by Ilsa Evans
‘Sorry! Sorry!’
‘No, that’s fine. Really. It’s only that I have to go. I’ve got groceries and um, I’ve got housework.’ I take a deep breath and get a grip on myself. ‘Anyway, so have a great time – with the kids, I mean. See you!’
‘But you haven’t introduced me!’ She unwraps one arm from around Alex’s neck and approaches me with her hand extended. ‘I’m Linnet – that’s L-I-N-N-E-T, not with a “y”.’
‘How nice for you.’ I shake the proffered hand and try to smile winsomely back at L-I-N-N-E-T. I don’t think I succeed, but anyway . . .
‘You must be the housekeeper. I told Alex he would need one. He works much too hard to come home and do all that sort of menial stuff. I’m so glad to see he has taken my advice.’ She smiles across at Alex and then turns to me in a confiding manner. ‘He doesn’t often take my advice, you know. So I shall be relying on you an awful lot. And, whenever I’m not here, I shall be able to relax knowing that I can depend on you to keep him satisfied.’
‘Satisfied?’ I repeat stupidly.
‘Totally,’ she says emphatically. ‘Totally satisfied.’
Now I don’t know what else to say. I daren’t look at Alex so I simply stand there, staring at her like an idiot with my mouth open and Ben’s shirt hanging from one hand. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to need a response as she whirls around to face Samantha and Benjamin.
‘Now, you two – why, you must be Alex’s divine children. Oh, what bliss! I’ve heard so much about you that I feel we’re practically best friends already.’ With that she bounds energetically forwards to envelop Benjamin in a bear hug. He fights himself free, staggers against the car, and holds his torn t-shirt up against his hairless chest in a rare display of modesty. Meanwhile, Linnet attacks his sister, who realises too late that it was her turn next. If the situation wasn’t already so fraught, I would have laughed out loud at the sight of their outraged faces. Benjamin pulls his t-shirt back on rapidly while Linnet is otherwise occupied with enveloping his sister, and then they both furiously face their father with a tacit demand for an explanation. But he hasn’t said a word. And he is still wide-eyed and beetroot.
‘Why, Alex! You haven’t told them, have you?’
‘I haven’t had a chance.’
‘Oh, really! No wonder the poor things look so stunned!’
‘Now, Linnet –’
‘It’s all right, I’m not angry. I’ll simply tell them myself.’
‘Linnet!’
‘Benjamin, Samantha, your father and I have some news for you.’ She claps her hands together and smiles at them beatifically. ‘I’m going to be your new mother!’
‘What!’
‘Oh, no!’ She claps her hands again and turns to Samantha. ‘Not your real mother. I’m sure nobody could replace her. And nobody would want to. All I meant is that I’m going to be your other mother – your stepmother, of course!’
‘You’re getting married?’ Sam speaks for the first time as she examines her ‘new mother’ with poorly disguised distaste. ‘To our father?’
‘Yes! Isn’t it famous?’
Well, famous isn’t quite the word I’d use, but it’ll have to do for the moment. I look across at Alex, who hasn’t moved since receiving his proper kiss. Our eyes meet because he is looking straight back at me.
‘I can explain.’
‘Really? How famous.’
‘Explain what?’ Linnet looks at Alex curiously. ‘Anything I should know?’
‘Oh! Nothing – no, nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ I ask him.
‘Oh, no! That’s not what I meant.’
‘Then what did you mean?’ asks Linnet.
‘I didn’t!’
‘Didn’t you?’ I ask sweetly.
‘You know what I mean!’
‘Well, I don’t. And I’d appreciate it if somebody told me.’ Linnet takes her incredible hat off her head and runs a hand through her silky black hair in consternation.
‘Look, I really have to go. I’ve left CJ inside stripping Bondage – never mind. So lovely to meet you, Linnet. Enjoy yourselves, kids. And I’ll see you around, Alex.’ I turn and walk with dignity across my front lawn and into the house. Once safely inside, I shut the front door gently, lean against it and take a couple of deep breaths. That bastard. That one-hundred per cent, unmitigated, lousy, dirty, stinking bastard. How dare he pretend to be single! How dare he make me the ‘other woman’! I don’t want to be the other woman – I want to be the woman! I think. Besides, even if I don’t know what I actually want, that still gives him no right to thrust it in my face and then tell me that it belongs to someone else! I’m speaking metaphorically here, of course.
I hear somebody stamping up to the front door and, because I’d recognise that stamping anywhere, I open it. Sam comes through and stares at me with wild-eyed fury.
‘He cancelled our dinner!’
‘What?’
‘He just cancelled our dinner! He’s taking her out instead!’
‘Why?’
‘To talk, or something. Or because he’s going to, like, marry her, that’s why!’ Sam is just about spitting in fury. ‘She’s horrible! Did you see her hug me?’
‘Where’s Ben?’
‘He’s gone around the back to his bloody animals. I’m going to get something to eat. Bloody, bloody hell.’ She stomps down to the kitchen where her stomping turns suddenly into crunching. I sigh heavily and follow.
‘I’m sorry, Mummy! I was trying to help!’ CJ is sitting on the floor with the spaghetti container surrounded by about five hundred pieces of spaghetti which are now in assorted lengths.
‘It’s okay, CJ.’ I drop Ben’s clean shirt on the island bench and head over to the window tiredly, feeling as though I have suddenly aged about ten years. I peer out to see if I can spot Benjamin. He must be in the shed. I do hope that he isn’t too upset.
‘I hate her.’ Sam starts opening cupboards and then banging them closed. ‘I really hate her.’
‘But I didn’t mean it! I was only trying to help.’
‘Not you, CJ. Sam’s talking about someone else.’ I walk over to the laundry door, open it and stand there looking at my flowers. I pat my pocket and there, safe and secure, is the card so I take it out and look at it once more.
Are you avoiding me?
Well, if I wasn’t then, I sure am now. I turn away from the flowers, pick up my cold cup of coffee and drop it in the sink where it clatters noisily amongst the rest of the dishes and the coffee splashes up onto the tiles. Sam looks up at me questioningly from where she is squatting in front of a cupboard. I shrug. Because sometimes coffee isn’t nearly enough and you have to take a deep breath, maintain control, and assess the situation with rational self-possession.
Or just reach for the scotch.
FRIDAY
Curiouser and curiouser.
Lewis Carroll 1832–1878
FRIDAY
7.16 am
‘But seriously, Mum, like, we spent all Tuesday night over at his place and he didn’t say a word! Not one word! Why is that?’
‘I really have no idea, Sam.’ And I don’t. I have pushed and pulled it around in my mind and dissected, analysed and examined it from every conceivable cerebral angle – and I still don’t have any idea. I roll over in bed and slide my arm under Samantha’s shoulders to give her a hug. CJ immediately rolls with me and attaches like a limpet to my posterior region so that now I can’t roll back again without doing her a serious injury. And that will probably wake her up. I gently attempt to make myself a little more comfortable.
‘Mum! Keep still please!’ Sam turns to glare at me from where she is lying across the top of the bed-coverings. ‘And anyway, it’s not like he could have kept her a secret for long. After all, he’s living right next door! Like, I’m sure we would have noticed a wife around the place at some stage.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Especially a wife like that!’
‘That’s very true,’ I agree with feeling while I surreptitiously try to gain some ground in the bed. Between CJ propping me up from behind and Sam anchoring down the doona from the front, I am decidedly hemmed in. This is probably what it feels like to be sewn into a shroud. Except that I’m not dead, of course.
‘God, Mum, you never stop moving!’ Sam rolls over on her side to face me, neatly compressing the small amount of free space I had left. ‘I just don’t get it. All he had to do was, like, tell us. I hate surprises.’
‘I agree. Sam, can you move over a bit. I’m sort of squished here.’ I jab gently at her under the doona. ‘But I don’t know that there is any point going over and over it. For all we know he might have a really good explanation. And maybe you sort of owe him the benefit of the doubt. After all, how do we know what’s been going on in his life? Just like I very much doubt that you’ve filled him in on your various admirers. I mean, you don’t even tell me. So perhaps you should just ask him what the go is before we get ourselves too worked up?’
‘You’re right!’ Sam looks at me in open-mouthed astonishment.
‘Well, it does happen sometimes you know,’ I reply sarcastically. ‘It’s only that it’s an event which is rarely acknowledged.’
‘Yes, that’s what I’ll do.’ Sam ignores me completely as she continues with her train of thought. ‘I’m going right over there.’
‘Now?’
‘Right now.’
‘But it’s only –’ I twist my head around as far as it is capable of moving and spot the clock’s neon numbers in my peripheral vision – ‘seven-thirty in the morning!’
‘So? Anyway, you move too much and your breath reeks.’ With that, Sam levers herself agilely off the bed and I immediately regain the use of my limbs and topple forwards onto my face. I sort myself out stiffly while listening to her footsteps as she saunters out of my room and up the passage towards her own. Well, I’m glad she’s decided to get dressed first, anyway.
I stretch out luxuriously and gently manoeuvre CJ over to the other side of the bed. With her eyes firmly closed, she immediately begins a sort of crab-like motion back towards me. It must be the magnetism of my body. The thing is, I’m as confused as Samantha is. And even more annoyed if anything. After all, she only shared pizza with the louse – I stayed for dessert. Why didn’t he say anything about little Ms Linnet without a y? Especially since we even spoke about the existence of any important others in our lives – and he never thought to mention little details like the fact that he had a fiancée? And a fiancée who just happens to look like champagne and chocolate and Waterford crystal all rolled into one.
I came very close to throwing out his flowers last night. Well, close-ish anyway. But I’m a practical person at heart, and it’s been an awfully long time since anybody sent me flowers. Apart from handfuls of crushed daisies held aloft in grubby little fists, that is. So instead I carefully arranged them on top of the television set where I could glare wrathfully at them during the commercial breaks. Camellias! How clever.
The funny thing is that today I think I want him more than I did yesterday and the day before. Then again, neither day measures up to Tuesday, when I really wanted him – and had him – and now I’m paying the price. There’s always a price. But my point is that on Wednesday and Thursday, whenever I let myself actually think about it, I just couldn’t decide whether I hoped that our fifteen-minute fling was the start of something big, or the delayed encore of something that once was big. Like a hedonistic, touchy-feely trip down memory lane that was thoroughly enjoyable but doesn’t ever need to be repeated. But today, I am thoroughly pissed off. Because it looks like the choice has been made for me. So now of course I’m definitely leaning towards the start of something big option – and I feel like I’ve been thwarted at the pass. Or after the pass. Basically, now that it seems I can’t have him, I want him more. Arsehole.
The front door slams hard behind Sam and I glance quickly at CJ to see if it has woken her. But she doesn’t even flinch. She has now made it all the way across the bed back over to my side, like a heat-seeking missile.
I glance at the clock and register that I’ll have to be getting up soon. But I’ve got a few more minutes to go over what I have to get done today. First off the bat is canteen duty – what fun. But I’m only staying till eleven because I have to get back here for The Handyman to do his laying. How could Alex have made love – or had sex – with me when he had a fiancée in existence? How could he? And while I’m stuck at home with The Handyman doing his thing, I might finally get a chance to do some tidying up around here. Must remember to ring Mum and apologise about not turning up yesterday. Must remember to do that before tomorrow when I’m meeting her with the girls for their final fitting. Otherwise she’ll make my life miserable. More miserable, that is. Arsehole. Must check the champagne situation to see if I’ve got enough for tonight with Terry coming over. Then again, should I cancel Terry coming over? Do I want to talk about what’s happened? Because I won’t have a choice – she’ll know as soon as she sees me that I’ve been up to no good. Although, to be perfectly honest, it was good. Very good, in fact. So good that even thinking about how good makes my skin go all tingly and my insides turn to porridge. Arsehole.
As I decide that I’d better get up and start getting organised, the front door is flung open with considerable gusto and bounces back off the hallway wall. Then it slams again and shortly afterwards Sam pokes her head around my bedroom door.
‘Still there? Like, I thought you’d be up by now.’ She crosses the room and flops down on her side of the bed. ‘Well, that was a waste of time.’
‘Why? What happened?’ I push CJ gently back across the bed and raise myself up on one elbow. ‘What did he say?’
‘He wasn’t even there!’ Sam replies with obvious disgust.
‘Is his car gone?’
‘Both of them are. I checked it out last night before I went to bed and they were there, but now they’re both gone.’
‘Oh, I see.’ I mentally digest the fact that she stayed the night and the porridge within immediately begins to congeal. But what did I expect anyway? They’re engaged, for god’s sake!
‘Yeah. They’ve probably gone out for breakfast or something. Like he cancels our dinner but he can go out for bloody breakfast with her.’
‘Hey, listen.’ I really don’t want to even think about their post-coital breakfast. ‘If all you did is look in the driveway, how come it took you so long?’
‘Oh. Well.’ Sam has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. ‘Dad gave me a key the other night so I thought, like, I’d better check to see if he was maybe dead or something. Maybe she killed him.’
‘Sam, I think that’s highly unlikely.’ Although I reckon it’d be exactly what he deserved.
‘Maybe.’
‘So, you were actually having a stickybeak?’
‘No, I really thought that she looked like the black widow type.’ Sam falters before my raised eyebrows and shrugs. ‘Oh, okay – I was having a look.’
We remain in silence for a few minutes. I am acutely aware that I had better be getting up very soon or else I’ll be running very late, but I simply can’t find the willpower to actually move. I’d like to stay in bed all day. And that reminds me.
‘Sam?’
‘Yep?’
‘Only out of curiosity, you understand, but where did they sleep?’
‘Why?’ Sam turns to give me a rather puzzled look.
‘Just curious. I mean, your father hasn’t even got a bed over there yet.’
‘I’m sure they managed.’
‘She didn’t look quite like the managing type to me. More like a four poster and constant room service.’
‘True. Well, it sure looked like they coped all right,’ Sam says with teenage disgust. ‘There were blankets and pillows thrown all over the lounge-room floor.’
‘Oh.’
‘All over that stupid swampbag he was carrying on a
bout the other day.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m going to go have some breakfast.’ She gets up off the bed and flounces out of the room. I am left with a sour taste in my mouth and a body full of bitter bones. CJ finally begins to stir and stretches herself out against my left side like a cat. I look down at her and decide to steer clear of men for all time. I shall simply submerge myself within my children and live vicariously with and through them. Who needs a life? Their achievements shall be my reward, their successes my fulfilment, their pleasure my joy. Life shall be much less complicated. I reach out to give CJ a cuddle and her eyes flutter open slowly. This is more like it – safe, secure, unsullied and unconditional. I draw her to me and envelop her warm little body within my arms.
‘Oh, yuck! Lemme go, Mummy, your breath stinks!’
FRIDAY
10.36 am
‘What c’n I buy wiv dis for play-lunch, please?’ A grubby little fist releases a handful of coins noisily onto the canteen counter as a small tow-headed boy looks up at me trustingly.
‘Let me see.’ I gather up the coins and count them. ‘You’ve got fifty cents here. What would you like?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Well, it’s a warmish day – what about a Sunny-boy?’
‘No, fank you.’
‘Two Zooper-doopers?’
‘No, fank you.’
‘Fifty cents worth of mixed lollies?’
‘No, fank you.’
‘A packet of Ovalteenies?’
‘No, fank you.’
‘Look, shorty,’ I say, because today is not a good day to try my patience, ‘they’re your only choices – so make one.’
‘C’n you say dem again?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. Well, c’n I have a packet of salt and vinegar chips?’
‘No, they’re seventy cents and you don’t have seventy cents. You have fifty cents.’
