This Has Been Absolutely Lovely

by Jessica Dettmann

  Annie looked at the tree. ‘Why didn’t you get one of the ones that comes in a net? To protect it?’

  A chorus of groans and a litany of blame followed.

  ‘It was Naomi’s fault.’

  ‘She wouldn’t let us get the net because it’s single-use plastic.’

  Naomi was indignant. ‘I compromised my beliefs enough to even agree we should buy a cut tree. Is it too much to ask that we don’t also pay for something that is basically a murder weapon for sea turtles?’

  A cacophonous argument ensued, during which, unexpectedly, Molly and Diana seemed to be on the same side. But everyone was talking too loudly and no one but Annie seemed to notice.

  ‘We are all making compromises,’ pointed out Diana, when there was a momentary lull. ‘In Germany we don’t even put the Christmas tree up until the twenty-fourth of December, but I’m accepting that this is part of my son’s heritage too, so we are being cool with it.’

  Molly turned on Diana. ‘That’s very generous of you. How multicultural you are, Diana.’

  ‘You can make fun of me, Molly,’ said Diana with a shrug, ‘but in my country the Christmas traditions are strong and they are old. I’m not sure why that offends you. But, like I said, I’m here in your country this year so I am happy to do things according to your traditions.’

  Ignoring Diana, Molly turned to her mother. ‘Did you get the boxes down?’

  Annie was still half in her song world and had no idea what Molly was talking about. She felt like she was coming round from an anaesthetic. She struggled to bring herself fully back into the room, to face the demands of all these people. ‘Hmmm, what?’

  ‘You said you’d go up into the attic and get the Christmas decorations down.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I.’

  ‘Well, were they up there?’

  Annie shook her head. ‘I haven’t looked. I got distracted.’

  Molly rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. God. I’ll get them.’

  ‘Love, I don’t think you should go up the ladder. Where are your dad and Brian?’

  ‘We dropped them at the shops to get Christmas lights. They said they’d walk back.’

  ‘Christmas lights? There’s no need for more lights. Have they forgotten about Pa’s light-up Santas and reindeer and whatnot?’

  ‘No,’ said Simon, ‘they know about them, but they want more. I told them if they wanted more they could pay for them themselves.’

  ‘They could take them home to London afterwards, I suppose,’ said Annie.

  ‘They won’t be on the right voltage. They’ll have to leave them here for next Christmas.’

  ‘If they leave them here then they belong to the house,’ said Molly. ‘We should all chip in for them.’

  ‘I’m not chipping in anything. I don’t give a shit if there are Christmas lights or not.’ Simon was adamant.

  ‘Oh, but you’re happy to come here for Christmas and benefit from other people buying them? Nice.’

  They thought this was going to go on forever, Annie realised with alarm. Her children thought she was going to stay in this house and grow old, waiting for them to come back each Christmas to restart the same old fights about strings of lights, and take over the TV, and bicker with each other in front of her. Their plan was to do this over and over until she died, then sell up and pocket the money.

  It would never occur to them that she might want anything different. She felt a sudden flash of hatred for her offspring. Had they not taken enough of her life? Did they get to keep her forever, as their emotional slave? Surely there was a statute of limitations on parenthood.

  She waited for the feeling of guilt — the dark shadow that should follow a mother wanting nothing more to do with her children — but it didn’t come. She tuned back in to the conversation in the room, and immediately regretted it. Molly and Simon were niggling each other about the best spot for the Christmas tree. They’d always quarrelled as a hobby. They didn’t even notice they were doing it.

  ‘I’m not the one who’s moved in for no reason,’ Simon was saying. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your flat.’

  ‘It has concrete cancer.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you needed to move out. Have all your neighbours moved out and gone to live with their mothers?’

  ‘Why do you even care? You’re going home in a week. Or aren’t you? What was all that “exploring your options” talk the other day?’

  ‘It was none of your bloody business, that’s what it was.’

  A powerful desire to be somewhere else, far from all of them, took hold of Annie. She put away her notes in the stool, hiding them under the old elementary piano books.

  Leaving the room, she headed out to the back garden, collecting her phone from the kitchen bench on the way. She called Paul. When he answered, she asked, ‘Are you still at the shops?’

  ‘We are. We’ve bought all the lights we could find. We almost got into a fight with some guy over multi-coloured icicles that play carols, but we came out on top. Is there something else we should get? Do we need lunch stuff? I could grab a couple of chickens.’

  ‘I’d like some drugs,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry? The line went funny, it sounded like you said you’d like some drugs.’

  ‘I did. I would like you to buy some drugs. I want to take drugs.’

  ‘Right. Well. Any specific drugs?’

  ‘What is there nowadays? Not ice. There’s enough aggro in this house. Pot? Ecstasy?’

  ‘I’m not sure I know where to buy either of those.’

  ‘You can figure it out. Please.’

  ‘Um, all right. I’ll do my best.’ He paused. ‘Shall I get chicken and chips too?’

  ‘Sure. Thank you.’ She ended the call. Chicken and goddamn chips. That had been her father’s sole contribution to the catering his whole life. Saturday lunch, he’d buy a barbecued chook and a family size chips. Annie felt like she was going to explode.

  She needed to talk to someone. Jane. She’d call Jane. She wasn’t certain where Jane stood on drugs, or what her reaction would be, should Paul and Brian actually manage to procure any. Jane liked a few drinks, though — she often expressed disappointment that Annie couldn’t really handle her booze any more. It was monstrously unfair the way the fun things turned on you as you aged. She’d have a glass of Champagne on a special occasion, but it usually made her feel sick. Maybe a joint would help.

  Chapter 14

  It was Jane’s idea, proposed several nights later as they lay stoned on the back lawn, looking up at the stars and watching fruit bats skim over their heads, that Annie should perform her new song in public.

  ‘You should stage a comeback. It will be amazing.’

  Annie gave a hollow laugh. ‘It’s not a comeback if no one remembers you were ever there in the first place. Anyway, how would I do that? I don’t have any contacts in the industry any more. Everyone I worked with either got out of it or died from it. I might still know some people in advertising, but not actual music. What do you propose I do, just muscle my way onstage at Carols in the Domain?’

  ‘We’ll find you an open mike night. You can just play a new song on guitar or the piano and sing it. And a producer will be there, and he’ll look like Bradley Cooper, but he’ll be less of a terrible alcoholic, and you’ll get a record contract and become Lady Gaga but less obsessed with stroking your own nose and more straight-forward hats. And fuck Brian and Paul and, frankly, fuck all your kids too. You have given up enough for them all.’

  ‘Yeah, fuck them all.’

  Someone switched on the kitchen light and it spilled out the windows onto the grass, spotlighting them on the lawn and making them raise their forearms up over their eyes.

  ‘Oi,’ Annie shouted. ‘Light.’

  Molly came out. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Annie smiled at her. ‘Please, love, would you mind turning off that light? We’re communing by starlight.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Molly. ‘
That stuff stinks. Are you two high?’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ said Jane. ‘And you are most welcome to join us.’

  ‘I’m thirty-seven weeks pregnant.’

  ‘Smoking for two doesn’t mean you can bogart the reefer for twice as long, but here, have some.’ Jane held the joint up to Molly, who loomed over her in the darkness.

  ‘Bogart the . . . reefer? What century do you think this is?’

  ‘Sorry, darling, what’s the right word for it these days?’ Annie stifled a giggle and coughed out smoke. ‘Janey, what do you think the phrase is that makes you sound the most out of touch?’

  ‘“These days”,’ said Jane without hesitation. ‘Definitely “these days”.’

  ‘“These Days” is a good name for a song,’ Annie said, thinking out loud.

  ‘Do you think?’ Molly shot back sarcastically. ‘You Am I would probably agree with you.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Annie said, and she sang the chorus. ‘I forgot about that one.’

  ‘It was Powderfinger,’ muttered Jane.

  Molly ignored her. ‘As much as I’d like to hang around inhaling your second-hand drugs, I came to tell you Jack’s got to go down to his parents’ place early tomorrow. Just for a night or two. His mum’s arcing up that we’re staying here for Christmas and I’m not doing that drive with him until this baby is out. He’s leaving first thing.’

  ‘Are you all right with that? It’s quite far. What if you go into labour?’

  ‘I won’t. First babies are never early and first births are slow. The midwife told me. Anyway, it can’t come early. I haven’t done the online thingy to teach me how to have it yet. I’m going to bed now. I’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’m at a job in the city.’

  ‘Should you still be working?’ Annie asked.

  ‘I’m fine, Mum. We need the money. Anyway, I’m nearly done. Tomorrow’s my last day.’

  Annie looked up at her, sure she was about to come out and say it. ‘Oh, and Mum . . .’ her beautiful entitled daughter would say, like it was no big deal, like she was asking to borrow the car for the evening, ‘will you look after the baby for me when I go back to work?’ And Annie would say, ‘No. I will not.’ And in doing so she would break the shackles of emotional servitude and be free.

  But Molly turned away and went inside. Saved by the Jane, Annie thought. Molly wouldn’t ask when anyone else was around. She’d sense that Jane was her mother’s ally, and that Annie would feel strengthened by her friend’s presence.

  Molly had always been able to find her mother’s weakness. Even as a little girl when Annie would cuddle her she would grasp the back of her neck in her little fist and squeeze, digging her nails in until it hurt. Annie had tried to teach her not to, but that was just how Molly hugged — hard and painfully — and you couldn’t get her to ease up without hurting her feelings.

  ‘All right then, night night,’ Annie said to her child’s retreating back.

  Molly stopped in the doorway. ‘Night. And can you please stop shouting “fuck”? The kids are just up there.’ She closed the door behind her and they were again in darkness.

  ‘If you’re going to stage a comeback,’ said Jane. ‘We need to resurrect your profile.’

  ‘I was never that famous,’ Annie said. ‘We almost were.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ shouted Jane, louder than necessary. ‘I remember Love Triangle. You were a biggish deal. They played you on the radio. They still play that “Home Is Where Your Heart Is” song on WSFM.’

  ‘Only Lorraine Darmody’s version.’

  ‘I think we should start building you again. What social media accounts do you have?’

  ‘Just Facebook,’ Annie said. ‘That’s not very cool, is it?’

  ‘We’ll pop you on Twitter and Instagram, and there will be more I don’t know about but I’ll check with Lily the barista down at the cafe. She’s more tattoos than not — she’ll know what you should be on. There might be one called Tick Tock.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit tragic, at my age?’

  ‘Fuck tragic. Fuck age. It means nothing. You’ve got something to say. You have as much right to be heard as anyone else.’ Jane had rolled over onto her front and taken out her phone. The glow lit up her face as she propped herself up on her elbows and started typing. ‘Look, Love Triangle has a Wikipedia page already — that’s a good start.’

  ‘Show me.’

  Together they read it. It was a pretty reasonable account of the band’s history.

  ‘Who writes Wikipedia entries?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Anyone can. By the sounds of this one, I’d say Brian was responsible. See here where it says, “Founded by Brian Pickering with Paul Jones and Annie Thorne”? And then down here where it mentions that Paul was regarded as the heartthrob of the group because of his movie-star looks and charisma?’

  ‘That’s Brian’s work all right. Click on my name.’

  ‘There’s no link — see, it’s not blue.’

  ‘But Paul’s and Brian’s names are blue.’

  ‘Sorry love. They’ve obviously built themselves individual Wikipedia pages but not one for you. See, look, here’s Brian’s . . . blah blah blah, “founding member of Love Triangle, ghostwriter, now resides in London’s fashionable Peckham”.’

  ‘What does Paul’s say? High school music teacher turned occasional model and kept man of ghostwriter Brian Pickering?’

  ‘Not in so many words, but yeah, more or less. It’s mostly about his time in the band.’

  ‘And there’s just nothing for me. No page at all.’

  ‘We’re going to make you a page. We’ll figure it out. If Brian and Paul managed then it can’t be that hard.’

  * * *

  Jack was gone when Molly woke the next morning. In the kitchen, Diana was plunging coffee, and Simon, holding a slice of bread in one hand, was pouring cereal into a bowl for Felix. Molly sidled in and slid her bread into the toaster before her brother could. He scowled at her. ‘Toast bomber.’ Then, as if it had just occurred to him, he said casually, ‘Do you remember Justin from school?’

  ‘Justin Wong or Justin Schoolbags?’ Molly asked, watching her toast cook.

  He threw a scornful look her way. ‘Don’t call him that.’

  ‘Justin Schoolbags then.’

  ‘Why was he called Justin Schoolbags?’ asked Diana, in a voice wary of learning the answer. She poured milk onto Felix’s cereal and opened the back door so he could sit out on the grass to eat it.

  ‘He crapped in his schoolbag,’ Molly said.

  ‘Molly, you don’t know that,’ Simon said. ‘That was a rumour.’

  She ignored him. ‘He did, Diana, Amber Gleeson saw him do it.’

  ‘Amber Gleeson was full of shit,’ said Simon, before noticing he had lined up his sister’s next shot.

  Molly paused for a moment to give her brother enough time to think that maybe, just this once, she wouldn’t make the stupid easy joke.

  As he turned to open the bread bag she landed it. ‘Not as full of shit as Justin’s schoolbag.’

  ‘You are twelve years old,’ he told her. ‘The government is going to take your baby away as soon as it’s born because you are twelve years old.’

  Molly smiled and spread Vegemite on her toast.

  ‘Why did he do the poo in his schoolbag?’ asked Diana.

  ‘He didn’t — look, can we not discuss it? I’m just trying to say that I ran into him at the service station last night.’

  ‘What, the service station here?’ Molly was curious now. ‘Does he live up here?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a real estate agent. We had a good chat.’

  Her hackles rose. ‘About what?’

  ‘This and that. State of the market. He said he could pop round and give us a valuation if we want.’

  ‘Why would we want that? I thought the house was valued already, when Pa was going to change the will.’

  ‘It’s good to consider all our options.’

  She narrowed he
r eyes at him. ‘Again with the talking about options, Simon. We don’t have options. As we have discussed, it’s not our house.’

  ‘Yes, it’s not our house,’ said Diana with a sharp look at Simon.

  ‘House prices are going up,’ he argued. ‘If Mum knew that now is a good time to sell, then she might put it on the market.’

  ‘What do you get out of this?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m just thinking about Mum.’

  ‘Bullshit. I’m not new here. I know you don’t do things that don’t benefit you. Do you think she’ll give you some of the proceeds?’

  ‘Well, you saw how shocked she was when they read the will. She thought Pa was leaving something to us. I think that’s what she wants: to help us all out a bit.’

  ‘Nobody wants to give away a million-dollar house.’

  ‘It’d be worth well over two mill.’

  ‘It’s not our money.’

  Diana shook her head and took her coffee out to the garden.

  ‘I think Mum should stay here,’ said Molly. ‘Don’t you want to be able to keep coming back to visit? Look, we need to tell her about Pa. I said you could have two days to do whatever it was you wanted to do, and that was a week ago. We have to tell Mum.’

  Simon looked into the hall, checking for eavesdroppers. ‘I need more time. I’m still looking into things.’

  ‘Like the value of the house.’

  ‘We need to know what we’re dealing with, asset-wise. That affects what we help Mum decide.’

  ‘Does she know about this valuation?’

  He turned away and stared intently at the contents of the fridge. ‘Not specifically. I think she’s going Christmas shopping in the city today.’

  ‘Which is why you’ve booked Justin Schoolbags to come now, you sneaky shit.’

  Naomi appeared in the doorway carrying a box of cherries balanced on a box of mangoes. ‘Simon, please can you get the rest from the car? I’ve been out to the fruit market. Got there at five when it opened.’

  Molly shuddered at the thought, and Simon did what he was told.

  Naomi dropped her boxes on the table and sat down. ‘Hey, Moll. You good? I thought it would be worth doing a market run because we’re going to be so many for Christmas. No point giving the big supermarkets all our money when we can give it straight to the farmers.’