by Cassie Hamer
‘Oh, thank goodness you’re back!’ Lisa nearly fell into Heather’s arms as she stalked up the side passage, arms filled with a cake box and what looked like a bottle of champagne.
‘Excuse me, but I think I’m needed.’ It was Wonder Woman, brushing past them both and heading straight for the backyard where the children had resumed their various, frantic activities, with Scott and Lisa hovering close by to ensure no serious or permanent injury occurred.
In the middle of the lawn, Wonder Woman settled a black suitcase by her side, and raised her hand. ‘Who wants to see me produce a rabbit out of this empty suitcase?’ she announced loudly. ‘The first child to sit quietly in front of me will get to pat it.’
Not another word was needed. In seconds, Wonder Woman had all thirty-two children seated calmly, goggle-eyed as she knelt down in her knee-high red leather boots to unclip the suitcase.
‘I think we can leave her to it.’ Heather touched her arm. ‘Let’s crack this one open, shall we?’ She gestured to the bottle under her arm. ‘It’s the only way to make these things bearable.’
Back in the kitchen, Heather popped the cork while Lisa searched about in a few cupboards before locating two champagne flutes.
‘We don’t drink much,’ she admitted, blowing a thin layer of dust off the glasses and handing them over.
‘Really? And you call yourselves parents!’ Heather poured generously and raised her champagne glass. ‘Chin-chin.’
Lisa clinked, put the glass to her lips and paused. ‘Should we be doing this?’ She checked her watch. ‘It’s not even midday.’
Heather gave her a look and kept drinking while Lisa took a small sip. It was deliciously sweet. Not at all like the normal champagne which tended to make her wince. This stuff was delicious! And pink! Like fizzy, alcoholic cordial. And what was it called again? Moscato? She’d never even heard of it.
‘Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s low-alcohol, and it’s the best way to survive these things.’ She touched her nose. ‘Mummy’s little helper.’
Actually, mummy’s big helper, given the amount of moscato Heather was currently consuming. She’d already finished one glass and was busily pouring herself another. She held out the bottle to Lisa. ‘Top-up?’
Lisa put her palm over the glass. ‘Not for me. Don’t want to be rolling round on the floor when the other parents turn up.’
Heather sighed. ‘Don’t think there’s much chance of that.’ Grabbing the bottle, she marched over to the couch and flopped into it gracefully. ‘May as well stay here, now that the party’s half over.’
‘Yes, of course. Please stay. Apart from the sausage rolls, I also made a whole slab of zucchini quiche for the adults. Would you like some?’
Heather looked at Lisa as if she’d suggested eating a yak’s placenta. She patted her non-existent stomach. ‘Errr … I think I’m good for zucchini quiche, thanks all the same.’
‘Carrot stick then?’ Lisa held up the tray of cut-up veggies and hummus she’d prepared for the kids who, of course, had ignored all the healthy stuff and gone straight for the chips.
‘No, really. Nothing for me. Why don’t you just relax? Sit down.’ She patted the couch next to her. ‘Kick off your …’ Heather looked disdainfully at Lisa’s tattered ugg boots. ‘Those sheepskin things.’
But Lisa remained standing, shifting her weight from foot to foot. ‘I feel like I should be out there doing something.’ Children’s birthday parties were like cyclones—torrid, occasionally violent, and seemingly never-ending, but actually quite quick in hindsight. Right now, Ava’s party seemed to have entered an eerie eye of the storm. Heather’s babysitter had cast a spell over them. There they were, sitting on the lawn and quiet as mice, staring open-mouthed as Wonder Woman twisted balloons into bunnies and horses and then made good on her promise by producing a real live rabbit out of her seemingly empty suitcase. Scott was as enraptured as the kids, though that was possibly due to the tightness of Wonder Woman’s leotard and the low-cut nature of her top. Arabella truly was a wonder woman. A wondrous woman. Even Heather seemed entranced, watching through the French doors and sipping at the bubbly.
‘She has quite a way with the kids, doesn’t she?’ Lisa settled on the armrest of the couch and followed Heather’s gaze.
‘Arabella? Oh yes, she’s absolutely amazing. A total star. Just ask any of the mums.’ Heather smirked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I probably shouldn’t tell you this but,’ Heather leant in so close that Lisa could smell the alcohol on her breath. ‘Our little Arabella may have had a little liaison with one of the school dads last year.’
‘Which one?’ Lisa drew back, horrified.
Heather waved her arm. ‘Oh, don’t worry. It was a parent from Year Four. Nothing to do with kinder.’
‘But … but …’ stammered Lisa. ‘It’s a Catholic school!’ she finally blurted.
Heather laughed, but when Lisa didn’t join in, her laughter petered out. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Yes! It’s so immoral!’
Heather finished her champagne thoughtfully. ‘I suppose.’ She put the glass on the coffee table. ‘Anyway, she’s saved your bacon.’
‘I suppose,’ said Lisa gloomily, now seeing Wonder Woman in a new and very unflattering light. Right at that minute, Arabella had finished making a very phallic balloon-sword. She ended her act by striking a ninja pose with Scott leading the applause as Wonder Woman took a coquettish bow.
‘You owe her three hundred bucks,’ said Heather.
‘What?’ Lisa nearly spat out the moscato, which was starting to taste sickly rather than sweet in her mouth.
‘That’s what she charges for a party.’
‘Gosh, that’s a better hourly rate than a … Than a …’
‘A what?’
Fortunately, Lisa was saved from answering the question by the stream of five-year-olds now stampeding inside towards the birthday cake. As Ava led the charge, Lisa clenched her fingers. Pierre’s cake was nothing like the castle Ava had chosen three months ago from the cake book. What the patissier had failed to mention on the phone was that his ‘spare’ cake had been intended for a boy’s twenty-first birthday (the party was cancelled when word of it being ‘gate-crasher-friendly’ leaked onto the socials). The cake itself was moulded in the shape of a champagne bottle with sparklers and sugared stars exploding out of the cork. For a twenty-first birthday party, it was quite spectacular. For a five-year-old, it was entirely inappropriate. Heather and Lisa had managed to scrape away the Happy 21st Blake. But there was no covering the fact that it was a cake in the shape of a champagne bottle, which made Lisa very nervous indeed. Not only was there her own personal aversion to excess alcohol consumption, there was also the fact that Ava could be quite finicky when she wanted to be—sandwiches had to be denuded of crusts before she would even look at them, and Lisa wouldn’t dare contemplate serving her breakfast without her special froggy spoon.
So, as Ava ran towards the bottle-shaped cake, Lisa took a breath.
‘Now, darling.’ She leant over to whisper in her daughter’s ear. ‘I know it’s not quite what you—’
‘Mummy! Mummy! It’s the best cake ever.’ Ava turned to Lisa, beaming. ‘It’s like a bottle you’d find washed up on a beach with a secret message in it.’ She leant closer to the cake. ‘Is there a message in it?’
‘Who knows, darling,’ said Lisa gaily, feeling the knots in her stomach starting to loosen. ‘How about we sing “Happy Birthday” and find out.’ She stood up again. ‘On my count. One, two, three. Happy birthday to you …’
After the singing died down, Arabella called the children outside for another game—a version of Duck, Duck, Goose, which she’d renamed Batman, Batman, Robin. As Lisa started slicing up the cake and giving pieces to Heather to distribute, Lisa felt a kiss on her cheek.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’ Jamie squeezed Lisa’s shoulders. ‘Surviving? It sounded quiet from out on the street.’
‘I could have used some help earlier. I was worried,’ said Lisa, hacking at the cake.
‘I understand, Lise, and I’m sorry,’ began Jamie. ‘But—and I say this with love—you don’t have to worry about me. You’ve got enough on your plate.’
‘I’m never going to stop, you know,’ said Lisa in a low voice.
‘I know. And I love you for it.’ Jamie squeezed again. ‘But please try. For your sake, and mine.’
‘I am,’ Lisa muttered. One day, her sister would understand, perhaps when she had her own children. Maternal instinct was primal. Instinctive. Not something that could be easily switched off, once it was flicked on, as it had been for Lisa the night the police came knocking on their door. Was it, what? Nearly twenty years ago now. Yes, nearly twenty. Lisa, only four months from turning eighteen. Jamie, just fifteen. Too young to live by themselves. Who could they stay with, the police asked?
At first, the question of where to live was just another to add to the pile of other, equally substantive questions—who would kiss them goodnight? Who would bring them toast and flat lemonade when they were ill? Who would edit Jamie’s essays on Jane Austen? Or Lisa’s on Macbeth? And put smiley faces in the margins when they made a good point? Who would one day walk them down the aisle? Go shopping with them for a wedding dress? Bring packets of marshmallows for the grandchildren? In the confusion of grief and loss that Lisa and Jamie experienced in the days after the crash, all these questions remained unanswered, along with the more immediate issue of who could put a roof over their heads. Family services were firm. They couldn’t stay at home, at least not until Lisa was eighteen and old enough to apply for permanent guardianship over Jamie. Until then, adult supervision was required. There had to be someone else? A relative?
Well, actually, no. Their mum and dad were only-children. Their own parents had long since died. No grandparents. No aunts and uncles. Not even a cousin, at least none they knew of. Their dad had been transferred to Sydney only two years earlier, not even long enough to establish close friends—or at least, not the sort of closeness required to take the girls into their own homes. While Lisa understood her parents to be organised and sensible people, their wills were conspicuously silent on the matter of custody in the event of their deaths, as if they simply couldn’t countenance the idea that one rainy Saturday night they would go out for dinner and a movie, only never to return. Not when there was no other family to replace them.
Jamie doesn’t get it. Not yet. Once a parent, always a parent.
Lisa resumed cutting forcefully, channelling the remainder of her anxieties into the cake.
With a slight wobble, Heather joined her side and took another glug of moscato. ‘Four more pieces required, then we’re done, thank goodness.’ She looked Jamie up and down.
‘Heather, this is my sister, Jamie.’ Lisa addressed Jamie. ‘Thankfully, Heather here was able to stay and help me.’
‘You’re Lisa’s sister.’ Heather frowned. Her eyes were glassy. ‘I would never have guessed.’
Lisa took a brief survey of what Jamie was wearing—artfully slashed jeans, sky-high platform sandals in silver, and an off-the-shoulder grey sweatshirt, very Flashdance circa 1983. It was vintage-Jamie: an eclectic mix of the glamorous and the everyday that somehow seemed to work on her. The only thing the sisters shared was their curly hair: Lisa’s, dark brown verging on ebony, Jamie’s, dirty (bottle) blonde.
‘It’s nice to meet you.’ Jamie thrust out her hand. ‘It sounds like you’ve been a wonderful help.’
‘It was looking rather desperate at one stage, but we made it through.’ Heather’s eyes swivelled towards the moscato on the benchtop. ‘Thanks to this.’ She picked up the bottle. ‘Now, where’s my glass.’ She hiccoughed, then rubbed her stomach. ‘Actually, I’m not feeling so well. Forgot to have breakfast, again, unless you count that aspirin I took. You know how it is with children. Busy, busy, rush, rush, headache, headache,’ sang Heather.
Lisa and Jamie exchanged glances.
‘Why don’t we sit you back down on the couch?’ Lisa took Heather by the shoulders and started steering her towards the lounge room. ‘Jamie here will look after you.’
‘You’re so pretty,’ said Heather. ‘And—well-dressed.’ She touched Jamie’s top in wonder. ‘Cashmere?’
Jamie took over the steering and led Heather to the couch. ‘How about we sit here.’ The cushions sighed as the two women collapsed onto them.
Heather yawned and looked around. ‘Might just rest my head for a minute …’ Her voice trailed off as her head sank into Jamie’s lap. And stayed there.
Lisa peered at her face. ‘Oh god. I think she’s passed out.’
‘I met her one minute ago and now her head’s in my lap.’ Jamie held her hands up, as if frightened to touch her. ‘What’s been going on here?’
Lisa sat on the coffee table opposite the now-snoring Heather. ‘You have no idea.’ They fell silent for a minute, listening to Heather moaning softly. ‘She saved my life.’
‘She’s passed-out drunk!’
Lisa folded her arms. ‘Well, it’s partly your fault,’ she said in a loud whisper. ‘You were supposed to be here at eight-thirty to help set up. Where were you?’
Jamie rested one hand gently on Heather’s forearm and the other on the armrest. She smiled. ‘I’ve got news.’
Lisa’s heart twinged. She clenched her pelvic floor, and felt her maternal sensibilities stir.
‘What? What’s your big news?’
Lisa went through a quick mental list of what she hoped it might be:
1)That Jamie had quit her job
2)That she’d broken up with Jared
3)That she’d quit her job AND broken up with Jared.
‘Well,’ Jamie began, the smile again tip-toeing across her face. ‘I’m getting married!’
Lisa’s stomach rolled. ‘To Jared?’
‘Of course to Jared. Who else?’ Jamie said crossly, trying to fold her arms but stopped by Heather’s snoring head.
‘It’s just …’ Lisa paused, and a vision of Jared climbing a tree flashed into her head. It’s what she recalled most of their first meeting—a ‘meet-the-family’ picnic in Centennial Park, organised by Jamie when Ava was just a baby. Midway through lunch, Jared had abandoned his sandwich to climb a tree he’d spotted in the distance. He’s obsessed with climbing, Jamie told them as Jared scampered from branch to branch. At the time, Lisa had found it sweetly endearing that her sister’s new boyfriend still had such ready access to his inner-child. But as the years went by, and Jared’s obsessions moved from climbing trees, to frisbee-football, then slacklining, Lisa realised there was a difference between childlike and childish. Her sister deserved a husband who was her equal, her partner in life, not a man who would never quite grow up. There had to be a way to talk her out of it.
‘It’s quite quick, isn’t it?’
‘We’ve been together for five years.’
‘But only living together for a couple of months.’
‘You and Scott didn’t live together at all before you married.’
‘True,’ she said miserably.
‘And we’re probably moving to Dubai.’
‘No!’ This time Lisa couldn’t stop herself. While her head was tactful, her heart always tended to win out in these matters.
‘Jared’s gone for a promotion in the firm’s Dubai office, and he thinks he’s got it.’ Jamie paused. ‘And the job starts in six weeks.’
‘What? You can’t organise a wedding in that time.’
Jamie raised an eyebrow. ‘Lise. C’mon. I could organise a wedding in five minutes. We don’t all need five tastings to decide on a wedding cake.’
Lisa cringed. She’d been atrocious at planning her own wedding. It wasn’t that she was fussy, she was just frightened of making the wrong decision. Would people prefer chicken or lamb? Caramel mud cake or chocolate? French champagne or Australian? There were just so many decisions! And everything was so expensive
. She didn’t want to waste her inheritance because of bad decision-making. This was when a person really needed their parents. Her mother would have known exactly what to do. In the end, Jamie, who seemed to have inherited their mum’s organisation capabilities, had taken over and the wedding had gone beautifully. Lisa couldn’t even remember the flavour of the cake now, only that it was delicious and when Scott fed her the first mouthful, she had been laughing so hard that some of it spilled out and left a rather unfortunate brown smear on her dress, which made Lisa laugh even harder. Now, it was her little sister’s turn to plan her own wedding for which Lisa should have been happy. Only one problem—she was sure Jamie was marrying the wrong guy.
‘But what about your job?’ said Lisa.
‘You mean the one you’re always telling me to leave?’
‘Yes! You love that awful job.’
Jamie stretched and clasped both hands behind her head. ‘I’m going to set up my own business, like you did. This move is exactly the push I needed.’
Lisa’s shoulders slumped. Earlier, when she dropped the cake on the floor, she had thought the day couldn’t get any worse.
She was wrong.
‘But I’m going to miss you too much.’
‘We’ll still talk every day.’ Jamie put her arm around Lisa. ‘And it won’t be forever. One year. Two max.’ She squeezed her sister’s shoulder. ‘Please be happy for me, Lise. This is what I want. Truly … And maybe it will be good for us to have a little more distance.’
Before Lisa could reply, a tornado of five-year-olds whirled in from the back deck. ‘Lolly bags! Lolly bags!’ they chanted and crowded around the kitchen bench expectantly. Wonder Woman strode towards Lisa with Scott hanging off her shoulder like a little puppy dog.
‘I said they could have their lolly bags if they cleaned up the backyard. Hope that’s okay?’ Arabella checked her watch. ‘The parents should be here at any moment.’
Lisa leapt off the coffee table. ‘Oh no! The lolly bags.’
‘I’ll get them, Lise. Where are they?’ said Scott.
Lisa clapped a hand to her forehead. ‘I completely forgot. I was supposed to do them this morning, but then we slept in, and the cake fiasco, and—’
