Grace doesn’t recognise Katy. Her hair is glossy brown; it’s impossible to tell that she’s naturally a redhead. She’s wearing tight jeans, a fitted T-shirt and a diamond stud in her nose. She looks young, fit, trendy. Grace feels frumpy by comparison.
‘Grace?’ Katy asks uncertainly as she catches her eye.
Katy must not recognise her either. The reasons are probably less complimentary, but Grace is not going to dwell on that.
‘Yes, it’s me. Wow, Katy, you look fabulous!’
Katy blushes and Grace remembers the blush. Annabel used to enjoy mocking it: Katy Buckley, your face is as hot as your hair.
‘Thanks for offering to come along today,’ Katy says, sounding slightly breathless. ‘I can’t believe the hotel double-booked.’
Grace can’t believe it either. The venue for the reunion was decided months ago: a boutique city-centre hotel. A deposit was paid, which evidently didn’t guarantee anything. Given the short notice and the busy run-up to Christmas, Katy was lucky to find this alternative: a function room on the third floor of a pub in Manly.
Grace sees a man coming in their direction. ‘I think this must be the manager.’
The man is very attractive: early thirties, dark hair and skin. He sticks out his hand. ‘I’m Stan. The function room is upstairs. Come and have a look.’
They follow Stan up a narrow staircase. He’s nicely proportioned from behind and Grace has the sudden urge to nudge Katy, to whisper something like, ‘Check him out.’ She averts her eyes to take in the framed photographs on the stairwell.
The function room is a good size: a platform for the DJ, a generous dance floor, plenty of tables and chairs, and what appears to be a well-stocked bar. Stan gives them some brochures outlining the different drinks and food packages on offer.
‘Let’s have a coffee downstairs and talk it through,’ Grace hears herself suggesting.
‘Good idea.’ Katy’s smile comes readily and Grace experiences an inexplicable liking for her; inexplicable only because she recalls being so derisive of her at school.
Downstairs, they settle into one of the nooks and order coffees from the gorgeous Stan.
‘He’s all right, isn’t he?’ Grace comments. Then she laughs at herself. Here she is, acting like a swoony teenage girl instead of a happily married mother of four.
‘Yep, but I bet he’s taken.’ Katy sighs deeply. ‘All the good ones are.’
‘Are they?’ Grace asks, intrigued.
‘Only the dregs left,’ Katy says with a roll of her eyes.
‘I know someone!’ Grace exclaims, one of Tom’s colleagues suddenly coming to mind. ‘He’s just come out of a long-term relationship.’
‘Oh no, not a rebound!’
‘Rickie’s nice-looking, a hard worker. I’m going to set you two up so you can see for yourself ... You’ll have to name your first child after me.’
‘Ha, ha, steady on.’
Stan returns with the drinks. Grace contemplates starting a conversation with him but Katy shoots her a warning look. There’s obviously a limit to how much matchmaking she’s willing to tolerate. Grace pulls over the brochures and at the same time notices some soil under her fingernails. Spending so much time in the garden is wonderful for her soul but brutal for her hands. She doesn’t think Katy is the type to notice such things.
She starts to read the brochures. ‘Should we go food only, or drinks and food?’
Katy chews her lip. ‘The original venue was food only. I want to make sure it’s affordable for everyone.’
Grace appreciates her thoughtfulness. This time of the year is particularly tight in her own household with Christmas looming on the horizon.
‘Food only, then,’ Grace says decisively. ‘I like option two, the antipasto platters ...’
‘Me too. Motion passed.’
Grace laughs. ‘What’s next on the agenda?’
‘Dress code. Formal attire isn’t really appropriate for a function room above a pub.’
‘Casual wear it is, then.’ Grace mentally says goodbye to Tom’s tuxedo. On the positive side, she won’t need to buy something new for herself.
Katy sips her coffee, her expression clouding over. ‘Luke got one of those emails. Very similar to yours ...’
‘Luke Willis?’
She nods. ‘It really shook him up ... Me, too ... Parts of it were very personal ... I can’t understand how this person is getting their information.’
Grace recalls her own email, which also felt very personal. Her worries about Lauren, her heartbreak about the miscarriage. The only person who knows any of it is Annabel. She bawled in Annabel’s kitchen after the miscarriage, and has expressed her concerns about Lauren numerous times. Maybe that means Jarrod knows too, although Grace isn’t sure how much information Annabel shares with her husband. Certainly not as much as she shares with Tom.
‘Who is doing this?’ she asks in exasperation. Has Annabel or Jarrod been indiscreet? Has Tom?
Katy shrugs. ‘I don’t know, I really don’t know ... I got this crazy idea that someone might have been in my flat, on my laptop, looking at my Google history.’ She laughs sheepishly. ‘I actually jumped out of bed the other night to double-check the locks.’
‘Oh my God. Do you really think—’
Katy shakes her head. ‘No, it was just my imagination running wild ... But should I take it as a sign? Call off the reunion and drop the whole idea of a new yearbook? Claim there’s not enough interest? I could take advantage of the fact that the venue has fallen through.’
‘All because of some immature idiot who’s trying to freak us out? It would be such a shame ... Have you reported the email address as malicious?’
Once again, Katy shakes her head. ‘There’s nothing threatening or pornographic or anything that might qualify as malicious.’
‘I suppose so.’ Grace sighs. ‘Except when you’re standing in our shoes and wondering how on earth this person knows what he, or she, knows!’
Who could it be? Someone at the core of the old group or someone on the outside? Her instincts say it’s the latter: someone who was overlooked, who faded into the background and is now ready to command everyone’s attention.
‘So, what to do?’ Katy asks, worry filling her eyes.
‘Do nothing.’ Grace is suddenly decisive. ‘They’ll get bored. All they want is a reaction from us.’
She glances at her watch. It’s later than she thought it was. Tahlia has a party this afternoon and Tom has to work; weekend shifts are a downside of his job, along with the woeful pay.
‘Sorry, I have to go.’
‘No problem. I’ll sort out the booking.’
‘I’ll send on Rickie’s details,’ Grace promises.
Katy pulls a face. ‘What if he isn’t keen?’
Grace snorts. ‘Oh, he’ll be keen all right. He’ll be thanking his lucky stars.’
Now Katy’s blushing again. Does she always get embarrassed when someone pays her a compliment?
‘Remember, first child is to be named after me,’ Grace calls over her shoulder as she hurries towards the exit.
‘Of course.’ Katy’s giggle is somewhere behind. ‘Even if it’s a boy.’
Grace is smiling as she emerges into the bright, blue-skied afternoon. She is smiling all the way home in the car.
The birthday party is at the aquatic centre. Twenty-odd preteens squealing, splashing and diving. Grace takes the other children swimming in the public lanes while they wait for Tahlia. Lauren likes the water and everyone is happy at first. But, as with all outings, there comes a point when Lauren’s had enough and insists on going home. It’s as though some sort of alarm goes off inside her head.
‘I want to go home.’
‘We need to wait for Tahlia.’
‘Why can’t Tahlia come now?’
‘Because the party isn’t over. Would you like to leave a party before it’s finished?’
Stupid question. Lauren doesn’t get invited to parties.
Lauren is quite distraught by the time they get home. It takes over an hour to settle her down. A tight hug. A quiet chat. Some alone time in her room. Grace is late putting on the dinner. She feels tired and uncharacteristically out of sorts by the time she gets everyone fed, washed and off to bed. She pours herself a drink from the open bottle of wine in the fridge. Her thoughts are skittish.
Lauren. What is she going to do about Lauren? Is it time to seek intervention? How much is intervention going to cost?
Katy. Lovely Katy, so considerate, humble and utterly likeable. Why weren’t they friends at school?
Rickie. Grace must remember to ask Tom if Rickie is still single when he gets home.
Tom ... Shouldn’t he be home by now?
She picks up her phone to text him but for some reason she texts Annabel instead.
Saw Katy today. We’ve picked another venue for the reunion.
The reply comes so fast that Annabel must be doing the exact same thing as Grace: sitting down with a glass of wine in one hand and her phone in the other.
Not sure if we can go. Can’t leave Daniel on his own. Just can’t trust him at the moment.
Can’t trust him, why? But Grace learned a long time ago to tread carefully and not ask such questions outright.
Quite suddenly, she recalls why she wasn’t friends with Katy Buckley at school. At some stage, pretty early on in their school life, Annabel decreed that Katy was beneath them. Most of the time she blanked Katy out, pretended she wasn’t there. Except for the time when Katy – for some foolish, naive reason – left a birthday card in Annabel’s locker. Grace remembers Annabel smiling as she opened the card, her face transforming when she realised who it was from.
‘Don’t send me birthday cards,’ she hissed, ripping the card into a flutter of tiny pieces. ‘I am not your fucking friend.’
Grace is appalled by the memory, appalled that she would mutely stand by and allow Annabel to behave so viciously, birthday or not. Maybe instead of ogling Stan today, she should have been issuing an apology for being complicit in Annabel’s meanness. Looking back, it is hard to fathom why she remained friends with her. She can only hope that her children are more discerning with their friendships, and braver about speaking up when someone is out of order.
She hears the rumble of the garage door: Tom. Almost an hour late. He must have got caught up with something. He often finds it hard to walk away.
He comes through the door, tiredness imprinted on his face, smelling of hard work and the night air.
‘Annabel and Jarrod might not be coming to the reunion,’ she tells him in greeting. ‘They’re worried about leaving Daniel alone.’
He goes to get a clean glass from the cupboard and turns on the tap. He drinks thirstily before replying. ‘His behaviour at Mia’s communion was disgraceful. No respect for his parents, no sense of responsibility towards the younger kids. He needs to be taught a lesson or two.’
‘Oh, Tom, don’t be so harsh.’
Her husband doesn’t understand people who don’t have the same parenting instincts as he does. From the moment the children were born, he seemed to know exactly what to do. When to be firm, when to be soft. When to be protective or to step back and allow them to make their mistakes. How to coax them to do something they did not want to do. How to command respect and the understanding that his word is final. Grace learned from watching Tom.
He rinses the glass, turns it upside down to drain. ‘The truth can be harsh.’
Grace loves her husband dearly. She wouldn’t change anything about him except this one thing: sometimes she wishes he was less judgemental.