Drip Dry

by Ilsa Evans

  ‘You habn’t said happy birthday to me yet, Ben.’

  ‘Here.’ I throw him the sponge which he places neatly next to his plate and continues to look at me questioningly. ‘Yes, I know the smell. Why?’

  ‘Well, you know how Mr Waverley’s wife disappeared?’

  ‘Ben! You habn’t said happy birthday!’

  ‘Oh, Ben! She did not disappear! She left him and went back to Tasmania, that’s all. And for god’s sake, say happy birthday to your sister!’ I frown at him as I depress my plunger and then pour my coffee into a cup. Oh, what an aroma! Elixir of the gods.

  ‘Well, what if she didn’t go to Tasmania at all? Yeah, happy birthday, CJ. You know, what if she’s the smell?’

  ‘Sometimes I wish that you’d put that imagination to good use . . . like schoolwork.’ I fetch the milk from the table, pour a dribble into my cup and lean back against the counter nursing my coffee between both hands. I don’t really want to even think about the smell next door, I only want to breathe deeply and simply lose myself in the much more heavenly fragrance of fresh coffee.

  ‘No, seriously. I reckon she’s under the house. And with this hot weather she’s really going to go off.’ Ben finally stops talking as he concentrates on shovelling cereal into his mouth. CJ, on the other hand, has stopped eating altogether and is staring agape at her brother.

  ‘CJ, swallow what’s in your mouth, please. And, Ben, don’t put ridiculous ideas in your sister’s head. She’ll probably have nightmares now.’

  ‘It’s not ridiculous,’ he answers thickly, while chewing cornflakes. ‘I’m going to check out under there after school today. I’ll need a gasmask. Can I bring a friend?’

  ‘Oh, Ben! Can I come?’

  ‘Seeing as how your father will be arriving some time later today, Ben,’ I say as my stomach contracts at the thought, ‘perhaps you’d better ask his permission before you go hunting for dead bodies under his house. But you can have a friend over if you want. Is it Jeff from down the street?’

  ‘No, it’s a new guy. Called Max.’

  ‘Is he nice?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s cool.’ Ben looks thoughtful for a second. ‘Well, as long as he remembers to take his meds.’

  ‘What!’ I look at Ben in horror. ‘You mean medication? What sort? What for?’

  ‘Oh, just tablets. For A.D.D. or something, I think.’ Ben tips his bowl forwards to get the last of the contents. ‘But usually he’s cool.’

  ‘I see,’ I comment, but actually I don’t. I mean, what happens when he doesn’t take his meds? I don’t really care if he just becomes a little ‘uncool’, but I do care if he starts screeching like a banshee and climbing up onto the school roof with his eyes gyrating fitfully in his head.

  ‘A.D.D.’ repeats CJ slowly. ‘That spells add. So are the tablets for his maths? Is he bad at maths? We don’t do maths at school yet but Sam gibs me maths sometimes. So can you take tablets when you’re bad at maths? Because I’m not berry good at maths too. Can I hab some? Can you put them on the shopping list, Mummy?’

  ‘No, they’re not for maths. And have you forgotten that it’s your birthday party today?’ I finally give up trying to lose myself in any coffee aroma and just take a gulp instead.

  ‘Oh yes!’ CJ says rapturously.

  ‘Is that party today?’

  ‘Yes and we’re all dressing up as fairies. There’s Caitlin and Jaime and –’

  ‘That reminds me, Ben, I meant to tell you –’ I wait patiently until I have his full attention – ‘Keith is coming to CJ’s party this afternoon. I just thought I’d let you know.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ben’s face immediately closes down and I feel a rush of sympathy for him, and also the usual degree of impotent anger for being in this position. Bugger Keith.

  ‘– and Parris and Stephanie and Banessa and Sarah and –’

  ‘Shoosh up, CJ.’ I am watching Ben for some clue as to how he is feeling.

  ‘– and there’s no boys allowed!’

  ‘Shoosh up, CJ!’

  ‘Mummy! Can I take my friends next door for the body hunt?’ CJ brightens as she thinks of an idea. ‘It could be a party game!’

  ‘We will not have a party game which involves searching for putrefying corpses. Let’s stick to pass the parcel and musical chairs, please.’ I suppose I should be pleased that CJ is blissfully unaware of the unpleasant undercurrents regarding her father. She does know that he doesn’t like Ben (mainly because Keith tells her all the time), but she simply accepts this as par for the course. I give Ben full marks for this. Soon after the split, I asked him not to run Keith down in front of CJ, even though he had good reason to, but to save it for when she wasn’t there. And he has done exactly that – apart from saving it for when she’s not there, that is. He just doesn’t talk about Keith at all, or even mention his name. I did tell him that, if he ever needed to talk, I was right here for him. But he hasn’t ever taken me up. Perhaps he senses that I don’t want to talk about it much either.

  Samantha strolls into the kitchen carrying her schoolbag, grins at her sister, ignores her brother, gazes narrowly at the table – which is strewn with cornflakes and droplets of milk – and then gives me the once-over.

  ‘Happy birthday, CJ liebling. I’m not having breakfast, I’m late. And I don’t like that dress at all, Mommie Dearest. It makes you look like a boiled lolly.’

  ‘Sam! You have to have something to eat.’ I ignore the comment about my appearance because Sam rarely likes my outfits anyway. If I could wear one of the minuscule little numbers she favours, believe me I would.

  ‘Too hot. I’ll, like, have one of my sandwiches on the way.’

  ‘Well, all right I suppose,’ I say grudgingly. ‘But don’t forget your father’s coming back later today.’

  ‘How could I forget that? Actually, Aunt Maggie said I could probably come to the airport with her so I might go straight there after school.’

  ‘Well, let me know. Did you want to go too, Ben?’

  ‘No way. I hate airports.’

  ‘Okay, bye! And have a great party, CJ!’ Sam gives us all a general wave, hoists her bag onto her back and heads down towards the front door.

  ‘Oh, Mummy! We didn’t tell Sam about the dead person next door!’ CJ abandons her half-eaten breakfast (and as she only had eight cornflakes to start with, this means she has had the equivalent of barely one mouthful for breakfast), and races after her sister to rectify the omission.

  ‘Get dressed quickly!’ I call after her and turn my attention back to Ben, who has been looking rather glum since I told him that Keith would be here this afternoon. I wonder whether I should say anything else. The problem is that the last thing I want is to give him the impression that he is not wanted at his own sister’s birthday party. After all, this is his home. Bugger Keith. I decide to leave it as it is.

  I finish off my coffee and head down to CJ’s bedroom to make sure that she is getting dressed. Sure enough, she is sitting on the floor playing with her newest Barbies.

  ‘CJ! What did I say about hurrying?’

  ‘Um, nothing?’

  ‘Come here!’ Exasperated, I pull her towards me and tug her nightie up over her head.

  ‘Ow! You hurt my ears!’

  ‘Well, you should have done it yourself then.’ I grab her school uniform and get her dressed in record time. Record time for her that is, not me. I tuck her nightie under the pillow, straighten up her bed and drag her school shoes out of the wardrobe.

  ‘Put these on quickly, and then go and brush your teeth. And hurry, don’t forget Caitlin’s mum is taking you to school today.’

  ‘Oh! I did forgot!’ Suddenly she switches into fast forward and manages to get her shoes on before I even leave the room. Typical.

  I had originally arranged for Caron, the mother of CJ’s best friend Caitlin, to collect and drop off CJ today because I thought I was going to be flat out getting ready for the birthday party. As it is, with the most time-consuming task
already consumed by my mother, I should have plenty of time. That reminds me.

  ‘CJ, did you ask Grandma to make your birthday cake?’ I lean around the bathroom door as CJ squeezes a remarkable amount of toothpaste out onto her brush.

  ‘She said she would. Didn’t she do it?’

  ‘Oh no. Grandma never forgets,’ I say with feeling as I grab the hairbrush and start to drag it through CJ’s hair. ‘So, what cake did you pick?’

  ‘Mummy! You’re hurting!’

  ‘Sorry.’ I brush her hair back into a short ponytail and secure it with a hot-pink hair-tie. ‘Well? What was the cake?’

  ‘Oh! A lubly fairy! She’s got lots of pink icing, and a dress, and a silber wand!’

  ‘Right. Okay, hurry up and brush your teeth.’

  I head back to the kitchen where Ben has finished his cereal and is staring intensely out the window. I clench my fists against my sides in frustration. Because Ben had a long road back from his treatment during my second marriage and it has only been in the last six months or so that he has really started to, not so much open up – that wouldn’t be Ben – but to chat, make jokes and be truly part of the family rather than a somewhat disinterested observer. And all that progress seems like it’s for nothing when it just takes something like this and he goes straight back into his shell. I can’t stand it, I’ll have to say something.

  ‘Ben, look . . . don’t worry about Keith. Please. He’ll only be here for the party and you’re more than welcome . . . don’t let him put you off.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ he says disdainfully, not even looking at me. ‘I’ll go to Max’s place instead.’

  ‘Oh, Ben.’ I can’t think of what else to say. And anyway, what else is there to say? So I just sigh heavily and repeat to myself softly as I watch him staring out of the window at something that perhaps only he can see, ‘Oh, Ben.’

  ‘God, Mum, will you stop saying “Oh Ben” like that! No way am I going to a fairy party! With all her friends! And you can’t make me! But come here and look outside. Murphy’s got a possum trapped up that tree over there, and it’s going absolutely berserk!’

  TUESDAY

  1.15 pm

  ‘What excellent timing!’

  I turn around from locking my car in the Angliss Hospital car park to find my mother and her fiancé, Harold, beaming merrily at me. Well, Harold is beaming merrily and my mother is wearing her usual sardonic semi-smile.They actually make a rather compatible couple in a visual sense. My six-foot-two, well-built father always looked much too large for Mum, who is just a shade over five foot and weighs the equivalent of my daily calorie intake. Harold, on the other hand, is only slightly taller than she is and his plump little figure and tonsured white hair make him look like a rather jolly chap. Which makes her look almost pleasant by association. As usual they are both rather formally dressed, despite the increasing heat.

  ‘What a surprise!’ I attempt to beam back as a rather unwelcome thought hits me. ‘Are you finished in there or are you just on the way in?’

  ‘Oh, we’re finished – the twins are simply beautiful.’

  ‘That’s great!’ I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Well, I’d better get going then.’

  ‘Not so fast.’ My mother frowns her disapproval of my unseemly haste. ‘We were actually on the way to your house – and what is that dress you’re wearing?’

  ‘You were?’

  ‘Yes. The cake, you know. We thought we’d drop it off as we were in the area, and you said you were so busy. Although, now that you don’t have to make a cake, things should be more achievable, surely.’ She manages to make it sound as if I couldn’t organise a chook raffle in a pub, and that she is coming to the rescue.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘Harold, could you fetch the cake, please. And do be careful.’

  ‘Thanks, Harold.’

  ‘Darling! Have you looked at the bonnet of your car – it’s putrid. Look, it has possum . . . uh – leavings all over it! Do you never wash it?’

  ‘Of course I do!’

  ‘Really? Fancy that. I don’t like that dress at all – it makes you look frumpy. Now, I was so excited about Diane when I called you last night that I forgot to ensure that you got my message.’

  ‘Message?’

  ‘Yes. On your answering machine. Which, as you well know, I don’t like using but you weren’t home so I was forced to.’

  ‘When did you leave a message?’ I ask with some confusion as I try to remember when I last looked at the damn thing.

  ‘Yesterday. During the day.’ She looks at me suspiciously. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t check it? What’s the point of having one of those infernal things if you don’t even check it?’

  ‘Of course I check it!’ I reply with exactly the right amount of umbrage as I make a mental note to play back my messages as soon as I get home. ‘And I got your message as well – sure I did!’

  ‘Excellent. Are you positive you’ll be all right with the cake in the car, darling? Perhaps we had better take it all the way.’

  ‘It’ll be fine, Mum,’ I say through clenched teeth as I unlock the putrid car in preparation for its precious cargo. When I stand up again, Harold is already on the way back carefully carrying a foam esky. I manage to take it from him and place it on the back seat without doing it any undue damage.

  ‘There are some ice-blocks in there, but you’d better not be too long.’

  ‘Heaven forbid.’

  ‘Well, we had best be going, hadn’t we, Harold?’

  ‘Oh yes. We had. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. The rector is expecting us at two o’clock precisely. Goodbye, darling.’

  I say my goodbyes and watch them stroll hand in hand over to Harold’s midnight blue Volvo. Perhaps she has discovered that he has a shady past and is threatening him with world exposure unless he agrees to take her hand in marriage. There must be something. I mean, would anyone voluntarily commit themselves to an unspecified number of years with a short malevolent bully? I turn and hurry into the hospital (and it’s air-conditioned – oh, what bliss) before they drive past and see me standing there. After all, it is still more than possible for her to change their minds and suddenly decide to visit me after all.

  Not that I’d mind a visit from Harold. In fact I would quite like to have a chat with him without my mother riding shotgun. I must admit that, when I first heard about my mother’s plans for yet another marriage, I was absolutely horrified. But now I am beginning to realise that life may well be a lot more pleasant with her firmly attached. Elsewhere. Plus Harold seems to have slightly mellowed her rather abrasive personality, and he certainly seems to keep her busy. She doesn’t drop in or telephone nearly as much as she used to. I only hope she doesn’t manage to kill him off. Because she hasn’t got a very good track record.

  I step out of the elevator into the coolness of the maternity ward and head past the brightly coloured murals straight to the large glass window further down the passage. But there are only a few babies in residence and these are not doing anything particularly interesting except looking cute . . . and defenceless . . . and totally adorable.

  ‘God! Wipe that stupid look off your face, will you!’

  ‘Diane!’ I whirl around to see my sister standing in the doorway of a nearby room. She is nattily dressed in a red quilted dressing-gown and moccasins.

  ‘Do you want to see the babies?’

  ‘Of course. Did you think I came here to see you?’ I follow her into the room where two perspex baby cribs are balanced on top of chrome trolleys parked side by side in front of the window. Both cribs hold an identical mound of motionless pink bunny-rug, each with a generous thatch of dark hair sticking out of one end.

  ‘Congratulations!’ I exclaim heartily. ‘Can I hold one?’

  ‘Look, do you mind waiting a bit? I just now managed to get them settled again after Mum’s visit . . . I think it was a bit much for them.’

  ‘I know precisely how they feel.’
I look with heartfelt sympathy at the two pink lumps.

  ‘Actually, you just missed her. She only left a few minutes ago.’

  ‘No, I didn’t miss her.’ I sit myself down in an extremely uncomfortable green chair. ‘She trapped me in the car park.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Yes. Listen, why do most men die before their wives?’

  ‘I don’t know, why?’

  ‘Because they want to.’

  ‘Ha, ha.’ Diane sits gingerly down on the bed. ‘Poor Harold.’

  ‘Anyway, enough of her. How are you feeling?’ I examine Diane thoughtfully. Usually this sister and I resemble each other quite strongly (it’s our youngest sister who doesn’t look like she’s really related – unfortunately that’s because she’s slimmer, taller, and generally better-looking all round), apart from the fact that Diane wears her hair longer and has lately taken to dying it a darker brown. To be honest, I was expecting her to look rather haggard and drawn but instead she doesn’t look like she has given birth at all, let alone to twins. She looks flushed, and pink, and healthier than I have seen her for quite some time.

  ‘Hell’s bells, you look great!’

  ‘And I feel it too!’ Diane smiles happily at me and stretches luxuriously out on the bed. ‘In fact, I feel so full of energy I could do a marathon.’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend it. Pelvic floor and all that.’

  ‘No, of course not. But I don’t know what it is . . . probably relief, or hormones, or something. Whatever it is, I want more!’

  ‘So do I!’ I grin back happily. ‘And the babies look gorgeous too! I am really so pleased for you.’

  ‘Thanks. Hey, I don’t like that dress much. It makes you look –’

  ‘Frumpy?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but it doesn’t do much for you at all.’

  ‘Okay, let’s get off my dress.’ Which is exactly what I’ll be doing as soon as I get home. ‘How much do they weigh?’

  ‘In kilograms or in pounds?’

  ‘Pounds, please. Kilos mean nothing to me for babies.’