Sod off Morris

Helen set the rubbish bins back in place and spent a moment taking in the facade of her new home. It was shockingly unkempt, but she had picked it up well below market value. She glanced at her wristwatch (an altogether superfluous action given the precision of her internal clock). The removalists would arrive with her furniture within the hour. This would give her ample time to set much of it in place before her father arrived. She had been trying to strike a balance between putting her father to work and keeping him safe. For weeks now he had been buzzing with excitement and preparing his toolbox in anticipation of the move.

Helen’s father had been accident prone her whole life. He had fallen from ladders, chopped off various fingers with various tools, and had concussed, electrocuted and burnt himself countless times. “As long as Dad’s taken well, this day will be a success,” thought Helen.

With that, she swiftly made for the kitchen. It was a truly sorry sight. Unlacquered wooden fixtures had been haphazardly affixed to cover the windows and walls, the bulkiest of which was warped and splintering. Her father would surely gravitate to this piece. It had to go.

Helen was a tall and spindly woman, but 20 years of working in the paper-archives at Births, Deaths and Marriages had given her a surprising amount of ballistic strength. With a heave, she tore the weary fixture off its mount revealing the back end of a boarded-up window. Crowbar at the ready, Helen faltered, having noticed a latch at the bottom of the board. She opened the hidden compartment to reveal some old tins, a small black note book, a scattering of coins and an aroma of cabbage and fennel. She carefully scooped out the items, before locking the smell back away.

Furniture-less and alone, Helen returned to the front porch and began sorting through the many coins. Some of them looked novel. Others were still in rolls. Among them were commemorative mints, and discontinued denominations. Inside the tins were wads of old paper-notes, damaged coins, and some loose shells.

As Helen turned her attention to the notebook, the sigh of engine breaks announced her furniture's arrival.

“’Ay mate, got it all sorted.”

“Yes, that’s great thank you.”

“Just anywhere in here’s fine?”

“Umm, yes, so the boxes can all just go wherever, and the furniture -”

“Yeah yep, saw the post-its, furniture's all labelled then? Show us which one’s the living room and should be right. And the bedroom’s which is which.”

“Umm... yes so just through here.”

“Yeah, cheers.”

Helen didn’t need to check her watch to know that they were making excellent time. “They seem good” she thought.

“Lounge is in if ya wanna sit.”

Helen set herself up on the couch which had been placed against the Eastern wall. She’d have to move it, but for now it could wait. She didn’t want to offend the good men. She placed the collection on a box now serving as her side table and began examining the notebook.

First, she looked at the cover and ran her fingers down its spine. It was structurally sound. “Rather well taken care of,” she thought. The latch-band had lost much of its elasticity though and felt dehydrated and gummy. She pulled it taut and let it snap back against the cover with an underwhelming “thw” sound. “Oh!” Helen rubbed the band apologetically. She had definitely made it worse. She turned to the cover page. It read:

In case of loss, please return to:

David Andrew Andrew David

As a reward: $

Awards to be determined on an individual basis.

She continued to the next page. Neatly written and centre aligned were just three words - “Sod off Morris.” The pages that followed were filled to the margins.

“It is with sadness that I must resort to these drastic measures,” it began. “It seems that I have to treat Morris like a child. My own mother! The self-control of a child. She says to me Andrew you worry too much, as if I don’t have anything to worry about. And I always say to her Morris you’re making me worry. And what does she say to that? Give your old Ma a break! Incidentally I took old Ma down to the bank to withdraw her own coins. That way she can’t say that she just didn’t want to break a note. Curiously, I haven’t seen her smoking around. But I can hear her out there, moving my things here and there. She says that she’s just doing chores, but I know that’s not true because I’ve been doing all the chores. It appears to me that keeping a tidy house and taking Morris to the bank teller when required will drastically reduce incidents of reoffending. I will be using this notebook to log any breaches to the collection and to catalog some thoughts I have on particularly exciting mints.”

“What’s this all about?” Wondered Helen as she flicked forward to the middle of the notebook. “I cannot say that I’m not to blame for this latest incident. I was complacent. I forgot that Morris is physically incapable of change. Not two days had they been out. I must admit, I brought them back to my room so that I could look at them. Ma has come too close to catching me at the safe and sometimes it’s hours before she leaves the kitchen. Incidentally, Morris sniffed them out with her nose like a hawk. I can now confirm that three separate mints were stolen from me. The most valuable of which was a 1912 Sovereign featuring a large bust of King George V. One of the first of the Sydney mints. An exquisite piece. I intend to write a Memoriam over the coming days. She also made away with a 1923 Half Penny and a 1937 Silver Crown. Again, trading each for a single cigarette from that Milk-bar charlatan. Factoring in these recent losses I now suspect that the value of the collection has fallen considerably, sitting somewhere around the $20,000 mark.”

Helen gasped. “twenty-thousand dollars!”

“Aw yeah, we’ll take it if that’s how much you wanna pay us hey!”

The removalists had just joined Helen by the couch. They laughed together, before Helen sent them on their way with a payment that fell far short of twenty-thousand dollars.

Alone again, Helen returned to the notebook. Over and over, in spite of Mr. David’s best efforts, Ma Morris always prevailed. Engrossed, Helen was startled by a knock at the door. She looked to her wristwatch and gasped. She had read well into the afternoon. So uncharacteristic was this for Helen that it threw her into a panic. Helen rushed to the door.

“Dad I’m sorry the place is a real mess” she called down the hallway.

“Well of course it is!” He called through the keyhole.

They shared a flustered and awkward hug. Helen towered over her father, who was shrinking at an almost alarming rate in his old age. As always, he was dressed in a mismatched variety of floral prints. He wore leather loafers on his feet and a tweed baker boy hat on his head. He looked stunning. This relieved Helen. He mustn't be planning to do much work in such clothes.

“I brought you this.”

He held out a small gold picture frame. Helen looked at the photo of her young mother, smiling coyly behind an ornate white veil, holding a bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums.

“You always liked that one best, right? Or was it the one in the car?”

“No, it’s this one… Are you sure though? I can just take a copy?”

“No, no. She’ll like it here.”

Helen took some time to choose the right wall for Mum - somewhere she could see the garden, that didn’t get too chilly.

“I think in here Dad?” Helen’s dad joined her in the front room, bringing with him an assault of chemical odor.

“Mm, yep I reckon that’s the spot.”

“Whoa, Dad what are you doing why do you smell like that?”

“It’s just some WD40, for your doors. Your doors are all no good, love.”

“How much are you using, are you using too much?” Ignoring her, Helen's father began fiddling with the wardrobe doors.

“Yeah, nah these are no good.” He pulled out his WD40 and began dousing the hinges. Helen tried to ignore the smell as she measured 58 inches up the wall. WD40 continued to hiss and splatter. Surely it would run out soon.

“Dad, the window.” Helen began to hammer a nail into the wall. The knocks were deafening. Each reverberated with a pounding ache.

“It won’t open Love, think it’s stuck”. Helen’s mother was now in place. She straightened her a final time before stepping back to take in the wall.

“Maybe a bit of this…” WD40 began to squeal again.

“Oh Dad no, that’s too much.” She was feeling lightheaded. “Dad the fumes, I need to lie down. Can you stop, can you please stop until we can get the windows open?”

“Not feeling well?”

“No, I think it’s that.” She gestured at her father's hands. His face fell.

“Oh yeah alright, yeah I can put this away.” He looked at his feet and began rotating the can of WD40 in his hands. Helen could see that he didn’t want to put it away, but she had to be strict.

"I have to lie down. And you should get some fresh air.” Helen’s father was still looking at his feet.

“Righto, yeah well I wanted to check out the street anyway. Did I see a milk bar up there?”

“Umm, yes I think there’s one if you take the first left.”

“Let’s put you on the couch then.”

Helen’s dad led her to the couch. His daughter had always been prone to headaches. She’d get them when the storms rolled in, when he’d leave the car windows down on a drive, or when he’d take her to the Melbourne show. He’d never really known what to do with them. He kissed her forehead and fetched her some water. She was already asleep. “Better see what this milk bar’s about,” he thought. Helen’s father rummaged through his pockets. He had a twenty but he didn’t really want to break it, so he borrowed a couple of coins that he found lying around and made his way down the street.

Helen was in a fever dream. The removalist was trying to tell her something but when he opened his mouth the only sound that came out was the squealing of WD40. He began to smoke a cigarette. “No don’t!” yelled Helen. His words caught fire and the room began to fill with smoke. She could smell it so clearly. Helen jolted awake. She was relieved to find that the room was not on fire, although she could still smell smoke. She got herself up and went looking for her father. He was sitting on the porch. In his hand was a cigarette. He brought it to his lips.

“Dad! You smoke?” He was startled.

“You’re up! You ok?” Helen nodded, then flapped her hand towards the cigarette. “Yeah nah not usually. I don’t know, just really felt like one just now. Hope you don’t mind - I borrowed some change from inside.” Helen didn’t know what to say. Maybe she was still asleep.

“You…bought a pack?”

“Nah just one. From the milk bar.”

Helen felt delirious. She left her father abruptly on the porch and rushed to the collection. Sure enough, the pile had shrunken. She scooped up the coins, leaving the notebook where it lay. There was no time to c atalog the loss just yet. That would have to come later. Right now, she needed to hide the collection before Morris came back inside.