by Ilsa Evans
‘I’b go-ig do bed.’
‘You’re going to bed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you like me to be letting myself out when I’ve finished?’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case, fair lady, I shall be seeing you on the morrow.’
‘Yes?’ I say with surprise, because surely he can get the damn floor finished today?
‘No, no, not the floor,’ he says with hearty amusement. ‘That, of course, will be well done. No, your kind friend, your delightful friend, your –’
‘Yes, yes, the goddess – whaddever.’
‘Yes, that’s her.’ Fergus looks at me with a rather pained expression. ‘Well, to cut it short, she has kindly invited me to partner her to a wedding tomorrow. And I believe that she mentioned that you would also be attending. So I simply meant that I would be seeing you there, that’s all.’
‘Oh. Yes. Good.’ I smile at him in a feeble attempt to make up for what he obviously thought was a slight on the object of his adoration. He smiles tightly back and returns to the job at hand. It doesn’t look like there will be any more confidences shared here, that’s for sure. Oh well, you win some, you lose some.
I take my empty cup down to the kitchen and swallow a couple more of the painkillers while I’m there. Then I head back down the hallway towards my bedroom just as the phone rings. I stare at it for a few moments while I assess my chances of making myself understood. I decide that they are not particularly good so I wait for the machine to pick up.
‘Hello? Hello? Oh, you’re not there. Listen, it’s Diane. I’m home safe and sound, and very glad to be here, let me tell you. What those boys – and Bronte – have done to this house doesn’t bear talking about. So I won’t. But the real reason I’m ringing is that when David came to pick me up he reckons that he saw you in the emergency waiting room at the hospital on his way past. With Alex. Is this possible? We checked on our way out but you weren’t there then. Was it you? What’s going on? Ring me.’
Is it impossible to do anything around here without everybody finding out within hours? It’s damn lucky I’ve never hankered after a secret life. I walk into my bedroom and shut the door firmly behind me. Not that I think Fergus is capable of rushing in here and taking advantage of my middle-aged body (judging by his vivid description of his exploits last night, that should be the last thing on his mind), but because I don’t want to be woken up by the noise of his working. I am really, really tired. I shed my dressing-gown and let it fall on the floor as I crawl back into bed. I pull the covers up around me and burrow myself into the mattress. My nose is really hurting but the painkillers should kick in shortly, and then it’ll be back to briny old seaworld I go. Apart from the coral, the seaweed, and the friendly fish, I want to get another look at myself in that polka-dot bikini.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve worn anything like that – and looked good.
SATURDAY
9.03 pm
It’s already dusk by the time I wake up some considerable time later. I feel significantly refreshed but reluctant to move. It’s simply too damn comfortable. Instead I reflect on the fact that it’s my fortieth birthday tomorrow and nobody has said a damn thing about celebrating it. If it hadn’t been for my mother’s wedding plans, I may have decided to throw a party to mark the momentous occasion. But she got in first, and her preparations haven’t allowed for anybody else to get a look in. I’m not dreadfully upset about it, birthdays haven’t meant all that much to me for quite some time, but I do feel a little, well – neglected. Forgotten. Ignored, deserted, overlooked, forsaken, discarded and abandoned. I try to think of some other adjectives to suit but soon give up because it hurts my head. Instead, I start to become increasingly curious as to the whereabouts and safety of my offspring so, after about fifteen minutes of lying around, I get up and tug my dressing-gown on.
As soon as I open my bedroom door, I can hear some muffled voices coming from the kitchen so I head down there. On the way I stop and have a look in the bathroom to check out the progress of the floor. And it’s finished! Praise the lord. Fergus has even tied a piece of yellow string across the doorframe to remind people that it’s not safe to walk on quite yet. It looks good too. I chose large imitation slate tiles and Fergus has blended them with a deep grey coloured grout. Now that they are all laid, I am very pleased with my choice and even feel some fresh enthusiasm bubbling for tackling the rest of the bathroom. Not just now though.
Samantha and CJ stop talking to each other as soon as I enter the kitchen and both turn to face me.
‘Mum! Oh, your poor nose!’
‘Mummy! I hab missed you!’
I smile at them both and collapse into one of the chairs. CJ immediately abandons her chair and climbs onto my lap. She is dressed in a pair of satiny teddy-bear pyjamas and should, by rights, have been in bed over an hour ago. Sam is also in her night-clothes (in her case, a large sloppy t-shirt featuring Tigger mid-leap), and is busily making hot chocolate for herself and her sister.
‘Yes, blease.’
‘Sure, Mum. Oh, I can’t believe your poor nose.’
‘Eduff already.’ I turn to CJ. ‘How was your day?’
‘Mummy, you talk berry funny!’
‘Yes, thags. Dow, how was your day?’
‘Oh, Mummy! I had a fantastic day! First of all, when I woke up only Ben was here and he told me you bopped your nose and had to go to hospital. So we watched cartoons for hours and then Sam’s dad came and took me to Grandma’s and I watched more cartoons. Then Grandma took me back here and I did a picture for Sam’s dad. It was of you, Mummy. Then Grandma and I went and got Sam and we went to this lubly shop and tried on some lubly dresses and then Grandma bought us some lubly shoes. And then we went to Grandma’s and got to wear the lubly dresses and the lubly shoes and practise walking around. And then Sam’s dad picked us up and he had Ben and he took us to McDonald’s for tea! I had a Happy Meal – with nuggets! But he said that the toy was crappy. And I agree – that it was crappy. Is crappy a rude word, Mummy?’
‘Yes, id defididdly ith.’
‘So I can’t say crappy any more?’
‘Dough.’
‘Okay, I’ll neber say crappy again. Can I say it one more time?’
‘Dough.’
‘I only wanted to say that –’
‘CJ!’
‘Oh, okay. Anyway, then after Sam’s dad said the rude word that I won’t say any more, we came back here and he said goodbye and we watched bideos. And now Sam’s making me a hot chocolate and then I’m going to bed because it’s a big day tomorrow.’
‘Good, very good,’ I respond. Actually, her day sounds pretty revolting – there were an awful lot of Grandma things thrown in there. I smile at Sam sympathetically.
‘How was your day? How was the dress?’
‘The dress? Well, it’s pretty hideous but I suppose I’ll have to live with it. Like, I was real surprised, though, when Harold and Grandma picked me up from work. And when they told me about you and your poor nose, I wanted to come straight home but Grandma said you were sleeping it off. Then, after the fittings, I wanted to come home but she said you’d still be sleeping it off and made us go to Harold’s place and practise, like, walking around the backyard.’ Sam throws me an accusatory look. ‘You didn’t tell me I’d have to do that.’
‘I did dod dough,’ I say ruefully as I gesture towards my hot chocolate, which is sitting next to Sam on the bench.
‘Oh, sorry. Here you go, Mum, and here you are, CJ.’ Sam passes out the hot chocolates and then leans against the kitchen bench with her mug cupped within her two hands. ‘I peeked in at you when we got home from McDonald’s but you were fast asleep. So I was going to put CJ to bed for you.’
‘Thag you very, very mudge,’ I say with considerable feeling.
‘That’s cool, Mommie Dearest.’
‘Where’s Bemb?’
‘He’s outside feeding the animals. He should be back
in a minute.’
Sure enough, right on cue the back door opens and Ben wanders through, holding something in his jumper and dripping rabbit pellets on the floor. He stops short when he sees me.
‘Mum!’
‘Yes, thad’s be – wad’s in the jumber?’
‘Oh, only one of my rabbits,’ Ben answers airily. ‘I was just putting her back.’
I watch Ben reverse thrust and head out the door and then I exchange smiles with Samantha before turning my attention to my youngest daughter, who is attempting to lick the bottom of her cup clean. Before I even have to express myself, Sam saves me the effort.
‘Okay then, liebling, have you finished your hot chocolate?’
‘Nearly,’ she says as she makes one more valiant but pointless attempt to stretch her tongue out and reach the bottom of the cup. ‘Okay, ready now.’
‘Mum, I’ll put her to bed if you like. You sit there and relax,’ says Samantha, thereby cementing her place in my heart.
‘Thag you very mudge.’ I give her a grateful smile. ‘Here, CJ, give be a hug! Dough! Wadge the doze!’
‘Sorry, Mummy! Did I hurt you?’
‘Dough, id’s ogay.’ I feel my nose area gingerly. ‘Baybe jusd a liddle hug?’
‘Night, Mummy – and don’t let the bed bugs bite!’ CJ gently touches me on both shoulders with her fingertips and then stands back. ‘Lub you.’
‘Love you doo.’
I turn CJ firmly in the direction of her bedroom and give her a little push to help her on her way. Sam catches her sister up and hoists her up onto her back for the trip down the passageway. I can hear CJ giggling all the way down and then, after a little while, the giggling is replaced by the melodious tones of Sam reading a bedtime story.
I nurse my hot chocolate to make it last and reflect on the fact that my kids can be so terrifically supportive under pressure. They might drive me crazy a lot of the time – sometimes deliberately, sometimes not – but when it really counts, they are usually there. And they aren’t the only ones. As far as ex-husbands go, Alex has been extraordinarily supportive today as well. On top of taking me to the hospital, he has managed to entertain my mother, soothe her when necessary, amuse Ben for the afternoon, and even take the kids out for tea, thus saving me the trouble of finding something to cook for them. That reminds me, though – I feel awfully hungry myself.
I get up and pull the toaster out from one of the cupboards and plug it in. Then I fish a couple of slices of bread out of the bread-bin and pop them in the toaster. That done, I return to the table and flop back down in the chair. My nose is starting to throb incessantly again. I reach out for the packet of painkillers and read the label to see if it’s time to have some more. KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN it says in large writing across the packet. Hell’s bells, if only that were an option, I wouldn’t be sitting here with a broken nose in the first place. I note the recommended dose and try to work out hours in my head but then decide what the hell, it’s close enough anyway. I take two.
Ben comes back through the laundry, this time with his jumper in a normal position, and looks surprised to see me still sitting here.
‘Mum!’
‘Yes,’ I say dryly, because we’ve already been through this.
‘How’s your nose? It looks humungous!’ Ben walks over to my chair and has a good look at my wounded proboscis. ‘Wow!’
‘Thags.’
‘Hey, Mum?’
‘Yes?’ I look up at him, feeling slightly irritated, and am suddenly enveloped within his arms as he gives me a big, awkward hug. I am stunned but I recover quickly enough to hug him right back – and I don’t even mention the fact that my nose is getting rather squished, and that that really hurts.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, a bit embarrassed, as he finally lets me go.
‘Dough!’ I say firmly, despite the throbbing around my nasal region. ‘Dough! Dever be sorry for huggig be! Dever!’
‘No, not that!’ Ben pulls a face at me and backs off. ‘I meant sorry for dragging you over to Dad’s this morning and getting your nose broken!’
‘Oh, Bemb. Id wasmb’d your fold! Jusd one of those thigs.’
‘Whatever.’ Ben shrugs philosophically. ‘Hey, this toast has just popped. Does anyone want it?’
‘Yes,’ I say, getting up quickly to stake my claim. I grab the toast, pop another two slices in for Ben, and proceed to spread butter lavishly on mine. Then I put the kettle on and carry the toast over to the table. Sam comes back in and spots the toaster.
‘What a good idea. I’ll have some of those.’
‘These are mine,’ says Ben as he stands guard. ‘You’ll have to wait.’
‘Cool,’ says Sam airily. ‘Mum, do you want another hot chocolate?’
‘Yes,’ I say enthusiastically around a mouthful of hot buttered toast.
‘Me too!’ chimes in Ben, looking particularly keen about the idea.
‘Well, I don’t mind making it, Ben, if you don’t mind buttering that toast for me while I’m doing it. Then you can put yours on. Deal?’
‘All right,’ says Ben in a voice that suggests that it is anything but all right. But he knows on which side his bread, or in this case his toast, is buttered, so he relinquishes the first slices to his sister and, in return, receives a piping hot mug of hot chocolate. And so do I. I finish off my toast and take a big sip.
‘That reminds me, there were a couple of phone calls while you were asleep, Mum.’
‘Oh?’ I ask as I realise gratefully that the tablets have started to kick in and my nose has started to go numb.
‘Yeah. First there was Aunt Maggie to say she’d heard of your accident and to pass on her best wishes and she’d see you tomorrow but to let you know that the you-know-what was just a big mistake. What do you reckon she meant?’
‘Dough idea.’
‘Oh, well. Anyway, then Auntie Diane rang to say that Grandma had rung her and told her about your accident so not to bother ringing back but to tell you she’d rung and she’d see you tomorrow. Then Phillip rang to say that Auntie Elizabeth told him about your accident and he sent his best wishes and did we want him to organise for someone to get rid of the dead dog and I said that Dad had already got Aunt Maggie to get someone to do that so he said cool and he’d see us tomorrow. Then Grandma rang to remind us that Harold was picking me and CJ up early and she wanted us to wash our hair first thing. Then Terry rang to say that someone called Fergus told her about your accident and to tell you that she feels really sorry but that’s what you get for sticking your nose into things and to ring if you wanted to talk but don’t feel obliged coz she’ll see you tomorrow. Who else?’ She looks quizzically at the window while I wonder if this list will ever end. ‘Oh, that’s right! Keith rang and said something about an appointment he’s made for next week but I said I don’t take messages so he said he’d ring back tomorrow. And that’s it.’
‘What appointment, Mum?’ Ben is looking at me suspiciously.
‘CJ, thad’s all,’ I answer as I take another sip of hot chocolate.
‘Oh, okay. Hey, did you know that this afternoon Dad took me into town to see where he’s going to work from now on? It’s really cool. Then we walked around Southbank and he asked me what I wanted to do and I said the zoo. So, guess what. He took me!’
‘Oh, good!’ I say with enthusiasm. Look out, Phillip, it seems like you’re going to get a little competition. Well, at least until Linnet without a y becomes a permanent fixture. It suddenly occurs to me that the kids might now know something I don’t, what with all the time they’ve spent with their father today. I finish off my hot chocolate as I watch them lathering butter onto toast and try to think of some way of phrasing a question without raising any suspicions. But my pills are really starting to kick in now and that blue hue is once more beginning to descend, so I give up trying to be subtle.
‘Lidded? Whad’s with Lidded?’
‘Who?’ Ben pauses with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth an
d looks at me in total confusion. ‘Who’s Lidded?’
‘She means Linnet,’ says Sam, coming to my rescue yet again, ‘and I haven’t told you about that bit, have I? Well, great news! You’ll never guess!’
‘Whad?’
‘Don’t you want to guess?’
‘Dough.’
‘All right then, I’ll just tell you,’ says Sam with a broad smile. ‘You see, it seems that Dad, like, isn’t engaged after all. Well, that is, he was – but now he isn’t.’
‘Whad?’ I croak to encourage her to go on. But my stomach has started to do some rather odd little flip-flops. It must be the tablets kicking in.
‘Well, he was engaged when he was overseas, because that’s where he met her – she was working with him in PR or something. But then they sort of had a trial break-up when he decided to come back here, to spend more time with us.’ She pauses here to share a smug look with her brother. ‘Anyway, when he got back here he decided that he really didn’t want to be engaged at all any more, so he tried ringing her but couldn’t get hold of her, and that’s because she was on the way over here, of course. And then she just turned up on Thursday totally out of the blue so that’s why Dad cancelled our dinner, because he thought he’d better, like, sort everything out with her.’
‘Add did he?’ I ask with considerable interest as I try to calm my stomach down.
‘Well, eventually. You see, apparently she stormed out of the restaurant when he tried to explain things to her and then they came back next door and had this big argument and she went back to where she came from. Which is Poowong.’
‘Boowog?!’ I exclaim as Ben goes off into a fit of giggles.
‘Yes, can you believe it? Apparently her parents, like, own a property up there. It’s in country Victoria, about a couple of hours away. Anyway, so off she goes to Poowong – shut up, Ben, it’s not that funny – but Dad doesn’t want to leave it like that so he follows her up there and they sort everything out and he stayed up there Friday night, and then came back today. So, you see, he’s not engaged any more and she’s not going to be shifting next door. Thank god.’
