4.40 pm
I dump the two bags of groceries I am carting on the floor next to the hall-table, hang up my bag on the hat-stand, and press the button on the answering machine. It whirs busily backwards for a couple of seconds and then starts to speak to me.
‘On this day in 1950 Mark Spitz was born – you know, the guy who won seven golds at the Munich Olympics? Nice abs. Anyway, I’ll be a bit late tomorrow night but I should be there by eight. See you then!’
Hmm, I’m still not sure whether a few drinks with Terry tomorrow night is a good idea. The practical side of me says that it might be beneficial to talk about what happened on Tuesday night but the emotional side of me (which has been holding the reins for almost forty years and isn’t about to give up now) is saying don’t talk about it, don’t think about it, don’t even acknowledge it – then maybe you can pretend that it simply didn’t happen.
‘Hello, Mrs McNeill – or is it Mrs Riley? This is the canteen supervisor from Christine’s primary school. Ringing to remind you that you are rostered on for canteen duty tomorrow. See you then.’
Well, that’s something to look forward to. And it’s Ms Riley, thanks all the same. But I daren’t let her down – that canteen supervisor has a mean streak as broad as her build. If I don’t turn up, CJ won’t get sauce on her hot dogs for the rest of the year. A third message kicks in with a whir.
‘Oh, you’re not at home. It’s ten-thirty. In the morning. I hope that means that Harold and I can expect you soon. You do remember that you promised to help out at Harold’s house today? I’m sure you do. Elizabeth is already here, of course. So we’ll see you soon.’
Oh my god! I totally forgot about helping out at Harold’s today! And it’s too late to go up there now – my mother is going to kill me. I shall have to think of a really good excuse before she rings me – or simply not answer.
‘It’s Alex. Are you ever home? Catch you later.’
Not if I can help it. I rewind the tape over the messages and pick up the two bags of groceries. Ben comes wandering down the passageway and glares at me.
‘Where have you been?’ he says accusingly.
‘I had a million things to do today. Sorry I’m late.’
‘Did you do the groceries? We’re out of biscuits.’
‘Yep, they’ve been melting in the boot all afternoon. Go and give CJ a hand with them, will you? And bring in those boxes of tiles from the boot as well. You can stack them outside the bathroom door, thanks.’ I actually dropped the frozen stuff off earlier on my way to Mega-tile City, the home of every variety of floor and wall tile you could possibly imagine – and many more that you probably couldn’t – so there shouldn’t be anything actually melting in the boot, I hope. Ben opens the door and heads outside.
‘Mum! Where have you been?’ Sam comes out of her bedroom and looks at me with concern. ‘I was getting really worried.’
‘I was just getting some bits and pieces done, that’s all. And picking out the new tiles for the bathroom.’
‘Well, you could have rung or something. You’d, like, scream if I did that.’
‘True. Okay, I’ll remember that.’ I shake my head in disbelief because, until only a short while ago, I was working until five o’clock every day and there didn’t seem to be any problems with me coming in late. It certainly hasn’t taken them very long to get used to me being at home when they walk in the door every day, and carrying on like two-bob watches when I’m not. I go down to the kitchen, dump the groceries on the table, and put the kettle on. Sam follows me and starts to unpack one of the bags.
‘What’s this cereal?’
‘I thought we’d try a new one for a change.’
‘Gross.’
‘Anyway, I thought you and Ben were going to visit Auntie Diane after school today?’
‘We did – or actually, I did. We had the last two periods off so Sara and I went over then. The babies are gorgeous! And did you know she’s called them Robin and Regan? And Regan looks like Grandma.’
‘But I thought you were going to take Ben over?’
‘Not likely!’ Sam looks at me as if I have just suggested that she eat dirt.
Meanwhile CJ comes staggering down the passage holding a bag of groceries with two hands and lurches herself into the kitchen, grunting with the effort. I reach out and take the bag from her. It only has tissues and toilet paper in it, and weighs about as much as two feathers. However, it was obviously enough to exhaust CJ, who throws herself onto a chair, breathing heavily.
‘Can’t carry any more. Look, Sam! It’s my new doll what my Nannie bought for me!’
‘Really, Nannie bought it for you? How nice of her,’ I comment sarcastically, still feeling extremely bitter about the fact that I have added considerably to the profit margin of the grocery store by purchasing the same item twice. I did try to state my case to the checkout operator but to little avail. She simply asked CJ to point out the teller who had served her only ten minutes earlier, but apparently she had suffered spontaneous combustion or something. So that was that. On the way home, I came up with a slightly paranoid theory that Christine had surreptitiously lifted the receipt and bag so that she could lurk around the corner and smirk at my discomfiture. She and Keith are probably going to have hysterics over it next time they meet.
‘Are you looking, Sam? See, she’s eben got black knickers on!’
‘Cool. I like her boots.’ Sam peels the plastic off the toilet paper rolls and takes them down to the bathroom. The doorbell rings and she detours to answer it. I can hear her talking to somebody. I hope to god it’s not Alex – or my mother either, for that matter. I fill the coffee plunger with hot water and then start to put some of the groceries away. Ben comes down the passage with three bags in each hand, heaves them onto the floor in front of me, gives his little sister a filthy look, and heads back out to the car for some more.
‘Mum! Look – flowers!’
‘My god!’ My mouth drops open as I turn to see Samantha, who is standing in the doorway partially obscured by a large arrangement of white camellias and assorted greenery. She moves forwards and places the arrangement gingerly on the counter in front of me.
‘Mummy! Lubly flowers!’ CJ and Bondage Barbie come over for a closer look.
‘Look, there’s a card.’ Sam plucks a small white envelope from amongst the foliage and reads it. ‘And it’s addressed to you!’
‘My god!’ I am just as amazed as she is.
‘Can I read it?’
‘No!’ I grab the envelope out of her hand as Ben comes back in with another load of bags, dumps them on the floor next to the others, gives everybody a filthy look in general, and starts to rummage through the groceries in search of something to eat.
‘Did you put the tiles outside the bathroom, Ben?’
‘Yep.’
‘What does the card say, Mum?’
‘Yes, Mummy! What does it say?’
‘Thanks for all your help, you lot,’ Ben says with an attempt at sarcasm as he finds a packet of biscuits and tears it open.
‘Does it?’ CJ says with a frown on her face.
‘Of course not, CJ. Come on, Mum, what does it say?’
‘I’ll open it later.’ I tuck the little envelope into a pocket in my skirt and pat it to make sure that it is secure. ‘After we’ve put everything away.’
‘Oh! It’s a secret!’
‘Hey, Ben, Mum’s got a secret admirer. Look at the flowers.’
‘Humph,’ Ben replies grumpily around a mouthful of milk arrowroot biscuit. I pick up the flowers to move them somewhere more suitable, but then change my mind and place them back on the counter. I finally manage to push Christine McNeill, Bondage Barbie and their joint financial sting out of my mind. These flowers look beautiful. Samantha grins at me and starts to unpack the groceries in double-quick time, even folding the plastic bags neatly after she empties each one. But I don’t want to share the note with her. Or with anybody for that matter. I try and distract her.
‘Did I tell you that I picked out the new tiles for the bathroom floor? They’re really nice. Do you want to have a look?’
‘No. I want to see what your card says.’
‘I told you I’d open it later.’ I glance up at the clock. ‘And what time did you say your father was collecting you two?’
‘Oh, I’d forgotten about that! Ben, come on, we need to get changed!’ Sam abandons the groceries and heads off to her bedroom. Ben follows, with considerably more reluctance – and a handful of biscuits.
‘Not fair! I want to go too!’
‘Well, we’ll have a yummy dinner anyway. How about macaroni cheese?’
‘Yuck.’
‘All right. What about sausages? Or spaghetti and meatballs? Or chicken schnitzel?’
‘Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.’
‘Well, with that sort of attitude you can just have baked beans on toast.’
‘Yum!’
‘Fine. Consider it done.’ I edge my way into a corner of the kitchen, turn my back on CJ, and take the envelope out of my pocket. I look around quickly to make sure nobody is watching and slowly slide the card out.
‘Mum, how does this look?’
‘Lovely.’ I give Sam a cursory glance as I shove the card back into the envelope and back into my pocket. Then I turn to give her my full attention. I was right the first time, she does look lovely. She is wearing a pair of black cotton hipsters and a black halter-neck top that is shot through with silver. Oh, to be eighteen again.
‘Do you think so?’ she asks as she does a little pirouette.
‘I know so.’
Ben comes back into the kitchen wearing scruffy runners, jeans, a torn t-shirt, and a hangdog expression.
‘Ben! Dad said dress neatly!’
‘Ben, that won’t do. Go and get changed.’
‘I don’t even want to go anyway,’ he grumbles as he heads back to his bedroom. Sam leaves also, but continues down the passage in the direction of the bathroom. CJ has started to undress Bondage Barbie on the table. This is my chance. I pull out the envelope, remove the card and rapidly read the four printed words:
Are you avoiding me?
Well, actually – yes, Alex, I am. How astute of you. But I have a smile on my face as I push the card back into the envelope and then stare out into the backyard for a few minutes. Murphy has managed to dislodge one of the staghorns from a tree and is dismembering it with gusto. Am I acting a bit childishly by not facing this thing head-on? Is Alex in fact displaying a lot more maturity and commonsense by wanting to talk about it and get it out in the open? I mean, it did happen and it isn’t going to go away. I only wish that I knew what I wanted. The doorbell rings.
‘That’ll be Dad!’ Sam calls out as she rushes from the bathroom to answer it. I freeze at the window for a second and then turn, grab the flowers and shove them quickly into the laundry on top of the washing-machine. I duck back into the kitchen, shut the laundry door and try to get my breathing under control. Act nonchalant. Act nonchalant. Act nonchalant. Bloody hell.
‘What’re you staring at, Mummy?’
‘Nothing. Nothing.’ I take a deep breath and brush my fingers through my hair. Then I walk slowly down the passage towards the front door where I can hear Samantha talking to her father. But by the time I get there they have already left and are walking over to the metallic bronze Holden Commodore parked in Alex’s driveway. Even from the back Alex is looking very nice in a pair of tailored navy trousers and patterned shirt. He carries the little bit of weight he has put on rather well. My stomach does a couple of flip-flops and my legs feel weak. Resolutely, I smooth down my batik outfit and wander over to the side fence where I lean casually.
‘Have a good time,’ I call courteously.
‘Oh, my god! It’s you!’ Alex whirls around, clasps his hand to his chest and acts as if he is absolutely astounded to see me. ‘Be still my heart. What a surprise!’
‘Ha, ha. I’ve been busy.’
‘You must have been.’
‘I do have a life, you know.’
‘What’re you talking about?’ Sam has paused with her hand on the car door and is looking at us both suspiciously. ‘What life?’
‘Nothing. Only your father’s idea of a little joke.’
‘How little?’ he asks with a grin on his face.
‘Very little,’ I answer through clenched teeth. Ben comes slunking across the yard and over to his father’s car, dressed exactly as he had been fifteen minutes ago – except for a slightly cleaner pair of runners.
‘You can’t go out like that,’ I say, looking him over. ‘Hang on, Alex, and I’ll grab him another shirt.’
I walk back towards my house, affecting a slightly hip-swaying, languid semi-stroll that I have seen Cameron Diaz use to perfection. When I reach the house, I glance back to see if anyone was watching my performance, but they are deep in discussion. So I break the stroll and simply run up the passage into Ben’s room and throw open his wardrobe. There is absolutely nothing hanging up but I find a reasonable looking button-up shirt draped over the top of his guitar. It even still looks ironed. Probably because, after declaring that music was his destiny and he would die without a guitar for his tenth birthday, he only ever used it once or twice. I grab the shirt and take it back outside.
By the time I reach Alex’s car, without bothering to use the slightly hip-swaying, languid semi-stroll, Ben has ensconced himself in the back seat. I knock on the window and hold out the shirt.
‘Come on, Ben, you can’t go out in that shirt. It’s disgusting.’
‘Your mother’s right, Ben,’ adds Alex. ‘The restaurant we’re going to won’t let you in with a t-shirt. Especially that t-shirt.’
‘Hate that shirt,’ Ben mumbles as he exits the car and starts to pull his torn t-shirt off. ‘And I hate restaurants too.’
Just as I am opening my mouth to remonstrate with him, a sleek blue MG pulls smoothly into the driveway and coasts to a halt behind Alex’s Holden Commodore. We all turn to look at the car and, with considerably more interest, the female who slowly emerges from it. She looks like she has stepped straight out of the society pages and is heading for the Melbourne Cup. Suddenly my batik ensemble that seemed so fresh and summery this morning feels decidedly wilted and extremely old hat. She is dressed in a knee-length snug black leather skirt, a square white sleeveless cardigan with pearl buttons, strappy sandals and a wide-brimmed black hat that is positively dripping with clusters of tiny white flowers. On me, an ensemble like that would look incredibly frumpish. On her, it merely looks exceptionally elegant and sets off her tall, slim figure to perfection. Long, shiny black hair cascades out below the hat, and vivid blue eyes (exactly the same shade as the MG) are smiling delightedly – at Alex. She secures her hat with one hand and, ignoring the rest of us who are standing around with our mouths half open, holds her other hand out towards the object of her attention.
‘Darling!’
‘What the hell!’
‘Darling! Are you totally surprised?’
Darling is totally surprised, if the expression on his face is anything to go by. And he’s not the only one. Holding Ben’s clean shirt in one hand, I surreptitiously smooth my own shirt down with the other. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Sam doing the same thing with her cotton hipsters. I imagine that this female would have that effect on most other women anywhere.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I thought I’d surprise you! Come on, at least act pleased to see me!’ She saunters confidently over to where Alex is standing by his car and, tucking her free arm into his, smiles brilliantly up into his face. ‘And give me a kiss!’
‘Oh, um. Sorry.’ Alex bends and plants a peck on her cheek. ‘I was just surprised, that’s all.’
‘Oh, really! A proper kiss, please!’ And with that she lets go of her hat, places a hand on either side of Alex’s face and proceeds to give him what she terms a ‘proper kiss’. Actually, I think I’d term it a pretty damn proper kiss too. My stomach goes into free-fall and then leaps up to constrict my throat. I tear my gaze away and look at Sam, who manages to frown and raise her eyebrows to me at the same time. No mean feat. I raise my eyebrows back and then turn to look at Ben who, shirtless, is watching the action with an indecipherable look on his face. Well, one thing is for sure – I am not hanging around here for this.
‘Excuse me, Alex?’ I raise my voice slightly as he finally breaks mouth contact with the mystery female and turns to me with his eyes wide and his face beetroot.
‘Sorry! Sorry!’
‘No, that’s fine. Really. It’s only that I have to go. I’ve got groceries and um, I’ve got housework.’ I take a deep breath and get a grip on myself. ‘Anyway, so have a great time – with the kids, I mean. See you!’
‘But you haven’t introduced me!’ She unwraps one arm from around Alex’s neck and approaches me with her hand extended. ‘I’m Linnet – that’s L-I-N-N-E-T, not with a “y”.’
‘How nice for you.’ I shake the proffered hand and try to smile winsomely back at L-I-N-N-E-T. I don’t think I succeed, but anyway . . .
‘You must be the housekeeper. I told Alex he would need one. He works much too hard to come home and do all that sort of menial stuff. I’m so glad to see he has taken my advice.’ She smiles across at Alex and then turns to me in a confiding manner. ‘He doesn’t often take my advice, you know. So I shall be relying on you an awful lot. And, whenever I’m not here, I shall be able to relax knowing that I can depend on you to keep him satisfied.’
‘Satisfied?’ I repeat stupidly.
‘Totally,’ she says emphatically. ‘Totally satisfied.’
Now I don’t know what else to say. I daren’t look at Alex so I simply stand there, staring at her like an idiot with my mouth open and Ben’s shirt hanging from one hand. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to need a response as she whirls around to face Samantha and Benjamin.
‘Now, you two – why, you must be Alex’s divine children. Oh, what bliss! I’ve heard so much about you that I feel we’re practically best friends already.’ With that she bounds energetically forwards to envelop Benjamin in a bear hug. He fights himself free, staggers against the car, and holds his torn t-shirt up against his hairless chest in a rare display of modesty. Meanwhile, Linnet attacks his sister, who realises too late that it was her turn next. If the situation wasn’t already so fraught, I would have laughed out loud at the sight of their outraged faces. Benjamin pulls his t-shirt back on rapidly while Linnet is otherwise occupied with enveloping his sister, and then they both furiously face their father with a tacit demand for an explanation. But he hasn’t said a word. And he is still wide-eyed and beetroot.
‘Why, Alex! You haven’t told them, have you?’
‘I haven’t had a chance.’
‘Oh, really! No wonder the poor things look so stunned!’
‘Now, Linnet –’
‘It’s all right, I’m not angry. I’ll simply tell them myself.’
‘Linnet!’
‘Benjamin, Samantha, your father and I have some news for you.’ She claps her hands together and smiles at them beatifically. ‘I’m going to be your new mother!’
‘What!’
‘Oh, no!’ She claps her hands again and turns to Samantha. ‘Not your real mother. I’m sure nobody could replace her. And nobody would want to. All I meant is that I’m going to be your other mother – your stepmother, of course!’
‘You’re getting married?’ Sam speaks for the first time as she examines her ‘new mother’ with poorly disguised distaste. ‘To our father?’
‘Yes! Isn’t it famous?’
Well, famous isn’t quite the word I’d use, but it’ll have to do for the moment. I look across at Alex, who hasn’t moved since receiving his proper kiss. Our eyes meet because he is looking straight back at me.
‘I can explain.’
‘Really? How famous.’
‘Explain what?’ Linnet looks at Alex curiously. ‘Anything I should know?’
‘Oh! Nothing – no, nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ I ask him.
‘Oh, no! That’s not what I meant.’
‘Then what did you mean?’ asks Linnet.
‘I didn’t!’
‘Didn’t you?’ I ask sweetly.
‘You know what I mean!’
‘Well, I don’t. And I’d appreciate it if somebody told me.’ Linnet takes her incredible hat off her head and runs a hand through her silky black hair in consternation.
‘Look, I really have to go. I’ve left CJ inside stripping Bondage – never mind. So lovely to meet you, Linnet. Enjoy yourselves, kids. And I’ll see you around, Alex.’ I turn and walk with dignity across my front lawn and into the house. Once safely inside, I shut the front door gently, lean against it and take a couple of deep breaths. That bastard. That one-hundred per cent, unmitigated, lousy, dirty, stinking bastard. How dare he pretend to be single! How dare he make me the ‘other woman’! I don’t want to be the other woman – I want to be the woman! I think. Besides, even if I don’t know what I actually want, that still gives him no right to thrust it in my face and then tell me that it belongs to someone else! I’m speaking metaphorically here, of course.
I hear somebody stamping up to the front door and, because I’d recognise that stamping anywhere, I open it. Sam comes through and stares at me with wild-eyed fury.
‘He cancelled our dinner!’
‘What?’
‘He just cancelled our dinner! He’s taking her out instead!’
‘Why?’
‘To talk, or something. Or because he’s going to, like, marry her, that’s why!’ Sam is just about spitting in fury. ‘She’s horrible! Did you see her hug me?’
‘Where’s Ben?’
‘He’s gone around the back to his bloody animals. I’m going to get something to eat. Bloody, bloody hell.’ She stomps down to the kitchen where her stomping turns suddenly into crunching. I sigh heavily and follow.
‘I’m sorry, Mummy! I was trying to help!’ CJ is sitting on the floor with the spaghetti container surrounded by about five hundred pieces of spaghetti which are now in assorted lengths.
‘It’s okay, CJ.’ I drop Ben’s clean shirt on the island bench and head over to the window tiredly, feeling as though I have suddenly aged about ten years. I peer out to see if I can spot Benjamin. He must be in the shed. I do hope that he isn’t too upset.
‘I hate her.’ Sam starts opening cupboards and then banging them closed. ‘I really hate her.’
‘But I didn’t mean it! I was only trying to help.’
‘Not you, CJ. Sam’s talking about someone else.’ I walk over to the laundry door, open it and stand there looking at my flowers. I pat my pocket and there, safe and secure, is the card so I take it out and look at it once more.
Are you avoiding me?
Well, if I wasn’t then, I sure am now. I turn away from the flowers, pick up my cold cup of coffee and drop it in the sink where it clatters noisily amongst the rest of the dishes and the coffee splashes up onto the tiles. Sam looks up at me questioningly from where she is squatting in front of a cupboard. I shrug. Because sometimes coffee isn’t nearly enough and you have to take a deep breath, maintain control, and assess the situation with rational self-possession.
Or just reach for the scotch.
Lewis Carroll 1832–1878