Summer

by Michelle Zoetemeyer

  “Alright, I give in. Uncle!”

  I gave him one last tickle for good measure. He was breathless from the struggle. “If you don’t stop, I’ll wet myself,” he warned. I was breathless too. It was hard work holding him down.

  “Hey, you wanna know what my secret is?” I couldn’t believe I almost forgot to tell him.

  That got his attention. His face lit up and he nodded eagerly.

  “Clare’s a witch.”

  “Deadset?”

  “Yep, but you’ve gotta swear you won’t tell anyone else, okay? We’re the only ones that know and I promised her I wouldn’t say anything.”

  “I won't tell a soul,” Tom said seriously.

  “Promise?”

  He drew a cross on his chest with his finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Chapter 41

  Saturday, 14 December 1968

  Maggie woke with the disgusting taste of fermenting garlic in her mouth. The price for last night’s dinner, she supposed. Well, it was certainly delicious last night, she thought, but it was more than she could stand at eight forty-three in the morning. She got out of bed and headed for the bathroom to brush her teeth. She pushed on the door and was startled when it was met with a thump. “Oh sorry,” she mumbled, not realising Stephen was in there. She assumed he’d be fast asleep after hearing him come in at some ungodly hour that morning. In fact, she didn’t expect to see hide nor hair of him until sometime after midday. That was how things usually worked after a big night out.

  Maggie moved aside to let Stephen pass and got her second surprise for the morning when it turned out to be Jane. Maggie apologised for her intrusion, “Sorry, love, I didn’t realise you were here.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Jane asked sweetly, “we both had too much to drink, so Mark drove us home. Stephen said it would be okay.”

  Maggie dismissed her concerns with a wave of her hand. “Of course it’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting anyone in the bathroom that’s all.”

  “Oh, good. Well, I better get back to bed. It’s way too early for me to be up.”

  Maggie laughed. As far as she was concerned she was doing well to have slept in so late. The idea of it being way too early to be out of bed was unthinkable. In reality, it was time for Peter to get up also, she thought, as she scrubbed the foul taste from her mouth. He told Roger he’d be there by nine-thirty.

  Instead of going back into the bedroom, Maggie wandered into the kitchen and put the kettle on. She’d leave Peter in bed just long enough to make him a coffee. She looked out the window at a gorgeous day. It was already warm and bright outside, and promising to stay that way. She was pleased. She planned to pack for their holiday, but first she had to do a couple of loads of washing. Judging by the warmth she could feel radiating from the back door, it would be dry by lunchtime, which would leave her plenty of time to pack the clothes she needed for their time away.

  The kettle let out a shrill cry, demanding to be taken off the heat. Maggie poured the steaming water into the teapot, careful not to use it all. When she was satisfied she had enough water for a second cup, she poured the remaining water into Peter's mug. She rarely drank coffee. The last time had been a couple of weeks ago at the Piccolo. Peter, on the other hand, rarely drank tea. She considered changing her routine for once, thinking the coffee would help scour the taste of garlic from her mouth, but she decided the fresh minty taste of toothpaste probably went better with tea than with coffee.

  She took the coffee into Peter. “Here you go, lazy bones.” She sat it down on his bedside table, leaned in and kissed him awake.

  Peter slowly opened his eyes and stretched, making appreciative sounds as he did so. “Good morning,” he chirped. “Please tell me it’s raining and too wet to work on Roger’s damn extensions.”

  Maggie laughed. “No such luck, babe, it’s a gorgeous day outside; perfect for working.”

  “Eek,” complained Peter, sitting up and taking a sip of his coffee. “Mmm, I needed that.”

  Maggie sat beside him, studying his face. She loved the lines that were forming around his eyes and mouth. He complained they made him look old, but she thought they made him even more handsome; in a rugged kind of way.

  “What?” he noticed her studying him, “Do I have a boogie or something?” He squeezed the end of his nose and inspected his thumb and forefinger for offending material.

  “Of course not, you dill. I was just admiring your face, that’s all.”

  Peter screwed up his face and poked out his tongue.

  “Well, aren’t you charming?” Maggie asked.

  Without answering her, Peter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close. “Have I told you today how much I love you?” he asked.

  “As a matter of fact, you haven’t.”

  “Well,” he said squeezing her tighter, “I do; very much.”

  She wriggled her arms free and wrapped them around his middle. Then, resting her head against his chest, she said, “that makes me the luckiest person alive.”

  Peter was flattered. He was certain he didn’t deserve somebody as sweet as Maggie; especially after his recent shenanigans, which constantly played on his mind. How could they not, with that little vixen in the house all the time? There wasn’t a single day that went by that Peter didn’t regret what he had done with Jane and he was scared witless of what was still to come; he just wished he knew what she had in mind. Sometimes he was able to convince himself that she would simply give up and go away, but then there were times, that he thought the ordeal would never end. Like the other day, when she bailed him up in the bathroom, and yesterday when she stabbed him with her gaze after finding him and Maggie in the lounge room together, and correctly assumed the worst. Maybe she didn’t have to assume anything, thought Peter; they never heard her come in. In fact, she could have been there the whole time for all they knew. The look she shot him afterwards certainly suggested that she had been.

  ***

  Stephen stumbled out of bed looking the worse for wear, despite the hour no longer being morning. Maggie looked up from the pile of clothes she was folding, “well, look what the cat dragged in,” she joked. “Where’s Jane?”

  “She’s still asleep.”

  “Wow,” said Maggie, “I’m impressed. Finally, I’ve met someone that can out-sleep the best of the best, which is you, by the way.”

  Stephen grimaced. Despite the late hour, it was still way too early for his mother’s lame jokes.

  Maggie, however, was having fun. She was in a great mood, and determined to let nothing change it. “Do you want me to pack these?” she asked, holding up a pair of his shorts.

  “Yeah. Is there any tea made?”

  “There is, but it’s cold. You’re only about…” Maggie looked at the etched face of her watch, “…four and a half hours late.”

  “Great.” Stephen shuffled over to the kitchen and filled the kettle with cold water. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s over helping Uncle Roger with his extensions.”

  At the mention of Roger’s extensions, Stephen swore. “Shit, I said I would help too.”

  Maggie laughed. “Well, that was big of you. Was that before or after you decided to go out and get drunk last night.”

  Stephen scowled. He knew his mother was just having a playful dig at him, but the mention of getting drunk was almost too much for his fragile state. “Nah, it was ages ago. Dad didn’t tell me he was doing it this weekend, or else I would’ve laid off the grog a bit.”

  “Sure you would’ve,” Maggie laughed. Then, as an afterthought she asked, “Where’s Jane’s car, I didn’t see it out the front?”

  Stephen swore again. “It’s exactly where we parked it last night. Don’t suppose you could run me over to get it?”

  Maggie flicked him with a tea towel. “Not dressed like that I’m not.”

  Stephen looked down at his crumpled shorts. “I’ll just go and get changed,” he offered.

&nb
sp; “What about your tea?” she called after him.

  “I’ll have it when I get back.”

  Maggie folded the last of the washing and left it on the table in neat piles. To her surprise, the keys were on the key hook for a change. Stephen came back out dressed in a less creased pair of shorts, tee-shirt, and thongs. “What about Jane,” Maggie enquired as they were closing the door behind them, “does she know where you’re going?”

  “Yeah, I told her I wouldn’t be gone long. She’ll be alright.”

  Maggie heard the phone ring as she walked up the front path, but didn’t bother to go back and answer it. Whoever it was, they’d call back. She thought about the prank calls she’d been getting a couple of weeks ago and wondered why they’d stopped. At the time, she assumed that it had been Marjorie, but Michelle swore that it wasn’t. She said she had casually raised the subject while she was having lunch with her to gauge her reaction, but had got not so much as a flicker of interest. Besides, while Michelle believed Marjorie to be a selfish and conceited individual, she did not believe her to be the kind of person that would make prank calls – let alone cry over the phone as the prank caller had done.

  ***

  Peter hung up the phone. Maggie hadn’t said anything about going out, but he supposed she must have ducked out for something. He explained to Roger that he’d have to go and get his drill himself. He was hoping that Maggie might have been able to drop it over for him, but she wasn’t answering the phone, and he couldn’t do any more work without it.

  Roger handed him a beer as he left. Peter took it gratefully. Maggie hadn’t been wrong when she said it was a hot day. It was turning out to be a real stinker. The vinyl seats in his car were so hot he placed a towel over the top of the seat and folded it down on to the bottom half of the seat. The towel was in his car for that very reason; so he wouldn’t burn his bare flesh on the seat or stick to the vinyl.

  It was only a short drive home, but it was long enough for the car to cool down a little. Sure enough, when he got there, Maggie’s car was gone from its usual parking spot. He didn’t expect her to have left a note, because she wasn’t expecting him home. Maybe Stephen was home and would be able to enlighten him as to her whereabouts.

  Peter unlocked the front door and walked into the cool house. He stuck his head into Stephen’s room at the same time as he called his name. “Hey Steve, where’s your mum?”

  The sheets were scrunched up in a pile on his bed and the room was empty. “Not home,” mumbled Peter, “Oh well, doesn’t matter.” He crushed his empty beer can and tossed it into the kitchen tidy. It missed and fell on the floor with a crunch. “Damn,” he bent down to pick it up and noticed that the bin was full. “Typical, I’m the only one around here that knows how to empty a bin,” he complained, despite no one being there to listen. He took the lid off the garbage bin and twisted the plastic liner closed. He tied it shut with a wire-tie and pulled the full bag out of the bin. Then, bag of rubbish in one hand, he grabbed the empty Weet-bix box off the cupboard and took them both outside to the outside bin, which was much larger than the inside one.

  He used his hip to push the back door open. It closed with a thump behind him. He carried the rubbish down the back steps and around the side of the house, to the garbage bin. He thought he heard the back door thump a second time, and looked up expecting to see Maggie home. Instead, his eyes rested on Jane. She was standing on the back veranda in one of Stephen’s tee-shirts. Her shapely, tanned legs stuck out underneath the shirt and despite his recent dislike of her, Peter couldn’t help but notice how nice she looked.

  “Good afternoon, Sir,” she said casually.

  Peter was not about to fall for her usual bullshit. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Come now, Sir, that’s no way to treat a guest.”

  Peter walked up the back steps and stopped in front of her. She was deliberately leaning against the back door, blocking his entry. “Excuse me; I’d like to get inside if you don’t mind.”

  Jane’s face lit up. “Of course I don’t mind, I’ve wanted you inside for ages.”

  Peter realised his error, but didn’t let it unsettle him. “Jane, I am through playing games with you, please move.”

  “I’ll move when I’m good and ready,” she snapped. “Unless of course you want to move me yourself,” she added with less hostility.

  What would it to take to get this girl out of his life, he wondered. Obviously she didn’t respond well to threats. Maybe if he tried being nice to her that might work. “Look, I’m flattered that you think I’m worth pursuing. You’re a nice girl and all, but I’m simply not interested.” Peter was aware of having said the same thing once or twice in the past and realised with dread that it was just as likely to succeed now as it had been then.

  “Nice girl?” she spat. “You think I’m a nice girl? How dare you. You lead me on for weeks and then when things get a bit heated you chicken out and run away.”

  As spiteful as she was being, he thought there was merit in what she said. “I know that’s how it seems to you, and I’m sorry. It’s not that I chickened out, it’s just that I realised what a huge mistake I was making. I love my wife, Jane, and I’m not about to ruin my relationship for a nothing little fling with someone that’s young enough to be my daughter for Christ’s sake.”

  As soon as the words were out, Peter realised his mistake. The look on Jane’s face told him that his words had made her furious. “Nothing little fling,” she yelled, “is that all I am to you?” Then, before Peter could respond, she came at him. Her fists pounded his chest. She opened her fingers and scratched at him with her nails. He felt her tearing at his face. He put his hands up to protect himself, at the same time trying to get her off him, but she kept attacking him, screaming, “I hate you, you bastard. How could you do that to me?”

  “Jane!” Peter yelled back, “For Christ’s sake calm down.” He was at a loss as to what to do. In the end he had to shove her away quite hard in order to get her to stop, causing him to immediately worry that he’d been too forceful. She looked like she was about to fall, but she steadied herself in time.

  Her hands finally went still. He felt a trickle of blood running down his left cheek and felt the heat from where she had raked his chest and face with her long nails. The look of pure hatred in her eyes made him flinch more than any of the scratches she’d managed to inflict. What a fucking hellcat, he thought. The girl’s a fucking lunatic. She glared at him mercilessly, waiting for him to say something. Instead, he kept quiet; he had no idea what to say or do next.

  She took care of it for him. “You think I’m stupid,” she accused. “You think by fucking your wife in front of me I’ll get the hint and go away, well it won’t work, take my word for it, you’re gonna pay for what you’ve done.”

  Peter was bewildered. “And what exactly have I done to you, Jane? Please tell me what I’m paying for because I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  “Don’t play Mr Innocent with me,” she hissed. “You know damn well you’ve been a bad boy. Don’t you?” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “I wouldn’t say that fucking me with your fingers or kissing me – and I don’t just mean on my mouth – was nothing, would you, Sir? I don’t know about you, but it didn’t feel that way to me. Not to mention playing with my tits and all the flirting and perving that went on for weeks before that.” She pointed her angry finger in his face. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, looking up my skirt every chance you got. Well, let me tell you, I might be young – as you put it – but I’ve been around long enough to know when someone wants to fuck me, and you Sir, were definitely in that category. You were begging for it. And when I finally put the word on you, you got so hard. Oh, I remember all right, I felt you with my own hands; you just about blew your load all over me.”

  Peter's face went ashen. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Jane continued to look at him, but he was past seeing her now. His eyes focused on something more di
stant as he tried to speak. A single word formed on his lips and try as he might, he couldn’t get it out. Instead, he said it over and over in his head, “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie”.

  By the time he finally managed to say the word, it was too late, Maggie had already taken off up the hallway.

  Chapter 42

  Monday, 24 December 1979

  Mum has this theory that the wind makes kids loony. If you ask me, I’d say our mood had more to do with it being Christmas Eve than it had to do with the weather. Either way, we were all careful not to pull too many faces. Mum reckons that if you pull faces and the wind changes, your face stays that way. I didn’t believe her for sure. I remember sticking my tongue out at Mrs Williams once and it was so windy my tongue got full of dirt, but my face never stayed that way. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances. Joanne Nixon looks like she’s permanently pulling faces. I bet that’s what happened to her.

  We spent most of the afternoon playing under the sprinkler, pretending that the heat didn’t bother us. It was almost time for Tom to go. His parents were making him go to church, so he had to be home by five. Ed and Mick had already left, but Trevor and Raelene were still around. We were throwing Frisbees to each other through the water. If we threw them hard into the middle, the spinning water flung them off in all directions. Dad had to lift Tom up to get one off the roof before. He found two tennis balls while he was up there, which we used to play brandies with. We gave up on that though, because the balls hurt too much when they got wet. I should know. I’m going to have a big bruise on my bum where Raelene branded me with a wet ball.

  Dad finished work early today. Doug said he could go home early because it was Christmas Eve. Everyone must finish early at Christmas time. I rode to the library with Tom this morning, but it was closed too. The sign said that it wouldn’t reopen until next year, so now we had to wait for ages to get some books about what happens after you die. Even though Clare cleared things up a bit, I still have stacks more questions to ask her. Besides, Tom wants to see if we can find a book that shows us how to talk to spirits.