Fairway to Heaven

by Lily Malone

  The lady at the checkout tells me to go as hard as I like on the boxes, so I load a heap of the bigger ones in my car.

  Last, I call at the pharmacy in the same complex and ask for a tube of the ointment Dr Garner suggested.

  Unlike this morning when I dropped Seb at O’Brien Street, Jack’s WRX is parked on the steep driveway, behind Amber’s dark blue BMW. I get a moment’s trepidation when I see that he’s here, but I steel myself against it with a reminder that Seb is the only one who matters, and it won’t hurt me to be in the same room as his father for twenty minutes.

  We’re reasonable adults. It’s time to prove it.

  Reversing up the driveway, I park the Corolla as close to the house as I can, pop the boot, and climb from the car.

  It’s not quite two weeks since I was here last, but it feels so much longer. The frangipani flowers are out in the two big pots beside the front steps, perfume rich and heavy.

  Lugging a big armful of boxes from the back seat, I squeeze between the car and the carport wall, but I don’t get far before I stop.

  All around me, the garden I planted so lovingly is gasping for a drink. Patches of the front lawn are browned and bare. The leaves on the standard roses are scorched and yellowed. Whole seedling punnets of gerberas, petunias and pansies are almost beyond saving.

  Jack can’t have run the sprinklers since I left.

  Dumping the boxes at the top of the driveway, I open the irrigation valves and after a few burps, as air dislodges from the pipes, the front yard fills with the misting hiss of micro-sprinklers.

  Soon, water starts dribbling through the mulch, running off mounded garden beds to christen the path. When I’m satisfied that none of the pipes have sprung a leak, I pick up the boxes and head for the front door. It’s open, but the screen door is locked.

  ‘Amber?’ I call into the cool of the hall, before I hesitate. ‘Jack?’

  The house is dark and silent, but the hallway echoes with voices from the back.

  Fishing my keys from my pocket, I open the door and step inside, clicking the child-safe lock behind me.

  White child-proof guardrails block the staircase. I lean over them to set the boxes on the stairs, and take a look around.

  All the downstairs windows are open, curtains pulled back. There’s a smell that I can’t place. Other than newspapers stacked on the kitchen table, and a can of air freshener beside it, the kitchen is neat as a pin.

  When I lived here it always looked like a bomb hit it. Except that last day, of course, when I had it so sparkly.

  Picking up the can — it’s almost full — I squirt a splat of it in the air and sniff. The label says it’s supposed to be lavender, but all these cans smell the same to me.

  I drift across the hall.

  The living-room windows are wide open. There’s a Thomas Tank Engine jigsaw unmade on the carpet, but it looks played-in rather than messy, and there’s a quota of building blocks beside it.

  The floorboards vibrate as I follow the hall to the rear, where the squeals and laughter get louder. Then I can see outside.

  Sebby is stark naked, all chubby white bottom and blonde curls. His little feet sprint along a water slide that must be a new present from Nanna.

  Amber holds the hose, spraying the bright blue plastic. Jack squats at the end of the slide, arms wide, playing catcher. His shirt is wet, getting wetter by the second.

  They’ve set the slide underneath two huge willows, one in our yard — Jack’s yard I repeat in my head — and one in the neighbour’s. The branches meet overhead like a guard of honour.

  ‘Hey,’ I call.

  Amber waves the hose at me. Sebby pays no attention, just hurls himself along the plastic runway and into Jack’s chest, giggling all the way.

  Jack’s teeth flash. ‘There’s Mum,’ he calls, pointing at me.

  By this time, I’ve taken a couple of steps out onto the bricks of the patio and I’m contemplating a further step onto the lawn, but it’s a puddle of floating dried grass and I’m wearing my one and only pair of corporate wedges.

  Sebby squeals, squirms out of Jack’s arms and runs to the start of the slide to make another run.

  Jack gets up and takes a few steps towards me.

  ‘Don’t stop if he’s having fun,’ I call across Seb’s squeals and the splash. ‘I’m going upstairs to pack some stuff.’

  And I back away, moving quickly along the hallway and up the stairs.

  It’s much warmer on the second storey, even though the windows are open here too. Despite the tower of cardboard boxes that block my vision, my feet know where they’re going.

  I drop the boxes to the carpet in the middle of Seb’s room, open the first one, and start packing it with toys and books. There are keepsakes on top of his bedroom shelf. A shoebox stuffed with the cards we were given when he was born and on his first birthday, some photos in frames, and a baby book. Jack won’t care if I take them and I’d hate them to be lost.

  It’s not the clothes I want so much for Seb or myself (although a few more pairs of shoes for work will come in handy) as these mementos. These are the things that cannot be replaced.

  It doesn’t take long and when I’m finished, I head to the study.

  A silk painting there is one of my treasures, and there’s a pencil drawing of me framed on the study wall, drawn by a friend in London years ago. I also want my files of bank statements and tax records from the files in the desk drawers.

  Then I head for our bedroom. Jack’s bedroom.

  The bed is neatly made, quilt drawn. The paperback I’d been reading when I packed in such a hurry still sits on my bedside table.

  Looking around, my gaze halts on the right-hand wall.

  There’s a photograph of me that Jack had blown up big for my birthday before Seb was born. I’m playing a shot out of one of the bunkers at Sea Breeze. It’s not the bunker on the twelfth, thank God. I wouldn’t want the picture if it was.

  Jack had to lie on his tummy on the grass to get the angle and he made me replay that shot about twenty times till he reckoned he had it right.

  ‘You’re taking that with you?’ Jack’s voice intrudes.

  I’m not sure how long he’s been there. He’s lounging against the doorframe, one thumb hooked lazily over the top of his shorts’ pocket. Water has splashed the fabric above his knee.

  ‘I am.’ I already have the frame in my hands.

  ‘I came to change my shirt.’ He pushes off the doorframe and saunters into the room, tugging his damp shirt over his head. ‘I’ll miss waking up and not seeing you on my wall.’

  ‘Don’t start, Jack.’ I don’t look at him. I concentrate on making sure the frame doesn’t scratch the photo albums underneath as I juggle it into the biggest box.

  ‘I really fucked up this time, didn’t I, Jenn? You should write me another letter.’

  ‘You got my quota of nasty letters,’ I say, without venom.

  His arms and torso disappear into the wardrobe, and when he emerges, it’s with shirt back on. He takes a step toward me. ‘I said some really shitty things on Saturday. I never meant… I mean, I know you’re not — ’

  I finish for him. ‘I’m not frigid. I know.’

  The muscle in his jaw ticks. ‘Have you tried… you know, with — ’

  I can’t believe he has the gall. ‘It’s none of your business, Jack.’

  A shadow crosses his handsome face. ‘I guess it’s not. Not anymore.’

  He leans towards me, though I’m not sure his feet move, but suddenly it’s like the walls have inched closer, locking me here with him.

  ‘You’re not working today?’ I ask, stepping around him to tug jackets and long-sleeve shirts, pants and leggings from the wardrobe.

  ‘I shut the shop for an hour so I could come home to see Seb. I’ll head back when you guys are gone. I have a lesson later this afternoon.’

  I don’t ask with whom. I don’t want to know. I pile my shoes in another box. Boots. Wedges.
Sandals.

  ‘Don’t you want to know who I’m teaching?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘I’m not taking Marnie for lessons anymore, Jenn.’

  This time, I meet his eye, holding his gaze as levelly as I can. ‘I don’t care who you teach.’

  Eventually, he’s the first to break eye contact.

  I pack a final few things. ‘That’s it. I’m finished in here.’

  He gives a near-imperceptible nod, as if he realises we’re talking about more than a few boxes.

  ‘Do you want some help with those?’ he offers.

  ‘Yeah, thanks. There are more in Seb’s room.’

  ‘Look at us. We’re so damn polite.’

  He helps me load the boxes in the Corolla and when we’re finished, we stand for a moment, Jack tall beside me. Sprinklers drip and hiss at our legs, making rainbows in the spray.

  ‘The beach looks good on you, Jenn. All tanned like that.’ He gives me his crinkled-edged smile, charisma on full force.

  And I feel nothing.

  ‘I need to talk to your mum. To both of you,’ I say. I’ve put this conversation off for long enough.

  ‘What conversation?’

  ‘About where we go next.’

  ‘Next?’ Jack says, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

  ‘You. Me. Money. Seb.’

  He scowls, and it’s the same look Seb gets when he doesn’t get his own way. ‘Mum said you’d bring that up today.’

  I make the first move into the house, leading him past the kitchen where that elusive smell teases me, makes me sniff and sift the air.

  Marjiuana.

  ‘You’ve been smoking,’ I accuse. ‘No wonder you’ve got all the windows open.’

  He sniffs, keeps walking. ‘Can’t smell anything.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve bombed the house with air-freshener.’

  ‘So I had a joint last night, Jenn.’ Jack stops in his tracks, rounding on me. ‘What’s different about you coming home from work and having a glass of wine? You used to do that all the time. It’s how I relax.’

  ‘I did not do it all the time. Not since I was pregnant. And it’s not the same at all. I can still function after a glass of wine. It’s called being a responsible parent. Being stoned is completely different.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do it if Seb was in the house.’

  I plant my hands on my hips. ‘You used to smoke all the time.’

  ‘Well, you were here then — ’

  ‘Jesus, Jack.’ Shaking my head, I try to step around him. ‘I’m amazed Amber hasn’t noticed the smell.’

  He shifts his weight left, blocking me. ‘She’s the one who sprayed air-freshener. She didn’t want you to — ’

  He stops abruptly.

  ‘Didn’t want me to what?’

  His gaze slips away and he shrugs. ‘She didn’t want you to bring it up in court.’

  Suddenly, the sparkling house makes more sense. Amber cleaned it.

  Bloody sneaky Bannermans! ‘I told her. I’ve told you. I don’t want to go to court.’ I step to my left, trying again to get around him.

  ‘That’s not what you said Saturday. You said you’d take me for every cent.’

  ‘I was pissed off at you then, Jack, and with good bloody reason. You had just called me frigid.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Jack says, swaying to his right, boxing me against the stairs. ‘But our lawyers don’t believe you, about court.’

  ‘Let me through.’

  He steps back, but he does it slow and I have to squeeze past. He makes a grab for my arm, misses, gets my wrist, and because my momentum is forward, it pulls my arm back, holding me there.

  ‘The lawyers say you’ll try to stop me seeing Seb.’

  ‘Jack. Ouch. You’re hurting.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He drops my arm.

  I rub at the spot where my shoulder got wrenched, and glare at him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says again, and he reaches for me, as if he’s about to rub my arm for himself.

  ‘Just leave me alone,’ I snap, harder than necessary. ‘There’s more money in it for the lawyers if we fight, so grow up. Now come on.’

  Outside, Amber towels Sebby off. Jack stands, parking himself near one of the patio posts.

  ‘Jenn wants to have the money talk,’ he says to his mother.

  Amber rubs Seb’s hair, folds the towel over a chair and looks at me as she sits with Seb on her lap. Her smile is guarded. ‘Fire away.’

  Why is it never easy to talk with people who have money, about money? Standing in front of Jack’s mother, I feel like I’m asking the boss for a raise.

  Last night in bed I practiced this pitch for hours. Now, my mouth is dry.

  ‘I don’t want to drag Sebastian through the Family Court, but I need to be realistic. Jack and I were together nearly four years. I lived here for three and a half. I paid half of all the water bills and power bills and rates. There was home and contents insurance. We bought furniture together. All the plants in the garden I bought.’

  Amber says nothing.

  ‘I helped pay for the floorboards, these pavers,’ I kick the bricks. ‘That new oven in the kitchen came out of my savings. It adds up.’

  I can almost see the calculator clacking away inside her head. ‘How much do you want, Jennifer?’

  Jennifer. We’re back to that.

  ‘I don’t want Jack to have to sell this house to pay me out. It was his when we met. I know it’s been in your family a long time. It’s a great old place, and Seb is comfortable here.’

  Jack switches his weight to the other foot. The tendrils of the wisteria that covers the patio hang close to his head.

  Spit it out, Jenn.

  I take a deep breath. ‘I need enough money to be able to put a deposit on a house, or to buy a block if I decide to build.’

  ‘That’s big money,’ Amber says. Seb squirms on her lap and she releases him to me. His hair sticks up in quills, and his skin is soft and cool from the water slide.

  ‘I’ve invested my own money… capital into this property.’

  I concentrate on getting Seb dressed, pulling on a shirt that says Mum’s the boss. When I’m done, I set his feet on the ground.

  Amber’s eyes flick to Jack and back to mine. ‘You sound like you have a figure in mind.’

  ‘One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.’

  I half expect her to sputter, but she doesn’t. Her gaze follows Sebby — he’s chasing an orange and black butterfly across the yard.

  ‘How often do I get to see him?’ Jack asks.

  ‘While he’s so young, I think that it’s best if he stays with me, primarily.’

  ‘Meaning Busselton?’ His lip twists.

  ‘For now,’ I nod carefully. ‘I want to see if I can get my new business idea off the ground, but it’s early days. Nathan Blain says he wants to keep me around, so that means I’ll be in the city once a week. We can make Tuesday a regular thing, Amber, if you’d like. You can visit us at weekends. Once he gets older, we can re-evaluate. And this whole living and working in Busselton thing might not even pan out.’

  ‘The courts may see it differently, you know,’ Amber says. ‘Technically, you left this house.’

  But Jack is the one who cheated.

  It’s the elephant in the room and we all know it. Only for me, there are two elephants. My dodgy vagina — and how much I want to keep any discussion of it out of court.

  ‘What about child maintenance and things like that. How does that work?’ Jack asks. ‘What about when Seb’s ready for school, and which school he goes to?’

  ‘We can work that out as we go,’ I say. One-handed, I start pulling our stuff together, nappy bag, wet clothes.

  ‘Come on, buddy. Time to go,’ I call to Seb. He ignores me. Then the butterfly flies over the neighbour’s wall and he points after it, looking at me as if I could recall it by magic.

  Amber casts about for anything
I’ve missed.

  ‘I’ll get him,’ Jack says.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Hefting our gear over my shoulder, I lead the way inside. Jack carries Seb, Amber trails behind.

  Out at my car, she hugs Seb goodbye, then Jack straps him in the back seat. I stand with my hands in my pockets, and that’s when I touch Jack’s house key.

  ‘Here,’ I hold it out to him.

  ‘Keep it. In case there’s an emergency.’

  It’s just one more link to the past, to this house and our life here, and I need to let it go. ‘You have it. And by the way, try to remember to water the garden.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ He closes Seb’s door, and he and Amber step back.

  ‘I’ll get my lawyers to draft up an agreement,’ Amber says. ‘You can take a look at it, and see what you think. It’s a starting point. Okay?’

  That sounds too easy. ‘That sounds good.’ Because it feels like I should say something more, I add, ‘Thank you, Amber. And thanks for minding Seb for me this morning.’

  ‘No thanks needed. You know that.’

  I climb in the driver’s side, wind the window low. Already the car is hot from sitting in the driveway.

  Amber and Jack wave.

  I blip the horn once. It feels good to be on our way. Last time I took the freeway south, I was going for a weekend away. This time, I’m going home.

  ***

  It’s almost five o’clock by the time I reach Busselton and it takes ages for me to unpack Seb and all the boxes from the car. He’s grumpy and we’re both hungry.

  After my first trip up the steps carrying boxes two-high, I decide it’s far easier just to throw all the stuff in the Culhane’s shed tonight, and get it tomorrow when I’m fresh.

  I make a simple dinner. Baked beans on toast for him. Two-minute noodles with vegies for me.

  I had big plans about finishing the book on my Kindle, but after a glass of wine to unwind from the drive, and another after Seb is in bed, I can’t be bothered. Nor can I keep my eyes open.