by Cate Kendall
*
Jacqueline Bouvier had a to-do list a mile long today. It had been long enough already until those boys of hers had thrown more chores in her direction at breakfast. She smiled indulgently; men, they'd be lost without women to take care of them.
Joshua and Daniel both had exams coming up so Jacqueline didn't mind at all that Daniel asked her to return his DVDs to the video shop, even though it was next door to his school. And Joshua asked her to drop Tyler's Wii games back to his home in Longueville because Tyler was home sick today and wanted them and Joshua was supposed to take them to school yesterday and had forgotten.
And then the silly billy rang up the moment she was back in the door from dropping them off at school (they didn't enjoy catching the bus) – fancy forgetting his sports uniform! Never mind, it was only half an hour out of her way. Well, an hour if you counted the return trip.
Thomas needed his dry cleaning picked up, his fishing rod taken in to the shop (the reel was sticking) and a few bits and bobs picked up at Bunnings. He also needed her to buy him new underpants. She had mentioned this morning that she was very busy and might have to put the underwear job off till another day, but his scowl over the newspaper had convinced her she could make time for that task.
So after Bunnings she'd headed to DJs and bought her husband's customary y-fronts, ignoring the jazzy lycra boxers with their popsicle colours and body-hugging designs. Her Thomas was a traditionalist when it came to his underwear, and she appreciated his consistency.
Finally all her little jobs were done and her time was her own. It was unusual not to be front and centre at home in the late afternoon, but Thomas had a client dinner and the boys were both at after-school sports and so Jacqueline felt justified in indulging in a spot of shopping.
The dessert she took to this evening's do at Sera's house had to be superb. Chantrea was bringing a new member: a man of all things. Apparently he was a single father and Chantrea had hinted that he was quite the lonely boy.
Jacqueline tapped her foot impatiently as she scanned the shelves of House. She couldn't find just the right serving plate. It couldn't be too feminine, given the male company, yet should be delicate enough to complement her pavlova.
A bag of decorative clothes pegs caught her attention. Each was shaped like a little person, painted in bright colours with such sweet faces. She glanced over at the salesgirl, who was busy showing a customer the glories of baked enamelware. The pegs were too hard to resist.
Now, back to platters. The stainless steel Alessi was very fashionable and would suit a more contemporary space, such as Bella's apartment, but not the sixties retro look that Sera kept insisting was done on purpose but which was clearly just a kitchen in grave need of a renovation. Jacqueline longed to choose the filigreed white metal cake stand, which would look perfect with her dainty meringue but she moved on to a cream, ceramic cake stand devoid of decoration. The texture of her pavlova would work well against it and wouldn't be overshadowed with unnecessary frou-frou. Superb, she thought, gleefully clapping her hands. She paid for the stand, insisted on two layers of bubble wrap, and left the store.
Her phone beeped an incoming message from Sera, confirming Sam's culinary contribution.
'Hope pâté is ok,' she read. Pâté? That wasn't what they'd agreed. She stamped her ballet flat and spun on her heel back to House. She'd have to exchange the cake stand now and get the Alessi after all.
She texted Mallory: 'Don't bring meat product, Sam's bringing pâté.'
*
Mallory Rimmel's phone tinkled with a message just as she was about to step into her favourite jeans shop. She gave Jacqueline's cryptic message a second or two of confused thought before shrugging her shoulders and deleting it.
She skipped inside the dim shop, which was lit only by garish disco lights that flashed in time to the blaring doof-doof music. Skinny-leg jeans wallpapered the shop: acid-washed, rock-washed, dark denim, light denim, white denim, plain denim, distressed and depressed, sand-blasted, rock-blasted, faded, ripped, zipped, tipped and tightened, and every pair of them in stretch fabric.
A retro rainbow of acid-yellow, royal blue and turquoise tops screamed for attention alongside blue-and-yellow-striped tees with ripped necks, luridly coloured leggings and leopard-print miniskirts. Scruffy bins overflowed with a gaudy treasure trove of cheap bangles and baubles.
Mallory was in her element, delighting in each piece and tearing clothes from hangers as she made her way to the change room, conveniently forgetting that fifteen years earlier she'd sent bags of exactly the same outfits to the op shop.
She bought contrasting leggings, leg-warmers and skinny jeans for herself and her fifteen-year-old daughter, Tilly, who was conveniently the same size as her young mum.
As she waited for the sales assistants to finish exclaiming over a friend's new nose piercing, Mallory checked her phone and found a group text from Bella. 'Can't make SNB 2nite, in Santa Monica. Sorry.'
Santa Monica? Mallory thought. Isn't that where Cyndi Lauper lives?
*
Sera's house had the ultimate Paddington accessory – off-street car parking. As she pulled into the carport behind the house, she once again gave silent thanks for this residential asset.
The wheelbarrow had fallen forwards, forcing her to park halfway out of the shelter in the fine misty rain. The half-bags of mulch that had spilt onto the driveway nagged at her conscience. She'd wanted to fix up the veggie patch for weeks but somehow hadn't got beyond buying mulch and dragging out the rusty wheelbarrow. She sighed and laid her forehead on the steering wheel to prepare for the next challenge – the dinner and bedtime battle.
She could still remember the days not so long ago when she could simply get out of the car, skip up the twenty steps to the back door, walk in, pour a nice glass of wine and sit down to relax. She had taken that freedom for granted and now her body ached to have that sort of simplicity once more – just for a day or two.
An image of Bella reclining in a luxurious bubble bath sprang into her mind and she felt a stab of resentment. There was her sister, in LA, living the high life, not even able to organise her calendar to be back home for Stitch 'n' Bitch once a month. And here Sera was, stuck in mindless domestic servitude.
It was hours since she had finished work. She'd popped in for an unplanned and very naughty pedicure, picked up the kids from crèche, gone two rounds of chaos at the supermarket, picked up her Pill prescription from the chemist, a registered mail delivery from the post office and some wine for tonight. The steering wheel was clammy under her tight grip when she finally sat back and opened her eyes.
'Right!' she said determinedly to her children. 'Let's do it!'
She got the kids out first, unbuckling their harnesses, answering a dozen or so of Madeline's insistent questions and trying to convince Harry not to plunge his fruit stick into his ear. She strapped their overflowing backpacks onto their little bodies, stooped to pick up the crayons and lunchbox that fell from Harry's unzipped Thomas the Tank Engine bag, then bustled them toward the stairs.
'It's raining,' whined Madeline.
'Well, get up the stairs quickly then,' Sera replied matter-of-factly.
Harry was exhausted and stood mutely staring up at his mum, his enormous puppy-dogs eyes pleading for her to carry him. It was pointless to try to convince him to walk when he was so tired, so Sera resigned herself to an extra trip to the car and hoisted him onto her hip. She slung her handbag over her other arm and scooped up a few shopping bags from the boot.
The rain was getting heavier now and the trek up the slippery stairs was difficult with the exhausted weight of the child against her.
'Knock on the door,' she called to Madeline, who had reached the top already. 'Nanna might open it for us.' Maddy reached up, stood on her toes and hammered with her child's fist several times.
Sera staggered up to the top step and lifted her knee to balance Harry's slumped body on it. Standing on one leg, she swapped all he
r bags into one hand so she could jiggle the uncooperative key in the lock. When she managed to push the door open Madeline instantly darted inside, causing Sera to stumble and lose her grip on the shopping, her handbag and keys, which all fell about her feet.
She deposited her son on the floor and as she bent to retrieve an avocado from under the kitchen table she caught sight of her mother-in-law's slipper-clad feet up on the ottoman, and stuck her head into the lounge room to say hello. A New Idea and the TV remote sat atop the pink-and-white angora blanket on Joan's lap. The noisy excitement of the Family Feud contestants filled the room.
Joan looked up over her half-specs. 'Oh, it's you. I thought it must have been by the way the knocking was going on and on.'
'Well, why didn't you open the foor for us?' Sera tried hard to keep the impatience from her voice.
Joan's lunch dishes were still on the coffee table. She'd had five cups of tea today, Sera counted.
'What and risk getting wet? It's raining outside.' Joan pressed the remote to drown out Harry's cries. 'Oh, and your mother called.'
Sera groaned. That was the last thing she needed right now. Harry was in full whinge mode. He waved his arms in the air. 'Up, up,' he demanded. The shopping would be getting drenched in the open car boot, but nothing could be done until Harry was calm and sorted.
Sera carried him tired and protesting into the kitchen to distract him with the Wiggles on the small TV/DVD. Harry slipped his thumb into his mouth and settled his head on Sera's shoulder, momentarily transfixed by Dorothy and Captain Feathersword. She quietly opened a drawer, keeping an ear tuned to the living room. Harry clung like a needy koala to her hip. Timing was crucial. One wrong move and the evening would blow up.
She deftly lifted out a baby bottle with her one free hand, filled it with milk and added a very naughty squirt of chocolate syrup, which would be exposing Harry's baby teeth to decay but would buy her a few more minutes of peace. Harry watched what she was doing and, placated by her actions, allowed himself to be deposited on a kitchen chair while Sera made his favourite drink. She screwed the top on slowly and quietly, and handed over the bottle as she nervously looked in the direction of her mother-in-law.
Harry's tired body relaxed and his eyes closed as he eagerly sucked on the sweet milky treat. Sera realised she had been holding her breath for the past few seconds and let out a noiseless sigh.
'I hope you're not giving in to that child,' came Joan's voice. 'He's far too old for a bottle, you know.'
Sera rolled her eyes. She'd been caught.
'He has you around his little finger, my girl. It wasn't like that in my day. You've got to be strict on them . . . hmmph,' Joan's sentence trailed off into oblivion.
Sera didn't have time to argue. She had just a small window of opportunity before Harry noticed she was gone and began to fuss again.
She raced to the back door, leapt over the grocery items which still lay strewn across the floor, ran down the stairs, loaded herself up with bags of shopping, locked the car and staggered back up to the house, where she tripped on the door jamb and once again dropped her shopping across the kitchen, accidentally standing on the bread as she struggled to steady herself.
Joan sat forward in her chair, affronted by the noise. 'Must you explode into the house every time you enter?' she called out. Madeline sat on the floor beside her grandmother, staring vacantly at the television screen. 'Anyway, what's for dinner?' Joan added as an aside and flicked over to see what that lovely Lavinia was wearing tonight.
Harry began to wail, 'Muuum, MUUUM!'
Sera scooped up as much of the dropped shopping as she could manage and made her way awkwardly to Harry, whose wailing had escalated into a full-throated scream. He had managed to pull the teat off his drink, drenching himself and the floor. Sera stepped over the spill and dumped the shopping on the bench.
Harry's wet, chocolatey face was twisted in anger.
The contents of the shopping flicked through her mind – oh no, ice-cream.
Madeline called out that she was hungry.
Joan asked again what was for dinner.
Harry stood on his chair and launched his pudgy, sticky body at her and Sera quickly stepped into the milk puddle to arrest his mid-air fall.
As Harry smeared chocolate topping and milk across her white work uniform she remembered she didn't have a clean one for tomorrow's shift.
She sighed again, and hugged poor little Harry harder. Bugger the uniform, she thought, as she carried the little bundle of chocolate, snot and misery up the stairs to the bathroom. It nearly killed her that she'd had to give up maintaining an organised house. It was frustrating to leave the disaster zone all over her kitchen floor but Harry needed her and that was more important.
'How about we have a bath together, my little man?' she whispered into his ear.
'Mmmmm,' he snuffled, mollified now that he was where he'd wanted to be all day; in his mother's arms. He clung to her neck in case she changed her mind. But, thanks to years of practise, she was still able to undress both of them and draw a bath while holding him.
Sera sat in the bath with her baby and he finally separated from her long enough to enjoy some quiet splashy play. Madeline soon wandered up and joined them.
As Sera was drying them all off afterwards she heard the back door open. 'What the hell . . . ?' she heard Tony say.
She suddenly remembered the state of the house and quietly chastised herself. She felt like such a failure when her husband came home to chaos. God, that was so 1950s housewife of her, she argued to herself. She was a good, caring mother who prioritised her children's needs. She pulled on a full-length bathrobe and hurried down the stairs.
'Hello darling,' she said, tilting her face up to kiss him. He returned her kiss distractedly as he took in the catastrophe of melting ice-cream, squashed bread and various groceries spread out across the floor. Joan deigned to peel herself away from the television now that the apple of her eye had returned home.
'Oh you poor love, you look tired and starving – I don't think there's any dinner yet either,' Joan said pointedly.
'I'll be right, Ma,' Tony said, dumping his tool belt in the closet and picking up the shopping while Sera hastily assembled bowls of fruit and crackers and ran back up the stairs with the children's rather feeble dinner.
'Goodnight little guys,' Tony called up to Maddy and Harry as they peeped through the banister. 'See you in the morning.'
As the children munched, Sera read them stories, scratched their backs, tucked them in for sleep, then came back downstairs.
Tony had put away the ice-cream and cleaned up the milky mess on the floor. Sera put her uniform on soak, retrieved the few hidden runaway groceries, and then prepared tinned soup and toasted sandwiches. As she served dinner in front of the television, she glanced at the starburst clock above the manetelpiece. She only had an hour to pull herself and the house together before the Stitch 'n' Bitchers were due to arrive. How was she going to do it?
Joan peered suspiciously at her tuna toastie.
'Bread's a strange shape,' she said.
~ 4 ~
Sera didn't do skirts. Even with long skirts, there was far too much risk of leg exposure for her liking. But what could she do? White linen skirts were a major look this season, and Sera was a woman who hated to miss a trend.
After the chaos of the day and Joan's usual sarcasm it was a relief to finally escape to her room and get dressed for tonight's Stitch 'n' Bitch.
She scrutinised her reflection in the full-length mirror, assessing all angles. Both legs were almost entirely hidden by the ankle-grazing, white linen wrap-skirt, but she still wasn't sure if she had the courage to wear it. Maybe if she stood up all night she could prevent any wardrobe malfunctions?
At least her taupe silk cami and new bejewelled flip-flops from Witchery posed no such fashion concerns. She'd seen the shoes at lunchtime, the shiny stones across the toes glittering prettily, and had been unable to resist such a
must-have purchase.
Of course then there had been the problem of squeezing in a pedicure after work and finding the right chocolate nail polish to match the stones. But it had been worth juggling an extra hour of childcare, getting off work early and cancelling her much-overdue smear test one more time, she decided, wiggling her toes happily.
Damn it! She hadn't had time to even think about buying wool or needles for tonight's knitting session. It had been months since she'd finished her last project: a rather tragic-looking scarf which Madeline had refused to wear. She'd made a half-hearted attempt to start a beanie for Harry, in his favorite Roosters colours, but she'd lost her knitting bag somewhere – a cute Olga Berg number she'd picked up in the last Myer sales – and kept hoping it would turn up. That was a great bag.
But really, Stitch 'n' Bitch was just a convenient excuse for wine and a whine, and that was fine by Sera. She just wished Bella was going to be there. They hadn't caught up for ages.
She took a last look in the mirror. Her bare ankles sat vulnerable and exposed beneath the hem of her skirt, un - accustomed to the glare of daylight. She couldn't do it. She ran back to her wardrobe and pulled on a pair of taupe leggings from a drawer overflowing with tights, stockings, footless tights and leggings.
'Hey gorgeous, nice to see you in a skirt. It suits you,' Tony said, coming into the bedroom to change.
'Yeah, yeah,' Sera brushed away the compliment and quickly ducked away as he moved to kiss her. 'You'd better get a move on, your business studies class starts in fifteen minutes.'
'Gettin' there,' he replied, slipping on his Nike laceless street shoes. 'At least Mum's off to her Italian lesson so she won't be underfoot for you and your friends.'
Sera shook her head. 'No, sadly Mavis's car has a flat battery so she won't be able to go.'
'Oh, damn,' Tony halted on his way out of the room, pulling a tight white T-shirt over his broad chest. 'And on the night you're hosting too.'
'Never mind,' Sera replied with a brave smile, 'I'm sure she'll behave when company's here. She's pretty disappointed about missing Italian though.'
