by Peter Barry
She and her mother had been standing on the verandah, looking down onto the garden, and across that to the ocean in the distance. Behind them, in what was now the sitting room, the estate agent hovered, feigning preoccupation with her Notebook, and looking remarkably like an undertaker being considerate enough to give them time alone in order to discuss the cost of the interment. Kate knew that if she just looked in her direction, even raised an eyebrow, she’d be out on the verandah, at their side, quicker than immediately. And Kate couldn’t have borne that; she didn’t like the woman. She had virtually ignored Kate when she arrived for the viewing, obviously deciding she couldn’t afford such a property because her car wasn’t smart enough, or because of her old jeans and paint-spattered T-shirt, or even because of her lack of make-up and unkempt hair. It had taken the BMW 7 Series sweeping into the gravelled driveway a short time later to wipe the disdain from her face, very much like sunshine racing cloudy shadows across a windblown landscape. Only then did she begin to take Kate seriously as a prospective buyer.
She forced herself to focus on the scenery. Yes, it really is very beautiful. She sighed as if disappointed, as if suddenly realising her inability to make Mother Nature appear less attractive.
‘It’s very beautiful,’ her mother said, reflecting her own thoughts back at her, but not in the same begrudging manner. ‘And think how healthy it will be for Tim to be brought up in this environment, darling.’ The adored grandson was standing unsteadily in the middle of the lawn, just below them, holding a stick. He held it up for them to admire, like the lord of some imaginary jungle, and promptly toppled onto his backside.
She turned to her mother, her reverie broken. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
Wilma let out her braying, nervous laugh. ‘Well, don’t sound too enthusiastic, darling.’
‘It needs work done on it, that’s all.’
‘I’m sure you could move straight in. There’s nothing urgent that needs to be done, nothing that can’t wait. You could take your time, darling.’
‘It’s so big. We don’t need all this space.’ She was aware of sounding insipid, almost defensive. It wasn’t like her.
‘Not now, maybe, but you will one day. Tim’s not going to be my only grandchild, I hope.’ This was said with what her mother probably considered to be a mischievous, collaborative grin, but which her daughter, if only out of habit, interpreted as maternal interference.
‘You already have three, mother, don’t you remember?’
‘Of course I do, darling. I was talking of yours and Hugh’s.’
‘Well, I can tell you right now, I don’t believe it would ever be possible to have enough grandchildren to fill this house.’
Kate could see her mother was disappointed that her attempt at intimacy had fallen flat. Why was it, whenever they saw each other, what should have been a straightforward conversation seemed to veer so quickly towards an argument?
Her son, once again on his feet, started to whimper. Kate rolled her eyes and tutted under her breath. Her mother leapt in. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get him.’ And Kate thought, Why not? Let her run around for a change. It’s what she wants. She watched her mother stiffly climb down the stairs to the lawn and pick up her grandson. He clung to her, looking up at his mother as if to say, See, I’m quite happy with granny. She felt a momentary pang that she did not, in fact, care. She was more involved in wondering why she felt so pressured when her mother was around. Was it because her mother was so desperate to please, that she was always so … so positive – the scourge of the boomer generation in Kate’s opinion. Life had most certainly been good for that generation, but did that mean they had to refuse to see the realities of existence? Did they have to go around saying, Things will work out, life’s not so bad you know, other people are so much worse off than us? Or was it simply annoyance that her mother had lived her entire life through Kate’s father, scarcely existing in her own right? She knew that she herself had been like that with Hugh when they first started going out together, fulfilling the role of the little woman to a man she’d regarded as so wise and worldly. But she’d grown out of it, hadn’t she, so why couldn’t her mother? She’d become more independent and less in awe of Hugh, so much so, she sometimes wondered if that wasn’t the cause of some of the friction between them, the fact she’d started to think for herself and stopped looking up to him as if he was some god who had temporarily drifted into her life.
She watched her mother ascend the steps from the lawn, bearing Tim like some triumphant, white haired retriever with a stick. At the same moment her father returned from his extensive tour of the house. He’d been treading the bare boards like some intrepid explorer who felt that he, as the single representative of the male sex, was the only one capable of appraising the new territory in which they now all found themselves. She watched him through the window talking with the estate agent, who was brazenly flirting, laughing in a fake way, looking up at her father as if she enjoyed being chatted up by a seventy year old. He was in his element, receiving the adoration and admiration he considered no more than his due, basking Narcissus-like in the young woman’s eyes. It was disgusting to watch in a man of his age, but then hardly unusual for him. He’s probably made her an offer, Kate thought, and wondered if it was for the property or for her body.
A little out of breath, her mother said brightly, as if attempting to mirror the reflection off the sea below, ‘It will be so much easier for us to drive down and see you if you move here.’
‘It’s a big financial commitment, that’s all.’ She was fishing … and her mother bit.
‘Your father and I can help you, I’m sure we can.’ Her father had more money than he knew what to do with, and Kate felt she deserved some financial help – he was her father after all. It would be good to get some money off him. But she appreciated that this offer of help was spoken by someone who had neither the final – if any – financial say in her own marriage, nor any idea what her daughter and son-in-law’s financial commitments might amount to.
‘That’s all very well …’ But she lost the thread of her argument when Tim reached out to her from his grandmother’s arms. She took him, and immediately put him down on the deck. ‘You can play around there.’ He whimpered, and reached up to his grandmother. She picked him up again, avoiding looking at Kate as she did so.
‘Your father would welcome the opportunity, you know that.’
‘Hugh won’t accept any help, that’s the problem. You know how strongly he feels about making his own way in the world.’
‘But in these circumstances …?’
‘He won’t even accept government handouts. The only reason I get child support for Tim is because I applied for it myself. He doesn’t believe you should accept it if you’re well off …’
‘He thinks it should be means tested?’ She sounded horrified, as if her daughter had divulged some sexual deviance. Kate agreed with her mother, but thought it best to say no more.
‘He might make an exception this time – for your sake.’ Her mother was doubtless already imagining herself and daddy visiting the house at weekends, enjoying cocktails on the lawn while they waited for Hugh to finish cooking dinner, their grandchildren – plural – running around on the grass.
‘It’s doubtful.’
Her father stepped out through the French windows to join them. He was trailed by the estate agent, who clearly considered him an ally. ‘I was just saying to Sam here, I’m tempted to buy this place myself. I’ll outbid you, darling.’ He hugged his daughter as if to make sure she realised he was joking, laughing out loud at his own sense of humour.
He’s probably agreed to buy the place if Sam fucks him, went through her mind. She closed her eyes in pain, momentarily appalled by her own nastiness.
‘I need to discuss it with Hugh, daddy.’
‘What’s there to discuss?’ – especially with Hugh was the bit left unsaid. ‘It’s perfect.’ He waved his hand grandly, like some explorer finalising
an agreement with the natives, his gesture encompassing the garden as well as the house behind them. ‘Plenty of room for more grandchildren.’
‘That’s just what I said, darling. Those very words.’
Her husband looked annoyed that he hadn’t been original.
‘And the shopping is excellent at Thirroul,’ the estate agent added, in case this point had slipped their minds. ‘It’s very close, only a short drive down the coast.’
Kate’s father smiled acknowledgement of this fact, then turned to his daughter. ‘Hugh likes it, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘Unusual for him to show such commonsense.’
‘Darling, that’s not nice.’
‘Kate knows what I mean. So it seems everyone’s agreed then.’ He turned triumphantly to his young friend. ‘I hope you’re willing to split your commission with me on this, Sam.’
She laughed loudly, too loudly. ‘Oh but of course. Would you like a Section 32, Doug?’ She reached into her briefcase.
Kate couldn’t believe she was hearing this, but her father – even her father – seemed capable of drawing the line somewhere, if pushed far enough. ‘Better give it to my daughter, Sam.’ She took it off the estate agent, almost snatched it out of her hand, and muttered as she turned away to pluck Tim from the arms of her mother. ‘We’ll be in touch.’ She realised she should have said, ‘I’ll be in touch,’ even though the ‘we’ had referred to herself and Hugh.
‘I suggest you don’t take too long discussing the matter with your husband, Kate. There’s been an exceptional amount of interest in this property, and we don’t expect it to be on the market long during a time of such strong demand.’
You pushy bitch, Kate thought. With a bit of luck someone else would snap the place up, and so take the decision out of her hands. She was feeling steam-rollered. Everyone was pushing her into a corner. They were all thinking about this house from their own point of view, only taking into consideration how well it would suit them. No one was giving any thought to her, to how cut off she’d be down here. She’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere with a two-year-old. It would drive her demented. How would she keep in touch with all her friends? And what about her art classes? It would be impossible to drive over to Crows Nest every Tuesday afternoon for just a couple of hours’ tuition, and she certainly wouldn’t be able to find a teacher as good as Warren here. So she rewarded the agent with a smile that she strove to make as fake as possible, and was so pleased with the result, she almost smiled for real. Her happiness was short lived, however, because Tim, squealing with delight and leaping in her arms, beamed at the estate agent with unconcealed love and adoration. Unmoved, the young lady could only bring herself to say, with absolute insincerity, ‘You’re a cute one, aren’t you?’
They were standing by their cars when the estate agent drove off with a toot of her horn and a conspiratorial wave to her father.
Wilma was glowing, even managing to get in a parting shot, a final selling point, as she said to her daughter, ‘You see how close you’d be to us if you moved here?’ The estate agent manqué glanced down the road as if it might be possible to see Woollahra in the distance. ‘It would be so easy for us to help out with Tim.’
‘Yes, we wouldn’t have to make that damned trip across the Bridge all the time,’ her father added from behind her.
Kate wondered why they didn’t simply move to the North Shore if they were so keen to visit her, but decided it wasn’t a discussion she wanted to have right now. More to the point, she wished she could summon up some – any – irrefutable argument against her and Hugh moving from Crows Nest. She didn’t like this feeling of being cornered, but thought it best to hide that feeling behind a grim smile.
She lifted Tim into his car seat and started to strap him in. She tried to sound positive. ‘I’ll talk to Hugh tonight.’ She straightened up as she emerged from the back of the car. ‘He apologised for not making it today, but there was some meeting he couldn’t get out of.’
‘He likes the house though, doesn’t he?’
‘He does, yes. I think so.’ She wouldn’t give her father any more than that. She kissed them both on the cheek. It was no more than a gesture.
On the way back to Crows Nest, she talked nonsense over her shoulder about buses, trains and, most exciting of all, a fire engine. As it went past, siren whooping, there were squeals of delight from the seat behind her.
* * *
That same evening, after they’d eaten, she’d said to her husband, ‘I took my parents to see the house.’ She was hoping she was offering up just enough to keep him away from his desk in the corner of their bedroom for a while. She didn’t honestly care what they spoke about so long as he didn’t go off and leave her alone, as he normally did.
‘Right. I’d forgotten. What did they think?’
‘They thought it was perfect.’
‘That’s good.’
‘But for different reasons to you.’
‘But they convinced you? You agree we should buy it?’
He sat down next to her on the sofa. She’d achieved her aim of stopping him going off to work, and now, if she played her cards right, she might be able to keep him away from his desk all evening. ‘You’ll never guess …’ She rummaged around in her bag, and finally found a scrap of paper. ‘I’ve drawn up one of those lists you’re so keen on.’
He reached out to hold her hand. ‘I’m impressed. Pros and cons, is it?’
‘Actually, this list is different. It’s just the cons.’
He threw himself back into the sofa, arms held up in mock indignation. ‘You can’t do that, Katie. That’s not fair. That’s not how you do it.’
‘That’s how I do it.’ She punched him playfully on the upper arm. ‘Anyway, you’ve only given me the pros up to now, so this is simply the other side of the equation.’
‘Fair enough.’
She glanced at her list and, in a mock serious voice, intoned, ‘One, we’ll see less of you than we do already. And two: you’ll spend most of the day commuting. I even brought back a train timetable to illustrate that very point.’
‘Shall I refute these in turn, or wait until you’ve finished?’ He reached across and took a sip from her glass of wine.
‘Excuse me!’ He grinned, but handed the glass back to her. ‘If you believe you can refute these irrefutable arguments – which I doubt – you’ll have to wait until the end. By which time,’ she added, ‘you’ll hopefully have fallen asleep.’
‘That’s a distinct possibility.’
Banter is good, she thought. It means he’s entering into the spirit of things, and is therefore willing to hear my side of the argument.
‘Of course, if you fall asleep, I win the argument. Three –’
‘Two, actually.’
She slapped his hand, pretending to be angry. ‘No, those points I’m counting separately, even though they’re closely connected.’ He shrugged. ‘Three, I have lots of friends round here, and so does Tim, and we’d never see them again if we moved to Stanwell Park. To the back of beyond.’
She paused, expecting to be interrupted, but Hugh said nothing. He continued to look at her, as if taking her objections seriously and already considering his response. She was pleased. At least he didn’t appear to be dismissing her concerns out of hand.
‘Tim’s hard work; you forget that. And I’d be left alone with him, with no one to help me, no one I could drop in on. There’s nothing but old people’s homes down there.’ She shrugged, as if it was already all too much for her. ‘Four, I’ll miss my art classes, and you know how much I love those, how important they are to me.’
‘You’ll be able to find classes in Stanwell Park, or nearby, without a doubt.’
‘There won’t be anyone as good as Warren.’ Then, without waiting for him to contradict her: ‘Five: it’s a big financial commitment. As far as I can tell, we’d be stretching ourselves to the limit.’ She took another mouthful of wine, dr
opped her shoulders, and fell back into the sofa, her case stated, the piece of paper lying in her lap.
‘Is that all? Is that the best you can do?’
Although she knew he was joking, pretending to mock her, she was disappointed by his response, by the fact her concerns were being so airily dismissed. ‘I think it’s enough.’
‘I can’t believe that’s your whole argument, Kate. It’s the scrapings from the bottom of the barrel. It’s verging on the pathetic.’
‘No, it isn’t!’ She was indignant, her smile strained.
‘I’m not persuaded. And I’ll tell you why.’
She folded her arms.
‘You’re being defensive.’
She unfolded her arms. She was angry, suddenly feeling, even though he had yet to refute what she’d said, that the argument was lost, that whatever she said wasn’t going to make any difference, that he was already treating her like ‘the little woman’ and of no real consequence. She leant forward to pick up her glass and finish the last of her wine.
‘One. I’ll be able to work on the train, so although I may arrive back at the same time, I will hopefully have done all my work by the time I get home. You will therefore see more of me.’
‘That I find very hard to believe.’
He ignored her. ‘Two. You will make new friends quickly.’ To Kate, that sounded very much like a command, as if shouted by an army officer to a subordinate: You will make friends! ‘In addition to which, your old friends will be desperate to come up and visit you because it will mean a day at the seaside. They’ll be keen to spend time on the beach. And there’s also the Royal National Park on our doorstep.’
