Turbulence

by Maggie Rainey-Smith

‘Random,’ said Caitlin, which set her and Frankie off in a fit of giggles.

  Hagen was embarrassed now. That was more like it. Embarrassment suited him. Adam warmed to him: he wasn’t such a bad bastard really. No doubt he was using Louise as much as Louise was using him. They were launching a business initiative and networking was in their blood. Adam had been an idiot to overreact. Made a fool of himself.

  And now, it was over to Caitlin’s mum.

  ‘The keewee axent is so dull, don’t you thunk — the vaal sounds so vague and uninneressing.’

  Caitlin’s mum was a private-school girl with a good accent, but she mimicked a Lynn of Tawa tone and had them all laughing.

  Time to break up the party. Adam looked at his watch — his White Rabbit trick. It usually worked. If not, he sometimes stifled a yawn. Not subtle, but not subtle worked.

  ‘Gosh, is that the time?’ said Hagen.

  ‘Caitlin, have you got everything?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sunday evening was spent watching a video on diving, and helping Frankie answer questions about safety. The golden rule was never to hold your breath, always to exhale to avoid lung over-expansion. There was absolutely no diving without a buddy (Adam squirmed privately, guiltily) and markers in the form of brightly coloured sausage-shaped balloons were recommended for visibility.

  Later that evening, he and Louise quarrelled. Things escalated — became physical. Not for the first time, but it had never been like this.

  ‘I didn’t want your bloody marriage,’ she spat after he made a snide remark about Hagen. ‘I sure as hell don’t want Hagen’s … and I’m sick of you and bloody Saint Judy.’ Three swear words in one sentence, more than Louise usually uttered in a year.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘It’s all about you. Everything is about you and Judy. I’m sick of it. Even when she admits she played a part in

  Michael’s death, you still don’t get it, do you?’ Michael’s death was out of bounds. Adam grabbed Louise by the shoulders and shook her and then let go, furious because she looked pleased to see him angry.

  ‘Go on, hit me!’ she screamed.

  But he didn’t, he wouldn’t, and she knew.

  So Louise pushed him backwards and he fell across the bed, half on and half off, and she jumped on him.

  ‘Bloody Hagen, bloody Judy, bloody Michael …’ and she was sitting astride him (and yes, it turned him on); and then she hit him, not once, not twice, but over and over. He tried to roll away, to cover his face, and she thumped his head instead. Then she let herself fall to the floor.

  He was too shocked to move, his foot touching Louise as she lay on the floor. Their breathing was laboured, hers almost a sob and his a sharp and rasping fury.

  ‘Mum …’ Then more insistently, ‘Mum …’ Footsteps on the stairs.

  Louise leapt to her feet, calling, ‘Coming, Frankie, won’t be a mo’ …’

  Adam watched as she composed herself, swallowed the next sob, held her cheeks in a perfect imitation of Munch’s silent scream and then brushed them in a movement like smoothing wet concrete. Without looking back at him, she went to find Frankie.

  Louise might take him for granted, focus too much on her work, flirt with Hagen (even fuck with Hagen, though he struck that one from the record, indulged it only fleetingly) but she was first and foremost a wonderful mother.

  By Monday evening they had achieved a quiet truce (for the sake of Frankie) and they were all going to the pool to watch her christen her new wetsuit. There were strict instructions not to be too obvious about being there. But they had to be there!

  The pool was empty of recreational swimmers and spectators, so it was difficult for Adam, Louise and Ness to just blend in. They sat as far away from the pool as they could, without losing sight of what was happening.

  Chlorine filled their nostrils and the glare of fluorescent lights created both refraction and reflection. On the wall above them, a green and smiling octopus held time in his tentacles. Frankie came out of the changing room looking bashful and excited in her new wetsuit. She ignored them and focused on her instructor, a young woman of around thirty with a quiet but reassuring voice. Adam strained to hear.

  ‘Never hold your breath: breathe continuously.’

  There were two young men and one older guy in the class with Frankie. The young men, one wearing yellow flippers, were oblivious to Frankie. They were mates, measuring themselves against each other. They buddied up, and that left Frankie to buddy with the older guy. A grey beard and a flabby tum, but a nice face. There was quite a bit of time spent organising tanks, weights and masks, securing the aqualung to the tank. Lots of advice about the importance of having a buddy. Finally they were in the water, starting out with a survival float. Frankie formed a starfish, perfectly still. As she began to sink, she kicked slowly, refloating, while next to her the muscly lads lay awkwardly splashing about, bored with inactivity, ready for the real action.

  Frankie was like Louise, a natural-born mermaid, just the occasional flick of her foot, always graceful. After the starfish, they did ten minutes just floating and the lads looked more like dolphins. An overweight girl in shorts and a yellow cotton-knit shirt began hosing down the pool surround, looking at neither the activity in the pool nor the family on the sidelines. They had to lift their feet up and out of the way to avoid being washed.

  Louise became bored quickly and began texting. Ness had a book tucked under her arm and listened to her iPod. Adam was absorbed. Frankie and the lads were at the edge of the pool, waiting to dive in. The two lads went first, and the one with yellow flippers appeared to roll sideways rather than dive. The next lad did a reasonable entry but created quite a splash. The older guy was adjusting his aqualung with the help of the instructor. Frankie glanced over at Adam, he nodded, and she dived in.

  Now they were underwater, circling and turning, showing off.

  Adam’s own lungs inflated with pride. He nudged Louise and she looked up from texting in time to see Frankie surface. Mother and daughter made eye contact, and Frankie waved. Ness looked up, and gave Frankie the thumbs-up sign. The lad with the yellow flippers looked over at Ness, gave her the thumbs-up in return. He was unzipping his wetsuit, revealing a tight, hairless chest … Behind his back Frankie pointed at the yellow flippers and did the thumbs-down sign. Ness blushed and they all pretended not to notice.

  On the way home, Frankie told them that her first real dive was scheduled for the weekend that Adam and Louise were in Sydney for the reunion. Louise thought Frankie should wait, but Ness volunteered to be her minder. She would go too, and make sure that Frankie was okay. Ness was an accomplished diver, so Louise agreed. Adam felt Louise was wrong on two counts: one because he wanted to be there — had promised to be there; and two, he thought it was too much responsibility for Ness. Surely they could just postpone Frankie’s first dive until they returned? But then he saw how eager she was, and how helpful Ness was being, and it wasn’t his decision, it was up to Louise. Perhaps it was more about him missing out than anything — so he let it go. Of course they wouldn’t take her out if there was any risk. He knew that. He’d done the course himself and they were very cautious. She’d have a buddy, and a marker. He mustn’t worry; Louise wasn’t worried.

  ‘I want curry to go.’

  ‘Garlic naan.’

  ‘Butter chicken.’

  ‘Hot.’

  ‘No, medium.’

  ‘What sort of rice?’

  ‘Extra naan please, I’m starving.’

  He loved Indian food, but his stomach wasn’t as resilient recently, not since his rogue dive and the KFC. But how could he complain? Louise and the girls did most of the cooking at home. His fortés were a really good hollandaise on Sunday mornings and carefully poached eggs (the vinegar-in-the-water trick). Sauces and custards were his thing. One of the few cooking tips he’d picked up from his mum was looking at the back of the spoon (before you licked it) to see how the sauce sat, wheth
er it ran or not. But sauces and custards were no use when you were in a hurry.

  They ate dinner out of the plastic takeaway containers — a concession to hunger, he knew, and something else. Louise wanted the girls fed and out of the way. He always knew when she was angling for space.

  Ness disappeared early to her room, absorbed in a private phone call. A boy, perhaps? He was hopeful on her behalf. Frankie was happy to watch the safety video, take notes and swot.

  Louise poured a wine for him, slowly, into one of the big glasses, right up to almost three quarters full. She held the bottle steady and he admired the angle of her elbow, the slimness of her fingers. Slim, cool fingers. She passed the wine to him. And then she poured a smaller glass, only halfway up, and raised it towards him. He lifted his glass and they toasted one another, not quite chinking glasses — missing, getting the timing wrong. Louise nursed her wine, not holding the stem but cradling the glass with both hands. They waited for each other to speak. He’d decided not to pre-empt what he was fairly sure was coming — an apology for starters. The wine was good; a pinot noir, his favourite. Louise preferred white, so this was a concession at least. But instead …

  ‘Hagen is worried about you.’

  Oh, nice one. Sniffing around my woman and using me as a pretext. Very nice, Hagen. Surely Louise hadn’t fallen for that line.

  There were definite no-nos and going behind a man’s back was one of them. Feeling sorry for him was another. Adam decided not to comment. See what came next. He was pissed off with Louise and Hagen now; it all seemed a bit cosy. Reminded him too — that was what you did when you started a new relationship. You talked with generosity about your flawed spouse or partner. It was terribly benign and it made you sound caring. He knew, he’d done it. Him and Louise both. But of course at the time he hadn’t known his intentions, hadn’t actually admitted them. And then the niggling thought — the person who cheats with you will also cheat on you.

  ‘Well,’ Louise said, ‘I’m worried too.’

  She didn’t do worried. They’d made a pact when they finally picked up the pieces of their scattered lives: she didn’t do worried (not like Judy) and he didn’t do possessive (not like George). Right now, they were both doing the very things they’d vowed not to.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  He’d be obtuse, stall for time.

  ‘You know why.’

  He didn’t, really. It could be about him being so rude to Hagen on Sunday afternoon. It could be about Hagen finding him drunk at the factory (but that would mean Hagen had broken another rule). It could mean that lately his negativity was showing more than he’d thought.

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I can’t tell you. You know why.’

  But he didn’t. He knew he’d been depressed since that night at Nakita’s, but did Louise know that? He knew he’d been diving without a buddy and a marker … but she didn’t know that. He opted for distraction; he was good at this. When all else failed, work was his alibi. Ruthlessly, he turned it back on Louise.

  ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind. Frustrations at work with Martin. I’d rather not go into that. Nothing major. I was concerned about the Frankie and George thing, but you know more about that than I do. She’s okay?’

  ‘Frankie’s okay. This isn’t about Frankie.’

  No, it’s about you and Hagen, he wanted to say, but that would have been presumptuous and probably wrong. He didn’t really believe there was anything going on. But he hated Hagen and Louise confiding in each other about him. It was unnecessary.

  ‘Hagen was worried about me, too,’ she added.

  Shit, shit, shit. Just the sort of tactic a slime-ball continental would try.

  ‘Hagen sounds like a worried man.’

  ‘Oh, if you’re going to be like that …!’

  He regretted it immediately. She placed her wine back on the table and left. There went his chance to talk, really talk. Hagen had paved the way for him and his own obstinacy had prevented it. And then Ness appeared and wanted to talk to Louise.

  Hagen worried about him. What rot. Oh, you could never tell. Maybe Hagen thought he was worried about Adam. People didn’t always know their own motives. Adam knew this. He’d been worried about Judy when he confided in Louise. He hadn’t intended … Retrospective intentions were much harder to define.

  He ought to be flattered. Another man wooing his woman. Up until now, Hagen’s flirting had been amusing. He’d seen the look in Hagen’s eye the night Judy announced to everyone that Adam and Louise had been having an affair. Appraising Louise, seeing her in a new light.

  Sex worked. Adam would summon up sex later tonight — it was a language he could articulate when words failed.

  As it was, sex didn’t work on this occasion. Louise seemed to be sulking. Worse than that, she seemed genuinely upset while sulking. Genuinely upset was much more difficult to negotiate and so, coward that he was, he left her alone, tried to sleep, worried, thought about production spreadsheets, imagined China, the potential sales, wondered what Beijing looked like, had a hypothetical debate with Martin over who was going to fly there for trade negotiations, imagined Louise joining him on a joint venture in China, worried about leaving Ness and Frankie behind, thought about Hagen to stop himself worrying about the girls, decided he’d been a fool to mistrust Hagen, began to like Hagen again, remembered their conversation in the bar when Hagen had said All the women seem to want you, and began to mistrust him again, then thought for a moment about Nakita and whether he fancied her or not, found he didn’t and was ashamed of himself and began to like Hagen again, imbuing him with nothing but good intentions — and luckily, before he could change his mind, he’d fallen asleep, almost … but not before he thought of Michael.

  Always Michael, in the last moments between daylight and night, and the first moments between dawn and daylight.

  Chapter Twenty

  In the morning, it occurred to him to wonder why, if Louise had been so worried about him, she hadn’t come away for the weekend with him and the girls. Then his niggling tooth distracted him. Physical pain was something he understood.

  They did the cheerful breakfast thing in front of the girls. It wasn’t difficult. Frankie was so elated after her dive in the pool that she had enough good will for all of them. Ness had suddenly become a furtive texter, which could mean only one thing: a boy. About time! She’d been so focused on study and writing, Adam had begun to be concerned about her.

  Louise confirmed it by bringing up the subject. Ness said it was a guy from Creative Writing. She blushed: bright pink splodges, like a rash erupting on her face and neck. A girl of her age blushing was a treat. Adam looked away. If it had been Frankie, he would have laid it on with a trowel — that was their relationship. But Ness was truly a young woman and he was less confident with both her and her mother this morning.

  She was beginning to look like her mother, too. The zits that had erupted earlier in the week were now fading. She wasn’t pretty, but she had a literary look — a strong chin (like George), dark eyes (like George), and an intelligent face. Beauty that rewarded close inspection, even given the pink splodges. He was glad she had an admirer.

  He looked across at Louise. Impossible to read. She had her public relations face on this morning. Happy families face. And he admired that, too. His tooth was hurting like hell but he had no one to tell. Louise would just shrug and tell him to go to the dentist. Frankie would have made a fuss, but he didn’t want to dent her high spirits.

  ‘Grump-o,’ said Frankie, nudging him.

  So much for his cheerful look.

  ‘Good morning, Mermaid.’

  He was rewarded with two smiles, one from the Mermaid’s mother. Ness’s phone buzzed, indicating a text.

  ‘What’s his name?’

  Ness was normally tolerant of her younger sister, but not this morning.

  ‘Bug off.’

  ‘Oh my God, it’s serious … je t’adore beaucoup.’

  ‘Ba
ck off, Francesca.’ Louise intervened, looking at Adam for support.

  Oh, he had his uses.

  ‘Frankie, if you’re really quick, you can drive to school. Five minutes.’

  Three smiles this time — the Mermaid, the Mermaid’s mother and the Mermaid’s grateful sister, who was texting while toasting fruit loaf and talking to Louise.

  It wasn’t difficult, not really. He’d even forgotten, temporarily, that he had toothache. He saw Caitlin’s mum at the school gate and hoped she didn’t see him. Instead of getting out of the car to move from the passenger’s side, he hurled himself over the centre console and into the driver’s seat, then edged the car back into the traffic. Frankie didn’t look back; she ran to meet Caitlin. Adam was safely merged and moving by the time Caitlin’s mum looked up.

  Heather had come back to work. She wasn’t fully recuperated, but explained that both she and Zeus had missed the company. Did Adam mind if she came in for the mornings only, and was there something she could do to help?

  He couldn’t think of a single thing Heather could do that didn’t require arms. So he told her about his toothache, and she was good at sympathy. They shared a ciggie (meaning Heather watched him smoke) and they swapped symptoms. He elaborated about the cold air coming into the gap at the back of his mouth and she told him how stiff and sore her arms were, demonstrating the exercises she had to do. She knew of a really good dentist in the valley and got the temp to organise an appointment, stressing how urgent it was. He realised how much he’d missed Heather and even Zeus. If Zeus had been in the hallway near the kitchen the previous week, he doubted there would have been crumpet or fire.

  ‘Paris is job-hunting.’

  ‘How on earth would you know?’

  ‘Recent Documents on Word. I wasn’t spying. Just opened up Recent Documents to look for last week’s production figures … you know, curiosity, old habits and all that. I miss this place. Wanted to see how the Tahitian order was coming along.’