God they’ve had a good laugh. Lying around the pool at Byron Bay, far from home, the Hills, the fence and Camilla. The children spend every day in kids’ club. Everyone’s tanned and happy. Frankie can’t really afford the time off work but the stress their marriage is under needed a circuit breaker. She saw one of those ‘five nights for the price of three’ deals and thought, stuff it. Ever since Peanut died, she and Brandon have been playing tag team through the nights with the children so unsettled. In a funny way, their grief has brought her and Brandon closer together. Not reconciled, granted, but better than those first few weeks after Christmas.
As Frankie lies by the pool reading the preliminary sales report for the new Hush Hush Eco range, she smiles at Brandon. He is trying so hard to please her, hoping, she supposes, that she will change her mind about the end of their marriage. She indulges this, for the sake of the children, for the sake of a small window of marital harmony. With a new baby on the way, if there were a way for them to be happy again, it isn’t such an awful wish, but time will tell.
‘Do you think they’ve seen the paper yet?’ Brandon asks, handing her a pina colada mocktail. He’s probably imagining it, but Frankie seems softer. Whether it’s the pregnancy, the distance from their problems, he can’t be sure. If only she would stay this way.
‘I hope so. Wish I could see the look on their faces.’
Brandon lies beside her. ‘They’ll spew.’
Frankie laughs. ‘Serves them right. If we’d known they were insane, we’d never have bought the place.’ Brandon says nothing. The Hills are not insane. They’re getting older, a bit set in their ways, his parents are not dissimilar. His father can recount every shot of an eighteen hole round of golf. That makes him boring, not senile.
Brandon is silent. She knows what he’s thinking, he’d never have bought that house anyway. An urge to save the moment overtakes her. ‘Rub some sunscreen on my shoulders, would you, Brandy?’ she says.
At his touch, she sighs. This is how they used to be. You don’t realise when you’re first married how precious those child-free years are. The freedom to lie in bed all day, make love, go out to dinner whenever, see a movie. She remembers spending a marathon weekend watching all three Lord of the Rings movies together. Imagine trying to do that now. They had no concept how the arrival of the twins would make them reflect on all the leisurely time they had wasted. Nor, that no matter how much you adore your kids, and she does, that keeping the family ship afloat day after day leaves little room for intimacy. The experts say keeping the lines of communication open is key but how do you do that when you’re competing with four others for air time? Yet, somehow they’ve managed to have five children. She rubs the tight arc of her belly and feels a kick for her troubles.
Her thoughts drift back to the Hills. Those neighbours have certainly added to their woes. If you give people like that an inch, they’ll take a mile. ‘It’s a shame we didn’t have enough evidence to have the Hills charged,’ she says, sipping her mocktail. ‘I thought that RSPCA inspector was quite unreasonable. I mean, they say “reckless” or “intentional” so why did it matter that it was her word against ours? Peanut died for God’s sakes. How much more proof did they need?’
‘Plus the vet bills.’
Frankie shrugs Brandon off. He always knows how to spoil a good mood. The vet bills totalled five thousand dollars. Five thousand of her hard-earned money, not his. Then there was the cost of replacing the locks on all the gates. Their house is a money pit.
That thought returns to Frankie a few days later as they turn into Green Valley Avenue. Up and down the street are trucks and woodchippers. They look as if they have been here for days. A plane tree on the corner has come down but thankfully fell across the road rather than onto any houses. Great sections of the verge have been dug over. A neighbour’s fence is flattened. Several houses have tarpaulins pulled tight over their roofs. Garages are damaged, cars are parked on the street, one has a tree branch lying across its bonnet.
‘Christ, it looks like a tornado’s been through here,’ says Brandon.
The kids think it’s terrific; laughing and pointing at the devastation, until they get to number 18. The neighbour’s flowering gum has collapsed onto their roof. Some branches have been removed but there is a sheet of plastic covering a gaping hole in the plate glass window. Brandon’s lack of progress in the front yard is concealed by the debris strewn everywhere. Frankie shepherds the children around the side gate to avoid the glass.
The backyard is a different story. The washing line is entangled in the trampoline, the towels she’d left out lie muddied on the lawn. The neighbours behind them seemed to have lost their entire garden and most of it into Frankie’s pool.
‘Oh my God. What the hell has happened? I knew there were storms in Sydney but this is ridiculous.’
The children think it’s amazing. Silver has a giant bra slung over his head and is chasing his sisters, yelling, ‘I’m a zombie! I’m a zombie!’
‘Silver, take that filthy bra off your head!’ she yells.
‘It never bloody ends,’ Frankie says, realising the security alarm has failed when she enters the house. With the power out, the entire contents of the fridge have turned into a science experiment.
The news is no better the following day when Frankie goes for her monthly obstetrician appointment. She is quite cheery, the obstetrician, as she announces that Frankie’s baby has turned.
‘You’re in breech,’ she says.
‘Breech? Does that mean I’ll have to have a caesarean?’ Frankie asks as she dresses behind the screen.
‘I wouldn’t worry about it too much yet, Mrs Desmarchelliers. You’re thirty weeks, babies are only trying to get comfortable. Try swimming, that sometimes helps.’
Frankie thinks of her pool, the colour of tea. It’ll be weeks before she’ll be able to swim in it again. ‘And if she doesn’t turn?’ she says.
‘Rest, enjoy this final quiet time before bubs arrives,’ the obstetrician says, forgetting that Frankie has four children at home.
Frankie can’t forget it though. Her plan was to work one more month full-time then work from home two days a week leading up to the birth. She had to negotiate with her boss for ages to get even that compromise. Quite frankly, she’d rather have the last month off before the baby arrives. Already her ankles are swelling, the trip to work kills her. But between the financial strain and the fact that her boss, Tony, is suspicious of anyone who tries to work from home, she’s lucky to get her two days. Fortunately, after much umming and aahing, they did send the twins to school this year. Despite what Diane Slaughter said, Frankie doesn’t believe Amber has interpersonal issues.
‘She’s just bored,’ she told Brandon. ‘Once she’s stimulated in a proper school environment, she’ll settle down in no time. She’s a bright child, they always suffer the most.’
Brandon decided it wasn’t worth arguing with Frankie over it. She has this blinkered approach to the twins that they are somehow extraordinary. Not that he didn’t think his kids were great but they weren’t gifted and talented by any stretch. Anyway, within months, he’ll either not be here at all or will be looking after a newborn and Bijoux. Either way, it might be for the best if the twins moved up to big school. It would take some strain off their marriage.
Brandon didn’t argue but then he never does these days. She used to hate it when he disagreed over every single little thing but this compliant Brandon is somewhat unsettling. Now he does everything she asks, she kind of wishes he wouldn’t. Sending the kids to school might take some of the pressure off their marriage, at least in the short-term. Because on top of everything else, there is the insurance work on the house and Camilla’s trial. More time off work to give evidence in court.
Frankie pops into the shops on the way home, desperate for a decaf almond latte. She isn’t sleeping well, life is getting on top of her. Tony’s attitude to her working from home might have something to do with the rumours circulating of cutbacks, redundancies, takeovers. As if she doesn’t have enough troubles on the home front. Telling herself they’re an afternoon treat for the kids, she buys two dozen hot cinnamon doughnuts as well, pulling one from the bag on her way back to the car. A lady stands in the middle of the aisle waving a petition to save the local nature reserve. She accosts Frankie, who under normal circumstances would politely decline and barge past, but not anymore. She signs the petition Gwen Hill. ‘Have you a newsletter?’ she asks the Nimbin escapee. There is. Perfect. Frankie adds the Hills’ address to the mailing list.
She arrives home after Brandon has done the school run. The twins sit at the kitchen counter learning their Magic 100 words. Marigold is glued to the television and Bijoux has found a stray crayon and is drawing on the ruined lounge. Frankie swipes it off her and gives her the stack and play instead.
Kissing the tops of the twins’ heads, Frankie doles out doughnuts, helping herself to another. ‘How was school today?’
‘Good,’ the twins chorus.
‘Did you do anything exciting?’
‘No,’ they chorus again.
‘Now that’s not true, you two,’ Brandon says. ‘You’ve been making Valentine Day cards this week, haven’t you?’
‘Daddy!’ Amber yells, ‘It’s supposed to be a surprise.’
‘There’s no need to yell, Amber, and I’m sure it will be a lovely surprise when we get them, won’t it?’ Brandon adds in a sing-song voice, ‘And we got a note from Mrs Rayner today too, didn’t we, Amber?’
Amber concentrates on her words, running her finger under the letters as she spells out C-A-R.
‘What kind of note,’ says Frankie, contemplating a third doughnut as she licks the sugar from her fingers. How much did the obstetrician say she’d put on this month? She doesn’t look at the scales, doesn’t want to know how many extra kilos she’s lugging around.
‘Oh a note asking Mummy and Daddy to come in for a meeting after school tomorrow.’
‘Why?’
Brandon raises his eyebrows. ‘Some sort of progress report.’
Frankie frowns. ‘Already?’
‘I’m not sure it’s good news.’
*
Frankie and Brandon arrive outside of KR as the bell goes. The classroom clears but one of those annoying mothers catches Mrs Rayner and engages her in a long chat about the status of her precious darling’s progress. Apologising for the delay, the teacher invites them in.
Silver and Amber rush to the free play corner, upending a box of blocks. Frankie and Brandon sit on the teeny chairs, which at her stage of pregnancy is an art form.
After they exchange pleasantries, Mrs Rayner comes to the point. ‘The initial reason I asked you here this afternoon was to talk about how things are going at home for Amber and how she is fitting in at school.’
Frankie bristles. She and Brandon are careful not to let the children hear their arguments. ‘She’s fine at home,’ she says. ‘Amber loves school. She’s always talking about her new friends. Marley, Lucy . . .’ Frankie glances at Brandon. There must be more, she thinks. Isn’t there a little boy too? What’s his name?
Mrs Rayner adds, ‘And how’s Silver going being in a different class?’
That had been a point of contention, not between the twins but between Frankie and Brandon. Frankie thought they should start school in the same class. Maybe when they are older being separated might make sense but she feels, felt, that the transition from preschool to big school is a big deal and continuity is key. Apparently though, Diane Slaughter had recommended otherwise. Frankie hadn’t realised the school would ask Diane Slaughter for her input. She was a bit put out by her interference but the headmistress had explained that it was standard practice since so many Gumnut children came to Kuring-gai Public School.
‘He seems happy. He doesn’t share his feelings as much as Amber does, but then he is a boy,’ Frankie concedes.
‘He’s one of life’s deep thinkers.’ Mrs Rayner smiles. ‘His teacher Mr Crawford says he’s doing very well.’
Suddenly a giant shriek comes from the free play corner. Frankie turns and catches Silver pinching Amber’s arm. ‘Ow,’ she wails, as he says, ‘I had it first.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ she cries, ‘I was playing with it.’
Hands on hips, Silver chants, ‘You get what you get and you don’t get upset.’
Brandon is out of his seat before Frankie can move, wedged as she is in the tiny chair. ‘Stop that, you two, or I’ll have to separate you,’ he says, taking each twin by the arm.
‘You’re not the boss of me,’ shouts Silver, wrenching his arm free.
Brandon grabs him again. ‘Oh yes I am. Do as you’re told, Silver.’
‘No!’ he shouts, slipping from his father’s grasp and running out the door. Brandon gives chase leaving Frankie and Mrs Rayner alone. Frankie can’t believe that Silver would be so blatant in challenging Brandon’s authority. Was this what happened when kids started school? She’d read somewhere that children often behave quite differently at school to how they are at home. Maybe the twins should have been put in the same class after all.
Mrs Rayner clears her throat. ‘Amber has received her second yellow card in as many weeks, Mrs Desmarchelliers.’
Frankie nods, though she can’t recall if a yellow card is a good or a bad thing.
‘As you may be aware, we discourage negative behaviour in our school.’
Frankie remembers now. Yellow cards are something to do with soccer. They were told about them at kindy orientation.
‘It’s not that unusual for a child in kindergarten to receive a yellow card. Although at this age, we like to work with the parents to resolve the underlying issues rather than escalate to disciplinary measures.’
Frankie twists around. Where are Brandon and Silver? Why is she the one forced to sit here and listen to this?
Mrs Rayner waits until she’s regained Frankie’s undivided attention before continuing. ‘I have explained to Amber that using physical means to get what you want is not the Kuring-gai Public School way. Is she the same at home? With her siblings?’
Frankie draws herself straighter, these little chairs are killing her lower back. ‘Amber is a natural leader but as the eldest that’s hardly surprising.’ But she wonders whether the strains on their marriage have led to this. Right now it is Silver who is being nasty but it is Amber who is in trouble. Are they both acting out their fear that their home is broken?
The teacher raises an eyebrow. ‘And as the leader, how does she normally manage conflict between herself and her brother and sisters?’
Frankie reflects on this question. It’s hard for her to know exactly what goes on at home. Brandon is closer to the children’s day-to-day behaviour than she is. Though he always complains that the kids are different when she’s around, as if she is some special visitor they must be on their best behaviour for and lavish with their attention. He says Mondays are the worst since they’ve had Frankie home over the weekend. Bijoux finds it hard to settle for her nap, apparently. But Brandon exaggerates. Bijoux is such an easy baby, loves her daytime naps, eats everything. She worries that Brandon’s lack of adult interaction means he invents problems with the children to impress his value upon her. It’s hard to reconcile Brandon’s version of the children with how they are when she’s around. And to be honest, the political intrigues of the canteen mothers or literacy groups just aren’t interesting. Now it seems that Mrs Rayner is inferring that the twins might be different children when they are at school.
‘Mrs Desmarchelliers?’
Frankie blinks. ‘I’m sorry, could you repeat that?’
The teacher frowns. ‘Aside from her behavioural issues, today Amber came to school with a knife in her bag.’
Frankie laughs. What a ridiculous notion.
Mrs Rayner shakes her head. ‘I’m serious, Mrs Desmarchelliers. A knife fell out of Amber’s schoolbag when the children fetched their crunch and sip containers after literacy groups.’
Frankie realises she’s serious. ‘A knife. Like a proper knife?’
‘Well, not a kitchen knife. Here let me show you.’ Mrs Rayner unlocks her desk drawer and removes a cylindrical tube. She removes sticky tape and wads of tissue paper before tilting the tube and sliding out the knife.
She’s right, it’s not a kitchen knife. The top surface is curved, the blade slotted into a wooden handle where three brass pins hold it in the shaft. The blade itself is thick, smooth-edged, workman-like.
The teacher looks past Frankie. ‘Where would Amber find such a knife?’ she asks Brandon.
Brandon lets go of Silver’s hand and takes the knife from the teacher. ‘It’s a hunting knife,’ he says. ‘A very good one. You can just make out the insignia on the blade.’ He holds the knife out for them to see. ‘It’s a Swedish brand called Erik Anton Berg. This knife is really old, like from the 1950s or something. My dad collects them.’
‘But we haven’t seen your parents in ages and your father keeps his knives under lock and key. Where would Amber find this?’ says Frankie.
‘More to the point,’ Brandon sits, balancing the knife in his hand, ‘what’s she doing bringing it to school?’
Mrs Rayner says, ‘She said she wanted to show it to the class for news day.’
Frankie stands, the chair is almost as painful as Mrs Rayner’s revelations. ‘Did she say where she found the knife?’
‘She said she just found it,’ here Mrs Rayner hooks her fingers, ‘lying on the ground.’
‘But lying on the ground where? At home? Here at school?’ Frankie glances at Amber who remains in the free play area pretending to read a book.
Mrs Rayner lowers her voice. ‘I don’t think Amber is being completely truthful. Look at that knife. It has no rust on it, the blade is worn smooth. She hasn’t found this lying on the ground. Someone uses this knife all the time.’
A furious heat rises in Frankie’s cheeks. The teacher is right, Amber did not find it lying around. ‘May we take the knife?’ she says.
‘Please do. Even locking it in the drawer bothers me.’ Mrs Rayner returns it to the tube and stuffs the tissue paper on top before handing it to Frankie who passes it to Brandon.
Frankie says, ‘I’m sorry Amber thought it was appropriate to bring a knife in for show and tell. Obviously we’ll talk to her about that.’
*
‘I thought you said Amber was dressing up as an astronaut?’ Frankie seethes at Brandon as they hurry across the playground.
‘She changed her mind. Said that Billy P came as one on Monday and his mum had made him a proper helmet and everything out of a plastic fish bowl and alfoil.’
Amber and Silver race ahead, shouting goodbye to their friends as they pass.
‘But didn’t you discuss it? Come up with an alternative?’
Brandon pulls a face at her. ‘Of course I did. I suggested she go as a scientist instead. I bought her a white coat and some big glasses and showed her how when you mix bi-carb and vinegar it whooshes up and makes a loud fizzing sound. Something to impress the kids. What? Why are you looking at me like that? It’s harmless.’
Frankie stops. ‘Brandon, it’s supposed to be something simple. They’re five. We have a dress-up box. She could have been a clown, a princess or a bloody fireman, person, whatever. No effort, easy.’
Brandon flushes. ‘I was trying to make it interesting for her. You know, so she might learn something.’ So typical of Frankie to put him down. Everything he did was wrong. One brief week of respite in Byron Bay and as soon as she headed back to work, this Frankie re-emerged. And he’d been dumb enough to think there was a chance they were heading back to safer waters.
Typical of Brandon to overcomplicate the simplest of tasks so he gets to be the big hero. A scientist for heaven’s sakes. She says, ‘So where did the knife come into it?’
Brandon shrugs. ‘She refused to be a scientist. She said she had a better idea.’
They walk on in silence. In the car, Amber teaches Silver a complicated hand game which involves much chanting. As annoying as it is, it provides a convenient excuse for neither Brandon or Frankie to say anything more on the way home, until after dinner time.
‘You know whose knife it is, don’t you?’ Frankie says, the moment she closes Marigold’s bedroom door.
Brandon is stacking the dishwasher. He’s been waiting for Frankie to raise the knife and twist things around so she can criticise his parenting, again. Or blame the neighbours. He says nothing. What’s the point?
Frankie will not be put off by his silence. Enough is enough. ‘I bet you it’s Mr Hill’s.’
Brandon wipes the granite benchtop, then grabs a beer and turns the television onto the Friday night football.
Surprised, Frankie hovers for a moment before announcing she’ll run the twins’ bath. When Brandon refuses to reply, she leaves the room.
Brandon sighs and turns up the volume. It never ends. It’s like this whole fence thing has become a shit magnet. Every time something goes wrong, Frankie’s looking for a way to blame the Hills. She seriously needs to wake up to herself before somebody really does get hurt.
Frankie lets Amber and Silver play bubble wars for a while, biding her time before tackling Amber. She decides to sideline the yellow cards for bullying until they’ve dealt with the knife. Sitting on the toilet seat, she says, ‘Amber, sweetie, where exactly did you find the knife?’
Amber fires a stream of bubbles at Silver’s face.
‘Stop it, I don’t like it,’ he yells.
God how Frankie hates the way Gumnut drilled these expressions into the children.
Frankie takes the gun off Amber. ‘Amber, I asked you a question.’
Amber lies in the water so her hair fans out around her, stretching her legs straight and pushing Silver into the corner of the tub. Little bubbles rise to the surface.
‘Amber!’ Frankie shouts.
Amber hears her, Frankie knows she does, but takes her time resurfacing. ‘Sixty seconds, Mummy,’ she says proudly, although even ten seconds would be generous.
Frankie grabs her arm. ‘Amber, sit up straight and answer the question. Where did you find the knife?’
Amber won’t give in. She picks up the bottle of Hush Hush Bath Bubblez and squirts some into her hands. ‘In the garden, Mummy,’ she says, as if it is the most normal thing in the world to find knives littered about the yard like autumn leaves.
Frankie snatches the squeezy bottle off her. ‘Where in the garden?’
‘On the path.’
She feels like she’s having the same conversation with Amber time and again. First over the chocolate, then the open gates and now this. Once again, her instincts tell her what Amber is saying is untrue. Frankie thinks of the skateboard that mysteriously appeared on the front porch. Amber said she’d found it abandoned in the gutter. A brand new skateboard, just lying there. Now they have a knife to deal with.
She’s getting tired of Amber’s evasiveness. Placing her fingertips under Amber’s chin, she forces her eldest daughter to look her in the eye. ‘Amber, you really must tell Mummy the truth. Imagine if Marigold had picked it up. She could have really hurt herself.’
Amber wriggles free. ‘I told you already, Mummy.’
Frankie tries a few different questions but Silver starts complaining he is cold and Amber refuses to answer.
As she dresses the twins and puts them to bed, Frankie turns the problem over in her head. Whichever way she looks at it, she comes to the same conclusion. When she returns to the lounge room, she hits mute on the remote control and says to Brandon, ‘There’s only one logical place that knife could have come from, Brandon. I doubt very much someone walked past our house and thought, “I know, I’ll throw this perfectly good knife over the fence.” It was planted there.’
Brandon doesn’t think her solution is logical at all. ‘Planted there? This isn’t a crime scene, why would someone hide a knife in our garden?’
‘Precisely. It’s got to be the Hills, I’m sure of it. It’s their way of retaliating for the article in the Northshore Advocate.’
Brandon eyes the screen where Brett Stewart is once again performing magic for the Sea Eagles. ‘That’s kind of a stretch, Frankie,’ he says. He wouldn’t really blame the Hills if they were upset about the article. After Peanut died, Frankie thought a personal and public attack the perfect revenge. To be fair, he’d agreed, until he saw it in print and realised how petty and cruel they had been. All because Frankie finds it hard to let go. There’s no point raising that with her though, not unless he wants his head bitten off, again. Instead he says, ‘Mrs Hill is a recycling nut, as if she’d throw away a perfectly good knife. She’s nosy, not crazy.’
Frankie warms to her theory. ‘You’re right. They threw the knife into the garden, knowing that in all likelihood one of the children would find it. Hoping they’d pick it up by the blade and cut themselves.’ As the potential horror rises in front of her, she adds, ‘Amber could have lost a finger.’
‘There’ll be prints on it if that’s the case,’ Brandon says, fetching another beer, squinting as he watches the replay of the last try.
Frankie knows she’s being dismissed. Brandon may not think this is serious but she does. She will not let this go. As he turns the sound back on, Frankie calls the police.