by Helen Brown
With Scott seeping through her pores and Mojo wrestling for a comfy spot in the curve of her knees, she’d hardly slept. She’d risen early and showered, soaping away the residues of pleasure. Then, weirdly energised, she’d embarked on a frantic round of floor mopping.
‘Is that a new perfume?’ Jake asked as she passed him the sugar bowl.
Did she still reek of pheromones? She shook her head and set four more places at the table. The grooms-to-be were unlikely to rise for another hour. And Portia was incapable of getting out of bed before eleven a.m.
A pale face appeared at the door. Belle glanced anxiously at the animals.
‘It’s okay sweetie. They won’t bite,’ Jake said.
Belle seemed to think otherwise. Lisa lifted the food bowls and carried them outside. Cat and parrot trailed after her like pilgrims.
‘It’s not the animals so much as the hygiene issue that concerns me,’ Belle said, settling herself at the table.
Lisa opened the fridge and revelled in the feeling of her battered backside. Deerskin burns.
‘Juice, Belle?’ she asked with hostessy charm.
As she poured the orange liquid into Belle’s glass, she realised Jake must’ve felt a similar guilty pleasure after weeks of cheating on her. No wonder he’d come home oozing charm.
‘I mean, there’s such a thing as bird flu,’ Belle said, wiping the rim of her glass with a tissue. ‘And cats get AIDS.’
‘Yes, but they can’t pass AIDS to humans,’ Jake explained in a tone he’d used when helping Portia with her homework.
‘Aren’t you allergic to cats?’ Lisa asked.
‘Not so much these days,’ Jake replied, crunching into raspberry jam on toast.
Belle wiped her spoon and fiddled with her muesli.
‘So what did you think of Scott’s plans for your garden?’ Jake asked.
Lisa felt her cheeks redden. The imprint of Scott’s body was all over her, inside and out. They hadn’t gone near his computer.
‘Great.’
‘What’s he dreamt up?’
Lisa swallowed a gulp of cold coffee. ‘A fishpond.’ She was shocked by how easy it was to tell a lie.
‘What sort of fish?’
She couldn’t tell if Jake was interested or suspicious. Maybe he’d heard her creaking up the stairs. ‘Goldfish.’
‘Won’t the birds get them?’
‘Not if there’s plenty of waterweed.’
Belle scrolled idly through her phone.
‘So what are you two up today?’ Lisa asked, rattling in the sink.
‘Well, I’m certainly not going to a local hairdresser. Have you noticed every woman in this town has the same haircut?’ Belle babbled.
‘Really?’
‘They’ve all got a short-back-and-sides thing going. Like they’ve had head lice or something. We’re going shopping in the city. I mean, what do people wear to gay weddings—sequins and feathers?’
Jake smirked. Lisa wanted to slap him. She assured them the dress code wouldn’t be any different from a traditional wedding.
‘Jake needs new socks, anyway,’ Belle added.
He always did have sweaty feet. Lisa was making such a commotion at the sink she didn’t hear the tap on the back door.
‘Scottie, my man!’ Jake said, offering the visitor his hand. ‘We’ve just been talking about you.’
The flash of uncertainty across Scott’s eyes was quickly replaced by warmth when he saw Lisa. They bathed in a nanosecond of remembered intimacy before shielding themselves behind masks of civility.
Scott heaved what appeared to be a large wooden pole into the kitchen. ‘Put this thing together this morning,’ he said. ‘Thought Kiwi might like it.’
So he hadn’t slept either. The pole had a base at one end and a horizontal perch and feeding bowl at the other.
‘She’ll love it!’ Lisa said, beaming.
Scott placed the stand in a corner and ran a cloth over the wood. It was handsome, as far as bird poles went.
‘So what’s this I hear about the goldfish pond?’ Jake asked.
Scott’s cloth hovered. Lisa cleared her throat. ‘I was telling Jake about the fishpond you’re planning to put in near the driveway,’ she said.
Silence echoed across the kitchen.
‘Oh you mean the billabong,’ Scott said.
She could’ve kissed him.
‘What’s a bigglebong?’ Belle asked.
‘It’s a pond that gets left behind when a river changes course. If we dig down a bit, we might find the remains of one and maybe create some wetlands.’
‘Fascinating,’ Jake said.
The thrill of deceiving Jake was tempered with caution. Scott had just told a lie as effortlessly as she had. Perhaps she’d been too quick to trust him.
‘Yeah, I got my printer going, too,’ Scott added. ‘The plans are in the ute if you’d like to take a look.’
So there was a billabong. She felt weak with relief.
Chapter 33
The caterers, musicians, flowers and celebrant had all been taken care of. While the new front garden was raw, the curves of the paths passed as sculptural, and the plant beds were sprouting colour. The pit for the spa pool was still ugly and unlined, but it was tucked away out of sight from the front balcony.
Around the back of the house, the orchard was shimmering with early summer growth. Rows of fruit trees radiated like the spokes of a bicycle wheel from the old apple tree in the centre. Towering over the others, the central apple tree had exploded into a canopy of green. The boys had decided to formalise their commitment in its shade, underneath the heart carved in the ancient trunk.
With the dismantling of the servants’ quarters complete, the Grey Army were concentrating on the more pressing task of putting up white banners along the driveway. They fluttered festively, drawing attention away from the fire-damaged parts of the property.
True to his word, Terence delivered a sheath of outfits, including shoes, for her to try on. They were all beautiful garments and most were surprisingly flattering. Lisa was about to settle for a modest grey suit when Terence persuaded her to try on what amounted to a full-length cobalt blue petticoat. The outer layer of silky fabric was an even brighter blue. On top of that was a free-flowing jacket that covered (hallelujah) the tops of her arms. The neckline wasn’t prudish, but high enough for her to feel comfortable bending over seated guests.
Terence coaxed her into a pair of high-heeled sandals. He smoothed the garment over her hips and asked her to turn around. Leaning into the mirror, she found the birthmark Scott had mentioned the night they were together. He was right. With a stretch of imagination it could be the reverse image of a map of Australia. The gown floated around her. She loved the colour.
‘Beautiful!’ he said.
The word awakened shudders of recognition through her animal body. She hadn’t heard it since that night at Scott’s place.
Scott showed up early each morning to work near the gate. With the aid of a ditch digger, his efforts to uncover a billabong seemed to be paying off. Jake said it looked more like a swamp. She was confident the end result would be fantastic. Scott’s plans included a waterfall, footbridge and water deep enough to spawn native fish. Since that night, there’d been no more talk about putting the garden on hold. Lisa still hadn’t heard from Vanessa, but she’d given up caring. She remembered what her father used to say to her with a philosophical smile . . . Something will turn up, Panda Bear.
Scott declined offers to have lunch with everyone inside. Instead, he’d shelter in the shade of a blackened gum tree away from the house. She’d take him trays of tea and sandwiches, but they both keened for something else. When he tried to kiss her one morning, she disentangled herself and glanced anxiously back at the house. She told him about Portia’s rule. Being caught kissing in front of other people would be almost as shocking as holding hands.
There was no hope Scott’s efforts were going to be anywhere near compl
ete in time for the wedding, so Ted and the Grey Army brought in extra banners to camouflage the earthworks.
Subconsciously or otherwise, Jake tuned into the primal energies in the air. He bought a pair of shorts and took to rising early and jogging down the road on his weedy white legs. While Jake jogged, Belle, who was becoming increasingly petulant, disappeared on long walks, only to reappear furious and sunburnt, using her phone as a fly swat. Even with Kiwi hygienically ensconced on her new bird stand in the corner, she declined to appear in the kitchen for breakfast. Instead, Jake, with the humility of a toothless dog, would carry a tray laden with muesli and stevia-drenched coffee upstairs.
Belle seemed to be talking to the office most nights, and Lisa began to wonder whether she’d been born clutching her phone. At mealtimes, Belle would arrange the machine upright in front of her as if it was a pagan altar. Any attempts at polite conversation were invariably interrupted by its shrieking or the unnerving plunk of a new text message. Clearly some kind of crisis was going on back at work—Belle’s minions were calling her around the clock.
In the meantime, Lisa checked her emails daily, waiting to hear from Vanessa. At last, the day before the wedding, there it was. Lisa’s finger hovered over the mouse. If she deleted the message unopened then she’d never have to live with the humiliation. She drew a breath and clicked . . .
‘Hi Lisa, So sorry for the delay, but the ms for the “new War and Peace” came in and I had to drop everything to read it. I LOVE your new book! Congratulations. Marketing thinks it’ll go great guns. More soon, hugs, Vanessa xxx’
Lisa leant back in her chair and let the relief wash over her. The hours spent chained to her computer hadn’t been wasted. Going by Vanessa’s enthusiasm, she’d have the money to pay for the garden—to be honest, prospects of keeping the house remained unlikely.
That afternoon, James and Ted set up trestle tables in the orchard and put on a magnificent barbecue for friends and family. James’s parents, Bill and Sue, had arrived with generous quantities of New Zealand sauvignon blanc. Bill’s bright blue eyes were set in a face that resembled a battered cliff. Sue’s dark hair was cropped short, and laughter lines radiated from her warm, hazel eyes. If they’d suffered any angst over their son’s new commitment it didn’t show.
Stella, Heidi and their friends arranged themselves around one table, while the older generation, including Maxine and Gordon, sat at another. Portia was in deep conversation with Zack. Lisa was thrilled to see her daughter not only pick up a piece of bread but actually allow it to pass her lips.
Jake appeared with a fractious Belle. When Lisa suggested it could be a good idea to switch the phone off for a while, Belle looked at her as if she’d swallowed a crazy pill, and once more set her phone up in a cradle in front of her, where it blinked malevolently.
‘I know you’re exhausted,’ Lisa said.
‘Tell me about it.’ Belle sighed loudly before swigging from a glass of sauvignon blanc. ‘I can’t wait to be married and get a decent rest having babies.’
Lisa stifled a chuckle. Across the table, Jake cowered like an animal trapped in a box for research purposes. Lisa felt a ripple of pity for him. Still, she could think of no better punishment for Jake than having to spend his later years pushing a stroller, preferably one designed for triplets, around Soho.
‘What’s this I hear?’ Portia said, appearing at her father’s elbow. ‘I’m going to have a little half-brother or sister?’
Jake dabbed his lips with a napkin. The attention of both tables was suddenly on him. ‘Well, not just yet . . .’ he mumbled.
‘What do you mean?’ Belle said in a tone dripping with icicles.
‘It’s just a little early . . .’ he said, staring up at the sky. ‘Strange there aren’t any stars out tonight. What’ll we do if it rains for the service tomorrow?’
Ted assured him there was a Plan B.
‘You think thirty-eight is early to become a mother?’
Somewhere across the valley a creature emitted a sorrowful whooping sound.
‘There’s no hurry,’ Jake said.
James’s dad Bill rose to his feet and raised his glass. ‘Um, I’d just like to take this opportunity to thank . . .’
‘Oh yeah!? So make that forty-five by the time I start IVF!’ Belle’s voice was ragged with rage.
Bill sat down again.
‘If you think it’s been easy for me pretending to feel comfortable here with your ex-wife and her weird animals and this . . . this . . . gay wedding . . .’ Belle was shaking.
‘You have a problem with it?’ Ted asked. His tone was cool and solemn, and Lisa wanted to run over and hug him.
‘Everyone knows God made marriage to be sacred between man and woman,’ Belle announced.
‘She’s religious?!’ Portia said, aghast.
‘Republican,’ Jake muttered.
Now Belle was crying angry, overwrought tears. Pushing back her chair, she spun on her heel and hurled her glass into the orchard, before running sobbing into the darkness.
Thank heavens, Lisa thought, she’d talked the boys into getting plastic glasses.
‘Oh no!’ Jake cried.
‘What’s the matter, Dad?’
‘She’s left her phone!’
‘Never mind,’ Portia said, dethroning the thing and switching it off.
Jake seemed momentarily torn. But when Ted put his arm around his father’s shoulder and escorted him to the young people’s table there was no argument. The gesture sparked a wider exchange of seats, making both tables intergenerational. Stella produced a guitar and called Heidi to her side. Tension dissolved as they sang ‘Till There Was You’ in soothing harmony. Cheers erupted when James presented New Zealand’s famous dessert—meringue topped with cream and kiwifruit—otherwise known as the pavlova.
‘Don’t you know we Aussies thought of that first?’ Ted joked.
‘Oh, don’t you start!’ James said. ‘Anything good that comes out of New Zealand always gets claimed by you Australians.’
‘That’s why I’m claiming you,’ Ted said, kissing James on the cheek.
A cheer went up over the orchard. It was echoed by another cry in the distance—not of happiness but abject misery.
Jake jumped to his feet. ‘Belle!’
Lisa went inside and found the torch Ted had given her. Jake strapped it to his head and strode around the side of the house, with Lisa and the rest of the dinner guests on his heels.
The night was moonless, profoundly black. ‘If we spread out we should find her,’ Jake said, clearly forgetting he was the only one with a torch. ‘Belle!’
His cry was answered by a cross between a roar and a moan.
‘Over there!’ he said, charging into the labyrinth of Scott’s paths in the front garden. They arrived at the edge of the empty spa pool pit. Jake directed his torch into the chasm.
Belle’s eyes shone wildly up at him. ‘Get me out of here!’ she yelled. ‘You did this on purpose!’
‘Did what?’ Jake said.
‘Humiliated me in front of everyone.’
‘Belle . . . I . . .’
‘Oh and by the way. I’ve got a message from the boss for you. You’re fired!’
Chapter 34
Mojo pounced on Lisa’s stomach and dug his paws into her, Thai-masseur style, as he sauntered over her chest. Lisa rolled over. Riding the sheets like a snowboarder, Mojo slid to the floor.
Lisa pulled on her kimono and followed the cat as he galloped onto the balcony, lion tail swishing. The hills were cardboard cutouts against the pale horizon. Sun cast dramatic slabs of gold across the valley, bringing life to everything it touched.
Mojo’s good ear twitched and his whiskers swivelled forward. He pushed his head between the balustrades. The cat always heard things before she did.
A pair of catering trucks rumbled through the colonnade of banners to park outside the kitchen. Ted and James would be up already, organising chefs and waiters.
&nb
sp; White wings flapped around the side of the house and with great effort ascended to hover over the balcony.
‘C’mon, girl! You can do it!’ Lisa cried, admiring Kiwi’s pastel yellow underside.
The cockatoo squawked. Rotating her wings like helicopter blades, she executed a perilous landing on the balcony rail.
‘Good girl!’
Once she’d gained composure, Kiwi preened herself modestly. Mojo sprang onto the rail to congratulate his friend. Then the cat escorted Lisa to the bathroom, which was pleasantly uncluttered, Belle’s toiletries having disappeared overnight.
Mojo leapt into the bath and licked droplets of water from around the plughole. Lisa tore off her nightie and stood under the shower. Water streamed over her in joyous rivulets. She was startled by an unfamiliar noise—the sound of herself humming.
She pulled on a sweatshirt and pants and followed Mojo downstairs. To keep people out of the caterers’ way, she set up a grazing table on the front veranda and loaded it with coffee, a mountain of croissants and (with Portia in mind) a bowl of red delicious apples.
Portia was up surprisingly early. So, for that matter, was Zack, who’d ostensibly bunked down with Stella and Heidi in the old dining room. Zack was no longer wedded to his camera, it seemed. Lisa was silently thrilled when Portia ate the corner of a croissant as well as an apple.
Jake was nowhere to be seen.
A truck full of chairs and tables arrived, followed by a florist’s van. Lisa could tell from the clattering and happy voices that everything was under control. Mojo was desperate to investigate the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen, but she herded him outside to walk around the house. The land where the stables had stood had been designated a car park.
Around the back of the house, the orchard was being transformed. Stella and Heidi were arranging rows of white seats in a semi-circle around the apple tree. Runners of red carpet created two aisles that met at a simple table in the leafy shade. Beyond the orchard, long tables were set up around a dance floor. Someone had erected a canvas awning to disguise the toings and froings of kitchen staff. And up in a tree, Ted was hanging paper lanterns. They looked pretty, but Lisa quailed at the thought of another fire.
