by Ilsa Evans
TUESDAY
11.25 pm
‘But what on earth did you see in him anyway?’
‘That’s the fifth time you’ve asked me that. Can’t we change the subject already?’
I am curled up in a half-filled velour beanbag which, apart from a couple of tapestry cushions and an assortment of potted plants with abundant foliage, is the only thing even remotely resembling a piece of furniture in Alex’s lounge-room. The beanbag itself has a colour scheme that forcefully reminds me of week-old pea and ham soup. It is a patchy bottle-green that is highlighted by dinky mustard pinstripes all over. I’m guessing it was supplied by Maggie and, if this is the sort of accessory she favours, then I’m surprised she does any business at all. Personally, I have never found week-old pea and ham conducive to my libido.
At least, despite the warm evening, the smell has gone – or maybe my sense of smell has become inebriated. But the air-conditioning in here is simply heavenly. Next to me, on the beige carpet, Alex is stretched out on his side with his head propped up by one arm. He is wearing navy shorts and a sleeveless navy shirt with three thin red stripes across the breast. I am spending a lot of time staring at these stripes because, every time I slip down in the beanbag, his breast is right at my eye level. Well, it’s better than staring at his legs, I suppose. And I had forgotten what nice legs he has – muscular but not too muscular, hairy but not too hairy. Just right. His biceps aren’t half bad either. I hoist myself up in the beanbag and try to concentrate on his face. Sam and Ben have gone home to bed – or rather, were sent home to bed, on the grounds that it is a school night, after all. Throughout the evening I managed to pretend a fondness for Ben that I was far from feeling because I did not want to bring up the subject of the video in front of his father. And by the time they reluctantly left, the amount of alcohol I had consumed had filled me with a maternal love that I was unwilling to destroy. Despite this maternal love, they both glared at me when I declared my intention of remaining at their father’s (because of the air-conditioning, of course). The last of the champagne disappeared at about the same time as the kids so, after saying goodnight to them next door, I fetched my cask of riesling to continue on with.
‘And you didn’t want me to meet him, did you? That’s why you went all funny this afternoon.’
‘Well, why on earth would I want you to meet him? Look at how annoying you’re being now that you have.’
‘But surely I was going to run into him sooner or later.’
‘Perhaps I would have just preferred the latter rather than the former, that’s all.’
‘You mean the former rather than the latter.’
‘I know what I mean,’ I comment, attempting to sound irritated. ‘So, now can we change the subject?’
‘I mean he’s a wiry little chap.’ Alex ignores me as he goes on in a disparaging tone as if there is some sort of contest happening here. ‘But I’m afraid he just didn’t do much for me. Not much at all.’
‘Why would he, for god’s sake? Unless you’ve changed a hell of a lot since you’ve been away.’ I stretch languidly and then reach out to pick up a piece of pizza crust from the empty box. I begin to nibble it because I have to do something to ward off the effects of the alcohol. I am feeling decidedly muzzy-headed. And decidedly relaxed.
‘Would you like me to prove that I haven’t?’ He grins as he leers at me and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. I burst out laughing.
‘Thanks a lot!’ Alex tries half-heartedly to look affronted.
‘Well, if that was supposed to be seductive, I’m obviously behind the times!’
‘Why?’ Alex switches instantaneously from joking to absolutely serious, a trait of his which I now remember from long ago. ‘Hasn’t there been anyone lately?’
‘Is that any of your business?’
‘I’m only curious. Has there?’
‘Well . . . ’ I get a mental picture of Murphy satiating himself frantically on my leg as I hang up the washing. ‘No, not for a while.’
‘Since Keith?’
‘Look, mind your own business! You don’t see me asking you personal questions!’
‘True. But then I haven’t got custody of your kids either.’
‘Okay, you’ve got a point.’ God, I hope that he never finds out some of the finer details of my relationship with Keith – even I can’t forgive myself for letting that go on for as long as it did. ‘But I’m still not telling you all about my love life.’
‘Oh, come on – just tell me . . . so there’s nobody particular at the moment?’
‘No.’
‘No, you won’t tell me, or no, there’s no one at the moment?
‘No one at the moment, and that’s as much as I’m saying.’ Mainly because there isn’t any more to say. My love life certainly does not make for a particularly enthralling conversation – or any conversation at all, for that matter.
‘So Keith isn’t still in your life?’
‘Only in the sense that he’s CJ’s father.’
‘Good. I get the feeling that the kids don’t like him.’
‘No, they don’t particularly.’ Boy, is that the understatement of the year!
‘He doesn’t do much for me either.’
‘Enough already!’
‘Okay. Here, do you want a top-up?’ Alex levers himself up on one arm and grabs the cask from the floor next to the beanbag. We stopped bothering to put it back in the fridge after each refill about half an hour ago. We also stopped caring about whether it was warm or not at about the same time.
‘I really should go – I’m going to feel dreadful in the morning,’ I say reluctantly. But the truth is that, although I know I’m going to regret it tomorrow, I am having the best time that I’ve had for quite a while. We have discussed everything from what the kids are doing, to Maggie’s career change, to who won the AFL grand final last year. Interspersed between these more contemporary goings-on, we’ve also indulged in a spot of reminiscing about our university days, and our courting days, and our marital mishaps. I’m having a ball. Besides, I am so firmly wedged in this beanbag that I’m not sure I could extricate myself without looking like a complete twit.
‘No, don’t go yet! It’s been great to catch up with you.’
‘Yes it has, hasn’t it?’ I hold out my glass for a refill. God, I’m easy. ‘But you’ll have plenty of chances now that you’re my new next-door neighbour!’
‘Yes. That was a bit of a surprise.’
‘For me too,’ I say with feeling as I remember my shock. ‘Trust me.’
‘I still can’t believe that she did that.’
‘Look, to be honest I think that Maggie has this idea that we could make a second go of it, and this is her way of forcing the issue. And I don’t want to hurt her feelings but you’ll have to set her straight, otherwise she’ll be watching us like a hawk whenever we’re together.’
‘True. I’ll have a word.’
‘Apart from Maggie, do you think it’ll be a problem?’
‘Well, I suppose it depends on us, doesn’t it? And there’s no reason why we can’t be friends – never has been.’
‘The kids will love it, you being next door.’
‘Yes, it’s great for them. And it should be okay for us too.’
‘We’ll simply have to set some ground rules – like no getting involved in each other’s personal stuff, for a start. You’ll want to entertain over here, I’m sure, and I’ve got my own life over there. In other words – mind your own business!’ I laugh to soften the impact, but I mean what I’m saying. Just in case I do suddenly attain a love life (after all, miracles happen), I really don’t need to feel like I’m under observation all the time.
‘Fair enough. But I can’t believe you’re not seeing anyone!’
‘Is that flattery I hear?’
‘Well, I have had the chance to see you in and out of clothes today.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ I look at him in surprise.
&n
bsp; ‘The video, you know.’
‘Hell’s bells, Alex,’ I exclaim as I feel my face begin to flush. ‘I explained all that. It wasn’t me!’
‘Of course it was,’ he replies matter-of-factly.
‘Of course it wasn’t!’
‘Do you want me to prove it?’
‘No!’ I hoist myself up in the beanbag and glare at him. ‘Besides, how can you? The only visible part of the face was that mouth and that was pretty damn unrecognisable.’
‘Not really. I recognised those two fillings you have in your right back teeth.’
‘Idiot.’
‘And I also recognised that cute little mole you have at the top inside of your left leg, just under your –’
‘Okay!’ I interrupt as my face floods with colour. ‘Okay! Enough!’
‘See? So it was you.’
‘I’ll have you know that I don’t have a patent on that mole! Other people might have one as well, you know. And it wasn’t me!’
‘Can’t you just tell me who took the video?’ asks Alex. ‘I’m dying to know.’
‘No, I can’t,’ I enunciate slowly, ‘because it was not me in the damn thing.’
‘Whatever.’ Alex looks at my face and laughs. ‘How about we agree to disagree?’
‘How about we agree that you’re totally deluded?’
‘If it makes you happy.’
‘It does.’
‘But, honestly, you are looking pretty good. No –’ He holds out his hand as I glare at him. ‘I mean now – with your clothes on.’
I stop glaring as Alex shoves the wine cask out of the way and props his head back on his hand before looking at me searchingly. I begin to feel rather self-conscious as a few minutes pass during which neither of us says anything. This is getting too serious.
‘That’s the alcohol.’ I put my glass down and hoist myself back up in an attempt to get a bit more comfortable. Besides, his close regard is making me feel decidedly awkward – I think I’m blushing.
‘As I remember, alcohol used to make you look worse.’
‘Not me, you twit! I meant I look good because you’ve overindulged!’
‘Ah! Perhaps you’re right.’
‘What!’ I pick up one of the tapestry cushions and try to hit him over the head with it. He grabs my hand mid-swing and, before I know it, I have been pulled out of position and am lying half across his lap. I look up in surprise and he grins at me.
‘No, don’t move – I promise I won’t do anything.’
‘But I’m not –’
‘I know, I know – but I promise nothing’ll happen.’
‘But I’m not –’
‘Stay there! Just relax.’
‘What I am trying to say is that I’m not at all comfortable!’
‘Oh, sorry. Here, let’s get a bit more comfy then, shall we?’ He matches deed to words and levers himself backwards onto the beanbag, pulling me up beside him. Thank god, all the blood was beginning to rush from my head and I was feeling decidedly faint. Actually, I still am.
‘Besides, if my memory serves me correctly, you uttered the words “nothing’ll happen” shortly before Samantha was conceived, didn’t you?’ I try to lighten the moment.
‘Could have.’ Alex laughs and shifts himself slightly so that we are now lying hip to hip. He has also managed somehow to get one arm around me so that we are very, very close. I feel totally wooden and extremely tense.
‘Bit more of an armful now, aren’t you?’
‘Look who’s talking!’
‘True . . . just relax, will you?’
‘Alex, this makes me nervous.’
‘Why?’
‘Hell’s bells! Why do you reckon?’ I twist myself around so that I am facing him. As soon as I do so, I realise that I have made yet another tactical error. Our faces are only inches apart, so close that I can smell the riesling on his warm breath. We stare at each other wordlessly for a moment and then, inadvertently, my eyes travel to his mouth. I am mesmerised by our proximity.
‘Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like?’ His voice is suddenly husky and he trails a finger softly down my cheek, and then tiptoes it around the outline of my mouth. ‘You know – us. After all this time?’
‘It’s not a good idea to revisit the past,’ I say shakily around his finger, but I can feel my stiffness dissolving, my entire body turning to liquid that simply wants to go with the flow. Oh, traitorous flesh!
‘Why not?’ he says softly as his finger moves slowly away from my mouth and travels relentlessly down until it is positioned just beneath my chin.
‘I don’t know.’
‘There you go.’ The finger under my chin begins to press it slowly but surely upwards until our mouths are lined up. He has very sensuously shaped lips. I shake myself inwardly and try to muster my resources for one more effort but it is very, very difficult.
‘But –’ And that’s as far as I get. Alex’s face blurs out of focus as his mouth descends down onto mine and speech is no longer an option. As we kiss, and then kiss again, and again, he cups my face within his hands and I press down with my free hand on the back of his head. Then, for just a minute, he raises his head and we look at each other, both breathing heavily. This is the moment when it is possible to back out – to sit up and try to make a half-hearted joke about what has just happened, and then part company very quickly. Instead Alex huskily murmurs my name – Camilla, Camilla – and I feel my lips part as I pull his head back down to mine. And now the tempo has increased – this is no longer simply a kiss but a prelude to an act which we have both just tacitly agreed to. I am on fire. He runs his fingers through my hair in rapidly increasing frenzy while I find my own fingers frantically undoing the buttons of his shirt. He manoeuvres himself up to give me space and I half pull his shirt off, then we stop kissing for a moment while we both sit up and I tug his shirt completely off and throw it over into the empty pizza box. My cotton vest rapidly follows suit and then he goes to work on the zipper of my jeans as we sink back into the beanbag.
My last semi-rational thought is that this is definitely not a good idea – but, boy, am I glad that I shaved my legs.
WEDNESDAY
Why is the King of Hearts the only one
who hasn’t got a moustache?
James Branch Cabell 1879–1958
WEDNESDAY
6.10 am
I am abruptly woken by the sound of the garbage truck reversing noisily around the corner of my street. It makes a similar sound as to how I imagine a rocket would sound while being launched from Cape Canaveral. The noise reverberates through my head and beats discordant cymbals against my eardrums. Hell’s bells, do I ever feel sick! How much did I have to drink last night? Hazily, I remember the riesling at my place after CJ’s party, then the champagne at Alex’s place later – and then I remember moving back to the riesling again, and then . . .
Oh no. Oh my god. No. I sit straight up in bed in absolute gut-wrenching horror as certain parts of last night suddenly begin to infiltrate my consciousness. Other parts hover tantalisingly at the periphery of my recall, but enough slips through to make me sink my head into my hands and groan. Oh. My. God. What have I done? This isn’t happening.
Then an even more horrible thought hits me and I whip around to see if there is another occupant of the bed. But no, thankfully I’m all alone and – I peer cautiously around the room to make sure – yes, I am even back in my own bedroom. Now I remember clambering clumsily over the side fence while returning home. Thank god I did.
I lie down and stare at the ceiling. Now I also remember when I suddenly had the urge to come back home. It was during that awkward period, which I imagine often happens shortly after a bout of unexpected sex, when the afterglow has receded, your breathing has regulated, and the muzzy feeling has dissipated. And you look at each other and try to think of something to say to the person with whom you have just been extremely intimate – and can’t come up with anything that see
ms to fit the occasion. Because even I know that ‘was it good for you?’ is pretty old hat nowadays. I suppose that’s where smoking must come in very handy. The post-coital cigarette not only takes the edge off the situation, but it also gives you something to do with your hands that doesn’t qualify as more foreplay. Well, because I am not a smoker any more, I simply excused myself and came home. After I got dressed, that is.
I roll over and put my head under the pillow. Is it possible to smother oneself? Should I try? How could I have been so stupid? My stomach turns in sympathy and my head increases its incessant throbbing as the garbage truck changes gears noisily and heads back out of the street. It’s not even as if I waited a week or so to let a bit of tension build up – we had sex the very first night that he was back! How desperate does that make me look? Oh. My. God.
But I’m not going to think about this any more.
And I’m also going to stay in bed all day today – and probably for the rest of the week as well. Then I’ll have to contact a real estate agent, put the house on the market and find a nice spot to move to. Somewhere extremely far away. Actually, I’ve been told that the north end of Australia is a pleasant place to live if you don’t mind the crocodiles. And I’d welcome a couple of woman-eating reptiles right at the moment. The truth is that they’d be doing me a favour. No, I just don’t believe that I’ve done this.
WEDNESDAY
8.30 am
‘Mum? Mum? Are you awake?’
‘C’mon, Sam, let’s just go already.’
‘No, it’s okay.’ I raise myself up on one elbow and blearily squint at Samantha and Benjamin, who are standing in my bedroom doorway. ‘I’m awake. What’s the time?’
‘It’s, like, eight-thirty! You’ve slept in!’
‘Oh. Are you two all ready for school?’
‘Yep. We just wanted to say goodbye.’ Sam peers over at me. ‘Mum! You look sooo bad!’
