Kate.
The love of my life who dumped me almost three months ago.
At least I thought she was.
But while I was cruising along happily thinking we were doing just fine, she was bored, apparently. She fixed that by sleeping with Jamie-fucken-slime-ball-wanker-Hunt, which is of course not his actual name but which should be. The devious bastard sensed her dissatisfaction and made his move. Or several moves, from what I observed when I busted them shagging on the back deck of my friend Connor’s house. It was supposed to be a surprise birthday party for me. It was certainly a surprise alright.
To make matters worse, I’d drunk so many beers I cried, I actually cried, in front of everyone. This turned out to be not the way to win back Kate’s affections.
“Sorry,” she’d said, disgust clear on her face. “But we just grew apart. I’m not the same person I was at fifteen, Albert, and neither are you.”
“But – I – don’t – understand –” I snivelled like the broken hearted drunk I was. “You – said – you – loved – me.”
“Christ Albert,” she hissed, leaning forward so only I could hear her. “Get a grip will you? You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I spent the rest of the night on Connor’s couch alternating between crying and vomiting. He, being the good mate he is, kicked everyone out and keyed Jamie’s car as he and Kate drove off. Or so he says. He’s more of a lover than a fighter though, so I have a feeling he just said it to cheer me up.
Kate.
We’d been together since we were fourteen. I’d watched her develop from a girl to a woman. Physically this had been the most impressive, especially when her boobs came in. But emotionally she was my soul mate. She got me. She of all people knew just how complicated the relationship between my father and I really is.
I quit my job after she dumped me. Working in her father’s business and learning the ins and outs of mortgage brokering suddenly lost all appeal. So did wearing skinny leg black trousers and crisply ironed shirts every day. Now I’m here. Shovelling shit. It’s tough, but it’s honest. And someone has to do it.
“Dude, put your shirt back on, you make the rest of us look bad,” Matt whines as he comes back.
“You should quit that stuff,” I tell him, trying not to breathe in too deeply. He reeks of smoke and in this confined space it’s making me feel queasy. “You know it stunts your growth right?”
He makes a crude gesture towards his crotch. “Nothing to worry about in that department, if you know what I’m saying mate.”
“Yeah mate, you’re not exactly subtle.”
“Subtlety’s overrated.”
Between his yellow toothed sniggering and the stink of smoke wafting off him I feel the sudden urge for fresh air.
“I’m off for a leak,” I say. “Don’t slack off while I’m gone.”
Outside, in the circular driveway, I’m just in time to see Maddy buckle Bee into her seat before driving away. She goes straight past me without a glance.
Maddy
Mum walks in a little after ten. I can tell straight away she’s been drinking, and not only because she reeks of cheap wine and second hand smoke. At least I hope it’s second hand; we have enough trouble paying the bills as it is without her adding an addiction into the mix.
“Darling,” she slurs cheerfully, as if I am some long lost bosom buddy. I glance at Bee, who is sitting beside me on the couch watching a Disney movie on her laptop, to make sure she is wearing her headphones. She is curled up against my side like a cat, her curls tickly against my arm. If she has noticed mum come in she doesn’t show it.
“Where have you been?” I ask, trying to keep my tone from being too confrontational.
“Work of course.” She laughs, but it’s forced.
“And in the five hours since?”
She waves a hand and sighs exaggeratedly like our roles are reversed and she is my teenage daughter and I am giving her the third degree.
“Out.” she pouts.
“With?”
“Friends. God what are you, the fun police?”
I give this the answer it deserves. Silence. She cracks within five seconds.
“I’m sorry,” she sighs, flopping down onto the armchair opposite and kicking her shoes off. “But I am allowed to have some fun. It’s not easy working and being a full time mum.”
I open my mouth to say something sarcastic when an alarm sounds in the kitchen.
“I’ll get it,” mum says, scrambling to her feet ungracefully and exposing the massive hole in her tights that extends from just above her knee to her crotch.
“Did you know your tights are ripped?”
She flushes and nods, unable to meet my eye “I can’t afford new ones until payday,” she says quietly. “Besides, you can’t tell when I’m standing.”
Any anger I feel flees and leaves me feeling deflated and heartbroken at the pathetic sight of my mother making do with holey tights because she can’t afford a new pair, at the ridiculous price of $5.99 or whatever they cost.
She’s right. She goes without to make sure Bee and I have a roof over our heads and food on the table, so I shouldn’t begrudge her a night out here and there. Although it’s not actually the night out that worries me. It’s the fear she’ll meet a new man.
I watch her leave the room to switch the alarm off and get Bee’s tablets. She looks good for her age, my mother, like a younger version of Goldie Hawn. She has the same fluffy blonde hair and trim figure. I know from old photos that she was a stunning teenager. You can still see that beauty, it’s just a little faded and smudged around the edges.
“I could have lent you the money for tights mum if you’d asked,” I tell her when she walks back into the room.
“Oh I know you would love,” she says, coming over to sit beside Bee. She puts a glass of water down on the coffee table and taps Bee on the shoulder, signing for her attention. Bee climbs onto her lap and smiles at her mother.
“Pocahontas now available to own on Disney home video,” she says.
Mum kisses her on the forehead. “Hello beautiful girl.” She passes her the glass of water and the first of the five tablets Bee takes every night before bed.
“I can’t take any more of your money though,” mum continues. “You already contribute more than someone your age should have to.”
“I don’t mind. Besides, six bucks isn’t exactly going to break the bank.”
“Six bucks here, seven there, where will it end? No. You already contribute to the bills more than I’d like.”
“I’m not going to have this argument again.”
“Who’s arguing? I’m grateful. But keep your money. Don’t go giving it out willy nilly to any old charity case with ripped tights.”
“You’re not a charity case mum.”
“I know. Sorry. A moment of self pity.” She passes Bee her last pill then closes her eyes and says a yoga chant. “Hmmm, Ommm, Ummm.” Then she opens her eyes and smiles. “There. Moment over. Normal programme resumed. Bedtime I think.”
“I’ll get Bee ready if you want to take a quick shower.”
“Thanks love,” she smiles gratefully. “I’d love one.”
“Bedtime Bee,” I tell my sister when mum has gone. She shows no sign of having heard me while I turn the TV off and check the doors are locked.
“Bee, Bedtime,” I repeat as I walk back into the lounge. “Turn the laptop off now please.”
She does as she’s told this time and follows me down the hallway to the bedroom she shares with mum. She turns her MP3 player off and watches as I plug it into the charger and make sure it’s switched on at the wall. I’ve only made the mistake of not checking once, and it’s not a mistake I’d care to repeat. Her headphones go on the bedside cabinet.
I help her pull off her top and she wiggles out of her jeans by herself. Then I pass her a pyjama top with the tag at the back so she just needs to pull it over her head. She sits on the bed to put the bottoms on, but
accidentally puts both legs into the one hole.
“Oops,” she giggles.
“Come on you silly sausage.” I help her put them on properly.
We only have one bathroom and it’s a cramped affair, so while mum showers, Bee goes to the toilet and then after flushing, closes it and sits on the lid so I can brush her teeth.
“Open your mouth,” I tell her.
“Hello Paddington.”
“Open your mouth, please Bee.”
This time she obliges.
“How was riding today?” Mum calls over the shower curtain.
“Yeah, not bad.” Bee pulls away from my brushing to wipe at the toothpaste that has leaked out of her mouth. She doesn’t like it on her skin and holds a towel ready while I brush so she can immediately clean any spillage.
“Open your mouth. She seemed to like it. They gave her a nice gentle horse.”
“Oh good. There you go, silver linings. It was obviously meant to be.”
It’s too late and I’m too tired to argue, so I just roll my eyes. Bee giggles, causing more toothpaste to spill. She dabs it away quickly. When I’ve finished cleaning she wipes her mouth one last time, swallowing the toothpaste foam because she won’t spit it into the sink. Then she opens her mouth wide for my inspection.
“What lovely clean teeth,” I say, and she rewards me with a big grin.
The shower gets turned off and mum pulls back the shower curtain.
“Pass me my towel will you.”
“Jesus mum,” I avert my eyes and pass it to her. “Ever heard of boundaries?”
“Yeah yeah. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to see it again.”
She wraps the towel around herself and laughs.
“I’m not joking,” I mutter. “I’m fully serious.”
“No secrets in this house. It’s the three Baxter girls against the world, remember?” She links arms with Bee and I and smiles toothily like we’re on the cover of some Hallmark card. I pretend to vomit.
Bee, who has no idea but who has an impeccable sense of timing, chimes up.
“Nonsense,” she declares.
Back in their room, while mum gets her nightgown on, Bee goes to the window and pushes apart the curtains to have one last look at the night sky. She presses her nose up against the window glass, her breath causing steam circles that bloom and disappear just as quickly with the cold.
“Bed Bee,” I tell her. It’s late and I am weary. I want to sink into my own bed, my own pillow, and check out on the day.
She smoothes a tiny wrinkle from the bottom sheet before she is satisfied enough to lay down. I lean over and kiss her forehead.
“Goodnight,” I say. “I love you.”
She smiles at me and starts reciting the scene from the Lion King where Mufasa is telling Simba he basically needs to grow up and take his responsibilities seriously. My mother slides into the bed beside Bee and pulls the duvet up. She kisses her lovingly on the forehead before she rolls onto her side, with her back to Bee.
“Go to sleep Bee,” she says. “I love you.”
“No, no, no, no, not the stick,” Bee says, still re-enacting the Lion King.
“Night mum.” I flick the light switch off on my way out.
“Night love.”
I head to my own room where I barely pause to strip off my jeans and unhook my bra before climbing into bed still wearing my T-Shirt. I can hear the murmur of Bee’s voice through the walls, but I know if she doesn’t fall asleep soon mum will help her.
It’s a routine we’ve been following for years.
Albert
My mood, already low from the unintended trip down memory lane, dips even lower when I turn into my street and see my brother’s car parked hard against the kerb outside our house.
I’m tempted to do a U-Turn, head to Connor’s and hide out until the coast is clear, but then I remember that as of half an hour ago I am now a fully paid up (or at least paid) member of society, thanks to the contract I scribbled my name onto before leaving the stables. I regret not taking up Matt’s offer of a celebratory drink now; as obnoxious as he is, he’s Mother Teresa compared to my brother.
Sure enough, the windbag himself is holding court from my father’s lazy boy, a beer in one hand, the remote in the other. His various offspring, four of them, are lolled about on the couch absorbed in their phones and tablets.
“Say hello to Uncle Albert,” Miranda, their mother, says when I walk into the room.
“Mumble deadbeat mumble loser,” they say, or at least it sounds like it. They don’t even bother to look up.
My brother, Louis (pronounced the French way of course, Louie) looks me up and down condescendingly, even though he’s not much to look at himself. In fact, he could quite comfortably rest his beer can on the mountainous stomach that sits proudly before him.
“Y’alright?” he says.
“Yeah fine thanks. You?”
“Fucking fantastic mate.”
“Don’t swear,” his wife scolds him, checking the ‘children’ to make sure they haven’t been traumatised by their father’s vulgarity. I’m willing to bet they’ve heard, and said, much worse.
“Got another pay rise,” he carries on proudly. “Second one this year. Only guy in the company to get one.” He drains the rest of his can and crushes it like tissue paper in his meaty hand. Then he throws it at my head. Luckily it’s not the first time, so I’m prepared.
“Good catch,” he nods. “Get me another one would you.”
Then he lets out a huge burp.
“Louis,” Miranda scolds.
“What? Better out than in.”
“Where’s mum?” I ask.
“Dunno. Around. She was here before.” But his attention is fixed on the TV, where I can see the All Blacks are currently playing Ireland.
“Run, run, RUN FASTER YOU COCONUT!” He smiles, satisfied, when a try is scored.
“Louis,” Miranda hisses.
“What?”
“You can’t go around saying racist things like that.”
“It’s not racist,” he says. “I work with a bunch of bloody islanders remember?”
I try, and fail, to understand how this statement justifies his rampant racism. It’s nothing new though. If you don’t look like my brother thinks you should look, he’ll have a special word just for you, guaranteed, and you won’t like it.
“Where’s that beer?” he asks.
I’ve just opened the fridge to get him one when I hear muffled voices from the laundry. I sidle over to press my ear against the door.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” a husky voice says. “You want me just as much as I want you, I can see it in your eyes and the way your breasts are heaving against my hot, naked chest.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Say what?
“Quick,” the voice continues. It is male, but it is not the voice of my father. “Give me your hand. Here, feel my desire for you.”
Then the tone changes. “Katherine gasps as she touches the taut skin of his –”
I decide I’ve heard enough and throw open the door. It bangs heavily against the wall and my mother screams, clutching at her chest.
“Jesus Albert, you scared me half to death.”
I look around the laundry, confused. There’s no one else here.
“Ever heard of knocking?” she mutters.
“Whose voice was that?”
“Voice? Oh.” She turns and picks up a CD player from the top of the washing machine. “I was listening to an audio book while I did the, er, -”
She looks around wildly and then opens the door of the dryer before closing it again.
“- washing.”
I look pointedly at the half empty bottle of wine that is sitting on the lid of the washing machine.
“What?” she says defensively. “It’s thirsty work.”
“Relax mum. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Good
boy.”
“You do know Louis is here right?”
“Why do you think I’m hiding in here?”
“How long does it take to get a bloody beer,” my brother’s voice complains from the lounge. “I could have brewed my own in the time you’ve taken.”
My mother rolls her eyes. “Tell him to fetch his own.”
“Yeah, I quite fancy my face the way it is thanks.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. My brother is a carbon copy of my father in so many ways.
We hear the back door open. Mum quickly stands in front of the wine.
“What are you two doing in here?” dad asks, popping his head around the doorframe, frowning.
“I was just asking mum for advice on how to get horse muck out of my clothes.” The lie comes out smoothly.
“Give her a break.” he says. “You’re big enough and ugly enough to figure it out for yourself. She’s not your slave.” He sniffs the air. “Is dinner ready love? I’m starving. A hard day’s work will do that.”
The last comment is, of course, for my benefit. I take it as my cue and straighten my shoulders proudly.
“Actually dad, you’ll be pleased to know that as of –”
“I’ll just have a quick splash in the shower,” he says, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Won’t be long.”
Then he disappears.
My shoulders sag.
“Sorry love,” mum says quietly. “He doesn’t mean to be so rude.”
“Yeah he does.”
“Actually speaking of stains,” My father reappears and squints at his uniformed shoulder. “Do you think you could get this blood out of my sleeve?”
He mistakes my mother’s expression for one of concern.
“Oh don’t worry, it’s not mine. Idiot perp tried to head butt me while resisting arrest. I ducked my head though,” he says smugly. “Broke his nose on my forehead. That’ll teach him.”
He disappears again.
Differently Normal Page 3
