by Meg Bignell
(I’d forgotten about Ria’s guacamole phase. I didn’t make it. I bought it from the deli, but it’s kind of Hannah to say so. And I’d forgotten about us going as a horse. I was the rump.)
I didn’t wear a classic shirt dress, but a spotty frock, which felt lovely until Hannah arrived in her beautifully cut, spotlessly clean jeans, T-shirt and loafers. Then I was a party-cake decoration. A gaudy bauble. How can jeans and a T-shirt be so goddamn chic? She looked like a model in an airport. Expensive but effortless.
When Hannah came into our house, she said, ‘Oh, I love all your things. So much character! Sometimes I think I shouldn’t be so minimalist. And I love West Hobart – those views!’ Which could be construed as, ‘Bloody hell, your house is cluttered, and don’t feel too bad about not living in Battery Point.’ But I choose to take the compliment, especially as it came across as entirely genuine. I do love a mantelpiece. (Ria’s paperweights are on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. It seems wrong to put them in the study to hold down papers.)
Hannah said, ‘I always wished I could be as cool as you and Ria, but I always worried too much about my appearance.’
I couldn’t believe it. I said, ‘No! But you had perfect hair one hundred per cent of the time. And a proper grown-up job.’
There was a very uneasy moment when I went out to the barbecue to look for the kitchen paper and Hugh and Hannah were deep in a conversation that stopped when I arrived. I flummoxed about, said, ‘I love kitchen paper,’ went red and scuttled away. Sauce with your awk, anyone? I can only conclude that they were either 1) talking about me, 2) talking about their sweetheart days or 3) scoffing about my vol-au-vents. (French doesn’t always equal classy, apparently.) They have a history. I can’t begrudge them that.
After the children had all eaten and headed outside, we were finishing off our lunch when Jimmy came running in and said, ‘Mum, Raff’s taken everyone to Valda’s and he’s being a show-off.’
‘What? Is that where you all are? At Valda’s?’
‘Yeah.’ Jimmy shifted uncomfortably. ‘He’s showing the stuffed owl and the photographs.’
So I bowled over next door and found that the children had indeed found the key and invited everyone into Valda’s house. They were all in the living room: Jimmy and Nell poring over photographs on the floor, Eloise and Em sniffing a decanter of sherry, Raffy leaning over Valda’s old record player, the owl looking disdainfully down from the mantelpiece.
‘What’s going on?’ I yelled and everyone jumped.
Eloise dropped the crystal decanter stopper onto the carpet and said, ‘Shit.’ Mary-Lou gasped. Jimmy laughed, then didn’t. He knows when my face means business.
‘You can’t just let yourselves in. Eloise, you’re the oldest. You should know better.’
‘Raffy said we were allowed.’
‘HEY, NICE MAPS,’ came a booming voice from behind me. Charlie. He saw the business in my face too. ‘COME ON, NELL AND EM. OUT.’
From the record player came a crackly recording of a soprano. It faded in and swooped around the room like a divine calling, its static only enhancing its otherworldliness. We all stopped and listened. The owl might have turned its head.
‘It’s Valda singing,’ said Raffy proudly. And he picked up a photograph off the floor and said, ‘This is her as Silvia from Ascanio in Alba at Her Majesty’s Theatre in 1943.’
I’m not sure which flabbergasted me more – his admirable Italian pronunciation or the photograph of a very young, very beautiful Valda, in full nymph regalia. There were other photographs too. Valda Kent, it seems, was quite a star. I took a long moment to marvel at the fact, then turned to the trespassing issue at hand.
‘Put everything back where you found it, please.’
‘YES, COME ON, YOU LOT,’ said Charlie. ‘WE’LL GO AND PLAY TOTEM TENNIS.’
‘Boring, Dad,’ sneered Em and Charlie lowered his tone to say, ‘Now.’ They obliged. Apparently quiet Charlie means business too.
Raffy took the record from the turntable, put it back in its sleeve and tucked it under his arm. ‘Put it back, Raff,’ I barked.
‘But these are ours,’ he protested. ‘They were in the doll’s house.’(Oh, thickening plots!)
Mary-Lou piped up. ‘I rescued them from the burglars.’
I raised my voice (but didn’t yell because Charlie). ‘Put them back on top of the record player, right now. It’s where they belong.’
Raffy put them back, but then gave Jimmy a shove. ‘Dibber dobber. You always ruin everything.’ Jimmy’s fists clenched.
‘Jimmy,’ I said, my voice a warning. It went unheeded and, quick as a flash, Jimmy gave Raffy a neat uppercut to the belly.
‘Ooof,’ said Raffy, and went down to his knees, gasping for breath.
‘Jimmy!’ I said, genuinely shocked. Jimmy looked at me for an instant, his face as stricken as mine. Then he ran. ‘Stay in your room!’ I called after him.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to Charlie. ‘Sorry, Nell and Em. That’s not like him —’
‘Ah, that sort of thing happens at our house all the time,’ said Charlie. ‘Doesn’t it, girls? Always bashing one another senseless.’
The girls rolled their eyes at him. We collected up the sobbing Raffy and trailed home.
Hugh poured us some drinks, we nibbled on grapes and listened to Charlie tell funny stories. I told a story about Hugh taking me to see a rare Tasmanian koala in New Norfolk one April Fool’s Day. We all laughed and laughed and I thought, look at us, having a lovely lunch with friends, being hilarious and together and sparkly. No one would guess Hugh might rather be in Antarctica. And perhaps, just perhaps, he’d rather be here. I got some marinated olives out of the fridge.
I eventually went in to check on Jimmy. He wasn’t in his bedroom, nor did he come when I called him. I instructed the other children to search for him and went back to lunch. ‘Tell him there’s sherbet for the ice creams,’ I said, having another sip of wine. I hoped it would take the children a bit of time to find Jim so they wouldn’t all troop back in to bother us.
They didn’t. They stayed out in the garden and played while we nibbled at cheese platters and talked. Eventually Mary-Lou came back in for drinks and I said, ‘Is Jimmy all right?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He’s not with us.’
‘But did you find him?’
‘Nope.’
‘What? Where is he, then?’ I asked, getting up.
‘I’ll go,’ said Hugh.
‘I’ll go too,’ said Charlie, and they went outside, still deep in conversation about football.
So Hannah and I sat at the table alone and I said, ‘God, sorry,’ and felt brave enough to thank her properly for the Ria card. A tear escaped. I apologised. ‘They get away from me, the tears.’
She rummaged in her handbag for a moment and produced a gold mascara wand. ‘It’s a really good waterproof one. Keep it. I have more.’
‘Thank you,’ I sniffed. ‘That’s a really nice gesture. Most people get carried away with casseroles and things but can’t really look at me.’
She did look at me then, in that properly seeing way. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, you know, Susannah.’
‘Really? Nor have you. Actually, you have. You’re even more glam.’
She laughed. ‘It’s probably just the name.’
And then, once we established that Charlie isn’t actually landed gentry or a European heir, she asked me to guess what Charlie’s job actually is. I’d got through teacher, auctioneer, tour guide, stockbroker and children’s entertainer when I heard Hugh reprimanding Eloise outside. ‘Put down the badminton. Jimmy is missing.’
Jimmy is missing. I tried to shut down my thoughts and close the catastrophising doors before irrational things ran out, but my body wouldn’t listen. It panicked.
I coordinated a shrill but strategic and thorough search of each room of the house. Not a sign of him. Hugh appeared concerned. It was becoming clear that there was no point looking in t
he garden any more.
‘We’ll check the street,’ said Charlie, his sunshiny face just a little clouded.
‘He’d rarely go out the gate on his own,’ I said, with a ripple in my voice. Hugh shot me a glance and his concerned expression deepened.
‘Let’s keep calm,’ he said sternly. But he’s only eight, I thought, with my heart beating right up to my cheeks.
Rising panic: ‘Jimmy! Jimmy?’ I called on the street, trying not to let my voice overflow. I could hear Hugh’s voice echoing mine, and from over near the Hadleys’, Josh’s and Isobel’s voices chiming in. Charlie’s booming yelled from Valda’s house. ‘Jimmy! JIMMY?!’
Full-blown panic: I went to the park, starting to feel convinced that someone had taken him. It happens. The whole world is captured by the horror of it when it does. They hold their children a little bit closer. I was drinking wine and wishing he wouldn’t be found. Must hold them closer. How long ago was that? A car driving fast could be long gone by now. Long gone. Heart pummelling, eyebrows prickling with the cold sweat of fear. This is my fault, my fault. Oh, please not this again …
I stumbled on along streets and streets. I passed a group of teenagers, a woman pushing twin babies in a pram, an elderly couple. None of them had seen a little boy in a green T-shirt. The couple offered to help but by then I’d started to run. The flight bit of fight or flight, I suppose. Duty of care, duty of care, my feet pounded out on the pavement, and I wondered whether I was meant also to pound on doors and ask if anyone had seen my little boy.
My little boy. I had an image of a baby, sitting up in her cot, twirling the ear of her toy rabbit and staring into space. I could smell the urine warmth of the room. I ran harder.
I almost ran into a man on a corner. It was Father Graham. ‘Susannah?’ he said in alarm. ‘Are you all right, dear?’
I tried to rein in my voice, but it got away from me and by the time I’d reached the end of, ‘We can’t find Jimmy,’ it had billowed into a siren. My knees threatened to go; Father Graham held on to me.
‘Let me help,’ he said. ‘Where are you searching?’
‘I don’t know, oh, I don’t – I don’t know.’ I couldn’t get my breath.
‘Sit here a minute. You need to sit.’ He led me to a low wall, under someone’s maple tree, and perched me on it.
‘Take a minute. There, there,’ he said, sitting next to me. So I breathed. He smelled of teacake. ‘Just get your head clear so we can think.’ His voice was like teacake too. Soft and warm. I held his arm and tried to catch my breath, catch my thoughts.
‘This,’ I gasped at him, ‘is very, very bad.’
He patted my hand and said, ‘Have a quiet think, then we’ll look. I’ll say a prayer.’ We sat. Above us, birds chattered. I remembered Jimmy snuggling into Ria while we listened to those birds at Collins Bonnet and I thought, Not now, Ria, please. Not now. But Ria’s voice was in my ear anyway, clear as the river. I think they’re saying that everything’s going to be all right.
And while my thoughts were still rounding the bend, my legs took me to my feet and back into a run. ‘The birds!’ I called to Father Graham. ‘Henry’s birds!’
Poor Henry, I must have given him such a fright. I burst into the shop, all sweat and clatter and gasp. He was with a customer but stopped mid-sentence. ‘Susannah?’
I wavered at the sight of him, had to fight the urge to lie down on the cool, creaky floorboards and delay any dashed hopes. ‘Have you seen Jimmy?’
‘Jimmy? No.’ He came towards me. ‘No, I haven’t.’
I walked on, through the book room and out the other side to Henry’s courtyard and the aviary where, in his favourite green shirt, his eyes all huge and extra beautiful, Jimmy sat. Blessedly, wonderfully sat. There, there.
I took him in my arms, held him and whispered, ‘Thank you,’ to the birds and then, ‘Thank you,’ again and aloud to Ria, along with a kiss blown to the sky. And then I hugged Henry and sobbed with relief and guilt and all the other things. Sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
Jimmy was gone, we calculated later, for over three hours.
Henry called Hugh to collect us; he wouldn’t let us walk home.
I was a wreck, I suppose, curled up in Henry’s overstuffed chair with Jimmy clutched to me. Henry worried the teapot beside me and Father Graham, who’d arrived a bit after me, tried to get Jim and me to eat apple slice. ‘You gave your mother a terrible fright,’ Father Graham said to Jimmy with a smile. ‘Aren’t you lucky to have someone who loves you so much? Isn’t he lucky, Henry?’
‘Yes,’ said Henry.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ whispered Jimmy. He touched the spots on my dress and added, ‘And I’m sorry I punched Raff. I’m completely horrible. Everyone thinks so.’ I pulled his head to my shoulder and rubbed his hair. ‘You’re not completely horrible. You just lost your temper. It happens. Everyone has something at least a tiny bit horrible about them.’
‘I can hear your heart,’ he said. I could too, beating its scold on my breast.
‘Your poor heart,’ said Henry gravely.
When Hugh arrived, he surveyed the scene and said, ‘Jim, you worried us, mate. Look at Mum.’ They looked at me. My hands trembled. Hugh sighed and said, ‘This sort of thing happens all the time.’
‘It does,’ said Father Graham. ‘I ran away once: packed a case and went to the river. Mum knew I’d be home when I was hungry. Actually, I got bored first.’
‘I should have checked where he was,’ I said. ‘It was hours before we noticed. What if —’
‘Well, it didn’t,’ said Hugh firmly. ‘Whatever you’re going to say, it didn’t happen.’ He was cross now and looked suddenly very tired. ‘It was all of us. We were all in charge. He’s fine. Come on. Let’s get you home.’
Jimmy climbed into the car and before I could get in, Hugh said, ‘I told Hannah and Charlie about Eloise.’
I went cold. ‘What about Eloise?’
‘About when she was a baby.’
‘Oh, Hugh, no.’ The tears threatened again. ‘Oh, no.’
‘I’m sorry. We were a bit hysterical. It must have seemed —’ He paused.
‘Insane?’ It came out in a shriek. ‘Ridiculous?’
‘Unusual,’ Hugh said, touching my hand. ‘Disproportionate. I felt I had to explain.’
‘That’s our private thing,’ I hissed. ‘We hardly know them. God, Hugh. We haven’t even told our children. Not even Eloise.’ I crumpled inside. That tiny baby girl peered suspiciously at my hands.
Hugh said, ‘Well, maybe we should.’ He got into the car. I swallowed everything down and got in too, being careful to close the door softly. Any more jarrings might have shattered me. In the car, I reached behind me to Jimmy and squeezed his hand.
‘Sorry, Mum and Dad,’ he said.
‘WELL, HELLO, STRANGER!’ Charlie said to Jimmy when we walked back into the house. They were cleaning up. The other children were watching a film. They turned to look at Jimmy and me, fascinated.
‘How were the birds, Jimbo?’ asked Raffy kindly. He looked as though he’d been crying too.
‘We’re having a search party,’ said Mary-Lou. ‘You can join in, Jimmy.’
Eloise looked warily at me.
‘Why don’t we have a drink?’ said Hugh.
Hannah got some facial wipes out of her handbag and handed them to me. ‘You go and freshen up; I’ll do some nibbles.’ She gave me a kind smile and touched my shoulder and I stared at her. There were tears coming from her eyes too. She sniffed and said, ‘I think I’m traumatised by your trauma.’
In the bathroom, I looked at my puffed face and at Hannah’s waterproof mascara and felt bewildered. Perhaps, I thought, one day I could try giving some of my darkles to other people. Hugh can’t take on any more and they’re spilling out of me everywhere.
Is there a chance that he’s actually, clinically, had enough? Have I?
God, what a miserybags I am. I must look at the day’s bright sides:
> – We found our missing boy.
– Henry hugged me back.
– Valda Kent!
– Hugh and Charlie definitely bonded. Over bottles and bottles of red wine. (Oh, dear.)
– The mascara is Chanel.
MONDAY 13th NOVEMBER
Still feeling a bit bruised. I’m not sobby but I’m wearing the waterproof mascara. Tears are my constants these days.
Hannah is still feeling hungover. She sent me a text that said: Thank you for a very memorable day except that I don’t remember the last bit. Feel like shit today so I see why. See you soon? (The word ‘shit’ was actually an emoji poo. I love that she’s not too glamorous for emoji poos. She did a question mark at the end there, which indicates she might like to see us again soon. This is a miracle.)
She and Hugh and Charlie got very drunk after the trials of the day. They are fun. I drank a bit of wine but was terrified I might recount the whole Eloise thing in horrible hammy detail. My floodgates are already very leaky; people are sure to drown if I open them. Anyway, we should recount family secrets to family – i.e. children – before anyone else. I nearly didn’t send the children to school this morning because they’re so precious.
Henry phoned. He left a message saying, ‘Susannah dearest, two things: one, I have a thumb drive for you of soothing country songs. Trust me, better than therapy. And two, I have a dear little edition of Jane Eyre you might like. Not valuable but gorgeous. It’s all yours. Swing by. Kiss, kiss.’ Bless him.
I wish I could talk to Ria. RIA, I WANT TO TALK ABOUT ELOISE. But I must shut up, stop thinking and do my jobs before school ends. I’m taking the children to visit Valda, and Hugh’s bringing dinner into the hospital. Valda Kent!
Don’t forget – prune juice, drycleaning, book Barky’s grooming, thank you letter to Father Graham for prayers. Take up praying?
PS Charlie is a part-time librarian! He is also the ‘lead parent’, meaning stay-at-home dad, because Hannah earns a squill being a brand consultant. I wonder how she might rebrand me.
