Maggie gave Peter a look of disbelief. “Oh, I see, you think that makes it alright, do you? So, you didn’t fuck her. Am I supposed to be grateful for that?”
Peter looked suitably chastised. “I just thought you should know that, in case you were thinking the worst, that’s all.”
“God! You are something else. You mean to tell me it gets worse?” she looked at him, stunned. “Don’t answer that, I already know the answer,” her voice was almost a yell. “And let me tell you, babe, it doesn’t get any worse.”
“Maggie…” Peter hoped to calm her, but she wouldn’t have it.
“Don’t talk to me please. I’m too angry at the moment and I don’t want to say things I’ll regret later. I just want to be by myself so that I can think things through.”
Peter knew better than to try and talk her out of leaving. Instead he asked, “When will you go?”
“Today, now, as soon as I’ve packed my stuff.”
“What will I tell Stephen?”
“Tell him that his father’s a lying, cheating bastard. I don’t care. Just tell him whatever the fuck you want, Peter, you work it out.”
“Okay, okay, there’s no need to be like that.”
“Oh, and be sure to mention that it was with his girlfriend, while you’re at it,” she added acerbically, before continuing. “What a bastard. If it isn’t bad enough that my husband’s having an affair, he’s doing it with my son’s girlfriend; and in my house.”
It occurred to Peter for the first time that Maggie had assumed the relationship with Jane was new. That whatever had taken place between them had happened since Stephen and Jane began dating. “Firstly,” he put his thumb up to indicate the count of one, “I am not having an affair; it was just some stupid little fling, and secondly,” he poked out his second finger, “it happened before she even knew Stephen, and thirdly,” out went his middle finger, “never in this house.”
Maggie was not impressed by his comments. “So, is that supposed to make it okay?” she asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, “I trust from that little speech I just had the pleasure of hearing that you were the one that called it quits? I suppose you think that makes it okay too, do you?”
“Well, surely it must make some difference?” Peter was certain that it should; a huge difference in fact. What he did was low; he didn’t deny that, but what Maggie believed had taken place was much worse.
Maggie stopped shoving clothes into her suitcase and looked up at him. “Not enough of a difference to make up for what you did to me – or Stephen – for that matter.”
“I didn’t do anything to Stephen,” he argued.
“What; you think that skuzzy little harlot would be in this house right now if it weren’t for you? Wake up to yourself. How do you think your son’s going to feel when he finds out that she’s only chasing him to get to you? I don’t suppose you thought about that before you let your dick rule your life?”
Peter knew that what she said was right. Jane had made it clear on a number of occasions that it was him she was after, not Stephen. “I had no idea things would work out the way they did,” he offered pitifully.
Maggie didn’t buy it. “Look, Peter, if you think that your pathetic excuses are going to win me back, think again. I have every right to be angry with you, and I intend to exercise that right,” she pushed past him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll just grab a few things from the bathroom and I’ll be out of your hair.”
She left him standing in the bedroom feeling completely lost. He didn’t want to talk her out of going, he could see that it was something she needed to do, but he couldn’t stand leaving things so hostile between them. Rather than follow her into the bathroom and risk enraging her more, he sat on the bed and waited for her to return. She came back a short time later with her hands full of toiletries. She dumped them on the bed and started ferreting through the wardrobe frantically. “Where the bloody hell is it?” she asked no one in particular.
“What are you looking for?” Peter enquired.
“Never mind,” she snapped, “I don’t need your goddamn help.”
Peter was hurt by Maggie’s comments. He shouldn’t have been; he knew she was angry, but it hurt nonetheless. In all the years they’d been together, they had argued rarely. Even then, it never really got nasty or hurtful; more annoying and frustrated, if anything. The situation he was currently experiencing was definitely a first.
But, then again, so was what he’d done.
“So,” Maggie asked, picking up from where she’d left off before, “I know that you are the one that called off this affair, or so you say; for all I know it’s just another one of your lies.”
“It’s not babe, I…”
“But,” Maggie continued, “what I’d like to know is who started it?”
Peter picked at his fingernails. “Babe, please don’t do this?” he pleaded.
“You did, didn’t you?” she accused.
“Well, not exactly, but…”
“Oh, I see. Am I supposed to believe that you were so smitten with this girl that you allowed her to come onto you?”
“Well, no, it’s just…”
“Well, then, how is it that she managed such a feat? Surely she didn’t force you into it?”
“Well of course not.” He sighed, “I don’t know; who is it that ever starts these things?” Peter ran his fingers through his hair, clearly frustrated with Maggie’s line of questioning.
“How the hell should I know, I’ve never cheated on anyone before.”
Peter flinched. “Babe, it’s not what you think. It’s not like we had this long affair or anything. In fact, we never even had a short affair; it was just a couple of occasions when things got out of hand, that’s all.”
Maggie looked at him, stunned. “Well, I am impressed. If I consider that long list of offences that little trollop just rattled off, it must have been a busy couple of occasions.”
Peter considered how to respond. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Anything he said was only going to inflame the situation. What he had done could not be excused. He could trivialise it as much as he wanted, but Maggie was not a fool. Besides, it was no trivial matter. He knew that. If the shoe were on the other foot and it had been Maggie that had done what he’d done, then he would surely be as upset as she was now.
“Babe, I’m not going to lie to you. And I haven’t lied to you yet. I know it feels like I have, but I haven’t.” Maggie went to speak, but Peter put his hand up to silence her, “please, let me finish.” She glared at him, but did not interrupt again. Peter continued, “I know I have done a rotten thing, and for that I am truly sorry. I also know that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I hope one day you’ll grant it anyway. But mostly, I want you to know that I don’t like myself for what I did. As I said, I let things get out of hand, and I shouldn’t have. I know that now, and I knew it then, I suppose; I just let my ego get in the way of what we have, and I fucked up.
“While I won’t deny that Jane was very persuasive, I take full responsibility for what happened. I’m the one that’s married to you, not Jane. But, having said that, it’s over with Jane, and that was my doing. All I want now is to get on with my life, with you, if you’ll still have me.” Before Maggie could say anything, Peter went on, “Please don’t answer that, it wasn’t a question, I was just telling you how things are from my perspective. I don’t want you to go away, but I understand that you have to. Hopefully, in time, I will have the courage to ask that question. But, right now, I’m not so stupid as to push my luck.” Peter gave her a sheepish smile.
Maggie stopped jamming clothes into the suitcase and reached under the bed for the box of books she’d borrowed from the Theosophical Society. She had always intended to take them on holidays with her and Peter was pleased to see that she was still going to. It reduced the likelihood that she would spend all her time brooding over what a bastard he was. Reading always put her in a good m
ood. Maybe it would this time, he thought.
Peter took her silence as a good sign. “Do you still want Stephen and me to join you like we planned?” he asked tentatively. Before she could protest, he added, “Not straight away. I meant sometime next week. I’ll leave you alone for a few days like you want and we can come up next week once the new car arrives.” He held his breath while she considered his proposition.
“I’ll think about it.”
Well, that’s not a no, he thought, and relaxed a little. “How will I know what you’ve decided,” he asked, “will you call me?” There was no phone connected at the cottage. Usually, if they needed to make a call they would go to the post office in Morisset, or sometimes, if the post office was shut, Mr Kildey would let them use his phone.
Maggie considered Peter's question. “Just ring Kildey’s before you come,” she told him, “I’ll need to go and get groceries every couple of days, so let him know when you intend to arrive and he can give me the message.”
The look of hope Peter felt cross his face must have been obvious to Maggie, “don’t expect too much when you get there,” she warned, “I’m only agreeing to this for Stephen’s sake.”
That would have to do for now, Peter thought.
He left Maggie to finalise her packing and reluctantly went into the garage to get his drill to take back to Roger’s. He wanted to stay and smooth things over between them, but Maggie had made it abundantly clear that the conversation was over. He felt bad for leaving her, but he didn’t want to risk being left alone in the house with Jane once Maggie was gone.
He was grateful for Jane’s absence on leaving the bedroom; he fully expected to find her lurking around the house, but she was nowhere in sight. He grabbed the drill case off the shelf in the garage and ventured back into the house.
Still no Jane. Good. He heard Maggie banging things in the bedroom and braved going in there for a final attempt at goodbye. It appeared the packing was done. Maggie slammed the suitcase shut and dragged it off the bed. “Do you want a hand with that?” Peter offered.
“No thanks, I can manage,” she responded curtly.
She was about to leave the room, but Peter stopped her. “Please, babe,” he held up his hand to silence the protests he knew would come, “I won’t keep you a minute; I just need to say a few words before you go.”
She set the suitcase down with a heavy thump. Arms folded, she glared at him, “Keep it short, I’m in no mood for chit chat.” She was clearly having a dig at him for his self-indulgent speech before.
“Okay, I deserve that,” he said. “In fact, I deserve a lot more than that; I know. I just couldn’t bear letting you go without first saying that I’m sorry for what I did, I never dreamt of hurting you.”
Maggie glared at him. “Yeah, you already said that. You done?”
“Almost,” he continued. “I know you’re angry with me now; you have every right to be. I just hope that one day you will forgive me.”
At the mention of forgiveness, she shot him a look of disbelief and exhaled loudly.
“I know that’s asking a lot,” he conceded. “But, I love you Maggie. I know I fucked up and I’m sorry.” Peter choked back the tears that threatened to flow, “I mean it. I’m so sorry.”
He took a step towards her; she looked away. “Goodbye, Peter.” She picked up the suitcase and left the room.
Peter stood motionless, watching the door through which she had left. After a minute or so, he dragged himself into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He waited there until he heard Maggie come back in for a second load of stuff. When he was confident she was back in the bedroom, he snatched his drill from where he’d left it in the hall and snuck out the front door. There was no point hanging around a second longer, he wanted to make sure that he was gone before Maggie abandoned him, alone in the house with Jane.
Chapter 44
Tuesday, 25 December 1979
Brian upended his pillowcase in the middle of the floor and snatched up a Tonka Truck. “Holy Dooley!” he said excitedly. “Look Dad, look what I got.”
He dumped his truck in Dad’s lap and continued rummaging through the rest of his stuff. It must be hard for Mum and Dad to act surprised at all the stuff Brian shows them. I still do it too, and I know they’ve seen it all before. Kate and Tracy searched through their pillowcases as well, only they were not as noisy as Brian and me. They didn’t get as many things as we did, but what they got cost more. I watched as Tracy pulled out a record and held up some new clothes.
Unlike Brian, I liked to take my time to look through everything. I especially like it when I get to the bottom of the pillowcase. That’s where all the interesting knick-knacks hide. So far, I’d already taken out the bug catcher and some clothes, as well as a candle making kit. I like the crafty presents the best. They give me something to do in the holidays. I got a packet of pencils and textas, and three scrapbooks. I can never have too many of those. Next, I took out two books; The October Child and The Naughtiest Girl Again, and a pet rock set. It had everything you needed to make a family of pet rocks. I continued to empty my pillowcase, stacking everything neatly beside me as I went. By the time I’d finished, I had an excellent collection of things, including some bath cubes and matching talcum powder, a Holly Hobby writing set, a finger puppet craft kit, and a pile of new shorts, tops and undies. I even got a new wrap around skirt and another set of clacker-clacks. Mum had obviously done her Christmas shopping prior to Tom getting me some for my birthday.
I remembered the presents I put under the tree for Mum and Dad and reached under to get them. Everyone had brought their presents over on my birthday and put them under the tree with Aunty Christine’s, so now they were well hidden under a mountain of other presents. After some rearranging – and subtle squeezing of packages – I found the ones that belonged to Mum and Dad.
I got Mum a cake of soap wrapped in a lacy-edged face washer, and a jar of boiled lollies, which are her favourites. I got Dad a set of beer coasters with pictures of the Opera House and Sydney Harbour Bridge, and a calendar to put up in his shed. It’s last year’s calendar, but it’s got lots of pictures of hotted-up cars, so I didn’t think Dad would mind. Besides, I knew Dad would like it because it’s got a Charger in it, and that’s his favourite car. And it has one of those Monaros in it too, just like the one in the accident when I was born. Whenever he tells anyone about it, he always says that it was criminal to see a brand new Monaro get smashed up, so that must mean he likes them too. It was even the same colour yellow as the one in the accident.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” I handed Mum a small item that was wrapped separately. Inside the package was a small round disc, about the size of a saucer. It was made from clay, had a hole in the top, which I’d threaded some ribbon through so it could be hung up, and had the word Roundoit scratched in it over and over, forming a word spiral that started at the edge of the disc and ended in the centre. I copied the idea from a sticker I’d seen on the back of Mr Drury’s folder.
“What does Round Toit mean?” Mum asked, pronouncing the word like she would quoit.
I could tell by the look on her face she hadn’t worked it out yet. “It’s not a Round Toit,” I giggled, “it’s a round to-it. It’s for all those times you say you’ll do something when you get around to it. Well, now you have one.”
Dad thought it was hilarious. While he was hanging it up it on the inside of the kitchen cupboard, I told him how I made it in craft at school. “There,” he said, pleased with himself, “your mum will be reminded of it every time she makes herself a cuppa.”
***
“Knock, knock, anyone home?” Janice put her face up to the screen door and peered inside. Uncle Dennis didn’t wait for an answer. He walked straight in, almost causing Janice to fall headfirst into the lounge room. Aunty Joanne and the kids followed. Robbie carried Uncle Dennis’ Esky down the back steps and put it in the garage in its usual spot. Uncle Dennis looked like Norman
Gunston. He had bits of toilet paper stuck to his face.
“What happened mate, cat get carried away?” Dad asked, getting up to greet them.
“Funny ha ha,” Uncle Dennis replied sarcastically, “I got a new razor from Santa and let me tell you, its friggin’ sharp. I nearly cut me bloody throat with it.”
Dad laughed.
“Hey,” Uncle Dennis protested, “I’m not shittin’ ya mate; I almost did.”
Uncle Mick scratched his beard. “Do what I do, mate; don’t shave.”
The phone rang and Dad went back into the dining room to answer it. He wished the caller a merry Christmas without waiting to see who it was. It was only Clare. She was ringing to say she was just leaving.
Mum put a bowl of punch and a plate of peanuts on the table. “Who was that?” she asked.
“It was Clare. She’s running a bit late.” Dad scooped a cup of punch out of the bowl and handed it to me. “I hope you don’t mind, I said it was okay for her to bring her flatmate with her.”
“I didn’t know she had a flatmate.” Mum sounded surprised.
“Me neither,” said Dad. “She said something about her flatmate not having anywhere else to go, so I said she could bring them with her.”
“Girl or boy?” Mum asked.
“Dunno. I assume it’s a girl.”
“Maybe she’s got herself a boyfriend at last.” Mum suggested.
“It’s about time,” added Aunty Audrey.
I don’t know why everyone is always so interested in Clare’s love life. They carry on like there’s something wrong with her, just because she doesn’t have a boyfriend.
Uncle Mick walked into the dining room. “Who’s got a boyfriend?”
“Clare does,” confirmed Aunty Audrey.
I couldn’t stand it. I rolled my eyes and went out the back to see what the others were up to. Grandma and Pa were sitting under the tarp, smoking cigarettes. Pa was drinking beer from a large bottle. Robbie was walking around on my stilts and Janice and Brian were playing with Brian’s totem tennis. The tables and chairs were set up in two rows; one for the grownups and one for the kids. Each setting had a red or green napkin underneath the cutlery and a cracker above where the plate went. Mum had saved some red and green balloons from my party and tied them to the ends of the tables, making everything look very festive.
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