Summer

by Michelle Zoetemeyer

  Trevor disagreed. “It is so a question.”

  Raelene was on Tom’s side. “What he means is, it’s not the kind of question you can ask in truth or dare. You have to ask her something she already knows.”

  I was almost wishing I’d said dare. Trevor looked embarrassed and thought of another question. “Is it true you that kissed Kenny Woodward?”

  “Huh, who told you that?”

  “He did, he said you kissed him behind the shower block at camp.”

  “Well, he’s a liar, I never kissed him.”

  “You have to tell the truth remember,”

  “I am, you moron.”

  ***

  I was feeling all warm inside and my arms felt like jelly. I decided I must be drunk. Not falling over drunk, but drunk enough for my fingers not to work properly. I lay on the car seat with my head in Tom’s lap and wiggled my fingers in the air. I felt a bit cheeky and wanted to get Trevor back for asking me if I’d go with him. Raelene waited anxiously while I thought of something to ask her. “Do you have a crush on Trevor?” I asked.

  Raelene giggled. “Thanks a lot Jenny.”

  Tom applied some pressure of his own. “Well, you said truth, so now tell the truth.”

  She kept giggling. “Yes, I do.”

  I don’t remember the last time I saw Trevor speechless. It was quite funny really. He sat there not knowing where to look or what to say. Chrissy must have been feeling the odd one out because she picked that moment to get up and leave. “I’ll go and check what time it is,” she gave as her excuse.

  We didn’t really expect her to come back. “We should get going too,” Raelene said, getting up to leave.

  I was so comfortable lying on the seat with Tom; I wanted to stay there all night. “Not now, you’re the only one who hasn’t asked a question yet.”

  She sat back down and without hesitation asked Trevor, “Truth or dare?”

  “Dare.” He replied cautiously.

  Raelene giggled. She was either drunk or nervous, I couldn’t tell which. “I dare you to give me a pash.”

  This time it was Tom’s turn to make fun of Trevor. “Ooh, Trev, do you accept the dare?”

  Without answering, he crawled across to where Raelene was sitting and gave her a wet sloppy kiss.

  “Yuk,” Tom screwed his face up, “you’re dribbling mate.”

  We both laughed at Trevor and Raelene, but they ignored us. “Come on Jen,” Tom tweaked my nose, “let’s go wait for the fire crackers.”

  Chapter 52

  Sunday, 15 December 1968

  Peter heard the front door slam and waited for the familiar sound of Stephen’s voice. It was late in the afternoon and he hadn’t heard from him all day. His note had said that he was staying at Mark’s place, but Peter had called earlier on in the day and Mark’s father said that he’d left that morning. Peter wasn’t even sure why he had bothered to ring. At the time, he had an excuse ready. He planned to tell Stephen that he rang to see if he wanted to come and give him and his uncle Roger a hand, but the truth was, Roger really didn’t need Stephen’s help. Peter considered his real motives for wanting to speak with his son and concluded that it was to ascertain how much, if any, he knew about the previous day’s events.

  Peter was sitting at the table when Stephen walked in. “G’day mate,” he said.

  Stephen mumbled something. The look on his face gave nothing away.

  “What have you been doing all day?” Peter asked, as casually as he could manage.

  “Nothin’ much,” Stephen replied.

  Peter wondered if he should push the point, but before he could give the matter much thought, Stephen spoke. “What did you and Mum fight about?” he asked.

  So, thought Peter, we’re up to that already. He knew the questions would come sooner or later, but was kind of hoping for the latter. He had no idea how much Stephen knew, and was therefore unsure of how to answer him. “Oh, I’d prefer not to say, it’s rather embarrassing actually,” he managed.

  Stephen looked at his father in disgust. “Yeah, well if I was rootin’ around with someone young enough to be my daughter, I’d be embarrassed too.”

  “Stephen! Do you mind? I was not rooting around with anyone.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Stephen challenged.

  Peter looked at his son, aghast. “And what exactly have you heard?”

  Stephen glared back, “You should know, you did it.”

  “Look,” Peter said, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it seems to me that you’ve heard wrong. What exactly did your mother tell you?”

  “Mum never told me anything; Jane did.”

  “Shit,” mumbled Peter under his breath, Jane was not the most reliable source. What was that saying about hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? And, Peter was making no bones about it, Jane had been scorned.

  Stephen mistook Peter's curse as confessional. “So it’s true then?”

  “Is what true?” Peter snapped.

  “You and Jane,” offered Stephen.

  Peter could see the conversation going around in circles. “Look, why don’t you sit down and we can talk about it?”

  Stephen stood defiantly. “I don’t want to sit down, I just want to know if it’s true or not.”

  Peter took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, if you’re asking me if I had sex with Jane, no it isn’t true. If you’re asking me did something happen with Jane, then I’m sorry Steve, but the answer’s yes.”

  “Oh, that’s bloody great, just great,” Stephen looked close to tears. “So what did happen exactly?”

  Peter was still none the wiser as to what Jane had told him, but suspected from his initial comments that it was not an accurate representation of events. “What did Jane tell you happened?”

  Stephen looked as though he were considering whether or not to tell his father what she’d said. After a short spell, he started. “Well, she told me how you came on to her. She said that…”

  “What?” Peter cut him off. “She told you that I came on to her?”

  “Yeah, she said that you kept flirting with her and making passes at her, and that she eventually gave in.”

  Peter sighed loudly. “Look, Stephen, let me be very blunt here; I did not come on to Jane. I admit that I may have flirted with her, but I can assure you that she made all the first moves.”

  “Oh, fuck off,” Stephen spat, “as if I’m supposed to believe that Jane would come on to you. You’re nothing but an old man to her.”

  Peter was taken aback by his son’s comments. It wasn’t what he said about Peter's age that bothered him; he had been young once and knew all too well how old forty-two seemed, he was hurt that Stephen thought he was lying. “Look,” he tried again, “I give you my word that Jane was a very willing participant in everything that took place between us.”

  “Yeah, I’m not surprised, I’m sure letting some sleaze ball crack onto you is better than failing your final year of uni.”

  Now it was Peter's turn to be angry. “Are you suggesting that I blackmailed Jane into having an affair with me?” Peter was aware that he had used the word affair, after telling Maggie that it wasn’t an affair as such, but he was beyond caring about semantics now.

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” Stephen yelled, “I know that’s what you did; Jane told me.”

  “And,” Peter yelled back, “has it occurred to you that Jane might not be telling you the truth?”

  “Why would she lie to me? She has nothing to gain by lying,” Stephen jabbed his finger at Peter, “whereas, you, on the other hand, do.” Then, as an afterthought, he added spitefully, “Well, maybe not so much now that Mum’s found out.”

  Peter was dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe that Jane would say such a thing. Then again, he shouldn’t have been surprised at all by what she’d told Stephen. Nothing about her behaviour so far had given Peter any reason to believe that she would play fair. In fact, she had made it pret
ty damn obvious from the beginning of the whole fiasco that she would take whatever steps necessary to get what she wanted. And she had desperately wanted Peter, hadn’t she? So why the hell was he surprised by what he was hearing?

  From the outset, Peter had wanted to save his son from being hurt by what had happened, but Stephen was making things pretty difficult for him. Listening to his accusations, Peter lost his cool and gave in to his anger. It felt great. “I think it’s about time you woke up to yourself, mate. Can’t you see that Jane is using you to get to me? She’s made that abundantly clear the whole fucking time.” Peter could see the hurt on his son’s face, but didn’t stop the flow of words. “You think she didn’t know who you were when she met you at the Warner’s place? Well, let me tell you, she knew exactly who you were; she followed me to uni one weekend after I dropped you off at Mark’s. And, I might add, that was just before she thought she’d have another go at getting me into bed by flashing her tits in my face one more time. Only it didn’t work. And that’s the only reason she’s even looking sideways at you mate, just so she can have another shot at me!”

  “You’re full of shit,” Stephen yelled. “Jane told me how it happened and I believe her.”

  “Oh, is that right? And, I suppose she also bothered to tell you that since you and her have been seeing each other that she has tried no less than three times to get me into bed. Yeah, that’s right mate, three fucking times. And in this house! Once while you were in there, too,” Peter pointed down the hall, “sleeping like a baby.”

  “You’re a fucking liar,” Stephen screamed at his dad, “you’re just saying that because you got busted.”

  “Now, you listen to me,” Peter demanded, “and you listen good. See this,” Peter pointed to the scratch on his face, “your sweet, innocent little girlfriend did this to me because I wouldn’t fuck her.” Stephen shook his head in denial, Peter continued. “Everything I have told you so far is true, and if you’re too naïve to believe me then you deserve the fucking little trollop. But, don’t say I didn’t warn you mate. Now that her dirty little secret’s out, she’ll dump you so fast your head will spin. You mark my words.”

  Peter knew that he was being cruel to Stephen, but he couldn’t help it; he was furious. He knew that if he had bothered to take the time to consider why, he would have come to the realisation that he was furious with Jane, and with himself for being so stupid, but not with Stephen, not really. Stephen was just a kid on the brink of manhood who was trying to reconcile the lies of his beloved new girlfriend with the words of his father. Peter sighed. Despite his anger, he could see that from Stephen’s perspective, the only acceptable version of events was the one that Jane had given him.

  Stephen glared at his father, hatred in his eyes. “I oughta deck you for that,” he threatened. “But, I won’t. That wouldn’t be cricket; what with you being nothing but a pathetic old man and all.” With that, Stephen turned and stomped out. “And a dirty old man at that,” he called back over his shoulder.

  Peter sat, stunned by the exchange, not knowing what to do next. Should he go after Stephen or should he let him go? He knew he owed his son an apology, but he decided to let him go anyway; mainly so that he could compose himself somewhat. The argument had shaken him up more than he cared to admit. Peter couldn’t recall ever having argued with Stephen before; the occasional squabble or disagreement here or there; definitely, but a full blown argument. Never.

  Peter slammed his fists on the table, “Fuck! Now what?” he asked aloud. He should have known that little trollop was trouble.

  Hang on a minute, he chided himself, he had known she was trouble, right from the start. His instincts had been on full alert from the moment she had shown an interest in him, but then again, so had his libido. Peter knew deep down that he had no one to blame for the mess he was in but himself. In spite of that, he felt that the punishment did not fit the crime. First Maggie, now Stephen; he had lost them both because of his stupidity. Had Michelle been around to witness the supreme fuckup, no doubt he would have lost her too.

  Looking around the empty kitchen, yesterday’s dishes still on the sink, the daisies Maggie had picked from the back garden wilted pitifully in a vase, Peter felt as bad as he remembered having ever felt before. His eyes welled up with tears. Instead of wiping them dry, he let them flow. What a pathetic sight he must have made, he thought; sitting at the table blubbering like a bloody sheila. He didn’t care. He was beyond caring now. He had managed to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him, and all for what? For a stupid little fling with a hellcat, that’s what.

  Peter was angry with himself for what he had allowed to happen, and he was angry with the world for making him pay so dearly for it. He was at a loss as to what to do next, his son was not speaking to him, his wife had left him, his whole world was falling down around him, and all he could do was sit and cradle his head in his hands and watch the steady flow of tears collecting on the table cloth, the circle of dampness growing with each falling droplet.

  The sound of the front door closing startled Peter. He jerked his head up and looked down the hall. With the light shining in behind him, he could see only his son’s silhouette, but it was sufficient to make out Stephen shuffling through the bowl that was on the hall table. He watched as he grabbed a bunch of keys and twirled them around his finger before sprinting up the hall and out the front door, leaving it open behind him.

  “Hey!” Peter shoved his chair back with such a jerk that it landed on the floor with a crash. He ignored it. “Where do you think you’re going with my keys?” he yelled. Peter frantically wiped the tears from his face and followed Stephen out of the house. He wasn’t fast enough. Stephen was climbing in the car as Peter reached the front door.

  “None of your fucking business,” Stephen called back over the roof of the car, slamming the door behind him.

  Peter raced up the front path after him. “Stephen! Don’t you dare take off with my car, get back here!” It was a waste of breath. Stephen had already turned the engine over and was screeching off down the road. By the time Peter got to the footpath, all that remained was the smell of burnt rubber and petrol fumes. “Bloody hell,” he kicked the gutter before going back inside, this time slamming the door so hard the painting on the wall shook.

  Chapter 53

  Sunday, 15 December 1968

  Having spent a good portion of the day tidying up and getting groceries, Maggie felt that she was entitled to a cigarette and a cup of tea. She boiled the kettle while she packed the food away; wiping each shelf down before placing the items in such a way that she wouldn’t have to dig too deep to find what she was after. Satisfied with her efforts, she folded the empty paper bags and put them under the sink for later use.

  Although it was a gorgeous day outside, Maggie hardly noticed. She blocked the sound of the Bellbirds’ singing from her mind and tried hard to busy herself instead. She liked being busy. It meant that she had very little time to contemplate her disastrous situation. She knew that she would eventually have to think about it and consider what she was going to do, but she was still too upset by what had happened to think straight. Whenever she tried to reflect on the matter she would either become enraged, or she would simply break down and cry. Neither outcome put her in the right frame of mind to weigh up her situation rationally. Maggie was hopeful that with the tidying up behind her, a cup of tea in front of her – the first one she’d enjoyed with milk in it since her arrival – and a cigarette between her lips, things would improve.

  She carried her cup outside and curled up in her usual chair. Before she had even lit her first cigarette her attempts at keeping her spirits up wavered and her brain slipped into overdrive, overwhelming her with images. First Jane, standing at the back door attacking Peter, yelling accusations so hurtful that Maggie thought she might die just from the pain of hearing them, and then Peter, putting his hands up to block Jane’s attack, not realising that Maggie had been standing in the k
itchen the whole time. She couldn’t remember the exact words Jane had used, but she certainly remembered enough to know that whatever had taken place between them had been far more serious than a bit of harmless flirting.

  Determined not to cry, Maggie wiped the moisture from her eyes. The other images she had of Peter and Jane were even more offensive than the ones associated with the confrontation on the back veranda. Jane had been quite explicit in her claims of what had taken place, hurling them at Peter with no regard for the neighbours; or Maggie for that matter. Although Jane was not aware that Maggie had been standing behind her, Maggie doubted that she could have come up with anything more hurtful had she tried. The spiteful words she had spat at Peter had certainly provided Maggie with enough detail to put the sordid puzzle pieces together.

  Her resolve now all but gone, Maggie started to cry. Once, she would have claimed to know exactly where she had stood in the relationship stakes, but that had been a lifetime ago, before everything fell apart and she was left wondering if any of it had ever been real to begin with. The tears rolled off her cheeks as she considered how naïve she must look now. She had been so sure in her knowledge that what she and Peter shared was exceptional; and how much that contrasted with what everyone else had.

  How smug she must have seemed. It was no wonder many of her colleagues were annoyed by her gloating. Her constant claims that she had the perfect husband and relationship would certainly provide them with more than a few laughs now, she thought. She asked herself the same question she had asked numerous times before; what had changed? What had happened between them that had caused Peter to risk their precious bond in favour of Jane’s affections? Was it the fact that she was unable to give him a child? She didn’t think so. While Peter was always happy with the idea of more children, it was Maggie that had obsessed over it, not Peter. Was it that she was getting too old? Or maybe that he no longer found her attractive? Once again, she doubted it. Peter had always told her that she was the most beautiful woman he knew, and sexy too, and while she didn’t agree with his appraisal, she believed that it was genuine, nonetheless.