The End of Cuthbert Close

by Cassie Hamer

  ‘Oh, please. Have some.’ Joy picked up the tray and put it under David’s nose.

  Cara shot her mother a look. So that’s where all the sweets were going. Lately, Joy had been asking Cara to make them more often, and she assumed it was for her sweet-toothed father, not to feed the slightly chubby young man before her. Personally, Cara didn’t much like the strange texture, which was like chewy jelly.

  David popped one into his mouth and chewed loudly. ‘So good,’ he said with a full mouth.

  Had Joy mentioned this guy? Possibly, though she tended to tune out when her mother started talking about choir practice.

  Gwapyeon. That’s how she would remember him. Chewy jelly.

  ‘Who are you?’ Poppy had silently sidled up behind her mother and she pushed her sturdy little body into Cara’s.

  ‘Little girl. Respect your elders,’ said Joy sternly. ‘This is Mr Kok.’

  Her daughter giggled.

  ‘Poppy, manners,’ said Cara, adopting her mother’s firm tone.

  Poppy pursed her lips. ‘Hello, Mr Kok.’

  David’s nose twitched. He looked at Cara with a slight frown. ‘You have a daughter?’

  ‘Surely my mother told you all about her.’ She told him about the accounting degree but failed to mention Poppy? Her only grandchild?

  ‘Of course I did,’ her mother cried and tapped David on the arm. ‘You just forgot … So much happening at choir, you know, always so noisy …’ Joy trailed off. ‘Let’s eat,’ she said brightly into the awkward silence, and beetled off down the hall without waiting for an answer.

  The kitchen was small, open-plan and immaculately clean. Beyond it was a dining space, just large enough to accommodate her parents’ six-seater round table. The food was already laid out. How many people was Joy expecting? Their weekly family dinners were usually modest affairs – rice, a bowl of kimchi, a soup and one or two side dishes, the banchan, to add flavour. Tonight, Cara counted at least eight bowls on the table, including a spectacular whole roasted fish. Her mouth watered.

  ‘Looks delicious, Ma. And what a lovely kitchen.’ She waited for her parents to sit before taking a place next to her father, with Poppy on her other side. David sat by her mother.

  From this spot, Cara could see out over the cosy living space, dominated by her parents’ leather lounge. Through the sliding doors was a small patch of lawn. No trees or plants. Just grass.

  They would be happy here. It was modern and low maintenance. Everything Cara never wanted. She took a sip of water.

  ‘How much did you pay for this place?’ David’s eyes darted about the room.

  Cara nearly spat out her water.

  ‘Seven hundred and forty-nine thousand,’ said her mother proudly.

  David nodded grudgingly. ‘Good price. You got finance?’

  ‘No need,’ said her father gently.

  Oh, gosh. No debt? Every last dollar of her parents’ savings must have gone into this place. Her heart sank. She could never ask them to help her with Cuthbert Close. Not only was the cottage nearly twice the price and in need of one hundred times the work, there was simply no possibility of them having any money left to help her buy it. No way was she going to force her parents into debt when it was clearly something they’d tried desperately to avoid.

  Cara busied herself, serving food onto Poppy’s plate, then her own. To swallow her disappointment, she took a bite of the roasted fish.

  ‘Oh, Ma. It’s delicious.’

  ‘I think it’s too salty. David – what do you think. Too salty, right?’

  The guest chewed thoughtfully. ‘It is a little salty,’ he conceded. ‘My mother uses low-salt soy sauce. I think I am used to this.’

  ‘I will ask for her recipe.’ As she spoke, Joy kept her eyes downcast on the plate. When Sam lightly touched her hand, she flinched, as if zapped by an electric shock.

  ‘It’s extremely tasty.’ He covered her hand with his own.

  Cara cleared her throat. ‘So, what type of accounting do you do, David?’

  ‘Actually I’m more of an executive financial planner these days. Helping rich guys get richer.’ He laughed.

  ‘They must appreciate you so much,’ said Joy.

  ‘How do you do it? Make the money for them?’ Cara leant forward.

  ‘When you have money, it’s not hard to make money.’

  ‘But what if you don’t have so much money?’ Cara persisted.

  ‘Why? You need money? Maybe I could find a job for you.’

  Joy held her spoon in mid-air. ‘That would be wonderful. You are so thoughtful, David. Her house needs so much work.’

  ‘The big fish are fun, but sometimes it’s nice to help the small fry too.’

  Cara dropped her spoon. The man was insufferable. ‘Thank you, David.’ She fought to control her voice. ‘But I’ve actually just started a new business, so I really don’t think I’d have the time.’

  ‘A new business? What kind?’ Her father cocked his head, his eyes gently enquiring.

  ‘Yes, sorry. I meant to tell you but it’s all happened in a bit of a hurry …’ She stammered at first, but felt a flicker of confidence building with each word she spoke. ‘It’s a catering business, for time-poor mums. I’m going to cook and deliver meals to them, for their families. Healthy and delicious. Save them, you know … having to do it themselves.’

  Joy shook her head. ‘Ah, these women, too busy to cook. Too busy to clean.’

  Cara sucked in a breath, refraining from pointing out that despite the lavish spread in front of them, Joy hated cooking and had also employed a fortnightly cleaner, a friend from church, for at least a decade. If it was good enough for her, surely it was good enough for others?

  ‘Sounds like hard work,’ said David. ‘Financial planning is much easier. Maybe you should take over your parents’ business. Let them retire.’ He leant back and tugged at his belt.

  Joy raised her eyebrows in agreement but kept eating.

  ‘Our daughter is too talented for embroidery,’ said her father. ‘What is the name of this business?’

  ‘It’s uh … um.’ She looked desperately at the plates of healthful, delicious food before her. ‘It’s called Nourish.’

  ‘Nourish?’ Her mother frowned. ‘What is this word?’

  ‘You might want to rethink that name,’ said David. ‘There’s no point if people don’t understand it.’

  ‘It means to give life. To give someone good food to make them healthy,’ Sam explained.

  Cara felt a flush rising in her cheeks. Had she really committed herself to starting a new business and lied to her parents, just to spite the odious man sitting before her? She rose from her seat. ‘Just need the bathroom,’ she mumbled.

  ‘First door on the left,’ her mother called after her.

  In the bathroom, she leant over the basin, and rested her head on the cool ceramic.

  Her pocket vibrated and she fished out her phone.

  A text message from Alex.

  Hey Beth and Cara, feel like a drink at The Snowden tonight? Need to debrief with you about so much stuff. Got loads of leads on the cooking idea too. Say 8:30 pm? After the kids are in bed? Xx

  It was a sign, and Cara believed in signs.

  Oh, yes. Wonderful. See you there.

  Quickly, she splashed water on her face, wiped her hands on the towel and went back to break the news to her parents that she would be leaving early.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Alex looked longingly at the drinks on the table – Beth’s tangerine-hued peach Bellini and Cara’s chilled chenin blanc, like liquid, silky gold, levitating in the oversized balloon glass. Even the condensation looked delicious and Alex had a sudden urge to lick the glass.

  Instead, she reached for her lemon, lime and bitters. Perhaps if she just pretended it was alcoholic …

  ‘Mmmmm … delicious,’ she said, wincing at the sweetness.

  The pub was a terrible idea. Awful. Whose stupid idea was it?


  Oh, right. Hers.

  After the horrific meeting with Principal Ryan, she’d thought a quiet debrief over a sauvignon blanc was exactly what she needed. Preferably, in a venue far, far away from her too-reasonable husband and two less-than-reasonable sons.

  It was only once she sent the text to Beth and Cara that Alex remembered something. The baby. No drinking. Not even one. An officious pamphlet from Dr Vin’s had informed her (with some glee, it seemed) that as little as one drink could affect her unborn child. What happened to one or two being quite acceptable? In the six years since Alex was last pregnant, it seemed the medical fraternity had gone and made a difficult nine months into a torturous one. Soon, pregnant women would be allowed nothing but air and vitamins. For a pregnant lady, organising a catch-up at the pub was as sensible as a gambling addict hosting a bingo night.

  ‘This is such fun! Great idea, Alex. We should do this more.’ Beth enthusiastically drained the last of her cocktail. ‘Ah.’ She exhaled. ‘I think I’ll have another. No one relying on me to be home in a hurry, after all.’ Her laugh was high-pitched and brittle above the growing buzz of the bar.

  The Snowden was getting busy. And everyone was so thin and glamorous and young. It wasn’t the dim and dingy place Alex remembered from her last visit, but that was some time BC – before children. Now, it was like drinking in an IKEA catalogue. All blond wood, clean lines and happy, smiling Viking-type people.

  ‘Oh, good point.’ Cara gulped her wine. ‘I might have another too. Poppy’s with my parents for the night,’ she explained.

  Alex looked from Cara to Beth. Usually, they barely drank anything at all. Were they rubbing it in? ‘We’re here for a business meeting, not to get plastered,’ she grumbled. ‘Has something happened? What’s going on with you two?’

  ‘Nothing,’ mumbled Cara.

  ‘Everything’s great!’ Beth studiously avoided Alex’s gaze.

  Never mind. Whatever was bugging them, she would find out eventually.

  ‘All right then, let’s discuss this catering business idea that I need to talk you into doing, both for my sake and the sake of all culinarily challenged sisters, everywhere.’ She held up her phone. ‘This thing is bursting with emails from women like me who can’t stand cooking, don’t have time for it because they’re working their arses off, and yet feel ridiculously guilty for serving up frozen lasagne every week because it tastes like cardboard and is making their kids fat … well, that, and devices … but don’t get me started on screen-guilt. It’s a whole other therapy session.’ She took a breath.

  ‘I’m in,’ said Cara ‘I’m going to do it.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Beth. ‘If you’ll have me.’ She raised her eyebrows at Cara.

  ‘Oh, of course!’ Cara clasped Beth’s arm. ‘What do you think of the name Nourish for the business? I just thought of it while I was at Mum and Dad’s.’

  ‘It’s wonderful!’ exclaimed Beth. ‘Nourish sums it up brilliantly. Healthy, comforting food for the whole family. Perfect.’

  Alex sat back and watched her two neighbours talk animatedly about recipe ideas, the equipment they might need and how to go about getting the necessary food preparation licence for their kitchens. Her eyes narrowed. Before, they’d been so unsure about the idea. So uncertain. Now, they were talking like it was going to be bigger than McDonald’s.

  ‘Because I sometimes use the shed for shoots, I’ve actually already got it set up as a licensed food premises,’ said Cara.

  Beth clapped her hands. ‘Excellent! I’ve got a deep freezer in the garage for storage, and I’ll get a permit for my kitchen as well.’

  ‘Include mine too,’ Alex joined in. ‘Someone may as well get use out of the double ovens.’

  Cara and Beth looked at her and blinked, like they’d forgotten she was there. The meeting was her idea! And while she’d done it on the pretext of discussing the business, what she really needed was their input on the twins and what to do about them. Cara and Beth were two of the most devoted mothers she knew. They would understand the gravity of what Annabelle Ryan was suggesting. They would be shocked, appalled and no doubt sympathetic.

  ‘Sorry, I know you’re excited about this, but I need to tell you about my terrible day,’ Alex announced.

  Beth sat up straight. ‘Is it the twins? The baby?’

  ‘The baby’s fine.’ Alex began. ‘Well, apart from the timing … but it’s the twins’ principal. We met with her today, and she seems to have Noah pegged as a psychopath in training.’ She paused. ‘She thinks he should go back and repeat kindy.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Beth. ‘That is bad.’ She paused. ‘But it’s not the worst thing in the world. They’ll still be at the same school. It’s not like they’ll never see each other again. It’s not like they’re … breaking up.’ She choked a little over the words.

  Alex glared. ‘Actually, it is a very big deal.’ She stabbed at the ice in the bottom of her stupid soft drink. ‘Noah and Jasper need each other.’ Stab, stab. ‘I’ve always felt that God or Allah or Buddha or whoever it is up there gave me twins because they knew I’d be a bit shit at being a mum.’

  Cara frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Having twins is hard. You do an amazing job, with your career and everything.’

  ‘Have two kids of different ages is hard, let alone two at once. I don’t know how you managed in the early days of the twins. The logistics of it all …’ said Beth in wonder.

  ‘Well, yes, it was a bit tricky at first, but the thing I kept telling myself was that it was okay to be a bit shit at it because the boys had each other, so that’s why I dressed them the same, put them in bunks, the same preschool, all of that … I wanted them to be close. I needed them to be close. To look after each other, when I couldn’t.’ She stopped. ‘And now they won’t be, and there’ll be a baby, and I’ll have even less time for them.’ The force of her final stab at the ice caused the straw to buckle in the middle.

  ‘Oh, honey.’ Beth put her hand on Alex’s forearm. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. They’ll still be at the same school. They’ll have each other. It’s really not that bad … Not like …’ She took a breath, her brow furrowed. ‘Max has been sending strange text messages to someone I don’t know. A woman I think.’

  Alex and Cara exchanged glances.

  ‘What?’ said Alex. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Beth fished out her phone. ‘Here,’ she said, handing it over. ‘I took a photo, just in case.’

  Alex leant over Cara’s shoulder to read the messages. ‘How did you find them? Were you snooping?’

  ‘They just popped up on the iPad.’ Beth threw her hands up. ‘I don’t know what to make of it all.’

  Alex reread them. Time, place … how big are you?

  She’d seen enough family law disputes go through Macauley to know a philandering husband when she saw one. But Max Chandler? Sure, the guy had that easy charm about him that most real estate agents did, but she didn’t pick up a flirtatious vibe. If anything, he’d been a bit less friendly lately. A little more withdrawn. ‘It doesn’t look good.’ She handed back the phone. ‘Did you ask him about it?’

  ‘We haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye lately. I didn’t want to make things worse. Like you say, it’s not really conclusive, is it? It might just be a new friend—’

  Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Alex blinked to get rid of the alarm bells in her head. Poor, sweet Beth. Men were such shits. Noah and Jasper wouldn’t do this to a woman, would they? If they did they’d probably blame her … Our mother was always on the phone. She gave us lollies to be quiet, and then, in Year One, she separated us AND had another baby! Of course we were destined to cheat on sweet, unsuspecting women.

  Alex shook her head. ‘Hey, Pope, you’re awfully quiet over there.’

  ‘Oh, I was just thinking how bad news always comes in threes.’ She let out a small sigh.

  ‘Don’t tell me your life’s gone to shit as well?’

  Cara regarded them both.
‘My parents can’t help me with the cottage. They’ve bought a place of their own, with a room for Poppy and me.’

  ‘For you to live?’ enquired Beth.

  ‘I think so. And they want me to marry a financial planner.’

  ‘Not the worst idea,’ said Alex. ‘Given your situation.’

  Cara shot her a look, and Alex flinched. If she had to compare her neighbour to a foodstuff, as Cara herself had told them she often did, she would describe her as a chocolate-covered hazelnut – soft and sweet on the outside, but with true grit at the centre that you didn’t quite know about until you bit into it and nearly broke a tooth.

  ‘I can’t live with my parents.’ She shuddered. ‘And I don’t want to marry anyone, especially not the financial planner.’

  ‘Not anyone, ever?’ said Beth, wide-eyed. ‘But you’re still so young, and … gorgeous. You deserve happiness with someone.’

  ‘Yes, because marriage can be such bliss,’ said Alex.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be marriage,’ said Beth. ‘But to close yourself off to love … that’s sad. Especially when there are lovely men out there, like that one, near the bar, who’s been watching you all night.’ She nodded in the direction of the bar and Alex craned for a better look. Blonde. Checked shirt. Heavy suede boots.

  ‘Shit, he’s hot, Cara. You should definitely go for it.’

  The Viking winked and Alex gave a low wolf whistle.

  ‘Please, stop,’ whispered Cara vehemently, staring into her lap.

  ‘What? Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t look, and you’re not married, so you can look. Actually, you can do more than look.’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Cara.

  ‘Please explain?’ said Alex.

  Cara paused and placed two protective hands at the stem of her wineglass. ‘You’ll think I’m silly,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Yesterday, I held a funeral for a guinea pig. I will not judge you.’ Alex pressed a hand to her heart.

  ‘I think I have bad luck.’ Cara lowered her eyes. ‘Like, a curse.’

  ‘Okay, sorry – I can’t not judge that, because that is utterly ridiculous,’ said Alex.