After the Party

by Cassie Hamer

  Arabella held up her hand authoritatively and Lisa immediately shut up. No one could disobey Wonder Woman. ‘I’ve got a plan.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘We’ll make it into a challenge.’ She pointed at Scott. ‘You go scatter lollies around the backyard.’ She pointed at Lisa. ‘You give out the empty bags to the kids. We’ll tell them it’s a treasure hunt.’

  ‘And what should I do?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘You,’ Arabella pointed at Jamie, ‘keep looking after Heather. I’ll drive her home later.’ She gave Lisa and Scott a look. ‘For an extra fifteen bucks.’ They gave a silent nod of agreement. ‘Okay,’ said Arabella assertively. ‘Ready, team?’

  Lisa was half-tempted to spin around, Wonder Woman-style. Instead she muttered a yes and hurried towards the cupboard while Arabella announced the ‘challenge’ to the kids, who hooted and hollered like they’d been told they’d never have to eat broccoli ever again, instead of being told to go make their own lolly bags.

  Ten minutes later, it was all over. The party ended as quickly as it had begun, the parents slinking in and out with such haste that Lisa began to worry. What was it with these people? At Ava’s pre-school parties, the parents had been so friendly and attentive to their children, sticking around to make sure they didn’t run riot or have a little weeing accident or eat potato chips and nothing else. Had Lisa missed the memo which said that once a child hit the age of five they were considered perfectly able to fend entirely for themselves at a complete stranger’s house? They were still so little! But here were these parents, treating them like the next step was a driving licence.

  ‘Thank you, Arabella. You were wonderful.’ Lisa handed her a cheque.

  ‘Nothing to it,’ said the girl nonchalantly as Heather, who had now roused herself into consciousness, slid on her sunglasses and smoothed down her hair.

  ‘And thank you, Heather. I couldn’t have done this without you.’ Lisa gave her a warm kiss. The woman smelt of stale champagne and wobbled slightly.

  ‘Yes, well. That’s probably true. Goodbye, Lisa.’ Heather turned. ‘Come along, Savannah-Rose. Say your goodbyes.’ Savannah cuddled Ava like it was her last hug on earth and skipped out the door, shouting, ‘Thanks for the party,’ over her shoulder, before running ahead of Arabella, who was still holding tightly to the slightly unsteady Heather.

  ‘She really saved the day, didn’t she?’ Scott murmured in Lisa’s ear.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Arabella, of course.’

  ‘But it was Heather who organised her, and the cake.’

  ‘Two Wonder Women, then.’

  Lisa turned to see Scott’s eyes following Arabella’s blue lycra-encased bottom up the garden path. ‘Hey! Eyes up, buster.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your eyes are glued to Arabella’s bum!’

  ‘Now there’s a visual,’ Scott laughed, pulling Lisa in for a hug. ‘You know you are the only Wonder Woman for me.’

  Lisa buried her head in his shoulder, feeling, as she always did in this position, that she was home. Safe, warm, and loved.

  ‘That party was such a disaster.’ Lisa let out a muffled wail.

  ‘No, it wasn’t.’ Scott stroked her hair. ‘The kids absolutely adored it. Ava told me it was the best ever.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ Cupping her face in his hands, Scott leant in for a kiss. It was gorgeous. Gentle and soft. Lisa was enjoying it, so much so she didn’t quite realise that it was deepening into something quite different from a peck on the mouth. She broke away.

  ‘I think we better do some cleaning up before we, you know …’

  ‘Get dirty?’ Scott smiled, before trudging towards the front gate to remove the balloons which were now hanging limp and tired.

  Lisa could relate. Having a child tug on you all day was exhausting.

  Back in the kitchen, Lisa’s ears buzzed from the quiet. Ava and Jemima had disappeared into the bedroom with Jamie to de-brief over the party and fill her in on all she had missed.

  Lisa picked up a garbage bag and surveyed the backyard.

  Was it a party or a ransacking? was Lisa’s initial thought. The outdoor furniture had been upended and one chair appeared to have lost a leg. Admittedly, it had been wobbly before the party, but still. The roses had no heads and the lawn was covered in a confetti of white and pink petals. The rickety side-fence now had a more pronounced lean to it and the washing line had been reduced to a tangle of knots. Under one of the bushes was a pair of children’s underpants, covering a stash of lollies.

  What were Scott and Arabella thinking, to let them get away with all of this? What happened to the clean-up?

  Lisa pocketed the undies and unwrapped a lolly. Its tangy sweetness prompted a tidal wave of saliva in her mouth. She needed the sugar hit. Anything to help confront the disaster before her. She started collecting the rubbish—burst balloons, streamers torn down from where they’d swung festively from the trees, and a general array of little plastic trinkets that had been hidden in the piñata.

  At the sound of hulking, heaving retches, Lisa stopped in her tracks.

  The dog.

  Round the side of the house, she found him standing over a pile of green vomit—the same colour as Ava’s champagne bottle birthday cake. Lisa twigged. There’d been leftovers. She hadn’t had time to put them in the fridge. With golden retrievers there was never enough time. Frankie’s speed over the five metres from the back door to his dog bowl would rival a cheetah’s.

  His head hung low. Was he ashamed? Or contemplating eating the chunder?

  ‘Poor Frankie puppy,’ she crooned. ‘That’s what you get for eating two cakes.’

  Lisa gave him a forgiving pat and fetched the hose. The puke broke up into algal-coloured rivulets and the dog wandered forlornly towards its kennel.

  This time it was a yelp that made Lisa pause from cleaning. A human yelp. And a flash of red from inside Frankie’s kennel.

  Lisa took a few, cautious steps towards it. ‘Anyone in there?’ She waited. Inside the kennel Frankie moaned softly then quietened. The thump of his tail registered through the wooden slats of the kennel. Someone was patting him.

  ‘Hello. Is anyone in there?’ Lisa took a few more steps towards the kennel. The dog barked. A little voice whispered, ‘Shhhhh.’

  Feeling slightly nervous, Lisa leant over the entrance to the kennel to find two pairs of eyes staring back at her. Round and glassy as marbles. One set belonging to Frankie and the other to a little girl Lisa had never seen before. As her eyes accustomed to the dark, she could see the girl was wearing a beautiful red tulle dress with a sash at the waist, her dark hair braided into the most precise plaits Lisa had ever seen.

  ‘Don’t be scared. Frankie won’t hurt.’ Lisa sat on her haunches. ‘He’s too sick and sorry for himself at the moment to think about anything much.’

  ‘He’s very soft,’ said the little girl in a low voice.

  ‘Would you like to come out of there?’

  The plaits moved like whips as the little girl shook her head.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  The girl, pale and ghostly, kept her hand on Frankie. ‘My name is Ellie,’ she whispered.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Missy gazed around the granny flat one last time to make sure she hadn’t left anything. The place was bare. Soulless. Not that the converted garage had ever been a particularly characterful place, but it was functional as granny flats tended to be. Just two rooms—a bedroom big enough for a double bed and little else, plus a living room with kitchenette. But that was all Ellie and Missy required. To Ellie, who didn’t know any better, it was the perfect home. To Missy it was a simple solution to her problem. What had sold her on the place was that the owner, an elderly Russian man, would take cash for it. A little envelope with $180 in it that she left in a post office box every Monday, marked Mr Ivanov. They’d met just twice, in person. His English wasn’t great but when Missy had introduced Ellie his eyes had lit
up. ‘I have granddaughter,’ he said haltingly, using his hands to indicate a height similar to Ellie’s.

  The place was theirs. No paperwork required. Electricity, water and furniture included. He also owned the main house but chose to keep it empty. When Missy had peeped through the blinds there had been nothing to see, just rooms of furniture covered in white sheets. ‘You have car?’ he’d asked. No, Missy didn’t. ‘Ah, good. You use this one. You keep it running.’ He raised a grey tarpaulin to reveal a small, white Fiat. Fairly old, given the boxy shape. Missy demurred—she didn’t even have a licence, a fact she kept to herself—but Mr Ivanov pressed the key into her hand anyway. Where Mr Ivanov lived, what he did, whether he was married, what his first name was—Missy had no idea. Once, she’d run into him near one of her work places and he’d seemed as shocked as she was. ‘My work,’ she explained, pointing at the hair salon. He’d simply nodded and looked as though he was about to move on, but he stopped again. ‘Your daughter? How she does?’

  ‘Ellie? Oh, she’s fine. Just great.’

  ‘The car. You use?’

  ‘Not really, but I turn the engine over every week to make sure the battery doesn’t go flat.’

  At that, he’d nodded and moved on without a word. Old Mr Ivanov was as concerned with maintaining his privacy as Missy was with hers—and that suited her just fine. Every day, she thanked her lucky stars for the little note she’d spotted on a telegraph pole, advertising a granny flat for let. It had given them three years of stability. A place to call their own. A place where Missy could decorate the walls with Ellie’s paintings of rainbows and pink elephants, and fill their bookshelf with tales of elves and fairies.

  Now, all of that was gone. Packed away into candy-striped storage bags that still smelled of the Chinese factory in which they were made. Their whole life, in three bags.

  In her last rental payment, she had written a note to thank Mr Ivanov for allowing them to rent his flat, and telling him they were moving on. She would leave the key to the flat and the car in the post office box, if that was all right with him.

  There had been nothing back.

  Missy checked one last time under the bed. A thorough check this time, on hands and knees.

  There, hiding in the far back corner, something grey and furry caught her eye. She wriggled under until her hands reached the softness. Ellie’s old rabbit Mr Snuggles—the toy she’d had since birth and still slept with every night, even though he was now missing an eye and half his ear thanks to Ellie’s chewing.

  Missy’s stomach contorted as she buried her nose into Mr Snuggles’ tatty fur. Her beautiful girl. What would she be doing right now? Would she be scared? Or brave as Missy had told her to be? How would she survive without her favourite toy?

  Missy let her tears flow into Mr Snuggles’ fur until the rabbit was a sodden and matted mess. Then she walked through the flat a final time, put Mr Snuggles into one of the storage bags and closed the door behind her, feeling the sense of a happy chapter being closed and a highly uncertain one beginning.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lisa took Ellie’s hand and walked her towards the house from where they could now hear screaming. Two little high-pitched voices, fighting like tomcats on the prowl. The little girl’s grip tightened on Lisa’s hand.

  ‘It’s all right, sweetie. Nothing to be frightened of.’

  But Ellie gave her a doubtful look and at the French doors she pulled back on Lisa’s wrist to stop her from going inside. For a moment, they stood at the doors and watched.

  On the coffee table, a Barbie doll was in the process of being decapitated. Jemima was clenched to the legs, her little face turning puce with the effort of yanking the doll out of her sister’s hands. Ava was fighting just as hard, her fingertips turning white from circulation loss, so entwined were they in the Barbie’s ratty blonde hair. Leaning over the table with her hands in a karate-chop position was Jamie, making a lame effort at separating the two kittens-turned-wildcats.

  ‘She’s mine,’ shouted Ava. ‘Saffron gave her to me!’

  ‘Nooooo.’

  As Jemima threatened to separate the doll’s hair from its head, Lisa dropped Ellie’s hand to step inside the doors. ‘What’s going on here, girls? Jamie?’

  ‘Ava won’t share,’ whined Jemima.

  ‘She’s my doll!’ shouted Ava.

  ‘Jamie?’ said Lisa. ‘Tell me who’s in the wrong here.’

  Jamie held up her hands defensively. ‘I’m Switzerland in this. I am not taking sides.’ She took three steps away from the coffee table.

  ‘All right, then no one can have the doll.’ Lisa forced Ava’s and Jemima’s sticky hands from the tortured Barbie. ‘Until you can learn to play nicely with her.’ She put the doll on the highest level of the bookshelf as the girls huffed and folded their arms.

  ‘Who’s she?’ said Ava, shrugging a shoulder towards Ellie.

  ‘You know Ellie. From school. She’s in your class, isn’t she?’

  Ava looked blank. ‘But the party’s over.’

  Why is she acting so strange? Must be all the sugar. ‘Her mummy’s just a bit late,’ said Lisa brightly. ‘Now you little ladies are all sticky and messy and I think the only solution is for you to hop in the bath.’

  Ellie started rubbing at the dirt on her knees.

  ‘Do you want to join them, Ellie?’ said Lisa. ‘You can if you’re quick. Your mum might be here any second.’

  Ellie nodded.

  Her mum won’t mind, will she? Bathing with virtual strangers?

  ‘Aunty Jamie, will you come and watch us in the bath?’ asked Ava.

  ‘Sure, kiddo.’

  The five of them trooped into the bathroom. Lisa ran the bath while Jamie helped the girls undress.

  ‘Hey, where’s the rest of your finger?’ Ava pointed at Ellie’s hand, which was raised above her head as Jamie helped her out of her dress.

  ‘Ava, don’t be silly.’ Lisa switched off the tap.

  ‘But look. She’s missing her pinkie.’

  Ellie pressed her hands to her chest.

  ‘Ava, you know we don’t make silly comments about the way people look. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with Ellie’s hand.’ Lisa smiled reassuringly. ‘Nothing at all.’ But Ellie’s frown caused doubt to tip-toe into Lisa’s throat. The little girl had now hidden her hands behind her back. ‘And even if there is, I’m sure there’s a simple explanation, which Ellie does not need to provide to us.’ Lisa kicked off her ugg boots. ‘None of us are perfect. Look at my second toe. See how it’s joined to my big toe. Very odd, isn’t it?’ Six young eyes peered at her toe.

  ‘Poo. Your feet smell.’ Ava crinkled her nose and waved her hand in front of her nose. Jemima and Ellie looked at each other and giggled.

  ‘Well, the point is, none of us are perfect.’

  ‘I’ve got an outie bellybutton,’ Jamie volunteered and raised her top. ‘You can touch it if you like.’ The girls crowded round her and Jemima poked at the little thumb of skin.

  ‘Oooh,’ she giggled. ‘It looks like a boy’s ding-dong.’

  ‘Need any help in here?’ At the sight of Scott, leaning against the doorway, Jamie dropped her top while Ellie hugged herself to cover as much of her naked body as her little hands and arms would allow.

  She’s scared.

  The idea stilled her. That anyone could be scared of her darling husband was just bizarre. Still, Ellie wasn’t to know that he was the kind of man who would rather catch and release a spider than tread on it. These days, children were taught to be wary of strangers, particularly male ones, and with good reason, Lisa concluded. There were some truly terrible individuals out there; her time in the group home had taught her that.

  For her and Jamie, the home had been a stop-gap—a welfare-agency cottage not far from their own house where they could live with a few other teens under adult supervision for a couple of months until Lisa turned eighteen and could officially apply to become Jamie’s legal guardian. Fo
r the other kids there, the group home was a refuge—a place where they came because of terrible experiences in foster care. For the largely sheltered Lisa, the stories were shocking. Wandering hands, strange and cruel punishments, and an ambivalence bordering on neglect. The idea that an adult could hurt a child was something her seventeen-year-old self had never before contemplated. Her own parents had been so loving, so kind, so normal. She’d assumed that’s the way all families were. How wrong she was. How sheltered she’d been.

  Lisa brushed off a shiver. ‘No, we’re fine, thanks, hon. Just comparing weird body parts. Why don’t you go and pour Jamie a glass of wine?’

  ‘Okay.’ He gave her a look and disappeared into the kitchen. Lisa heard a bottle being unscrewed and the glug of wine being poured.

  In the bath, she and Jamie soaped the girls’ bodies until they shone like pearls. Without making it obvious, she took a look at Ellie’s pinkie. Where the nail should have been, there was just a bald stump. It was all she could do to stop herself from staring. Instead, she averted her eyes and kept soaping, her mind working overtime. Was she born that way? Was there an accident? How does a child simply lose a fingertip? Why is her mum running so late?

  Lisa shook her head to snap herself out of thinking of Ellie’s poor, stubby finger. ‘Now, I want you to do your own faces and fannies.’ She handed out three washcloths. ‘Faces first, thank you very much. Fannies second.’

  Ellie wiped her forehead. ‘My mummy doesn’t call it a fanny. She calls it a vagina.’

  The word pinged through Lisa like an electric shock. Jamie looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  ‘What’s affa-gina?’ Ava screwed up her face.

  ‘It’s just a different word for your fanny,’ said Lisa.

  ‘But a boy’s thing is called a ding-dong. Isn’t it, Mummy?’ Ava looked up from the bath, so innocent, clean and pure that it made Lisa want to cry.

  ‘No. It’s a penis,’ said Ellie, matter-of-factly.

  ‘But Mummy, you call it a ding-dong,’ said Ava accusingly.