by Ilsa Evans
‘Yuck! Mummy, it stinks!’
‘I know,’ I mumble, breathing shallowly through my mouth, ‘but just keep still and keep your eyes closed. And your mouth.’
I finish off the bottle and then fasten the stiffening hair loosely on top of her head with a red scrunchie. Then I drop a kiss on each of her eyelids, and another on her mouth. This shows the depth of affection I hold for the child because up close she now reeks something chronic. And I have a very delicate stomach.
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes?’ I ask distractedly as I attempt to fit the child-proof cap back onto the nit bottle with little success.
‘You know at my party?’
‘Yes? Yes?’ I try banging the lid on but it still won’t fit.
‘When we watched the bideo of you?’
‘Yes?’ I forget about the bottle and look at CJ with some trepidation. ‘The video. What about it?’
‘You told a lie.’
‘Well . . . ’ I look at her trusting little face and try desperately to think of some legitimate, believable excuse. Finally I decide that sometimes the simple, unadulterated truth is the best form of defence.
‘Yes, I did tell a lie. But only because I was embarrassed. There were all these people looking at me with no clothes on and I was really, really embarrassed. How would you feel if it was you? So I decided that the best way out was to tell them all that the person on the video wasn’t me. And then I wouldn’t be so embarrassed. See?’
‘But it was still a lie.’
‘Yes, that’s right. And lying isn’t very nice. But sometimes a lie isn’t as bad as other times. I mean, sometimes lying is really, really bad, and sometimes lying is just a little bit bad. It’s like if I asked you whether you liked my hair and you really didn’t but you didn’t want to hurt my feelings, you might say that you do like my hair. And that wouldn’t really be bad lying, would it?’
‘Yes, it would still be lying. And I don’t like your hair.’
‘What, why not?’ I put my hand to my head self-consciously. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s too short.’
‘Oh. Well that’s a matter of taste, isn’t it? But do you understand what I am talking about?’
‘No.’
‘I see.’ I sigh heavily and decide a change of strategy is in order. ‘All right then. Listen up. I am the adult and, despite what you think, I know best. The lie I told last night was not a bad lie. And I wouldn’t have had to tell a lie at all if you and your brother hadn’t decided to film me in the bath. Right?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Well, then. There is a way that you can make it up to me. You can just not tell anyone ever that it was me in the video. And that includes your father, actually especially your father. Or Alex. Or Maggie. Or – anyone. Just don’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret, okay?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘No buts. No anything.’
‘You still lied,’ CJ says sulkily as she folds her arms across her chest and looks away from me. ‘And you always say lying is berry bad.’
‘It is. Usually.’ I lift her down and place her back on the floor. ‘And now you can go and start tidying up your bedroom.’
‘What? No! Not fair – I hab nits!’
‘I’m afraid nits don’t stop you from cleaning your room – but good try.’ I point with one finger down to her bedroom and she goes, albeit reluctantly. I follow her only as far as the bathroom where I stand in the doorway, shaking my head slowly. I can’t even close the door because the wooden plank is in the way. Thank god it’s not winter, we’d freeze. As it is, today is the first day in quite a while that we haven’t needed some sort of air-conditioning. Typical. I suppose that the lesson here is to check what the halfway point actually is before opting for the half and half option.
After shaking my head one more time for good measure, I turn and go to check the answering machine. So there, Mum – I do check it on a regular basis. That’s twice today so far and it’s not even teatime. There are another three new messages already so I press the playback button.
‘You’ll no doubt be quite disappointed to learn that nothing particular has ever happened on this day. Apart from Custer getting married in 1864, that is. Are you ever home? Ring me.’
One thing is for sure, Terry will know as soon as she looks at me – or even listens to me – that I have just had a night of wild, unadulterated passion. Or at least fifteen minutes of it, anyway. She is uncanny with her perceptions – I think I’ll leave it till tomorrow to ring her.
‘Still not home? It’s Alex – I’ll ring again later.’
Has Alex always been this persistent? He certainly wasn’t when our marriage fell apart. I resolve to screen the calls for the rest of the day. I do realise that I have to talk to him eventually, but I want a bit of time.
‘Are you ever home, darling? How are the shoes? Ring me.’
Well, that’s short and sweet. Shoes, shoes, shoes – I must write that down before I forget. I wipe the messages, drag out my address book and dial Caron’s number. I get her answering machine.
‘Hi, Caron? It’s Camilla Riley, CJ’s mum, here. I thought I should let you know that CJ got sent home with lice today and it might be a good idea for you to check Caitlin’s hair as well. Before she shares them with the twins. Sorry. Anyway, just thought I’d let you know. Bye.’
That’s my good deed for the day. The way CJ and Caitlin have their heads together all the time, I would be very surprised if Caitlin wasn’t infected as well. Then I dial the maternity ward of the Angliss Hospital and ask the nurse on duty to let Diane know that I definitely won’t be in today but I’ll see her tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere for the rest of today. I am going to de-nit my hair and then hibernate. Of course, as soon as I hang the phone up, it rings.
‘Hello?’ I answer as I belatedly remember my decision to screen my calls. Damn.
‘Hi.’ Keith waits for a second before continuing, ‘Have you got a minute?’
‘Well, yes.’ Thank god it’s not Alex.
‘I wanted to talk to you about something.’
‘Oh. What?’ My heart starts to sink – please, please don’t talk about that damn video or ask me out or anything.
‘It’s about CJ.’
‘Well, of course it is.’
‘Don’t you think that, for her age, she’s a little . . . well, immature?’
‘No,’ I answer in surprise. ‘No, she’s really quite bright.’
‘I didn’t say she wasn’t bright, I said she was immature.’
‘Well, she’s not that either. She’s fine!’
‘I don’t know.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘I reckon she’s a bit babyish.’
‘But, Keith, she’s the youngest in the family. The youngest is always a bit babyish.’
‘And then there’s her speech,’ he continues regardless. ‘I’m a bit worried about her speech. The way she still can’t say “v”.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed? It’s so obvious!’
‘Of course I’ve noticed! But hell’s bells, she’s only five!’
‘Actually, she’s now turned six. Yesterday – remember?’
‘All right! Six then. It’s still not an issue.’
‘Well, I’d like her to see someone.’
‘Oh, that’s not necessary at all!’
‘I think it is.’
‘Keith, it’s a waste of time. She’ll grow out of it, I assure you.’
‘And you’re an expert?’
‘There’s no need to get smart. I only think you’re overreacting, that’s all.’
‘Well, that’s your opinion. I disagree and I want her to see someone!’
‘Well, you can take her!’
‘Fine! I’ll arrange it then!’
‘Good for you!’
‘And I’ll remember how uncooperative you were!’
‘Oh, write it down, Keith – just in case you for
get.’
‘Christ almighty, I was a fool when I married you!’
‘Yes, but I was so infatuated I didn’t notice!’
‘Go to hell!’ The phone is slammed down in my ear. Ah! That’s the Keith I remember! But I do feel a little bit guilty, because he did start off being rather polite and he was obviously concerned. But even a little bit guilty is a vast improvement on how I would have felt even a year ago after a disagreement with Keith. I would have been flustered and jittery for the rest of the day. Now, I am able to put things in perspective and not let it get to me – especially when I think he’s overreacting about something. And in this case, I’m sure he is. Because there isn’t anything to worry about, and I’d say her v’s will start falling into place within the next year. In fact, I remember that one of my nephews – I think it was Christopher – would say ‘y’ instead of ‘l’ until he was almost eight years old. I grin as I recall that unfortunately, when he learnt to read, his favourite book was called The little caterpillar and he read the first page as: ‘In the yight of the moon, a yittle yegg yay on a yeaf.’ I’ll never forget it – it was hysterical. And I don’t think Chris ever worked out why everybody always asked him to read that particular book to them. CJ has absolutely nothing to worry about.
Right on cue, she comes bouncing out of her room and skips up the passage before coming to a sudden halt. Then she holds her arms out and pirouettes around in front of me, with her hair standing rigidly still and upright.
‘Look! See my lubly hair? It’s beautiful and I lub it berry, berry much. You hab to do it exactly like this ebry single day.’
WEDNESDAY
4.30 pm
‘Put the damn video camera away!’
‘But this would be a dead cert for Funniest Home Videos! You should see your head!’
‘Put it away!’
‘But, Mum, you said I couldn’t use the other one!’
‘Ben, I don’t seem to be getting through to you, do I?’ I put my book down and look at my son sternly. ‘I don’t mind you showing initiative, but not if it is based on the humiliation of others! Do you understand?’
‘No.’
‘In other words then, find something that is funny but does not embarrass someone else. Especially me.’
‘But that’ll be too hard!’
‘So be it. You’re lucky I’m even talking to you.’ I glare at him for good measure but in actual fact I’ve nearly forgiven him. He was so mortified when he heard what had happened at CJ’s party that I ended up feeling more sorry for him than I did for myself.
‘So what did you do with the film?’
‘I broke it into one hundred little pieces and threw each and every one of them away.’
‘What? I could have reused that!’
‘You really think I was going to risk that film being in existence in any way, shape or form?’ I pick up my book again as a gesture of dismissal.
‘I would have wiped it!’
‘Mum, this stuff sooo stinks!’ Samantha wanders into the lounge-room with a towel wrapped around her body and her hair sticking out every which way. Actually it rather resembles some of those artfully arranged hairstyles often adorning the heads of happening starlets, and you wonder whether they really paid good money to end up looking like that. Now I know – they all simply have nits.
‘Believe me, I sympathise. But we have to leave it in overnight so I’m afraid you’re stuck with it.’
‘Gross. And now I can’t go over to Dad’s.’ She turns to give CJ, who is watching an after-school children’s quiz show on the television, a totally disgusted look. CJ ignores her completely.
‘I’m telling you I would have wiped it!’ Ben is still staring at me accusingly. ‘Now I have to get another one!’
‘They cost money you know!’
‘Hey, are you two talking about the tape?’ Sam has turned away from her sister and grins at me. ‘Ben told me all about it. I think it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. We were in hysterics!’
‘Ben was in hysterics?’
‘He sure was, weren’t you, Ben?’ Sam turns to her brother, who is doing a backward slunk out of the room. ‘Hey, where are you going?’
‘Homework.’
‘So, Mum. Seeing as everybody else got to see the tape, can I?’
‘No. I broke it. And listen, Sam, I told everybody at the party that it wasn’t me on the tape so you’re not to breathe a word to anybody. Not your father, not your Aunt Maggie, not anyone. Understand?’
‘Yeah, Mummy lied,’ says CJ, without taking her eyes off the television screen. ‘And that’s really bad.’
‘And what do I get if I keep your little secret, hmm?’
‘Let me see. I know! You get the privilege of not having your diary entries published over the Internet.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘You tell anyone it was me in that film and you’ll find out how quickly I’ll dare.’
‘God. I was only joking,’ says Sam accusingly. ‘Sometimes you’re, like, really vindictive, you know.’
I go back to my book. It is a very entertaining story about a woman whose therapist is sleeping with her husband. That is, the therapist is sleeping with the woman’s husband – if she was only sleeping with her own it wouldn’t make for a particularly enthralling plot. Ironically, the reason the woman went to the therapist in the first place was because she couldn’t bring herself to completely trust her husband. With good reason, apparently. Anyway, the two lovers are up to no good, in bed or out. But tonight I am finding it rather difficult to concentrate on their machinations. In fact, I have read the same passage three times now. I keep thinking about last night – and Alex. Do I want more? Does he want more? Will it only be a case of history repeating itself or will our added maturity help? But do I actually want a relationship with him? That’s the question that is going around and around in my mind. That, and a few others. Did we both just make a huge mistake that will tarnish any hope we had of being friends? Was it as good for him as it was for me? Does the relocation of lice during sexual intercourse constitute a sexually transmitted disease? Am I morally obligated to tell him?
‘Mum! Did you feed my rabbits at all recently?’ Ben bounds into the room and looks at me wild-eyed. ‘Did you?’
‘Um, why?’ I stall for time while I try to remember whether I was actually allowed to feed the rabbits or not. I mean, I know that I gave them a handful of pellets on Monday, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with the pellets, my hands were clean, and I shut the cages securely afterwards.
‘Because they’re sick, that’s why! Rover isn’t moving, and both Nicholas and Alexandra are making a sort of coughing noise! Did you do anything?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I reply emphatically. ‘I don’t think I’ve even been out in the backyard for days and days.’
‘C’n I see them, Ben?’ CJ promptly abandons the television. Obviously a manic quiz show can’t possibly compete with sick rabbits.
‘I’m going to ring Phillip.’ He turns and rushes from the room.
‘He is not to come over today!’ I quickly call after Ben. I mean to say, look at my hair! I’m sure the rabbits can wait another day. And they were fine on Monday. But I just know that if I mention the fact that I gave them a handful of pellets, then I’ll cop the blame for their condition. I put my book down and get up as Ben re-enters the room.
‘He wasn’t home. I left a message. C’n you come and have a look?’
‘Sure.’ I am heartened by his sudden trust in my medical abilities.
‘And when you look I want you to think carefully if you’ve done anything!’
‘Oh. Sure.’
We go outside, followed by an eager CJ, and Murphy immediately attempts to attach himself to one of my legs. He doesn’t seem to do this to anyone except me. I suppose I should be flattered.
‘Ben! Do something about your damn dog!’
‘Murphy! Down!’
Murphy reluctantly aba
ndons his quest and slinks along behind his master. We walk over to where the two-storey wooden rabbit hutch is positioned against the fence and I peer obediently within. In the top cage, Rover is lying stiffly on his side with his tongue hanging out. I don’t think it takes much medical expertise to tell that he’s as dead as a dodo.
‘Ben, he’s dead!’
‘He is not!’
Okay, I’ll leave the boy to his delusions. After all, Phillip will tell him the same when he arrives. Tomorrow, I hope. I bend down and look into the bottom cage where the two females, Nicholas and Alexandra, are also looking extremely unwell and giving out the occasional rasping cough. But at least they are up on their haunches and still in the land of the living.
‘I have no idea what’s wrong, Ben.’
‘I didn’t think you would! But if you didn’t do anything, then –’ He whirls around to face his little sister who is peering with considerable interest at Rover’s comatose body – ‘CJ – your party! Did anyone at your party feed my rabbits?’
‘I don’t know! I didn’t! I didn’t touch them!’ CJ looks horrified to find herself suddenly under suspicion. ‘I promise I didn’t!’
‘I’m going to bring them inside for the night.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, Ben?’
‘Yes, I can’t risk leaving them out here.’
‘But it isn’t that cold.’
‘No, but I can’t trust anyone, can I?’ He gives us a filthy look that, in CJ’s case at least, is totally undeserved. But there’s no point remonstrating with him when he is so distressed. I take CJ by the hand and we start walking back inside. Of course, as soon as we leave the proximity of Ben, Murphy takes a running leap and reattaches himself to my left leg. I limp awkwardly over to the back door and forcibly remove the panting dog before entering the house.
‘What’s wrong with Ben?’ Sam is making herself a cup of tea in the kitchen as we come in through the laundry.
‘His rabbits are sick.’
‘Really? What did you do?’
