by Ilsa Evans
‘What’s wrong, CJ?’
‘You forgot to say goodnight to me.’
‘I didn’t know you’d finished reading. Are you ready for sleep now?’
‘Yes, I’m really tired. Is Terry here?’
‘Yes, but she’s busy.’
‘Good. But can Fergus come in and say goodnight?’
‘I’m afraid not. He’s busy too.’ I pull her doona up and tuck it in around her. ‘But I’m sure you’ll see him again.’
‘Why? Won’t he be finished?’
‘It certainly doesn’t look like it.’
‘Oh, cool.’
‘Yeah, cool.’
‘Goodnight – Mummy! We forgot about my story, the one about the art smock. I was going to tell you all about it, remember?’
‘You’re right. But we’ll have to leave it till tomorrow now, okay? It’s late and you need some sleep. I promise I’ll remind you in the morning. Okay?’
‘Okay.’ CJ yawns sleepily. ‘Goodnight, Mummy.’
‘Night, sweetheart.’ I give CJ an enormous cuddle and kiss her on both cheeks. ‘See you in the morning. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’
‘I feel sorry for those little rabbits.’
‘I know. But it’s a long time ago now so don’t worry about it.’
‘Lub you.’
‘I love you too.’ I smooth her hair back from her face and give her another kiss on the forehead. Absolutely adorable.
As I walk back up the passage I send a filthy look in Terry’s general direction. She turns just in time to catch it, and then grins at me.
‘Do you want to open the champagne for me?’ she says, holding out the bottle.
‘Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.’
‘Thanks. I’ll be there in a minute.’
I take the proffered bottle as I walk past and head down to the kitchen where I open it. Without any undue damage to my ceiling. I pour the champagne into a flute and carry it into the lounge-room where I place it carefully down on the coffee table. Then I flop back onto the couch, pick up my scotch, and curl my feet up underneath me.
‘Thanks, Cam, I really need this.’ Terry grabs the flute and throws herself onto the opposite end of the couch without spilling a drop. She takes a gulp, swallows and throws her head back with abandon. ‘Mmm, mmm.’
‘How did you manage to tear yourself away from young Casanova up there?’
‘With difficulty. You could have warned me that you were providing entertainment as well as munchies tonight, you know. I would have dressed more suitably.’
‘I think he found your outfit quite suitable enough. And how was I to know that you’d find him even remotely attractive?’
‘You mean you don’t?’ Terry looks at me with genuine disbelief.
‘Actually, no – I don’t. At all. So tell me what you find cute about him then.’
‘Well, his smile for a start – it’s enough to melt your soul.’ Terry gets a faraway look on her face. ‘And his eyes! They’re so . . . so cheeky. And he’s rather witty . . . clever, you know. Really, really funny.’
‘To each their own, I suppose,’ I say in genuine wonderment, ‘but I didn’t know you liked younger men.’
‘Might as well, it’s not like they mature anyway. Hey –’ she looks at me suddenly with consternation – ‘he’s not the one you’ve slept with, is he?’
‘No,’ I reply with a grimace. ‘God, no.’
‘Oh, that’s good,’ she sighs with relief. ‘But do you think he likes me?’
‘Terry, I think he’s positively in lust with you! But then,’ I look her up and down pointedly, ‘in that outfit, there’s not many men who wouldn’t be!’
‘Ha, ha. No, I’m serious – I wouldn’t mind going out with him.’
‘Are you insane? He’s about six inches shorter than you, nearly a decade younger and – Terry, the man wears lemon overalls! The other day they were pink!’ I lower my voice, ‘And he says “to be sure” as if he’s been watching too many television shows about leprechauns!’
‘Why shouldn’t guys wear pastels?’ she says defensively. ‘And he’s an adult, so age is immaterial. As for height, well, if I waited for a guy who was taller than me, I’d be waiting forever! And I think his Irish accent is adorable! You’re just a prude.’
‘Okay.’ I shrug philosophically. ‘We’ll have to agree to disagree.’
‘Good.’
‘But there’s one thing I should tell you –’
‘What now?’ Terry takes another gulp of champagne and puts her empty glass down.
‘Maggie recommended him. To do my floor, that is. He’s a client.’
‘Oh.’
‘Sorry.’ I reach out and pick her glass up from the coffee table. ‘I’ll get you a refill.’ I take both our glasses out into the kitchen where I fill one with champagne and the other with scotch and coke. When I go back into the lounge-room, Terry is sitting up straight and helping herself to a cracker laden with dip. I hand her the champagne flute.
‘So, tell me. Who’s the lucky man?’
‘What lucky man?’ I stall for time, simultaneously recognising that she doesn’t want to discuss Fergus any more. But I had to tell her – I’d want her to tell me if the positions were reversed.
‘The one you had sex with.’
‘Oh c’mon, Terry. How can you tell that I’ve had sex?’
‘You have the unmistakable look of a woman who has just had her loins quenched.’
‘What?!’ I collapse back on the couch and dissolve into laughter. ‘Loins quenched? What rubbish have you been reading?’
‘I’ll have you know even the best of us have our loins quenched from time to time.’ Terry picks up her glass and takes a long sip. ‘So, spill it. Or should I guess?’
‘You can guess – but keep it down. I don’t want Fergus in there to hear any of this.’
‘Well, now you’ve given it away. As if I haven’t guessed already – but the only reason that you wouldn’t want Fergus to hear is because he knows Maggie and you wouldn’t want him telling her and the only reason you wouldn’t want him telling Maggie was if the guy you just bonked was her brother. Am I right?’
‘Yep.’
‘The powers of deductive thinking.’ Terry puts her glass down and flips her ponytail over her shoulder. ‘And here was I thinking that you were saving yourself for Phillip.’
‘Terry, we’ve been through this before.’ I give her an exasperated look.
‘I know. I’m only teasing. So tell me the in and outs – every nitty-gritty little detail.’
‘You won’t understand.’
‘Try me.’ Terry grabs a cracker, loads it with dip and pops it into her mouth whole.
‘Even I don’t understand.’
‘Stop putting off the inevitable.’ Terry smiles at me as she reaches forwards for another cracker. ‘You’ll have to tell me sooner or later, you know.’
‘Yes, I know that.’ I smile back and take a deep breath. ‘Okay, well it was on Tuesday night –’
‘Tuesday night? But he only got here Tuesday!’
‘Yes, I know. Hang on –’ I look at her suspiciously – ‘how did you know that he got here Tuesday? He wasn’t due until Thursday!’
‘Fergus told me. Go on.’
‘Then don’t interrupt. And actually, do you mind if we talk about this a little later? When I’ve had a few more drinks?’
‘Sure – as long as you tell me, that is. I’m not leaving here until you do.’
‘Fair enough. But for now let’s talk about something else.’ I take another sip of scotch and put my glass down. I have decided that I really do want to talk to Terry about the whole mess, but I’m not quite ready yet. Apart from anything else I’m still coming to grips with the idea that she finds Fergus, the pastel handyman, an attractive proposition.
‘Hey, d’you want to come and watch my tennis final tomorrow?’
‘What time and where?’
‘One o�
��clock at the Boronia courts. They’re right next to the bike track.’
‘So? Do I look like I’m going to cycle down there?’
‘Heaven forbid. You coming?’
‘Actually, I might. I’ll see how I go for time.’
‘Oh, I forgot! I hear congratulations are in order for becoming an aunt again twice over. Well done! Was it painful?’
‘Not for me – all went as smooth as silk.’ I smile, although I get a brief mental flashback to the champagne cork embedded in Alex’s ceiling and the look on Maggie’s face. ‘I suppose Bronte told you?’
‘Yes, I heard all about it ad infinitum. How cute they are, how tiny they are, how alert they are, how lucky your sister is to be going home to dirty nappies and sleepless nights.’
‘I know! Isn’t it funny how babies seem to suck you in? I mean, and don’t you dare laugh, for just a split second while I was holding one of them, I started thinking about what it would be like to have another one! Can you believe it?’
‘No, I don’t think I can!’ Terry starts to laugh. ‘Sorry! But you have to know when to give up.’
‘I do, you idiot! I have no intention of having any more kids, and the very thought of being pregnant makes my skin crawl. All I meant was that that’s what they do, babies, they make you forget about what extra baggage they are, and before you know it, you’re paying the costs, over and over and over again.’
‘Look, I’m sorry but I don’t get where you’re coming from at all. I wanted one child, I had one child, end of story. Why would I even be tempted to have any more when I don’t want them?’
‘Do you mean that, even back when you were married to what’s-his-name, it never crossed your mind to have another baby after Bronte?’
‘No. Why would it? I just said that we only wanted one.’
‘You’re unnatural. A freak of nature.’
‘Anyway, let’s change the subject. I’ve had enough of babies from my daughter.’ Terry waves a hand, airily dismissing Robin, Regan and babies in general. ‘How did orientation day go?’
‘Excellent. I was really nervous before but it was actually quite fun. I got all the subjects I wanted, including German, but don’t tell Sam – I’m going to keep that as a surprise. And I also joined this association for mature students. I’m really looking forward to starting.’
‘When do you start?’
‘Couple of weeks.’
‘I’m insanely jealous.’
‘Then do it! After all, what’s stopping you? Go on, be a devil.’
‘Yeah, I should, shouldn’t I?’ Terry takes a sip of wine and looks around morosely.
‘I don’t understand you. You say you hate your job and you want something different, but you never talk seriously about actually doing something different! C’mon, take the plunge!’
‘Hey, speaking of plunges, guess who I got a letter from yesterday.’
‘Who?’ I ask with a sigh as I grab a handful of pretzels, knowing full well that this is Terry’s attempt to change the subject.
‘Joanne!’
‘You’re kidding!’ I look at Terry with considerable interest, because Joanne is a mutual friend of ours who decided to go to Tibet a few months ago and try to ‘find’ herself. ‘So has she found herself yet?’
‘I don’t think so. She’s still looking anyway. But she’s having a ball.’
‘Any word on when she’s coming back?’
‘None whatsoever.’ Terry empties her glass and passes it to me. ‘I think she’ll be there for quite some time.’
‘Well, I’m glad she’s enjoying herself. If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably be squatting in jail right at this very moment forced into being a plaything for some big tattooed mama.’
‘Sorry to crush your illusions, but you’re a tad too old to be a plaything.’
‘True. Well, then I’d be a plaything for a big tattooed mama with vision impairment.’
‘Besides, if it wasn’t for Joanne you wouldn’t have been in the predicament in the first place, would you?’ Terry reaches out for some pretzels. ‘And then she wouldn’t have had to save you at all.’
‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.’ I put Terry’s glass down and go into the kitchen to fetch the champagne out of the fridge. Then I bring it into the lounge-room, fill her glass, and put the bottle down in front of her.
‘Anyway, back to the letter.’ Terry picks up her glass. ‘She said she was lucky enough to get a place in this retreat joint. Some sort of Tibetan monk cliff thing with a great view. And even though her inner self is proving a bit elusive, she’s been doing quite a bit of meditation and says she’s feeling a lot calmer within herself – less hyper, you know. She sounded really happy.’
‘To each their own. Wonder what she’s wearing today?’ I don’t ask this because I’m particularly fashion conscious but because Joanne has a rather quaint habit of dressing each day to suit her mood. That is, each morning she assesses the day’s merits and her own, and then chooses an outfit shaded accordingly – black for depression, green for environmental, yellow for sunny and optimistic, brown for earthy, and so on. I must admit, it means that you can tell with one glance whether or not it’s a good idea to spend time with her on any given day.
‘Hmm,’ Terry looks thoughtfully at the ceiling and then flicks her hair back, ‘probably something pastel for inner harmony.’
‘Well, I’m glad it’s working out for her. She deserves some breaks.’
‘Yeah. Now all I need is some breaks too.’
‘Oh, Terry.’ I look up at her in surprise. ‘It’s not that bad, is it?’
‘No, not really. Only I’m going through a rather down week, that’s all.’ Terry grimaces at me and reaches for another cracker. ‘You know how it is.’
‘Boy, do I know how it is,’ I say with feeling, ‘but you can tell me what’s getting you down anyway. Maybe it’ll help.’
She pops the cracker in her mouth and leans back. ‘Firstly there’s the one and only fruit of my loins.’
‘You really have a fixation with loins at the moment, haven’t you?’
‘It’s my new hobby.’
‘So what’s Bronte done now?’
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing – and that’s half the problem. She seems to have only one goal in life nowadays, and that’s to play happy housemaids and keep that nephew of yours content. And she’s due back at uni in a week or so, and is showing absolutely no interest in it. She certainly hasn’t lifted a book for as long as I can remember. Every spare minute she spends with him and then, since your sister went into hospital before Christmas, she’s been over there every day cooking, cleaning, washing, even bloody ironing. And, like I said before, all she talks about is Nick, babies, Nick, babies, Nick, babies. I really don’t get it.’
‘Yes, I see,’ I say wisely.
‘Look, don’t get me wrong. I quite like Nick – but I think I just wanted something more for Bronte than what she seems to want for herself.’
‘Perhaps that’s the key.’
‘What do you mean?’ Terry takes a sip of champagne and regards me thoughtfully.
‘Well. First of all there’s the letting go stuff – it’s only been you and her for so long that that’s bound to be an issue. And then there’s what she’s actually doing, the path she’s choosing. You learnt the hard way and perhaps there’s enough of you in her to mean that she has to learn the hard way as well. But, having said that, perhaps it won’t be the hard way for her. You are very different, you know. What might make you happy is not necessarily what’ll make her happy – in fact, I’m pretty sure it’s definitely not.’ I take a deep breath and look at Terry inquiringly. ‘Does that make sense?’
‘Well, actually – yes.’ Terry takes another sip and stares into her glass for a moment.
‘It does?’ I say in surprise, because it sounded pretty mixed up to me.
‘Yes, it does.’ Terry smiles at me. ‘It’s given me something to think about at least.�
�
‘Oh, good.’
‘But I’d still like her to finish her degree.’
‘Yep, I can see that.’
‘And then there’s my job. I tell you, I really hate it now – it’s so goddamn boring that I think I’m going to scream. You are so lucky that you got out the way you did. No, don’t say anything –’ she holds up her hand and then continues – ‘and then let’s move on to men. You know how I decided mid-last year that I was ready for a relationship? Well, do you think I can find one? I’m sick of the single scene. It’s the pits for someone my age, you won’t come out with me, and everyone else is just so desperate. No, I’ve given up on that.’ She pauses to fill her glass and take a sip.
‘But you often seem to have dates!’
‘I know, but they all end up being absolute losers. I don’t know, it’s like I always pick the ones who are going to let me down eventually. Like Bob the Builder in there.’ Terry leans closer and lowers her voice: ‘I thought he was really cute, and I was actually hoping that he’d ask me out – and then I find out he gets his jollies at Maggie’s brothel! How can I compete with that? And don’t laugh! I tell you, it’s so typical.’
‘I wasn’t going to laugh,’ I say as I compose my face and try to look affronted.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Well, you’re not the only one. Will it make you feel better if I tell you how I made a complete fool of myself with my ex-husband?’
‘Actually, yes, it probably would.’
‘Typical.’ I laugh and get up to go and refill my scotch and coke. When I get back Terry has topped up her champagne and tucked herself up on the couch. She grabs a handful of pretzels and turns to face me.
‘Okay, I’m ready. Amuse me.’
‘Prepare to be amused then.’ I put my glass down on the coffee table and make myself comfortable on the couch. ‘Well, I told you that it was on Tuesday, didn’t I?’
‘Yep, don’t stall.’
‘I’m not stalling. Anyway, I had CJ’s birthday party and –’
‘Flaming hell, I forgot! I meant to ring and wish her happy birthday.’
