Spencer

It has been two weeks since Spencer’s mother left. Bridie insists on coming over with fish and chips for dinner.

‘We have not hung out, just us, in months,’ she says on the phone. ‘We’re drifting apart. This is like the meerkat and the warthog in The Lion King drifting apart. It just can’t happen. There’s a foreign phrase for you, Spencer. Hakuna Matata.’

Spencer still finds himself unable to say no to Bridie. ‘I hope I’m not the warthog. I’d much rather be Simba. And Swahili for “No worries” is not high on my list of interesting words.’

When he puts down the phone, he looks around and sees the house as Bridie would see it: a total mess. His father and sister seem to create a lot of chaos for a couple of people who have just ghosted around for the last fortnight. Spencer picks things off the floor and hurriedly vacuums. The floor never seemed to accumulate this much dirt when his mother was there. But he tries not to think about his mother.

‘Be prepared for the most awkward evening of your life,’ he tells Bridie when she arrives.

‘I’ve been friends with you for eleven years. I am the master of handling awkwardness. I’m kidding. Don’t look at me like that.’ Her outfit is not too theatrical this evening. She’s wearing flared jeans and an oversized white shirt. Her arms are laden with packages. ‘I got enough for everyone. I’ve decided I’m going to talk your sister out of her silence.’

‘Thanks. Good luck with that. The rest of the Addams family are in the living room.’ Spencer takes the packages from her and goes to the kitchen to collect plates. The dog won’t leave him alone.

‘Chance, this food is not for you. Go away.’ He is not good at being a dog’s master. Chance also needs to be washed. In the living room, his father is sitting on the couch, watching the news. Monica has given Bridie a heart.

‘Let it be? How very profound. These things quote the Beatles.’ Bridie shows the heart to Spencer, and then eats it. ‘And taste disgusting. My God, what are they made of?’

‘Sugar, corn starch and colouring,’ says Spencer. ‘I think they’re stale.’ He hands around plates, and opens the wrapping. There is an excessive amount of chips. He gives himself about a third of them.

‘I really love your style, Monica,’ says Bridie, settling on the arm of a chair. ‘This has opened my eyes. I feel like there are so many things you could use to communicate. Like a deck of tarot cards. Wouldn’t that be mysterious? Or just hand people fortune cookies. So random it’s brilliant.’

Monica nods, bites into a potato cake.

‘They should manufacture some Thank you Conversation Hearts,’ says Spencer. He gestures at Monica with a chip.

Bridie changes tack. ‘I will give you one thousand dollars if you speak right now.’

Monica gives Spencer a look.

‘She knows you’re bullshitting,’ he says.

‘Don’t swear, Spencer,’ says his dad indifferently. He doesn’t look up from his plate.

‘Are you guys able to talk to each other through your minds? Is she sending you messages?’ asks Bridie through a mouthful of chip.

‘Yes, we’re clairvoyants,’ says Spencer.

‘I don’t really have one thousand dollars at the moment,’ she says. ‘Speak now and I’ll pay you back later.’ Monica does not take her up on the offer.

‘The words they put on those are so lame.’ Spencer is fiddling with the packet of Conversation Hearts. ‘Like I will and I’m sure and Cool, not to mention all the True love ones. If I got to put words on lollies, I’d put decent words on. Like Nebulous, or Ephemeral, or Halcyon.’

‘People are just going to eat them,’ says Bridie. ‘There’s not much point. Plus if you’re using them to converse, nebulous doesn’t come in handy very often. What is going on in everyone’s lives, by the way?’ She looks at Spencer, who is frowning. ‘Was that a bad segue? I’m sorry.’

‘I’m being transferred to another bank. It’ll be a change of pace.’ announces his dad. ‘It’s a bit further away.’

This is the first Spencer has heard of it.

‘Congratulations John!’ says Bridie. ‘Is it a promotion?’

John shakes his head. ‘It’s a more regional bank.’

‘That sounds nice. Change of pace.’

‘How far away?’ asks Spencer.

‘About an hour. I’ll be getting home a bit later in the evenings. Not a big deal.’

‘And why are you getting transferred?’

‘No reason.’

Is it because he can’t handle the pressure anymore? Spencer wonders.

‘Now, do you kids mind if I head upstairs? I’ve got work to do.’

‘Not at all,’ says Bridie, with too much cheer.

Spencer finds it difficult to believe his father is really going to do any work. Most likely he’ll just sleep. John leaves, taking his loaded plate with him.

‘See what I mean about being awkward?’ Spencer says, once he’s gone.

‘I think that’s just fatherly, Spencer,’ Bridie replies. ‘The whole outdated men-shouldn’t-express-emotion thing? I should get my dad to invite your dad to golf. Have some man-time.’

‘Oh, Bridie, you make Dr Phil look like an amateur.’

‘I know, right? I ought to have my own talk show.’