial teams: The Egg, Kill Your Darlings, October edition, 2018; Warm Bodies, Westerly Magazine, Flux, October 2017; The Shape of Things, Review of Australian Fiction, vol. 13, issue 1, 2015; In Transit, SALA Anthology, Arts Council of Mansfield, 2015; Dying, The Trouble with Flying and Other Stories, Margaret River Press, 2014; The Bees of Paris, Knitting and Other Stories, Margaret River Press, 2013; Last Days in Darwin, HQ Magazine, November issue, 1996.

Finally, thank you to my family, The Pritchards, Nairns, Millers and Fites, especially Dad and Ann who came to every reading, no matter how small, Susan Cole for sharing her life and being an inspiration in many ways, my brother Kim (the funniest guy I know), and my late mother, Sandy, who used to lovingly type up my first attempts at poetry. Love and thanks to my darling twin sister, Karyl, who is always my greatest cheerleader from the front stalls of London, and of course Stuart, Freya and Martha (my teenage adviser!) who help anchor me to the best part of my life.

for Sandy

BINDY PRITCHARD

FABULOUS LIVES STORIES

CONTENTS

THE SHAPE OF THINGS

W hen Leonie found the young man lying outside her ground floor apartment he was naked and perfect, and when she felt his pulse for a sign of life there was still a warmth in his skin that made her wonder if he was alive, or was it the residual afternoon sun in the concrete that was reheating him like leftovers? It was too early for foot traffic; city workers were still caught up in meetings or texting friends from bus shelters. With no expert to defer to, no alpha male to take on the responsibility, Leonie knew everything now rested with her. She knelt over the body, spanned her hands like butterfly wings across his sternum, found the heart, and began to pump. Thirty beats and two breaths, or was it fifteen beats to two breaths? She settled for twenty, starting slowly and then increasing the pace to match the rhythm of the Bee Gees song Stayin Alive, something an instructor at a workplace first aid training course had taught her years ago. She could still think of other things though; it was uncanny how the mind worked in that way, thoughts still twisting through the action of CPR. She thought of the gays on the third floor, the girl who left a copy of Water for Elephants at the laundromat, and whether there was a reporter from Today Tonight hiding behind the Moreton Bay fig ready to expose her on national TV because she was supposed to be on sick leave. Two minutes passed by, and nothing happened. She pumped his beautiful hairless chest, a perfect male torso triangle, and willed whatever life-force she could gift from her hands into this younger body. A pity for him to die now, she thought.

What happened?

Leonie didnt stop, managed to still keep up with the Bee Gees as she glanced at the guy leaning over her. She recognised him as one of the men from the third floorGavin, hed told her one day, unasked.

I think he fell, she answered.

Do you know him?

No. I thought he was one of your lot.

If only.

It didnt seem right for him to talk in this way. She wished she had a blanket to cover the young mans nakedness.

Is he dead? Gavin bent over the body and Leonie could see the failed plugs dotting his sweaty bald head.

Not sure.

I can see his muscles twitching. Is that normal?

The muscles have memory, she said, though she wasnt sure if shed read that in connection with exercise.

Must be a good memory.

It was something in his voice, a sardonic, lewd knowingness that made Leonie stop pumping and look down between the mans legs to where his penis grew erect like a giant pink cobra. She stared at the wonder of science, how the blood must pour into all the extremities of the body in a last-ditch attempt at procreation, the way it did after she got sick, and on the day before her operation when shed bled through a packet of Libra. But then she heard the groan, saw the fair eyelashes flicker away the sunlight, and knew that he was slowly traversing back into consciousness.

Hes alive! Gavin moved closer, breathing oily pleasure over them. In the sunshine, his textbook moustache had the flat colour of a home dye job. Leonie could almost feel his greasy pores gape and wink at the young man.

Can you get him a blanket and some water? she asked, making her voice strong and masculine.