by Lisa Heidke
‘And?’
Clearly, Terry wasn’t in a jovial mood.
‘Look, as much as she’d never admit it, I think she’s lonely. It gives her a purpose being with the kids and me.’
‘Jeez, I could never live with her.’
‘No, you couldn’t.’
‘Are you saying you could?’
‘Maybe.’
‘But you used to hate her. Said she was interfering.’
‘A hundred years ago. It’s different now. We’re friends.’
‘United against the common enemy?’
I laughed. ‘Something like that.’
He snorted. ‘She’s been with you half a day. You’ll feel differently by the end of the week, trust me. I lived with her for eighteen years, nine months, three days and fifteen hours. I know what I’m talking about. You’ll be pleased when the week’s up and you can drop her back to her villa, no questions asked.’
It was true that in the early days, long before Jimmy died, June could be a handful. She’d had very definite opinions on everything from toilet paper to chicken seasoning. Most of the time, I’d switched off. I didn’t care what brand of toilet paper we used. If it made her happy that we used her preferred brand, so be it. I’d been less accommodating when it came to her suggestions about raising my kids. She was a self-proclaimed expert on breastfeeding, control crying, even banana puree. You name it and June knew all the answers. Dr Spock had nothing on her. It was around that time I’d started making up excuses as to why I couldn’t go to dinner with her or meet to see a movie in the city.
All that had changed when Jimmy died. The standard family joke was that Jimmy had died to escape June’s nagging, but the truth was, June was lost after that. Gradually, she’d changed from being an overbearing matriarch to a caring, interested and loving grandmother. The more involved she became in our lives, the less she’d tried to interfere in the day-to-day running of the household. In the last couple of years, she’d been great. I really did enjoy her company and I silently hoped we’d still be on speaking terms by the end of her stay.
After work, I picked June up and took her home with me. She’d packed another suitcase overflowing with turbans and scarves.
‘You’ve been doing too much today. What about your arm?’ I said as I unpacked them onto two rarely used hat stands.
‘Nonsense. My arm’s fine. I have painkillers.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Anyway, when will you get time to wear all of these?’
She smiled. ‘The ones I don’t wear I like to look at. They’re so pretty.’
I couldn’t argue. There were exquisitely coloured silk scarves from India and Turkey, and turbans from Egypt. ‘Where do you find them?’ I asked.
‘Mostly on eBay. I’m a very good shopper.’
I left June admiring her scarves and was in the midst of preparing tacos for dinner when Hannah wandered into the kitchen and told me she was thinking about applying for a job at the local video store.
What? My baby?
‘Not until you’re fifteen,’ I said.
‘But Ben’s got a job, and besides, I need the money.’
Ben had worked at Bunnings over the summer, doing five shifts a week, mad keen on saving for a car. I was happy about it. It kept him focused—and off the streets. I knew where he was pretty much all the time. Now that school had started again, he’d cut back to one four-hour shift on Sundays.
‘Hannah, let’s talk about it when you turn fifteen.’
That way, I still had a few months’ grace.
My first job had been at Hungry Jack’s when I was just a little older than Hannah. I’d dressed up for the interview, keen to impress. The manager, who was probably all of twenty-one, had taken me into a tiny grey room that smelled of grease and uncooked meat. I didn’t have a resume, of course, but that didn’t seem to matter.
‘We can start you this weekend,’ he’d said. ‘Just to let you know, we put the good-looking kids out the back, cooking fries, assembling the burgers.’
I nodded.
‘Yeah, customers get too distracted if there’s a stunning chick on the registers.’
‘Okay,’ I said, immediately thinking, Yuck, not only do I have to wear the hideous uniform, I’ll be covered in chip fat.
‘So anyway,’ he said standing up. ‘Let’s go out the front and I’ll give you a quick lesson on the tills.’
I shuddered at the memory. All up, I’d lasted three miserable weeks working on a cash register I never mastered.
I looked at my daughter and thought about the years I’d spent sitting through dance recitals and flute concerts. When Hannah was five, I’d held my breath, tears in my eyes, as she pirouetted fleetingly across the stage, and then I’d sat for a further mind-numbing two hours while all the other little sunbeams did their thing. One minute, I was sitting at her first dance recital, and the next, she was getting a weekend job. Another blink of an eye and she’d be moving out on her own. I wasn’t ready for that.
arly waited until after Brett and Will had left the house on Tuesday morning before checking her emails. She was hoping Nicholas would have replied. She knew a phone call was out of the question. Nick didn’t have a lot of money, and it was unlikely he’d spend what little he did have on an international call to his mother. She turned on the computer and drummed her fingers on the desk as it beeped into life. There were three emails, one from Nick. Thank God! There was also one from Steve. That couldn’t be good. And one from an address she didn’t recognise. The other two could wait. Carly’s boy had written to her.
Hey Mum, What’s happening? Freezing here. You’d hate it. Life’s really full on but great. Had a mental with the head sports master but he’s a freakazoid and getting bent out of shape about nothing. Everything’s under control. I’m handling it so don’t worry. How are Dad and the bro?
Carly wasn’t sure what to read into that. Nick sounded fine, but what was the ‘mental’ with the sports master about? Was it something that warranted her calling him?
She looked at the other messages. What the hell was Steve doing emailing her? She opened it and quickly found out. One line. Eight words.
I meant what I said the other day.
What had he said? Something about keeping away from Jesse or Stella and Carly would be sorry. The nerve of the guy! Carly was shaking. She wanted to march over to Jesse’s house and tell her everything! Steve was threatening her and Stella and it had to stop.
She rang Stella at work and explained about the email.
‘We have to tell Jesse what we saw the other night or we’ll end up being the bad guys,’ she said. She could hear Stella tapping on her keyboard. ‘Stella?’
‘I got the same email,’ she whispered.
‘Why are you whispering?’
‘Because Liz is on the warpath. She runs this place like a bloody concentration camp.’
‘Like you’d know.’
‘It’s a metaphor!’
‘Okay, so what are we going to do about this? Steve’s not going to let up.’
‘I thought we’d decided not to say anything?’
‘That was before,’ Carly said. ‘It’s getting creepy now. Besides, don’t you think Jesse has a right to know what her husband’s up to?’
No response.
‘Stella,’ she snapped.
‘I think it’ll make things worse for her—’
‘How much worse can it get? We’ll just be giving her more ammunition to use. Besides, think about the diseases he’s probably bringing home. Ugh! And you know how available Jesse makes herself. Even if she says she hates him, she certainly doesn’t hate him from the waist down.’
Stella groaned. ‘Carly! Trust you to say that. Look, gotta go.’
And with that, she hung up.
Carly had wanted to tell her about the notes she’d found in Nick’s room, but Stella hadn’t given her a chance. Probably a good thing. It wasn’t fair to Nicholas. Carly needed to talk to him about the notes firs
t before she spoke to anyone else. And she was still convinced they were from some love-struck girl whom Nicholas had rejected. Of course they were. No doubt it was a crush that he’d crushed and they’d both moved on. Still, he had kept the notes so B must have meant something to him. Nonsense, she argued with herself as she drifted back to the computer. What teenager willingly cleaned up his room and turfed out all the bits of unwanted paper and food scraps? That’s what mothers were for.
Carly opened the third email. It was from the sports master Nicholas had mentioned in his email.
Dear Mrs Hindmarsh, I am writing to inform you that your son has been suspended from duty as of Monday, 3 February due to inappropriate locker room behaviour. Pending an investigation, it will be decided whether Nicholas remains on campus for the remainder of the school year or is sent directly home to Australia. Please feel free to contact me on 1090 345 678 to discuss the matter further. Yours, Mr Peter Sinclair, Head Sports Master.
Inappropriate locker room behaviour! What the hell was going on with Nicholas? Carly’s heart was pounding and her legs were shaking. What had her boy been caught doing? A thought popped into her mind, which she quickly wiped. She couldn’t think like that.
She checked her watch and calculated the time in Wales—10 pm. Both emails had been sent eight hours ago. If she woke up Nick, too bad. She dialled his mobile.
He picked up after a couple of rings. ‘Yeah?’
‘Nicholas, it’s Mum. How’s everything?’
‘Great. At pub. Can’t hear.’
‘Is everything all right at school? I had an email from the sports master—’
‘Crazy Stinky Sinclair? Everything’s cool.’
Carly desperately wanted to believe him, to believe this was all a mistake, whatever ‘this’ was, and to know her son was safe. ‘As long as you’re sure …’ She let the sentence hang.
‘Mum … dropping out—’
The phone went dead and Carly was no closer to finding out what was going on than she had been before ringing. Nick had sounded in high spirits but was that more to do with the number of beers he’d consumed?
She glanced at Peter Sinclair’s number and considered phoning him. But it was too late in the evening. He’d probably be asleep. Besides, if Nicholas was at a pub, he couldn’t be in that much trouble. If he’d done something really bad, wouldn’t he have been locked up or dispatched on the first plane back to Sydney?
She thought again about the kinds of things he could have been caught doing—fighting and breaking some kid’s nose, perhaps? Or stealing? Neither of those sounded like Nick, but she was trying to be open-minded. However, the more open-minded she allowed herself to be, the more outrageous her scenarios became.
She sat down and composed an email to Peter Sinclair.
Dear Mr Sinclair, Thank you for your email regarding Nicholas. It is very concerning. Can I ask what the inappropriate locker room behaviour was? Is there anything I can do? I know Nicholas is a good person by nature and if he has been involved in a brawl I am sure he will have a reasonable explanation. (I have never condoned fighting, but do understand that sometimes rough and tumble can explode into physical warfare.) I will ring you tomorrow morning your time to discuss the matter further. Yours sincerely, Carly Hindmarsh.
She re-read the email, then pushed send, feeling faint and nauseous.
She didn’t have time to dwell on those feelings because just then her mobile rang. Toby! Though he was a distraction she didn’t need today, she answered it.
‘You’ve been avoiding my calls,’ he said.
‘Not at all,’ she stammered.
‘I’m seeing Stella and her mother-in-law in a little while.’
‘Small world.’
‘So, how’s everything with you?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Your friend?’ he prompted. ‘Jesse?’
‘So-so.’
‘You told her?’
‘No. Stella thinks we should stay out of it.’
‘You don’t agree?’
‘How did you guess?’
Carly padded over to the fridge, opened the door, pulled out the bottle of wine and poured a glass. It was after midday, so what the hell! She took a quick sip. Heaven.
‘Have you thought any more about the other night?’ Toby said.
‘Toby, you know I’m married, right? And the other night, I was hideously drunk,’ she paused. ‘And, well … I don’t think we should see each other again. It’s not right.’
‘I thought you might say something like that and I’m sorry to hear it. If you change your mind and want to catch up over a drink … ’
Carly let out an audible sigh. She didn’t need another friend.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘If you’re ever at the Royal Hospital, don’t be a stranger.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, making a mental note never to go anywhere near the hospital. ‘It was nice meeting you.’
‘Likewise,’ he said before clicking off.
Carly shook her head. Crisis averted. All going to plan, their paths would never cross again.
She glanced at her glass. What was she thinking? She’d consumed over half of it. She quickly tipped the rest down the sink.
What to do about Nick? Call Brett? He might tell her that the sports master was overreacting. On the other hand, Brett was particularly stressed about work these days. He didn’t need the extra burden of knowing that Nick was in trouble overseas. There was little they could do about it anyway, except wait to hear more.
She poured herself another glass of wine and gulped half of it before tipping the rest down the sink. She didn’t need alcohol. She needed to talk to Brett, tell him what was going on with Nick.
She dialled his number.
‘Brett Hindmarsh.’
‘Hey, Big Boy,’ she said in a deep, throaty voice that she hoped passed for sexy. ‘I’m wearing nothing but black stilettos and I’m all alone in bed just waiting for you to spank me! Hard!’ As the words tumbled out of her mouth, she knew it was a huge mistake.
‘Carly? Is that you?’ Brett sounded confused and a touch concerned.
‘Um, yes.’
‘What the hell are you on about?’
‘Sorry, I thought I’d try some sex chat to liven things up between us.’
‘It’s twelve thirty in the afternoon. I’m about to go into a strategy meeting. I don’t need this now.’
‘No, you never need it, do you?’
‘We’ll talk about this later.’
After she’d hung up, Carly could have screamed. Why had she rung anyway? What had she hoped to achieve? If she’d been wanting to feel better she was out of luck, because all she felt was rejected and weepy. Her sadness turned to anger. Brett was never there for her. Not when she needed him, and she really needed him now.
Jesse double-checked the address on the scrap of paper she’d hastily written it down on that morning. The Scout Hall was at 51 Station Street, several suburbs away from where she lived. She checked her make-up in the rear-vision mirror. Satisfied, she hopped out and started walking.
This is a good thing, she kept telling herself. A positive step in the right direction.
But she was nervous. Several times she went to turn around. She kept thinking, what the hell am I doing here? But she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and enter the building. Once inside, she exhaled deeply. After weeks of contemplation, she was finally here. She’d made it to a Secret Women’s Business meeting. This could change her life, her perspective. She just had to be open to it and go with the flow. Not so easy for a person like her, but she was determined to give it a try.
A woman touched her on the arm and smiled broadly. ‘First time?’
Jesse nodded.
The woman, dressed casually in a white shirt and floral skirt, long red beads dangling from her neck, was welcoming but not gushy. She didn’t try to invade Jesse’s personal space, which Jesse appreciated more than the woman would ever know.
‘I’m Rebecca. Come and take a seat. We’ve all been through a first time,’ she said gently.
Jesse did as she was told. Rebecca disappeared, returning minutes later with tea and Scotch Finger biscuits. ‘Hope you like English Breakfast?’
Jesse nodded her thanks. It felt nice to be waited on. She drank her tea and surveyed the hall. The women were a mixed bag—some young, some older, some standing or sitting by themselves, others mingling. She felt comfortable, comfortably alone.
When it was time to start, Rebecca got up on the podium to speak. She was obviously the group’s leader. She spoke about commitments, prosperity, loving yourself and getting the mix right. She spoke of action plans, to-do lists and about revitalising one’s spirit. ‘It’s time to embrace and celebrate who you are. Let us awaken the spirit within,’ she boomed to her captivated audience.
Yes, thought Jesse, that’s exactly what I need to do: ‘awaken my spirit and recharge myself in an atmosphere that nurtures my feminine energy and being’. She completely understood what Rebecca was talking about; Jesse didn’t want to wake up one morning and wonder what it had all been for.
‘Isness is the business,’ Rebecca shouted. ‘Let us embrace the now and live consciously in the moment. Say it with me.’
‘Isness is the business,’ Jesse yelled, along with one hundred other women. Smiling, she felt herself relax for the first time in a very long time.
The hour flew by so quickly, Jesse could hardly believe it was over. She didn’t want to leave, she felt so caught up in the atmosphere of friendship, love and positive energy. But she didn’t want to meet the others yet. It was too soon. Later on, when she felt more confident, she might introduce herself to a few women but not now. She was just finding her way.
Baby steps, she told herself as she walked back to her car. And they might have been baby steps but she was feeling lighter and more energised than she had in months. It felt fantastic. As she put her key in the ignition, she realised something else, too. Not once during the entire session had she tapped her foot, clenched her hands or thought about her husband.
Jesse was feeling optimistic and strong, as if she could take on the world and win. She felt confident she could find ways to handle Steve better, to nurture their marriage as well as the kids, and balance those responsibilities with her own ambitions and desires. This was definitely a turning point. Jesse could feel it in her heart.
