That night Roger came over for dinner. It was the first time he had ever been inside the house. Every room had already been thoroughly tidied, but even so, as they sat together on the lounges, their mother frequently leapt up from her seat to nervously adjust a picture or flatten a rug or straighten the magazines on the coffee table. Roger didn’t seem to mind the interruptions. He just smiled at her as she circled the room, still talking, lightly petting her knee whenever she sat back down. Sam wondered, watching his mother fidget with her dress, if it was Roger’s touch that kept making her stand back up.
Dettie was still in the kitchen. She had decided she wanted to cook, and had spent most of the day getting everything ready. Katie had asked to help, and together they had set out all the tableware, folded each cloth napkin, and arranged flowers in a vase in the centre of the table. There was a pie still baking in the oven, and Katie had gathered the apples to make it from the tree in the backyard. She’d carried them inside suspended in the front of her skirt, like a hammock, and Dettie had let her wash and peel them over the sink while she was rolling out the pie crust. The two of them had spent the whole afternoon weaving around each other as if they were dancing, portioning out handfuls of chopped apple, getting covered in flour and giggling.
Dettie had made spaghetti, and Sam had watched her assembling the meatballs, rolling each slimy mass between her fingers, shaping them into perfect spheres and measuring out the spaces between them on the oven tray with her thumb. And as he looked in at her now, still fussing at the stove, the meatballs bubbling and spitting in their pan of tomato sauce, he suddenly remembered that spaghetti and meatballs had always been his father’s favourite meal. They would have it on special occasions. A clear image of his father surfaced in his mind. He was sitting at the head of the table, his elbows propped on the wood, shaving portions of cheese over his plate. Grinding pepper. Sam went on trying to remember more, but his concentration was broken when Roger laughed at something Katie had said. In the kitchen Dettie kept stirring her pasta around in its pot.
No one else seemed to recall this about Sam’s father, or at least nobody mentioned it, as they all took their places at the table to eat. Sam’s mother even leant extravagantly over her plate to breathe in the aroma.
‘Mmm, this is wonderful, Dettie,’ she said, but there was something in the look she flashed across the table. ‘It smells delicious.’ She turned to touch Roger’s arm as he was adjusting himself on his seat. ‘Didn’t I tell you she was marvellous?’
Roger sat up slightly, nodding across the table at Dettie. ‘Absolutely fantastic,’ he said.
‘Well, don’t forget our little Katie.’ Dettie put her arm around her. ‘She’s been my helper today.’
When everyone turned to give their congratulations, Katie stretched so high she was almost standing in her seat.
‘My, yes. We are getting special treatment,’ their mother said. ‘Sam and Roger and I will have to do this more often.’
Dettie’s face pulled tight. She waved across the food and told everyone to start in before it got cold.
Sam took a large gulp of his juice, liking the way the sugar tightened his throat a little as it went down. Katie, meanwhile, had already eaten half a bread roll and was mashing her largest meatball apart with her fork. No one else was moving. Dettie, motionless, was staring across the table, watching their mother, who now sat with both her hands clenched together above her plate. Her eyes were closed, and beside her, Roger’s head was bowed. He seemed to be saying grace, mouthing the words to himself, and their mother, though her lips were still, was obviously doing the same. Dettie didn’t seem sure how to take the sight. She glanced between the two of them, her palm lying flat across her cutlery, still waiting to pick it up. Sam watched the cheese sweating slowly on his food, collapsing into the sauce.
A moment later Roger whispered, ‘Amen,’ and exhaled, flapping open his napkin and smoothing it across his lap. When their mother opened her eyes she breathed in and unclasped her hands, straightening her table setting. Dettie kept watch, tapping her fingers softly on the tablecloth.
Roger was glancing around at the food as if seeing it, finally, for the first time. He pulled his plate closer and began cutting a meatball, lifting half of it into his mouth and humming loudly as he chewed. ‘Oh. This really is delicious, Dettie.’ He chewed with a serious expression, humming again, and wiping the sauce from his lips.
Sam’s mother smiled. ‘We’re lucky to have her around, I say.’
Dettie dropped her gaze to her chest, the knife and fork now tinkling between her fingertips. Slowly, she unfolded her napkin and began grinding pepper across her meal. Katie, who had been watching Dettie since their mother started praying, saw this movement as a signal to go on chewing.
Sam turned his fork around in his spaghetti, watching as each strand slid together, knotting, until it was its own little planet whirling in the middle of his plate, the cheese surrounding it stretched and glistening. Everyone else was concentrating on their food. It was quiet, with only the clinks and scratches of dinnerware.
‘I like your skin,’ Katie said.
Dettie dropped her knife and fork onto her plate with a clank, huffing loudly. Their mother looked to Roger, biting a grin and offering a tiny shrug. ‘Sweetie—’ she said, taking Katie’s hand. Roger—whom Katie had been talking to—just seemed amused.
‘What?’ Katie looked around.
‘Heavens, girl.’ Dettie’s posture stiffened even further in her chair.
‘It’s all right.’ Roger leant forward, smiling. ‘Thank you very much. I like it too,’ he said. ‘And I think you have very pretty hair.’
Katie beamed, then, suddenly shy, huddled back down to her food.
Sam, like Katie, wasn’t sure what all the fuss had been about. Roger did have nice skin. A smooth, warm cinnamon. When he smiled his whole face seemed to light up, wide and welcoming. Bright teeth beneath his dark, trimmed beard. Soft hair flecked with silver. His high cheekbones shining. He reminded him of the vice-principal, Mr Pauls, who was part-Aboriginal, and always ran the annual Dreamtime festival at school. Perhaps Roger was Aboriginal too. Sam wished he could ask, but suspected that even if he could, the question would probably be met with a similar jolt of surprise.
Everyone was eating again, and Sam heard his mother murmuring something about putting music on. He went back to enjoying the slick sound of his pasta as it twirled and slurped on his fork.
‘Hmmm. Now, Dettie. Dettie. That’s quite an unusual name, isn’t it?’ Roger said at last, taking another large bite.
Dettie looked up again. ‘Do you find it unusual, Roger?’ She seemed almost amused, smiling slightly the way she did whenever she caught one of the children in a lie.
‘No. No, not unusual,’ he said. ‘I’ve just not heard it before. Does it—’ He swallowed. ‘Does it stand for anything?’
‘Stand for?’
‘Is it short for anything?’
‘Bernadette,’ their mother said, wiping her mouth. ‘Her name is actually Bernadette. But we’ve always known her as Dettie, haven’t we kids?’
Roger was nodding, clutching his cutlery tight. To Sam, no one appeared to be saying anything all that interesting, but Roger’s eyebrows were knotted, his forehead creased heavily as though this were all somehow very important.
‘Bernadette,’ he said. ‘That’s one of those classic names you don’t hear too often anymore. It’s nice.’
He smiled at Dettie with food in his mouth, but she was looking away, concentrating on slicing apart her spaghetti. For a moment everything turned quiet again. Katie was finishing her third piece of garlic bread, sucking the salt from her fingers and kicking her legs beneath her chair. Sam was taking bites from his ball of pasta, feeling the strands disentangle and drop down his chin. As he ate, he realised his mother was shooting Dettie long looks across the table. Finally, Dettie sighed.
‘So,’ she said, slowly. ‘Roger.’ She nudged the food around on her plate. ‘You’re religious?’
Roger was taken a little by surprise. He had just cut another rather large mouthful, and took a moment, raising his finger slightly while he chewed.
‘Sorry.’ He swallowed. ‘Um, raised Anglican,’ he said, and smiled. ‘Joanne says you’re very involved in the church yourself?’
‘She told you that, did she? Hm.’ Dettie’s eyes swept the table before she turned back to her food. ‘Yes. My husband and I were very active. Very committed.’
Sam thought he heard her voice tighten on the word husband.
‘So you work at Joanne’s bank?’ she said.
‘For now, yes. I’m an underwriter mostly. Mortgages. Business loans.’
‘Hm.’
Roger took a sip of beer. ‘I’m hoping to get back into law eventually.’
‘So you’re a lawyer?’ Dettie seemed to chew a little on that sentence.
‘I was. For a time. Before I moved. Before the bank. Contract law. Negotiations. Things like that. Very boring to anyone who’s not me, I’m sure.’
‘Negotiations? What—like divorces?’ Her eyes narrowed.
‘No. Not really that kind of—’ Sam noticed the way Roger’s beard rippled a little whenever he licked the insides of his mouth. ‘You know when a business has a lease agreement with the people who own their building?’ he said. ‘Or when a manager has a contract with the company he works for?’
Dettie was nodding. ‘You wrote up contracts, did you?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Well, I could. I did sometimes. But mostly—well, say that the person who’d written the contract, say they wanted to get out of it. They were sick of it. My job was usually to help them do that. To help them find a way.’
Dettie’s voice lowered. ‘To help them out of the contract?’
‘Yes.’
‘Help them break it?’
‘Well, not break it, exactly. Find a fault in it. Find a way out. So they didn’t have to be stuck in an arrangement that was bad for their business.’
At that, Dettie became oddly quiet. Her lips were pursed and she pushed her plate away untouched, setting her knife and fork aside. As she sat silently, taking little sips from her water, she stared straight down at the tablecloth, ever so slightly shaking her head.
After a few minutes, their mother excused herself and rose from the table, slipping behind Roger into the next room. Everyone sat motionless for a moment, waiting. Sam and Katie looked at each other, confused, until they heard the stereo begin playing the one classical music record they owned. As she squeezed back into the room their mother touched Roger gently on his shoulder.
‘You know, you two don’t look like each other at all,’ he said, as she sat back down. After the quiet, his voice seemed rather loud.
Dettie straightened. ‘Pardon?’
‘For sisters,’ Roger said.
‘What on earth?!’ Dettie snapped.
Their mother laughed, quickly, like a cough. ‘No. No, we’re not sisters.’
Dettie refolded her napkin, tightly, and cleared her throat. ‘I’m Donald’s sister,’ she said.
Katie looked up at the sound of her father’s name. Dettie seemed rather pleased with herself.
‘Really?’ Roger gestured between the children’s mother and aunt. ‘Because you seem much closer.’
Their mother swallowed. ‘Well, when the children’s father—’ She stopped and took a breath before she continued. ‘When that ended. When he left us. Dettie was here. Lucky for us. She was priceless. She helped out. She got the kids to school while I was working. She was there if I needed to talk, or if the children wanted for anything.’
Roger nodded enthusiastically. He sipped from his water and raised his glass to them both. ‘Good for you,’ he said. ‘What a blessing.’
‘Well, my own husband had passed on,’ Dettie said. ‘So I was only too happy to pitch in where I could.’
Their mother looked at her sister-in-law strangely, her mouth slightly ajar, but Dettie stared straight ahead at Roger with a sad smile.
‘See, that’s wonderful,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s more important than family.’
Dettie raised her hand. ‘From your mouth to God’s ears.’
Sam wasn’t sure what that meant, but it seemed to stop the conversation entirely.