The End of Cuthbert Close

by Cassie Hamer

  ‘Why do you feel that way, Cara?’ said Beth. ‘Is it Pete?’

  Cara nodded. ‘My parents liked him. Well, my dad liked him, and my mum put up with him. She wanted us to marry in a church, and … as you know, we did not.’

  ‘Your wedding was beautiful!’ Beth protested. ‘You should have seen her on the day.’ She nudged Alex. ‘She was glorious … And Pete, so handsome.’

  ‘I’ve seen a photo. Total spunk.’ Alex nodded.

  Cara gave them a weak, appreciative smile and continued. ‘When Pete got sick, Mum prayed for hours every day, for forgiveness … and a miracle … but …’ She flexed her hands. ‘There was nothing to be done,’ she finished flatly.

  ‘Forgiveness? Your mum thinks Pete died because you did something to offend God?’ asked Alex.

  ‘In Korea, it is considered unnatural for the offspring to die before the parent.’

  ‘Well, it is awful. No one should bury their own child …’ murmured Beth.

  ‘But you mean it’s more like a curse?’ said Alex.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know that’s not only really silly, it’s also quite damaging.’

  Cara shrugged. ‘She is my mother.’

  Alex’s muscles tensed. Mothers really knew how to fuck up their kids, even if they didn’t want to. Ugh. Everything was shit. Her back was sore, her toes were being pinched by her heels. Cara’s and Beth’s personal lives were down the toilet. And she was in a pub, pregnant.

  ‘Do you think anyone would notice if I took off my shoes for a minute?’ Without waiting for answer, she went to bend, but found her bottom being shoved firmly in the opposite direction. She clutched the bar table to save herself from falling.

  ‘What the—’

  The woman behind Alex, the one she’d presumably bumped with her own bottom, turned on her heel. ‘You made me spill my drink,’ she said crossly.

  She was angry? She’d nearly made a pregnant lady fall over! Alex righted herself to eye level and stopped. Her insides shifted. ‘Charlie?’

  Of course it had to be her neighbour. Looking amazing, as usual, in a sleek white sleeveless jumpsuit. Those arms! So sculpted they’d make Michelangelo weep.

  ‘Alex,’ Charlie said coolly, starting to dab gently at the small wet patch down her front. ‘Wherever she goes, chaos follows,’ she muttered, so quietly Alex wondered if she heard it at all.

  ‘Was that me? Gosh, er, sorry Charlie. Let me get that for you.’ Alex took a serviette from the bar table and started to dab. What was it about this woman that made her feel like a bumbling, apologising idiot? Was it the chic, all-white clothing? Or the sparkling diamond earrings? No, it was more than just her appearance. It was the general air of perfection she gave off. The sense that she had all her shit, not just her clothing, well and truly together. Unlike Alex. Was that remark about chaos a reference to the guinea pig incident, or the street party? Alex bristled. Neither was entirely her fault.

  ‘I’ve got a wet wipe here somewhere,’ volunteered Beth, searching her handbag.

  ‘I could get some soda water from the bar,’ offered Cara.

  ‘No, don’t.’ Charlie held up a hand. ‘All of you, stop. It’s fine. It was only mineral water.’

  ‘At least let us buy you another drink,’ said Beth.

  ‘No need, my friend is at the bar.’ She tilted her head in the direction of a very tall, very good-looking man at the bar, who seemed to sense they were talking about him, and turned around to wave.

  ‘He’s looking at investing in the business,’ said Charlie, as if reading Alex’s mind. ‘This is a business meeting.’

  ‘Riiiiiight,’ said Alex. ‘We’re having a business meeting, too.’

  ‘Really? I thought it might be a neighbourhood watch get-together,’ she said with a smirk.

  ‘Oh, no, we don’t have that,’ said Beth. ‘I mean, we used to, back in the nineties, but—’

  ‘Beth, she was joking,’ said Alex. ‘Actually, Charlie, you might be able to help us. Cara here is setting up a business that’s all about health and nutrition. Beth’s going to help her.’

  ‘Shakes or supplements?’ Charlie’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Cara in a deferential tone, as if shakes and supplements would be far too challenging. ‘We’re actually doing real food. Wholesome dinners for time-poor mums.’

  ‘So, home-cooked food, and that’s it?’ said Charlie. ‘How very … retro of you.’

  Not quite as retro as eating like cavemen, thought Alex.

  ‘Oh, yes, I suppose it is when you think of it,’ said Cara, who loved anything vintage and accepted the comment as a compliment, rather than a veiled insult. ‘Anyway, it’s a very different space to yours, but we’d love to replicate the success of your online marketing presence. Any tips?’

  Charlie fixed her gaze. ‘You want my honest advice? Make sure you know who you’re working with because a business will change and test that relationship in ways you never expected.’ She paused. ‘You have to fight for it.’

  There was a beat of silence.

  ‘Oh, okay. Thanks for that,’ said Cara.

  ‘Ladies, I’m sorry, I didn’t know Charlie had friends here. Let me go back to the bar for you …’ It was the ‘investor’, holding a beer in one hand and a champagne in the other.

  Business meeting, sure.

  ‘There’s a free table over there. Shall we?’ said Charlie to her investor.

  ‘Bye, Charlie. And sorry again about the drink.’ Alex stopped herself. Why did she keep apologising to this inscrutable woman? Always so cool and collected. The kind of woman who didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. A woman whose all-white clothing seemed to repel catastrophe, and stains. She would never let a primary school principal walk all over her. Her child wouldn’t be allowed to fall behind. Charlie Devine was an achiever. She’d do something. Act. Put on her white Lycra and diamond earrings and summon her inner primitive force, or whatever it was that The Primal Guy crapped on about.

  Alex collected her bag. ‘Sorry, ladies, but I need to call it a night.’

  ‘So soon? I was just about to buy more drinks. This is fun!’ said Beth, looking about the bar like a prisoner recently released from jail.

  ‘Maybe one more for me.’ Cara pressed her cheeks. ‘I’m not too red, am I?’

  Alex kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘You have a rosy glow, like you’ve just had the most wonderful fuck with that hot guy over there.’

  ‘Alex!’

  She took in Beth and Cara’s appalled faces and grinned. So what if she didn’t have rock-hard abs or buns of steel? She had spunk and fight and attitude. Perhaps she’d come to the bar for pity from Beth and Cara, but she was leaving with resolve, thanks to Charlie. The woman had annoyed her into action.

  ‘Bye, ladies. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ Chin up, Alex went to stride away but spotted Charlie and her supposed investor, heads bowed together closely.

  Alex tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Night, Charlie. And thanks for all your help …’

  ‘All what help?’ The woman looked confused but Alex was already halfway to the exit, head held high.

  You’re not the only one who can be inscrutable.

  Near the door, she paused and looked back over her shoulder to enjoy Charlie’s confusion one more time.

  Yes. Got you!

  Alex turned quickly, triumphantly.

  And, bang, walked straight into the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The GOAT Club was not named after a noisy and destructive animal, as Beth learnt from Cara on the way inside, but in fact stood for Greatest of All Time. Very promising, and it was also conveniently located right next to The Snowden.

  ‘Isn’t this fun!’ cried Beth, discarding her jacket as she wove her way through the crowd towards the dance floor.

  ‘I hope Alex’s nose is okay,’ Cara shouted over the din. ‘I really think we should be getting home.’

  ‘Just half an hour, okay?’ B
eth yelled back, holding up her phone. ‘Alex has messaged me and she’s fine. A little bruised, but the blood’s stopped.’

  Her neighbour had looked rather forlorn, getting into the Uber with oodles of tissues stuck up her nose. Normally, Beth would have jumped into the car right beside her. Told her to keep pinching her nose and tilt her head forward, not back, so the blood didn’t run down her throat.

  But Beth didn’t want to go home and play nurse.

  She wanted to dance – in a real, proper nightclub with flashing lights and booming music.

  ‘Dance as if no one is watching,’ shouted Beth to Cara, standing at the edge of the dance floor and holding her handbag like a safety harness.

  ‘Nobody is watching.’

  Beth looked around. The dance floor was heaving. Gyrating sweaty bodies flung themselves about with incredible energy and no one was paying the slightest attention to the middle-aged woman about to dive in.

  Cara checked her watch again. ‘I’m going to the toilet, and when I get back I really think we should leave. Okay?’

  ‘All right.’ Beth waved and slipped into the mass of bodies moving about her. The music infused her arms and legs until she was dancing as energetically as everyone else. Joy surged through her veins.

  Max didn’t understand how anyone could love dancing. It’s so pointless.

  It’s not. It’s fun.

  I look like an idiot.

  It doesn’t matter how you look, it’s how it makes you feel.

  I feel like an idiot.

  In the whole of their relationship, Max and Beth had danced together once, and once only. Their first date, twenty-three years ago, when he’d taken her for dinner at a gorgeous little neighbourhood Italian and they’d both emerged so engorged with pasta carbonara that Beth insisted they find a nightclub to dance away some of the calories.

  ‘I could think of another way to burn off the energy,’ he’d suggested with a cheeky smile while grabbing her around the waist.

  ‘Then you better find another girl.’

  They’d met at a housing inspection where he was showing groups through a dilapidated bungalow, five minutes’ walk from the university. After, they’d talked on the phone, firstly about the house, but then about other things – trivial subjects like music and movies they’d seen. He’d gently mocked her love of musicals. ‘Imagine if I burst into song and dance at a housing inspection. People would think I was insane.’

  When he’d asked her for dinner, she’d said yes, figuring it would at least help with her lease application, but then he came to pick her up in an actual car, rather than meeting her at the restaurant or dinking her on a bicycle, which was what one particularly impoverished uni boyfriend had suggested, and she began to think he might be more than just a one-way ticket to getting the house. He complimented her dress, opened the door for her, and followed her suggestions about what to order. He was charming. Perhaps a little too charming for her liking, as if he just knew that if he stuck around long enough she would fall in love with him.

  But at the nightclub, after she’d twisted his arm into going, he’d stood at the bar and watched her, and for the first time in her life, Beth felt self-conscious on the dance floor.

  Dance as if no one’s watching.

  She’d turned her back. Closed her eyes. Tried to lose herself in the music. Then she felt a tap on the shoulder, and it was him. Max. And they had kissed like it was the only right thing to do. They’d kissed, and kissed, until the dance floor disappeared from under her feet, and the music went silent, and it was just them, rocking slowly from side to side, kissing and rocking until the sun came up.

  ‘Beth, please. It really is getting late. My parents are dropping Poppy back quite early tomorrow.’ Cara stood before her, the only person not moving. The lights on the dance floor started to strobe and Beth spontaneously swirled her arms. It was such a gorgeous effect. Like being a butterfly.

  ‘You go. I’m going to stay just a little while longer.’ Beth fluttered. She couldn’t stop herself.

  ‘I can’t leave you here alone.’ Cara folded her arms.

  ‘Yes, you can. I’m a forty-six-year-old woman. I can look after myself.’

  Cara took her shoulders to stop her from moving. ‘At least promise me you’ll get a taxi home.’

  ‘I promise.’

  Cara kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her hand. ‘Be careful, okay?’

  ‘I will, Mum,’ trilled Beth, letting go and backing away into the seething cauldron of people. Cara gave her a worried wave, a frown, and she was gone. It was strange, this role reversal, and for a moment, Beth felt a flick of guilt. Normally, it was her giving practical, motherly advice to Cara, on where to buy the best value school shoes for Poppy and whether it was acceptable to include the words ‘drop-off welcome’ on party invitations.

  Beth was abandoning her duty, and while it was an odd sensation, it also felt absolutely wonderful!

  She inhaled the sweet smell of smoke from the fog machine. Her feet had disappeared into a white cloud. She was dancing on air. Flying. She was no one’s wife. No one’s mother. No one’s domestic help. She was a Dancing Queen. Da-dum. Da-dum. Dum-dum.

  She stumbled slightly. All right, a slightly tipsy Dancing Queen. Only forty-six.

  A pair of strong arms righted her.

  It was the handsome young man from The Snowden who’d spent his whole night making eyes at Cara.

  ‘It’s you!’

  His hands clasped her waist. ‘Are you okay?’ he called into her ear, tickling it with the vibration.

  ‘I’m fine. Possibly one too many Bellinis.’ She patted her forehead. He really was rather gorgeous. Those blue eyes, blue as that fluid she used to clean the toilet. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Adam.’ He gave her a crinkled smile that made Beth’s stomach fold in on itself. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Beth.’ She took his hand. ‘I wish we’d met five minutes ago when my friend was here.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My friend Cara. The one you were looking at all night. Dark hair. Petite. She just left, actually, or I would have introduced you.’

  Adam shook his head. ‘I wasn’t looking at your friend. I was looking at you.’ His smile widened.

  Beth threw her head back and laughed. ‘Me! Ha! You’re very funny, Adam, I really do wish you’d met Cara.’

  Adam clasped her hands. ‘I’m serious. You’re gorgeous.’

  ‘I’m ancient!’

  ‘You’re experienced.’ He gave her a look that she felt right in her most private of places.

  Beth shook herself. Snap out of it. He’s making a fool out of you. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-four.’

  She nearly choked. ‘I’m old enough to be your mother.’

  Adam regarded her. ‘You don’t dance like a mother. C’mon.’

  ‘I don’t know if this is right,’ Beth protested. ‘I told my friend I’d go home.’

  He took her hand, led her further into the crowd, turned her round and started to move. He could dance. Really dance. Smooth and sexy. He reminded her of Justin Timberlake, but without the funny-shaped head. Song after song, they drew closer and closer until Beth could feel the heat radiating off his skin as he moved about her, his hands skimming around her body but never quite touching. It was exquisitely excruciating. Her body tingled. She wanted to feel him. Oh god, did she want to feel him. It was shocking, and wrong. Her, craving the touch of a man who wasn’t her husband. Desire pulsed through her veins and she fixed her eyes on the side of his neck where the blonde curls dissolved into fine hairs and petered out into skin. Oh, did she want to feel that part of him!

  Reaching out, she curled a lock of Adam’s hair into her fingers.

  ‘Kiss me.’ She tugged gently and suddenly his mouth was on hers, hot and wet and utterly delicious. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. It seemed only right, given she was the one who’d asked for it.

  So this is how it ha
ppens, she thought. I love my husband very much. I adore my family and I am risking nineteen years of marriage for this one kiss.

  Beth pulled away and Adam gave her a lazy, sexy smirk. The kiss was lovely. There was nothing wrong with it all. It was perfect. But in that moment, she realised she wanted nothing more from him. Breaking the kiss was like waking from a dream. He was gorgeous, but so completely wrong for her. This would be a kiss and nothing more, a ‘pash and dash’ they’d called it back in the day. It was lust. Pure and simple. It reminded her of the passion she’d once had for Max, before she became ‘Mum’ – the woman who held the bucket for the kids to puke into, made sure they ate their vegies every night, and cut the crusts off their sandwiches. Long gone was the young woman who’d once had sex in her parents’ toilet at their thirtieth wedding anniversary party because she and Max were a little bored and horny as goats.

  Or so she’d thought.

  As her fingers still tingled from the touch of Adam’s lovely neck, a picture flashed into her head – the one of the earth’s crust in Chloe’s geography book. All those different layers of rock and sediment, but hot, molten lava at its core, just waiting to explode to the surface, with who knows what consequences. That was her. At her core, she was still hot lava, but the passing years had seen that centre of passion covered over by a crust of ageing and motherhood.

  She covered her mouth, and without a word to Adam, fled the dance floor, bumping shoulders and bottoms as she scurried towards the exit and into the street.

  Outside, she breathed deeply. The air was cool and calming. A balm to her tingling skin.

  There was a taxi rank fifty metres down the road. Beth set off towards it and felt a tap on her shoulder.

  ‘Hey, are you okay?’

  She wheeled around and Adam stood before her, hands jammed into his pockets. ‘What happened back there?’

  Beth bit down on her lip. ‘It’s fine, I’m fine. I just realised that I … left the oven on.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘The oven?’

  ‘Yes. And I’m worried the house might burn down.’

  Adam took a step closer. ‘It was just a kiss, Beth.’