She managed a smile. “Something like that.”
“Everything okay with the play?” Juliet asked. Clementine had been out late each night that week doing final rehearsals for her school play, on top of all the weekend run-throughs. She had a walk-on role as a pirate and a credit in the program as assistant set designer. Juliet had been very pleased to hear it. Clementine was usually more scientific than artistic and not usually this enthusiastic about afterschool activities. Juliet had discovered the real reason two weeks earlier, when she spotted Clementine and David Simpson, the boy playing the lead role in the play, holding hands as they walked down Elizabeth Street.
“It’s fine. Why?”
Juliet shrugged. “You’ve seemed distracted the last couple of weeks.”
“It’s all fine. Just busy. But there—”
“Juliet, are there any eggs left?” Sadie interrupted. She always went for seconds. Miranda called her the Human Scrapbin to her face, Piggly-Wiggly behind her back.
“In the pan. Help yourself.”
“Would you serve it up for me? Please?”
“No bones in your arms?” Juliet asked.
Sadie waggled her arms in a floppy way.
“Fall for that and you’re a fool, Juliet,” Miranda murmured, flicking the page of the paper.
Juliet served Sadie anyway.
“Where’s Dad?” Clementine asked.
“Shed Land,” Juliet, Miranda, Sadie, and Eliza said together.
“No, he’s not, he’s here. Morning, my lovelies.” Leo Faraday came through the side door, bringing a gust of the cool morning air with him. He was dressed in a wide-lapeled gray suit, a crisp white shirt and a blue patterned tie. His hair had been slicked back, the usual dark-red quiff smoothed over. “And yes, before you feel duty-bound to point it out, I do look extremely smart today and yes, I do have a meeting. Juliet, breakfast smells delicious. Miranda, what is that black stuff around your eyes; you look like a lady of the night. Eliza, have you been for a run already? Sadie, pick up your boots, would you? What’s up with you, Clementine? You look like a wet dishrag.”
“She’s got a stomach bug,” Juliet said.
“Poor chicken.” His concerned words rang false. He was smiling from ear to ear.
Juliet passed across the blue cup and saucer. “Everything all right, Dad? What’s going on out there?”
“Good things, Juliet. Interesting things. Unusual things.”
“In your mind, or in reality?” Miranda asked.
“We hardly see you anymore, Dad,” Sadie complained.
Leo put down his cup and rubbed his hands together. “Something hot is a-cooking out there, my girls. Something is nearly at boiling point. This time I really think—”
“Good heavens, is that the time?” Miranda said in an overly dramatic tone. They’d all had too many years of his invention talk. The revolutionary motor oil that put their old car off the road for three months. The device designed to repel spiders that had done exactly the opposite. The electronic rain gauge that burst into flames on its first test run. “I’d better finish getting ready or I’ll be late.”
Clementine stood up and ran to the bathroom again, clutching the washcloth to her lips. They all heard the door slam.
“My word, she’s a sensitive soul,” Miranda remarked, looking after her. “Clemmie, it’s all right, I’ll be back after work.”
Clementine returned a few minutes later, pale-faced. “Sorry.”
“Have you been sick again?” At Clementine’s nod, Juliet felt her sister’s forehead once more. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Leo felt her forehead too. “You’re not hot, but you are a bit clammy.”
“Clemmie’s clammy,” Sadie said.
Miranda gave a bark of laughter. Sadie looked pleased. She liked making Miranda laugh.
“Have you eaten anything unusual?” Leo asked. “It’s not food poisoning, is it?”
“No, I’m sure it’s not.”
“Too many late nights, that’s what it is,” Sadie said. “The sooner that romance—oh, I’m sorry, Clementine—the sooner that play is over, the better.”
“What will I wear on opening night?” Miranda asked. “My blue gown or that amusing little lace number my couturier sent over from Paris last week? What about you, Sadie? Will you wear that sweater made of yak hair or perhaps that simply darling little patchouli-steeped handweave I saw you prancing about in last week? How many small rodents died in the making of that, I wonder?”
Leo was still concerned. “Clementine, I’m not sure you should go to school today. You really do look peaky.”
“I think she should go to the doctor. That’s the third morning this week she’s been sick,” Sadie said.
“Third time this week?” Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Really? I didn’t realize that. Uh-oh. It’s morning. She’s sick. Put ‘em together and what do we see? P-r-e-g-n-a-n-cee.”
There should have been a laugh from one of her sisters. There should have been a denial from Clementine. There should have been a rebuke from Leo, and a smart answer back from Miranda.
Instead there was silence.
Juliet knew, right then. Was it Clementine’s expression? The fact that her forehead hadn’t actually felt that clammy or hot? The knowledge that this David of the play was all that Clementine had talked about for weeks? Whatever it was, Juliet wasn’t able to stop the words.
“Clementine? Is Miranda right? Are you pregnant?”
Leo laughed. “Juliet, for heaven’s sake. She’s sixteen years—”
“Yes, I am.”
“—old.” He swallowed. “Tell me you’re agreeing to the fact you are sixteen, Clementine, not—”
“I’m pregnant, Dad.”
“Oh Holy God.”
The room fell quiet. No cups being picked up, no cutlery being used, no newspaper being read. Just Clementine at one end of the table and her four sisters and father in the other chairs, staring at her, dumbstruck.
Her expression was calm, even if her hands were clenched. In her pink-and-white-striped pajamas, she looked even younger than sixteen. Her long hair had come out of its ponytail and was now in a tumble around her shoulders. “I’m three months pregnant. I went to the doctor yesterday.”
An intake of breath. Juliet didn’t know if it had come from her or one of her sisters.
Leo’s voice was very low. “Who, Clementine? How?”
She gave her father a withering look. “Dad, please. It’s David’s.”
“David?”
“David Simpson. Her boyfriend,” Sadie said.
“Since when did you have a boyfriend?” Leo was staring at Clementine as if she was a stranger at the table.
Juliet answered for her. “She’s been going out with David for months. He’s in the play with her.”
Leo stared around the table. “Why don’t I know any of this?”
“You’ve been busy.”
“Oh, I think that might have been worth a little visit to Shed Land. ‘Excuse me, Dad, we think you should know that your sixteen-year-old daughter is sleeping around—’ “
“Dad!” Juliet and Miranda spoke as one.
Clementine was still calm. “I wasn’t sleeping around. I slept with David. Only David.”
“Who is this David?”
“He’s the pirate king in the play.”
Leo stood up abruptly. “That makes it better. That makes it okay. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum; by the way, I’ve made your daughter pregnant, Mr. Faraday.”
“We did it together, Dad. David didn’t make me do anything.”
“But you’re just children.” Leo was now behind the chair, his hands on the backrest. His knuckles were white. “I can’t believe this. Just when I thought things were getting better for us. Two of you with jobs, two of you at university, you showing such promise at school, Clementine. Good times ahead for us again as a family at last—”
Clementine stood up too. “We’re talking about a baby, Dad,
not a nuclear war.”
“You’re sixteen, Clementine. Sixteen. Have you any idea what lies ahead of you? Years of nappies and no sleep. It’s hell having babies. I should know, I had five of them.”
“Thank you very much.”
“There were two of us, your mother and I. We loved each other and we wanted all five of you, don’t try and twist my words. But it is hard. Very hard when there’s two of you, let alone one.”
“You’ve managed alone the past eight years.”
Leo’s face hardened. “You will not compare my situation to yours. What’s got into you, Clementine?”
“David, it seems,” Miranda said.
Leo pushed the chair. It clattered against the table. “That’s enough, Miranda. Outside.”
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“No, I’m not going to miss this. We need to hear it together. I’ll go if Clementine wants me to go, but otherwise I’m staying.”
“Clementine?”
“Stay, Miranda. I want everyone to stay. I was going to tell you all soon, I promise. Tonight. Or tomorrow. After I’d told David—”
“You haven’t told David yet?” Leo was incredulous.
“I was waiting until after the play.”
Miranda snorted. “In case it puts him off his performance?”
“Miranda, I’m warning you. Shut up.” Leo reached for his coat. “Right, Clementine. Go and get dressed. We’re going to go and tell him now. You and me. See what he’s got to say for himself. His parents too.”
“I’m not telling him in front of you. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Fair has nothing to do with this.” The conversation was only between Leo and Clementine now. He ran his fingers through his hair. The dark-red quiff stood straight up. “You’ll tell him in front of me, and we’ll set a wedding date today if we have to. You’re three months, you said. If we move quickly, we can go and see Father Cavalli this afternoon, get everything underway before—”
“Dad, I’m not marrying him.”
“No daughter of mine is going to live in sin.”
“I’m not going to live with him either. I’d miss you all too much.”
“Are you telling me—”
“No, I’m not going to have an abortion.”
“Then what the hell are you going to do? Give the baby up for adoption?” He sat down again abruptly. “I didn’t even think. Of course that’s what you’re going to do.”
“I’m not doing that either. I’m going to keep it. Keep him or her.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “Of course you are. Sixteen-year-olds make wonderful mothers. You’ll get a few nannies as well, I suppose? To mind the baby while you go off to discos with your friends?”
“No. I’ve got other ideas. I was going to talk about it with you tonight. I’ve had some news.”
“More news? I can hardly wait.”
“The university course I wanted to do is going ahead.”
“The environmental science one?”
“I found out yesterday.”
“But that’s wonderful. That’s really wonderful.” It was clear in his face, his pride at her news. Then his expression changed. “But you can’t possibly go to university now.”
“Why not?”
“Why can’t she?” Juliet asked.
He threw out his arms. “Can’t you see? She’s having a baby. She can’t just put it in a bassinet and head off to lectures.”
Juliet moved then. She went over and stood behind Clementine, and put her arm around her. “Yes, she can. I’ll help her.”
Miranda didn’t hesitate. “Me too.” She moved and stood on Clementine’s other side.
Sadie and Eliza followed. All five were at one end of the table, Clementine in the middle, facing their father at the other end. Clementine reached for Juliet’s hand and squeezed it.
“You can’t all help her. You’ve got work and study too. When are you going to find the time?”
“We’ll take it in turns, like we do with the housework.”
“I’d rather not change its nappy,” Miranda said.
“I’ll do all of it,” Clementine insisted.
“No, Clemmie, Miranda has to help,” Juliet said. “You can’t pick or choose, Miranda. What does the poor little creature do if its nappy’s full? Wait for one of its less-squeamish aunts to arrive home?”
“It will just need to learn a bit of self-discipline.” Miranda’s tone was matter-of-fact. “I’ll make bargains with it. ‘Listen here, sonny, you hold it in until your mother gets home and I’ll take you to the park tomorrow.’ “
“Girls, you’re not being realistic about this. You’ll lose interest. You’ll be like children getting a puppy for Christmas—bored with it by New Year’s Day.”
“Of course we won’t,” Juliet said. “We’ll make a pact now. We promise to help you, Clementine, until your baby is at school. You all agree, don’t you?” She looked at Miranda, Eliza, and Sadie.
“Of course,” Miranda said. “I’m sure the school won’t mind admitting her as an early-age student. Six months old, say.”
“Until he or she is five,” Juliet said firmly. “Miranda? Eliza? Sadie?”
Eliza and Sadie nodded.
“Five, did you say?” Miranda looked alarmed.
“It won’t be in nappies for five years.”
“All right, but if we’re going to help look after it, do we get to choose the name?” Miranda asked.
“You can make suggestions,” Clementine said. “If it’s a girl, I want her to have Mum’s name as her middle name. If it’s a boy, Dad’s name. The tricky thing is Faraday; it’s hard to get a name to go with it.”
“I’ll pick up a book from the library and we could—”
“Excuse me.”
“—take votes on some of—”
“Excuse me.” It was their father, knocking on the tabletop. They stopped talking and looked at him. “So that’s it, is it? Clementine calmly tells all of us that she is having a baby, that this entire house is going to be turned upside down for the next umpteen years, and you all just accept it? Start bickering already over who gets to call it what and who changes its nappy?”
Five nods.
“As if it’s as simple as that? As straightforward as that?”
Juliet spoke on behalf of them all. “It is as simple as that, Dad.”
Clementine moved toward him. Not right up to him; halfway. “I’m sorry I disappointed you. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing. It’s a wonderful thing. Don’t you think?” She smiled, the great open smile that all five of his daughters had. “A baby in the house. It will be fun, won’t it?”
“It will be, Dad.” Juliet’s voice was soft. “It’ll be okay. We’ll manage. We know how to.”
He shut his eyes. They waited. They had each walked into the kitchen or the living room in the past eight years to the sight of their father having silent conversations with their mother. They knew he wasn’t just sending up a prayer to his wife now. He was sending up an emergency flare. Less than a minute later he opened his eyes.
“On one condition.”
Clementine waited.
“I never want to change its nappy either. I saw more nappies with the five of you than I ever want to see in my life again.”
Clementine stepped forward and held out her hand. “It’s a deal.”
They shook on it.
Read on for an excerpt from
Family Baggage
a novel
by Monica McInerney
Published by Ballantine Books
Chapter One
It was all coming back to her, Harriet Turner realized. The key to being a successful tour guide was to think of herself as a duck. A mother duck, to be precise. A thirty-two-year-old mother duck in charge of twelve elderly, excited ducklings.
She glanced back over her shoulder, doing a quick head count of her tour group. Good, all twelve were still in sight, obviously tire
d but upright at least. They’d followed her obediently as she led the way off the plane, through passport control, and here into the baggage collection area of Bristol Airport. Ten gray-haired women, two balding men, none of them under sixty-five years of age, all in comfortable clothes and sensible shoes. Each sported a large TURNER TRAVEL: TOURS TAILORED JUST FOR YOU nametag on one shoulder and a homemade I’M ON THE WILLOUGHBY TOUR! badge on the other. Some looked bedraggled from the long journey, but more than half were still smiling. The excitement of arriving in England had obviously lifted their spirits. Harriet was glad to see it.
Her protective feelings toward them had grown with each step of the journey. She’d arrived at Melbourne Airport two hours early so she could greet each of them personally. On the plane she’d regularly checked whether they were too warm or too cool and if they needed anything to eat or drink. During their overnight stopover in Malaysia, she’d kept a close eye when they crossed roads, walked across bridges, or ate anything that might have bones in it. All the simple rules of being in charge of a group had come flooding back. Of course she could do this, she told herself for the hundredth time since her brother’s surprise phone call. The tour would be a success. She’d do everything she could to make it a success.
They were among the first passengers from their flight to arrive at the baggage carousel. Harriet found a prime position, near the start of the conveyor belt and close to the exit. She was taken aback when the group clustered in a circle around her, looking up with big smiles and expectant expressions. It took her a moment to realize what they were waiting for. The customary Turner Travel welcome speech. James, her eldest brother, had begun the tradition, marking the start of each group tour with a little poem or funny speech beside the baggage carousel. He was usually so organized he had copies printed to hand out to the group members as souvenirs. Harriet’s mind went blank. She had been brought in to this tour on such short notice she’d hardly had time to learn the itinerary, let alone write a funny ditty.
She looked around at them again. Twelve faces looked back. Pushing embarrassment to one side, she smoothed down her official Turner Travel uniform, gave a big smile, and threw open her arms.
“Welcome to England!” she cried.
It wasn’t enough. They needed much more than that. She could see it in their eager expressions. She tried to ignore the curious looks from the other passengers coming into the baggage area and racked her brain. A rhyming game she used to play as a child with James and her other brother Austin sprang to mind. She’d have to give that a try. She threw out her arms again, hoping she looked confident and theatrical rather than weird and scarecrow-ish, and said the first lines she could think of:
Upside Down Inside Out Page 37
