by Meg Mason
So far, though, the abortive walks were all he could think of to do with a baby. There was never anyone else out walking in the wide suburban backstreets. The only signs of life were the wet driveways recently hosed clear of leaves, and enormous wheelie bins that appeared at certain times of the week, as if by magic.
Every week that he had spent back at Gordon since Abi let him go the first time, every night he’d gone to sleep in his childhood bedroom, had made him feel like even more of a coward, an even worse father, and so, so lonely. Lonelier than he’d ever been in his life. Now that he was back for good, Stu began to despise the suburbs. All those stupid Klugers, the mums doing a big shop in their tennis gear, the teenager who turfed the North Shore Times over the fence as he rode past on his bike. Whenever he saw a copy crisping up on the grass, there’d be a fat schoolkid on the cover holding a certificate. Elaine still had his, framed and hung in her sewing corner. Stuart Kellett, Year Eight, Gordon Boys High School. Bronze Duke of Edinburgh. Fuck the leafy upper North Shore and the postie bike it rode in on. Fuck it all.
Stu wanted to go home. But home wasn’t here. It wasn’t the flat. It was Abi. Even when he wasn’t trying, he could see her kneeling on the bathroom floor swishing Jude in two inches of warm water and cooing at him. Curled up asleep on the pull out, all the busy, nervy energy wrung out of her by a long day. Perched in the corner of the kitchen bench in undies and one of his T-shirts, dropping her lit fag out the window the moment he walked in, saying with a hoarse laugh, ‘Shit. Sorry. That was my last one, definitely.’ One day she’d be responsible for Cremorne Point’s first bushfire.
Still, no matter how pretty or funny she was, how much of a nice mum who never lost her rag with Jude and made lasagnes with eight creamy layers, no matter that she’d seemed so sweet at the start, it turned out she was a player and he’d been had. Yet, every night before he switched off the light, Stu took a drawing block and pencil out of his bag and tried to sketch Abi, from memory.
‘Draw me like one of your Croydon girls.’ He’d watched Titanic since then. A bit long, but he liked it, mostly because of her.
And now, another featureless Saturday afternoon. Stu returned from an eight-minute walk and registered with relief that the Daihatsu wasn’t in the drive. He left the pram outside the conservatory doors and carried Jude inside. Roger was sitting at the table, trying to fix the garage door opener with a delicate screwdriver. He set it down when he saw them enter and gave them a warm nod.
‘Hey,’ Stu said.
‘I’m just trying to fix this doodackie,’ Roger said. ‘How are you, Stuart?’
‘Did Mum make you ask?’ Stu asked, regretting it as soon as he saw embarrassment pass across Roger’s face. His father was not his enemy. ‘Sorry, Dad. Yeah, I’m all right. Bored shitless, but all right. Wait one sec, Jude needs to go down and I’ll be back.’
Stu changed Jude’s heavy nappy on his bed and laid him down in a travel cot that Elaine had originally set up in her sewing corner and Stu had since relocated to his own room. If Jude cried in the night, Stu wanted to be the one who heard him. What if he was missing his mum and couldn’t say so? When the thought first occurred to him, Stu felt so overcome with sadness for Jude that he considered chucking the whole weekend set-up and letting Abi keep him all the time. She had a way with him and Stu knew in his gut that the constant separation would be killing her.
Stu wiped the dummy Jude liked for sleeping on his jeans and plugged it into his mouth. Jude’s wide, dark eyes fixed on Stu and he smiled. The dummy fell out. Stu put it back in. Jude giggled and let it go again. It was a brilliant game, and Stu played along until he felt like that would probably be enough for the time being. Some of the baby stuff was really boring. He patted Jude lightly on the head, and left the room.
Roger was screwing the casing back on the garage door opener, looking pleased.
‘Want a drink, Dad?’ Stu asked
‘No thanks, chief. I’m as right as rain.’
Stu took a Solo from a section of the fridge that was now continuously stocked with the food and beverages he’d liked most as a child and was meant to find irresistible still. Kraft singles, cabanossi, Wagon Wheels. And Grandma Jenny’s Microwaveable Self-Saucing Puddings, Flavour Selection. Elaine must have seen them at the flat although they were actually Abi’s favourite. And she’d been right about them, Stu thought. One in four always was a dry one.
* * *
Roger watched his son cross the kitchen and crack open his fizzy drink. Theirs wasn’t a relationship built on sharing per se, but Roger longed to ease his son’s anguish in anyway he could. ‘But hey listen,’ he said, ‘you’re welcome to come and sit with your dad and shoot the breeze.’
Stu looked sceptical. ‘Yeah, I don’t know. Are you sure Mum didn’t put you up to it?’
Roger felt the sting of humiliation. It was true, Elaine had asked him more than once to try and ‘engage with Stuart’, but the offer now was his own idea, with no express motive.
‘No, no. Just father and son. And not everything has to get back to your mum, if I can say that with love.’
Stu plonked himself in a chair, finished his can and threw it towards the sink. It missed, but it was very close. ‘Want to know the most fucked up bit, Dad?’
Roger winced. He did, if not in those terms.
‘The most fucked up bit is I miss her. I can’t stop thinking about her, even though she’s been lying to me from the get-go.’
Privately, Roger was upset by the assumption that a termination would have been the unquestioned course of action had he known about the pregnancy sooner. Even Elaine had echoed the sentiment once and Roger had been so disturbed he’d had to go outside and vacuum both cars.
But Stu was opening up and Roger held his tongue. ‘All that, and here I am still constantly thinking, maybe it will be okay somehow. Maybe we can fix it.’ Stu’s hand formed a fist, and with genuine force, he thumped himself in the side of the head.
‘Don’t do that, love. It’s all right. It’s okay. I understand!’
Stu looked at his father with so much pain in his eyes Roger needed to grip the fabric of his trouser legs under the table. ‘The thing is, Dad, I would never have made her have an abortion anyway. Never. But she’ll never know that now, will she? Her life’s been sad enough already, with her dad and that.’
‘You’re a good man, Stuart.’ The admission so elated him, he was able to let his trousers go. ‘And for what it’s worth, even though obviously Abi has one or two issues around, ah, communication, she’s a really great girl.’ He glanced over at the loveseat, where their nice conversation about American toilets had taken place many months before. ‘None of us can say why people do the things they do, until we’ve walked a mile in their shoes.’ Roger cleared his throat. ‘And perhaps I wouldn’t necessarily say this to Mum as yet, but it doesn’t have to be over. Not if you don’t want it to be.’
Stu was listening. Scowling yes, but listening, and Roger started to feel audacious. ‘Have a scratch around, Stu. There might be other reasons for what she’s done. I don’t think malice was one of them. Just, don’t rule out giving her another chance. Even if it’s just for Jude’s sake.’
Stu dropped his head into his hands. ‘Maybe. I dunno. Maybe.’
‘Keep an open mind. That’s all I’m saying.’
From the other room, they heard Jude announce the end of his short nap with a series of happy screams.
‘I’ll go and get him, son. You stay there. We’re good mates, Jude and I.’ In his mind, Roger was planning on being called ‘Pa-pa.’
71.
You’ve been such a trooper
As was now the norm, Brigitta had phoned Mark, who notified Polly, who called Phil, now standing in the courtyard stunned. Abi crouched to gather up the phone batteries. ‘Briggy says police have been to the hospital, questioning Freddie. Apparently there was also a girl on the back of the bike who had a number of illicit substances in her system. Her father is so
me sort of diplomat and he’s decided to go after Freddie. Mark is on his way out to relieve Briggy, who I hope will come here. Or Polly will. Or I may go there. Certainly I will go there.’
Abi suggested they go inside and have a cup of tea and then she’d be more able to think. Too agitated to sit, Phil paced the kitchen with her hands on her head, as if she was going mad.
When Phil ran out of catastrophic scenarios, all of which she believed were sure things, her attention returned to Abi. ‘Either way, dear, grateful as I am for your recent ministrations, when my children arrive every bed will be needed. And at such a time as this, they will expect it to be family only. Of course you understand. You’ve been such a trooper, Abigail. I’m sure I’d have starved myself to death were it not for your saving trays!’
It was already settled, Abi knew, and she made no move to protest.
‘I wonder, in fact, if I haven’t overworked you,’ Phil carried on. ‘You look awfully tired. A few days back in your own home ought to be just the ticket.’
It was clear to Abi then that Phil had forgotten the reason she had first come, so that cushion plumping and having her stairs Hoovered no longer seemed like sufficient reason to have her there.
‘I’ll just get our things,’ Abi said as evenly as she could. ‘And I’ll be going. Thank you for having us.’ Only because it was true, she added, ‘It was like a bit of holiday for me.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean this instant,’ Phil said, but she did not move to put Abi off.
‘That’s okay. It won’t take a minute,’ Abi said as she turned and scurried upstairs.
* * *
When Abi came back down with their things hastily packed, Phil was sitting on the edge of the sofa with her glasses on and a thick leather contacts book open on her lap. She glanced to where Abi hovered on the threshold. ‘You’re off then. It’s not goodbye of course, dear, as you’ll only be up there after all. Thanks again for so many kindnesses.’
With a silly saluting gesture she would regret all afternoon, Abi slipped out of the room.
Although half expecting to find the locks changed, Abi’s key turned in the door.
The flat hummed with its own emptiness. The hot, stale air suggested neither Stu nor Elaine had let themselves in during her many days away.
Someone had shoved old mail under the door, and as she knelt down to sort it, her eyes fell on an envelope with a British stamp. She tugged it out. It was addressed to her but had been on a journey of redirection, the postcode missing and the flat number unreadable. Inside was a single page of airmail paper, lightly scented with Parliament smoke.
Abi love, I know I said I’d always be around to keep an eye on your Mum but I’ve not been well – chesty – so I’m moving in with my son owing to the leg – he’s in Leicester – I’ve sold my house to a very nice family of Islamics – she wears the scarf – I’m very sorry but I know you’ll understand – Although, Abi love – truth be told – I have got my worries about our Rae – we both know what she’s like – hanging onto a bit of tat and the like – I think she misses you more than she’d be letting on – so perhaps you’ll think about coming back at some point – I’ve put meals up in the freezer but I’m sorry to say the ones you left for her were still in there and I had to throw them out – sorry Abi love – I would have phoned you but Rae couldn’t put her hand on your number – all the best – Your friend always, Pat.
It was dated from a fortnight ago. Abi read it through again, found her plastic lighter and let it burn in the kitchen sink. There was no need to write back. Rae was going to hang on forever, and whenever Abi returned she knew what she would find.
72.
And crisps
Polly told the driver to wait while she ran into the school’s aftercare centre. They had less than an hour to get to Heathrow, which at this time of day was almost guaranteed to take much longer.
Mark had touched down in India twenty-four hours ago, and by calling in a lifetime of favours, pulling strings by the handful and roping in every imaginable crony and high-up, was beginning to make strides towards shutting down the threat of a civil suit, now that the police charges had been dropped. Freddie’s blood wasn’t taken on the scene, and there was no way, Mark was sure, that a test could be done retrospectively.
According to one or two questionable witness statements, Freddie had not been driving erratically but had hit a dog, and the impact had thrown the girl off the motorcycle. She had been wearing a helmet and walked away better off than Freddie although a laceration on her right cheek would mean she might not work again since she was – Polly learned without surprise – a model.
As soon as the accident happened, Polly started handing off as many cases as she could to colleagues. All of them, she knew, had followed her sister’s scandal in the paper, although none were game to admit it. But now the senior partners were starting to make noises about her ‘eventful’ family life. They’d been lenient after her father’s unexpected death almost a year ago. But now a request for unpaid leave to attend to another unspecified drama? Another absence was granted but there would be no more talk of partnership.
Polly felt her innards clench as she punched in the centre’s entry code and stepped into the lobby, which was plastered with children’s artwork. Immediately inside, she saw Max and Toby sitting obediently on a bench, wearing their schoolbags and holding each other’s hands. She wanted to scoop them up, one in each arm, and weep into their hot little heads, but instead she scrawled her name in the sign-out book and dragged them towards the waiting cab, without pausing when Toby dropped his packet of cards.
‘Come on, leave them,’ she said in a cross voice he clearly considered her usual tone. ‘Please, darling,’ she said more softly. ‘Could you please be sweet and come, and I’ll buy you some more at the airport. Any sort you like. If you’ll just hurry.’
He followed in scampering half-steps and dived into the car after his brother. ‘And crisps. You can even have crisps,’ Polly added as an afterthought, in case a bag of Cheesy Wotsits from Smiths could make her a fun mother.
She had a change of clothes for each of them in her carry-on and had planned to shower them in the Qantas lounge, but at this rate, they’d be flying twenty-six hours around the world in their junior school sports uniforms.
Mark would follow her once all the loose ends were tied off. Thank God he could work from anywhere in the world, Polly thought not for the first time, or the Woolnough troubles would have ruined them twice over by now. Brigitta and Freddie were making their own way back, whether together or separately was yet to be decided, on the basis of his recovery.
And in the meantime, Polly would keep her mother company and bring an end to the business of the girl from the flats who had, according to Brigitta, insinuated herself nicely into their mother’s life.
Polly’s jaw tightened, and she checked her bag for the half pill she’d put in for the night portion of the flight. As the car joined the traffic grinding along the Talgarth Road, she handed the boys a Nintendo each and rested her head against the window, watching the rows of dilapidated terrace houses, blackened with exhaust, pass by outside. Polly could not let herself think about the long flight ahead – the exhausting change of planes, the tangle of legs and headphone cables, knocked-over cups and the need to shepherd a suddenly-busting child out of their seat without waking a suddenly-sleeping one. For a moment, she felt like crying. But tears were a luxury of the weak, and somebody needed to be the strong one.
73.
Hosing the green bin
‘It was all comings and goings outside Phil’s this morning,’ Noel said brightly, as he put a coffee in front of Abi and sat down. Under a cloudy sky, the harbour was flat and unshifting. Foamy scum had gathered around the pylons of the wharf. There was no breeze. ‘I was hosing the green bin and saw her oldest girl arrive with two little ones. That’ll be nice for Phil, after everything she’s been through.’
‘It will,’ Abi said quietly. ‘It will
be so nice.’ She had witnessed the same scene from her bedroom window. The drawing up of a huge airport car, Phil appearing at the side door and dashing out to enfold a woman who must’ve been Polly, and then two boys, in a long embrace on the nature strip. The two women walked back in with arms linked, leaving the driver to unload four matching black cases. From the kitchen, Abi had watched the boys run outside and onto the grass, wrestling and spinning and falling over in fits of laughter, until Polly appeared to call them inside.
Abi came down to the kiosk after that, hoping for company that would help her through to the moment of Jude’s return late in the afternoon. Elaine had requested to have him for the day, his attendance being required at the St Luke’s Nans and Tots Tea.
Noel was the only one still there, Valentina now off speedwalking, he said, and Barb and Sandy on their way to an exhibition of gouache paintings from the original Kama Sutra. Thinking about how much Phil would have enjoyed a nugget like that made Abi feel freshly miserable.
‘There’s nothing like having the kids home,’ Noel said. ‘I expect they’ll go up to Palmy, stay through to the weekend.’
‘Right, yeah,’ Abi said. ‘What’s Palmy actually?’
‘Palm Beach, love. The Woolnoughs have a house up there. Lovely spot actually. Wilma and I used to take the boat up whenever we got the chance.’
Abi’s attention drifted as Noel told a lengthy anecdote about having to call the coastguard one Australia Day because of a dicky rudder. ‘What about you, Abi love? Busy one, is it?’
‘Definitely,’ Abi said. ‘Mega-ly busy.’
‘Well, I suppose we ought to push off,’ Noel said, draining his cup. ‘The knees give me grief when I sit for too long.’
They walked companionably along the path until Noel peeled off and Abi walked the rest of the way alone.
