by Penny Kane
The woman blushed and thanked her.
The next taxi became available. Polly gladly gave it up for the woman, to say thank you. She showered Polly with thanks and best wishes and Polly waved as the woman’s taxi drove off, feeling a little happier with the world despite the fact that her leg was killing her.
She didn’t have long to wait until the next taxi arrived. Gratefully she handed her suitcase to the driver and climbed into the backseat. She gave him the directions once he was back inside the car and she closed her eyes as they set off, grateful to be home again.
* * * *
Polly thanked and paid the driver and, unlike the last time she arrived home, lugged her own case up to the front door. I guess not all taxi drivers are created equally!
She put her key in the door and walked in. The place was completely silent. Brendan had obviously left already. Polly felt like crying. She ran up the stairs to Brendan’s bedroom. It was just as it was when she left. A few more of his things were gone from the open drawers, and his guitar wasn’t there, either. She was too late. She walked into the kitchen, sat down heavily on the kitchen chair, and cried. Brendan was gone. He was in Wellington now. She didn’t know what to do. Without knowing where he was precisely, there was no use in rushing to the capital in search of him.
Polly stood up with a heavy heart. She rinsed out the kettle, refilled it, and switched it on. Isn’t it strange? No matter what trouble we’re going through, a cup of tea is always the answer. She smiled and then turned to drag her case into the laundry room.
Once the washing machine was on, Polly returned to the kitchen to make the tea she wanted. She sat down at the breakfast bar and checked to see if there were any telephone messages. There was the one she left, of course, but there were also a few from the real estate agent. I told you I was on holiday, drongo! Blimey, you have a short memory.
Reluctantly she called him back. It was convenient and irritating at the same time that he was the one selling her house and the one she was buying a house from – or at least his office. She had no choice but to speak to him. His last message sounded desperate.
When she finally got off the phone, Polly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It seemed that Max and Helen were eager to move on the sale and even had the surveyor round while she was in Australia. However, now she felt pushed to get out of her home as quickly as possible. He suggested a move could happen within four weeks, as the buyers were ready to go.
She asked about the bungalow. Andrew told her that he managed to get hold of the vendors and they accepted her offer. That was great news; however, she now had to move quickly. In taking a holiday, Polly felt as thought she’d wasted valuable time as far as the move was concerned. Andrew told her he knew of a surveyor who could get the bungalow checked over within a week. She prayed he was reputable. He also suggested she get herself a solicitor to handle the move – again, he had the name of one that his agency regularly used.
Polly was grateful for his assistance. She knew she had to get the place surveyed and arrange to move with lightning speed or she’d find herself homeless. It wasn’t Max or Andrew’s fault, but she did feel as if it was a case of “thanks for the house, now rack off!”
She finished her tea and decided to have a coffee. She was thirsty after the trip. She always avoided drinking too much on planes because the toilets were foul. She leant against the sink while the kettle boiled and stared out the window. Why is it when you sell your house they tell you they’ll do everything they can for you, but as soon as a sale is agreed, they drop you and really want you to piss off? Dammit! I’m glad Max and Helen are getting this house, but I really feel as though I’m just in the way now and need to get lost as soon as possible.
Polly sighed and made her coffee. She grabbed her phone and, for the umpteenth time that day, tried Brendan’s phone again. It was off, just as she knew it would be.
* * * *
There was nothing Polly could do. She had to sit and wait for Brendan to contact her. However, with regards to the move, she could not afford to sit around at all. She spent the afternoon on the phone making sure everything was in hand. It was, except for one rather major detail. Steve hadn’t signed the real estate agent’s contract. The move could not go ahead without that.
It felt wrong to call Max. He was her divorce solicitor, yes, but he was also the buyer. It felt awkward as she spoke to him and pointed out the dilemma. However, he was sympathetic. Of course he is! He wants the house and wants to move in ASAP.
She played to that weakness. It was wrong and callous, but what choice did she have? Max was her divorce solicitor, and as part of the divorce, the house had to be sold. And because Max was the buyer meant he had a vested interested in pushing Steve a little. It was a win/win situation.
In fact, when it came to it, Polly hardly had to press any of Max’s buyer buttons at all. He was fully aware of what was at stake and she heard in his voice that Steve was going to feel the full force of Max’s legal might.
Max did tell her one good piece of news, however. Steve had backed down on his allegation that she drove him to have multiple affairs. Polly’s stomach flipped at the word multiple. Just how many has he had? After she made a statement declaring his claim that she neglected him to be false, he folded very quickly. He obviously knew full well that Polly could take him to the cleaners and had no stomach for the fight. Good. Polly smiled. I want this over and done with. I need to move on with my life.
Polly sighed once the call was over. She was certain Max would get Steve to sign the papers. Next she called the surveyors and the solicitors handling her move. If only Andrew told her all this before she went away, then she wouldn’t be phoning around in desperation as she was.
Once she finished calling and making sure the wheels were in full motion, she tried Brendan’s phone again and this time left a message. “Bren, honey, it’s Mum. Please call me. I’ve come back early. I’m at home and we need to talk.” She bit her lip. It was foolish to say any more over the phone. “I love you,” she said quickly and hung up. Please, Bren, phone me back.
* * * *
Polly showered, got into her pink and yellow striped jersey pyjamas early, and then called for a takeaway. She couldn’t be bothered to go to the supermarket and had enough UHT cartons of milk in the cupboard to last her a few days, at least. She wanted to be available, if and when Brendan called back.
She settled down onto the couch and flicked through the TV. She wanted to relax. She didn’t want to think about writing or about the house move. She wanted to have some peace and quiet, and hopefully to speak Brendan at some point.
Polly ate her food mindlessly, not caring what she was stuffed into her mouth. She wasn’t even watching the TV show despite having her eyes glued to the screen. Her mind was firmly fixed on Brendan and if her mind drifted, it dwelt on her situation. The move was looming and she wasn’t ready, and without that being settled, the divorce couldn’t proceed. It was all a mind-numbing mess. She changed the channel. The presenter only reminded her of Nicco and her eyes welled with tears. Why doesn’t anything go right? Why do I have to get myself in hot water all the time?
Polly felt sorry for herself and knew the only cure for that, in her opinion, was Deep South ice cream. She hoisted herself off the couch and headed for the kitchen. She grabbed the tub of ice cream from the freezer and saw it was half-empty. Oh, Brendan Lloyd, you are in big trouble for raiding my stash!
She settled back on the couch just as the news came on TV, and she began to eat her way through the rest of the tub of ice cream.
* * * *
Polly hadn’t realised she drifted off to sleep until the phone rang. At first, she wasn’t sure what it was, but when the answering machine clicked on and she heard Steve’s voice, she knew.
The barrage of abuse he hurled at her through the little speaker turned the air blue. She wanted to pick up and give him just as good back. But what was the use in that? It would only make things worse betwee
n them and she desperately needed him to sign the papers. There’d be no house sale, no moving, and no divorce if he delayed any longer. So, reluctantly, and while doing her best to ignore his continuing tirade, Polly turned off the TV and lights and headed to bed.
She hoped Brendan would call in the morning.
Chapter Seventeen
Polly awoke in the early hours, convinced there was someone in the house. She sat bolt upright and strained her ears to hear the faintest of sounds. None came. Or, at least, nothing out of the ordinary for three a.m. in Auckland.
Reluctantly she lay back down, but she was too fearful and alert to close her eyes. Just as her body started to relax and her eyes grew heavy, she heard it again. It wasn’t outside and it wasn’t the creaking of the house cooling down, either. There was definitely someone in the house.
Again she sat up, this time more slowly as she listened to try and locate the intruder. As panic began to take hold, she looked around the room for something she could use to defend herself with. She didn’t have a baseball bat or hockey stick. She smiled with relief as her eyes fell to the corner by the door. She was too short to reach the loft hatch, so Steve had made what she called her ‘hatch prodder’ – a short piece of doweling rod with a rubber stopper on the end that was just long enough for Polly to pop open the hatch. It’s just the right thing for thwacking intruders with, too. He’ll rue the day he tried to rob me! Now that she had a weapon, she was growing confident and mad at the intrusion.
She slipped soundlessly out of bed and crept towards the prodder. She froze with her hand outstretched as she heard the noise again. Someone was definitely downstairs and in the lounge. Her mind worked overtime – should she call the police or confirm there was an intruder first? What if the burglar caught her?
She decided to open the door and listen quietly. If there were an intruder, then she’d phone the police.
Polly grasped the handle and began to turn it. It made a heart-stopping click and Polly paused, wide-eyed and fearful that she’d been heard. For what seemed like an eternity, she remained motionless with her hand on the door handle and her heart thumping wildly in her chest.
When she deemed it safe, she continued to turn the handle until she could pull the door open without a sound. By now, Polly had broken out into a sweat and regretted not phoning the police before she ventured to open the door. As she stepped out onto the landing, she could hear movement coming from either Brendan’s room or the main bedroom. There’s nothing much in those rooms. Is my study next? Polly’s anger rose. Her work in progress was on her laptop that she’d unpacked and put in the study before showering that evening. All of her work was on the hard drive, in fact. She kicked herself mentally for not backing it all up before she went away. What if they take it? That was it. The thought of her work being stolen was like a red rag to a bull. Polly clasped the prodder tighter and crept along the landing.
Whoever it was, they were certainly in her study already. Polly was so angry that all thought of calling the police fled from her mind. She would deal with this herself. She stepped towards the open study door and raised the stick in readiness to hit the intruder across the back as hard as she possibly could. She tiptoed and was glad she’d carpeted the upstairs. However, as she brought the pole down upon the intruder, the floorboard creaked and he turned around. In an instant, the intruder reacted and grabbed the pole. Polly tried to wrestle it from his grasp.
“Bloody hell, Mum! What the heck are you doing?”
“Brendan!” Polly could not believe it. It took her a few seconds to realise it really was her son.
He flicked on the light. “Who the bloody hell did you think I was?”
Polly stammered as she stared wide-eyed at him. “I…I thought you were a burglar.”
Brendan stared at her with the pole in her hand and burst out laughing. Polly realised she must look ridiculous as a pink and yellow striped pyjama-clad vigilante. Her tension released and she saw the funny side of it, too.
“You could have killed me!” Brendan snorted.
Polly leant against the wall. The relief of not having a burglar, of seeing Brendan home, and of almost assaulting him gave her a fit of giggles. “I’m sorry!”
“No you’re not!”
Together they sat on the floor and laughed at her.
“Did you really think I was a burglar?”
“Yes. I thought you were in Wellington and I heard noises. I almost messed myself with fear!”
Brendan sniggered at her again. “I almost messed myself at being attacked in the dark by a mad woman in her PJs.”
Once they’d calmed down, Polly smiled at him, glad that he was home. “So, you came back from Wellington, then?”
Brendan giggled again. “No. I never went.”
Polly’s smile slipped from her face. “What?”
“Mum, Jackie told me about you freaking out on holiday over your book playing out in real life, which is pretty hilarious, if you ask me…”
Polly stared at him.
“…so I decided to prank you. I read the book and decided to pretend I was going off to Wellington, like Sally’s son Bradley.”
Her mouth fell open. “The message you left was a joke?”
“Yeah.” He looked sheepish. “I had no idea you’d come flying home so quickly. I thought you’d realise I was joshing.”
She shook her head. She felt like crying. “No, I didn’t. I thought you went and threw away your life.”
Brendan crawled over to where Polly sat and hugged her. “I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Polly cried into his shoulder and then slapped him as hard as she could on the arm.
“Ouch! What was that for?” He winced and rubbed his arm.
“For making me worry about you, and for making me cut my holiday short!” She glared at him. “I panicked and lied to the woman at Air New Zealand.”
Brendan grinned at her. “You lied?”
“Yeah, I told her we had a family emergency so I could get on the next flight home.” Polly pursed her lips together and her eyes sparkled as she giggled.
“Oh, Mum! You used to ground me for lying, you know.”
She laughed. “Yeah, but you can’t ground your mum.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You know, I take back what I said about being sorry.”
Polly laughed, pulled him close, and squeezed him tightly again. “I’m so glad you’re home, Bren.”
* * * *
When Polly and Brendan finally went to bed, it was nearly dawn. They’d made their way eventually down to the kitchen and Polly made them both hot chocolate before they sat on the couch and chatted until they were both overcome with yawning.
Naturally, they both slept in and it was the phone ringing that ultimately awoke Polly. She groaned. “Why is it always the blasted phone ringing that wakes me up? If it’s too much to ask for to have an unbroken night’s sleep, then why can’t the garbage men, or a neighbour’s car alarm going off wake me?” She rolled over and answered it. “Hello?”
It was Steve, and this time he was drunk. Again he spurted abuse about what a victim he was and how Polly had driven him into the arms of another woman.
“Women, Steve. Get it right. It’s women – plural.” She was mad at being woken up.
However, her smart comment only served to increase his anger and his voice grew louder. Polly pulled the phone away from her ear as Brendan appeared sleepy-eyed at her door.
“Who is it?”
Polly pulled a face. “It’s your dad.”
It was clear Brendan heard his father shouting from where he stood. “Give it here.” He reached out and took the phone from Polly. She lay back on the pillow and put the spare one over her face.
“Dad!” Brendan shouted to be heard. “Dad, shut up, will you?”
The tinny voice coming out of the speaker changed tone.
“Dad, there’s no point in trying to convince me that you’re the victim. Mum didn’t make y
ou sleep with other women. You still have will power and self-control, you know.”
Again, the tinny voice spouted something angry sounding. Polly removed the pillow and watched Brendan.
“Dad,” he shouted. “you had a choice. You could have chosen to say no, but you didn’t. I don’t want to hear it, ok?”
Brendan winced and Polly wondered what Steve said to him.
“Dad, sober up then we’ll talk.”
Polly watched Brendan clench his jaw.
“Dad, rack off!”
Polly sat open-mouthed as her son snapped the phone shut. “I should tell you off for speaking to your father like that, but…” She let the sentence hang in the air and Brendan shook his head in exasperation.
“…but the guy’s a jerk and deserved it?” He winked at her and left the room.
Yep.
* * * *
The tirade of abusive telephone calls from Steve continued over the following weeks. Not only was he still insisting unofficially that it was all Polly’s fault, but his indignation at her bringing Heather and Kate’s names into the divorce case seemed to know no bounds.
Jackie popped over for coffee one morning and Polly updated her on all that was going on. As soon as she finished talking, the phone rang and she tensed. Every time it rang, she feared it was Steve again. It wasn’t him, however and whoever it was hung up when the machine kicked in.
Jackie patted her hand. “It’s not good to be like that.”
“Like what?”
“I saw you tense when the phone rang.”
Polly shrugged. “What can I do?”
