Tuesday 31 December 1974
Abby
It’s late morning, and the air is gummy, cloying, with dark clouds blocking out the sun.
I’m leaning against the pushed-open sliding door, holding a mug of coffee that I have no interest in drinking. A task that had filled empty minutes. The kids are burying Matchbox cars in the sandpit. For the moment, they don’t need or even want me. And I have no idea of what to do with myself. Most days I move around this house like a pinball: from veranda to backyard to kitchen to bathroom to laundry to bedroom, quick detour to letterbox, then back to kitchen. Picking up and watering and chopping and folding along the way. Right now I can barely summon the energy to stay upright.
I don’t know where Mark went, but I’m guessing he’s at Geoff’s house. Dad will be at the farm. I won’t try phoning either of them because even the thought of how those calls would go makes me want to fall into bed and sleep for a hundred years. What could I possibly say other than repeat that I’m sorry? I know that’s not enough. I have no idea where Charlie is, though he’ll be with Ryan and Sal. Tonight, I’ll see out this sorry year with my children, who’ll probably be asleep before the first fireworks light up the sky.
I look to the sandpit as Sarah and Joanne giggle. Petey is putting a fistful of sand into his mouth.
‘Petey, don’t do that.’ I hear the exhaustion in my voice.
He spits out the doughy muck, leaving a ring of it around his lips. ‘Sarah told me to.’
I hold a hand out to Sarah in a ‘why?’ gesture.
‘I want to know what it tastes like.’
‘Then eat it yourself.’ She’s rightly surprised by this suggestion. ‘Forget I said that. Get your sandals. Let’s go visit Auntie Lou.’
We need to do something to fill our day, and I need the company of an adult who won’t look at me with disgust. I’ll tell Lou I won’t be coming to the street party tonight, and that Mark has gone and I’m scared because I don’t know when he’s coming back. I’m not sure what reason I’ll give for our fight, but I know I can think of one.
The two-minute walk to Lou and Andrew’s house is made longer as the children stop to pick up sticks and rocks and flowers, peek inside people’s letterboxes, and squat to peer at a white cat hiding in the shade under a car. Which is fine. I’m in no rush.
When we’re close to Lou’s house, the kids break into a run and scurry up the driveway, arguing about who gets to knock on the door. They all bang on it at once.
When Lou opens the door, smiling and making faces at their noise, I can see she’s three sheets to the wind.
‘Shhh, Uncle Andy’s snoozing,’ she says to the children. ‘Kids are out back. Tiptoes.’ She turns to me. ‘Went to a champagne breakfast. Head Something Someone from Andrew’s work. Boring as batshit. What could I do but drink?’ She points at Sarah’s all-white outfit and the headband to which I’ve taped an empty toilet roll.
‘She’s a unicorn.’
‘Ah, be the change . . .’ Lou makes a shushing noise as we pass through the living room to the sun-drenched deck. Andrew is lying on the couch, snoring so loudly I can’t imagine what noise the kids or I could make that would be heard. My kids and Lou’s fall into a happy tumble on the lawn, shaded by the tall leafy line of bamboo that grows alongside the fence. I sit on a bench beside the slat table, under a canvas umbrella patterned with pink and orange flowers.
‘Wine?’ Lou asks, and before I can answer she’s heading back into the kitchen, muttering, ‘Yes. A little. Nearly lunchtime.’
She returns with a bowl of peanuts, a cask of moselle and two plastic cups. ‘Hair of the dog.’
‘I don’t think you can call it that when you haven’t stopped drinking,’ I say with a smile. ‘But sure, fill her up.’
Since she’s my friend, Lou agrees with every word I say, every edited half-truth and deluded justification, every lie about Mark and I arguing about the unfairness of our domestic arrangement. Since she’s spent the morning drinking, she agrees voluminously.
‘Bastard,’ she says when I tell her that Mark stormed out last night, insisting he did more than most men would. ‘Bastard,’ when I tell her he hasn’t been back since. Her elbow slips sideways, so she’s propped up on an angle. Her makeup isn’t quite where it should be: lipstick smudges the lip of her cup, mascara flecks above and below her lashes, and there is a rub of blue eye shadow on the side of her face. She stares intently at me, pausing before she speaks again. ‘But he’s not actually a bastard. You know that, don’t you? You’ll sort this out. He loves you, love.’
‘I know he does.’
She reaches across the table and grabs my wrist. ‘Loves you like crazy, one hundred per cent. We both do.’
‘I love you, too. Might be enough wine for now. How about I put this back in the fridge?’
She keeps hold of my wrist. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen you sloshed before.’
‘Really, really sorry.’
I smile at her. ‘Is it my straw hat? I never thought I’d get it back anyway.’
‘You’re my best friend.’
I sit up straight, my hand still on the wine box.
‘It didn’t mean anything. Nothing. Which is not to say – you know, it does mean something or we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? The important thing is you’re my best friend and that’s more important than any bloke. It’s urges, biology, but we should be, I mean, there’s no excuse. I’m not excusing anything.’ She seems to lose her train of thought. I’ve never seen her quite this drunk before. ‘Because that’s what they want, isn’t it? Women against women. But we’re sisters aren’t we, so that won’t happen.’ She pauses. ‘It’s over. You can be sure about that. Hundred per cent.’
‘Okay.’ I nod, trying to figure out what she’s telling me. Has she had a fling with Charlie? My God, with Finn? No, she hasn’t met him.
She makes a childish pout. ‘Because at the time you might not recognise a mistake, body chemicals take over, but then . . . And then you do it again. That part is harder to explain away. But I know it was a mistake – huge mistake.’
‘Charlie?’ I ask.
She frowns at me. ‘What?’
‘Did you and Charlie –?’
‘God no.’ She stares up at the sky. ‘Though not out of the ballpark.’ She squeezes my hand. ‘You and me would make more sense, you know. Though I’ve never been physically attracted to a woman. But mentally, I’m much more into you. Boobs though, boobs are good.’ She looks off into the backyard, where the children are playing with the totem tennis pole, using their hands to fling the ball around. ‘It was the flood, you know, seeing him so ape-man rescuing me and the kids. Andrew should’ve been here but –’ She waves vaguely at the house. ‘Doesn’t excuse the times that came after that, I know. And like I said, hundred per cent finished.’ She takes a deep breath, nods vigorously. ‘Finished.’
It’s as though I’m watching a hideous beast rise up from the deep sea, seeing its black shadow first, then the glint of its wet back until it rears up to its full height, enormous and terrifying, all claws and fangs. My voice is thin, unfamiliar. ‘Mark? You and Mark? No.’ I yank my hand away from her. ‘No. You’re my friend.’
‘It’s over. Finished, I swear.’
‘No. Stop talking.’ The only words I wanted to hear were that I’d misunderstood, that she’d meant something entirely different and I’d jumped to a crazy conclusion. Charlie, Finn, even Dad! Because she would never have sex with my husband. I must have got it wrong. She’d laugh, put her hand on her chest in horror that I could even think that. I’d sigh with relief, and we’d share another drink. But she won’t stop saying what I cannot hear.
‘It was a physical thing. I’d never try to steal him away from you. It was – biology.’
‘Stop. Shut up.’ I feel dizzy, panic-stricken. ‘Kids, we’re going.’ I stand too quickly and one knee buckles beneath me. I grab the edge of the table.
Lou reaches for me again but I escape her and walk shakily down the few stairs that lead from the deck to the grass. I stand next to Sarah. ‘Darling, we need to go now.’
‘But we’re not finished yet.’ Sarah holds up the fuzzy tennis ball attached by a string to the pole. ‘It’s a tournament.’
‘You can finish it next time. We need to go.’
‘Abby –’ Lou stands behind me and touches my back.
I jerk forward. If my children weren’t right here I would hit her with all my strength. ‘No!’ I shout.
The kids freeze mid-motions and stare at me.
‘You’re my best friend, in the world,’ she says.
I shove her away. This much I allow myself. ‘We are not friends. And I won’t have this conversation in front of my children.’
She strokes the top of Sarah’s head. ‘Sweet girl.’
‘Stay away from her.’ I grab Sarah’s arm. ‘Petey, Joanne, come here now.’
‘I want to stay. Why can’t we stay?’ Sarah whines. She pulls away from me and plops down on the grass.
‘Get up.’ I yank Sarah to standing. She howls in outrage. The twins sense something is wrong and start to snivel. ‘Oh for God’s sake, stay here then.’ I let go of Sarah’s arm and turn to walk back through the house. I hiss at Lou, ‘Why not have my kids, too? Take everything. Don’t follow me. Do not.’ I poke her chest with one finger as she leans towards me. ‘We are done.’
She ignores me, follows me, back onto the deck, through her house where Andrew is still snoring on the couch, to the front door, talking in a loud and relentless whisper all the while.
‘He was missing you. You’re all about the kids and the house and, you know, it happens. And Andrew’s never here. I was lonely, Abby.’
I turn to face her once I’m outside. ‘You want me to feel sorry for him? For you? Go to hell.’
The rain splats down onto her drive as I walk away, my legs shaky, my eyes flooded with tears.
I nurse a gin and tonic, picturing the drink as clear glue sliding down my throat, working to hold me together internally, while the children splash about in the plastic pool. Once the rain eased, they’d wandered back home, hungry, Lou having gone to her room to ‘nap’ according to Sarah. I’m thankful that they seem oblivious to my pain, interested only in lunch and then fun. I watch as Woof cocks his leg and wees on a pile of abandoned goggles and masks.
Mark calls while I cook lamb chops, carrots and peas for the kids’ dinner. Sarah picks up the phone – her latest joy – and tells me, once the conversation is done, that Dad has a lot of work to do and will be home late, after sleep-time. He doesn’t ask to speak with me.
When Mark walks into the living room after eleven o’clock that night, I am curled up in an armchair, in the dark, a half-empty glass on the side table.
He stands in front of me. ‘Listen, I’m sorry I got so mad. It’s bloody horrendous, and you should’ve told me. I’m not excusing you, I can’t. I know you’ve spent your life covering for Charlie, but –’
‘You bastard.’ I spit the word at him.
He jerks his head back in surprise.
While he’s been wherever he’s been, I’ve been trapped with my rage in this house, going through each domestic task as if I were a robot, thinking about Mark and Lou, growing angrier, more hurt, more brittle. I’ve crafted a speech about betrayal and hypocrisy and the wounds he’s inflicted. I’d forgotten that he would be thinking about the car crash. That conversation feels a lifetime ago.
‘Uh.’ He takes a step backwards. ‘Don’t know what that’s for but I can see you’re in no state to have a rational discussion so I’m going to bed.’
‘You think you’re going to sleep here? Lie in our bed like nothing happened?’ I stand up and grab his arm, as much for balance as to stop him leaving the room. ‘How could you?’
‘How could I? You’re the one who killed a woman then lied to me.’
We face one another in the dark. I let go of his arm. I am barefoot and small, and feel like a child in the presence of a powerful adult. ‘Lou,’ I say quietly. Even in this dim light I see the change in his expression as he becomes aware of what I’m saying.
‘Abby,’ he whispers.
‘You had an affair.’ I feel myself sway.
‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘You’re married, she’s married. That’s an affair.’
He considers for a moment, then regains his confidence. ‘Well, what did you expect? You turn into a plank of wood whenever I touch you. Don’t seem interested in me at all.’ He waits. ‘Is that because of the car crash, the stress?’ he says. ‘Or – I don’t know. How much rejection did you think I could take, Abby?’
I stand still, separate from the world and all that’s in it. I want to ask when and where and for exactly how long. And does he love her. And was she the first.
‘Okay, well, I’ll go then.’ His face makes it clear he believes himself to be the victim in this scenario, cast out of his home, misunderstood by his mad harpy of a wife.
There is no law of motion that allows for things to stay the same, silent and motionless, at peace. I would like that, for a while at least. To wake to stasis, a permanent sunrise, have the raindrops hugged in white clouds – for life to stay utterly immobile until I can make sense of it.
As if on cue, the still night is shattered by what I first think is a volley of gunshots and backfiring cars. I look over Mark’s shoulder and see the black sky spot with puffs of sparkling light, then quick rockets shooting up, zigzagging, bursting open, white at first and then pink, green. The explosions grow in number and speed until the sky is hysterical with them and it suddenly seems so funny that someone is flinging all this nonsense up into the air, faster and faster, until it just stops. And when the noise abates and the sky is decorated only with pale grey squiggles of smoke, I realise I’m laughing. And that Mark has left.
The next morning, I hear a knock at the front door.
Woof runs down the stairs, barking excitedly. I open the door even though I recognise the knock.
Lou and I are wearing the same dress. I hate her afresh for the fact I’ll now think of her whenever I pull this dress off its hanger. I will never again pull this dress off the hanger. Woof leaps forward in enthusiastic greeting.
‘We match.’ She smiles awkwardly, bends down to stroke Woof’s head. I stand on the threshold with my hand on the door. ‘Except one of us is a dumb bitch.’
The sun shines onto one side of her face. Worry wrinkles cut into her forehead. I reach forward and grab Woof by the flea collar, pull him back to me.
‘Me. I’m the bitch. Abby, I’m sorry. I swear, I’ll make this up to you. I’ll –’
‘Is that it? I have things to do.’
I drag Woof closer, point him towards the stairs and pat him on the rear. He ignores me, stands by my side. I step back so I can close the door.
‘Wait, I have something for you. A first peace offering.’ She picks up a thick wooden mask she’s placed against the doorframe. It’s the length of her torso, stained a dark brown, and topped with a shock of coarse black hair. The gawping oval mouth is circled with red, and the cowrie-shell eyes are ringed by thick stripes of yellow and blue. It’s the face of a morning-after drag queen as drawn by a child, or Munch’s scream made solid.
‘That’s hideous. Why would you bring me that?’
She’s surprised. ‘I thought you loved the masks. You always say such nice things about them.’
‘I don’t want a mask.’
‘Andrew says this is a good one.’
‘So he doesn’t know you’ve been sleeping with my husband?’
‘He does. We’re not speaking. He’s letting his knuckles do the talking.’ She has a large bruise on her upper arm.
‘Don’t ask me to feel sorry for you.’
She holds the mask out to me. ‘Please take it. You might like nailing my head to your wall.’
I put the mask on the floor behind me. I’d drop it but it would crack the tiles. ‘I’ll enjoy setting it on fire at some point.’
Woof circles the mask, sniffing and growling.
Lou cries in large, loud sobs. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry. I was wrong, such a bad friend.’
‘Is that what you’re going to call it? Bad friendship?’
She turns her palms up, lifts her shoulders, wordlessly pleading. Her nose runs, leaking clear thick fluid that touches her lip. I have a tissue in my pocket.
‘How long were you a bad friend for? Were you a bad friend in my house? I mean, aside from the day of the flood when I risked my life to carry your garbage here to safety, fed and clothed your children? Were you being a bad friend and fucking my husband while I cooked your children’s dinner? Or after we spent a day together at the pool? Were you one of his million trips to the hardware store or work?’
She uses her forefinger to wipe her lip. ‘Abby, can you forgive me? I’ll do whatever it takes.’
‘Go away.’ I close the door on her. Barely contained behind my rage are the feelings I don’t want to make public – hurt and humiliation and crushing fear. There was no one in the world watching my back except for Mark and Lou, and now . . . Now, neither. And in my heart, I think I knew. I both knew and didn’t know.
Woof is pawing the mouth of the mask, sniffing at it, pulling back to bark at it. He looks up at me to see if this is what’s required. I kick the mask over to the wall, scratching the floor tiles. ‘All yours.’