Spin Cycle

by Ilsa Evans

  I yank CJ behind me while we finish the shopping. This actually takes a lot longer than usual because (a) it is extremely difficult to steer the trolley and hang on to her, (b) she keeps interrupting my concentration to protest her innocence and the fact that ‘lettuce’ does sound like ‘loaf of bread’, and (c) I keep getting stopped by helpful souls asking whether that is the little girl who is lost and am I taking her up to the enquiries counter? Actually, I believe that they think I was attempting a kidnap because of my menacing expression, vice-like grip, and her obvious reluctance to be anywhere near me.

  Naturally, I pick the slowest check-out lane and find myself beside Joel’s mother, who proceeds to regale me with stories she has heard of various lost children (naturally, not her own – her children do not wander). And do I realise how drawn I look? I’ve obviously had a nasty shock and I really should go home and have a strong cup of tea, with perhaps just a smidgen of scotch, not too much mind (do I look like I can’t be trusted with a scotch bottle before lunch?), and then perhaps go straight to my bedroom and have a nice lie-down (I wish). And was that really me in the paper on Wednesday?

  She is still talking after I have packed and paid for my groceries, so I interrupt her to bid her a brisk farewell and head out to the car park with relief. Surprising me yet again, Ben hops out of the car when he sees me coming and pops the boot open. I park the recalcitrant trolley behind the car and strap CJ firmly into her seat before I even start helping Ben load the groceries into the boot. Because I’ve had enough – and I’m not taking any chances.

  SATURDAY

  6.00 pm

  Gabriel Gaté would be proud of me. I have been stretching my culinary skills to the limit for over four hours now in preparation for tomorrow’s shindig. I have prepared marinated steaks and non-marinated steaks, satay chicken, chilli chicken and teriyaki chicken, home-made hamburgers, a variety of rather daring kebabs, three different types of sausages, an assortment of palatable salads as far as the eye can see (certainly a lot more lettuce than I needed), and some mouth-watering desserts which would never feature in any Weight-Watchers’ leaflet: pavlova, cheesecake, meringues and a sour-cream chocolate slice to die for. I have rolls and buns, chips and dips, pretzels and crackers.

  I have wine, beer, soft-drinks and a fruit-juice punch with sliced strawberries and oranges just waiting to be plopped in when the timing is right. In fact, I have bought and prepared so much food that the fridge is majorly overloaded and the monthly food budget is totally blown. But my cunning plan is to have enough food to keep each of the guest’s mouths full for the entire duration of the barbecue, which, while admittedly unattractive, will negate the chances of any verbal confrontation taking place between the various combatants.

  I have also checked the weather forecast and there is no rain on the horizon, or anywhere else within spitting distance. In fact, it’s going to be a lovely mild day of around 17 degrees, which is the best we’ve had for quite a while. It’s really more than I deserve – fancy planning a barbecue in winter. Sometimes I amaze myself.

  I have also had the kids working hard all afternoon. Sam spends every Saturday morning working at the local hot bread shop but she pitched in along with the others as soon she got home. She has mowed the lawn to within an inch of the earth and Ben has trimmed the edges, cleaned the cages of his various livestock, and washed down the outdoor furniture. They have even tidied up the front verandah and used their own initiative to drag a very large potted umbrella tree around to hide the broken window. Now, as long as people stay out of the lounge-room itself, they won’t even notice that it’s damaged. Unfortunately, in their enthusiasm they also disposed of my ‘dangerous bird’ sign, but I can always make another one. CJ started off as my helper but, when I objected strenuously to the amount of food she was splattering liberally onto the bench-top, cupboards and my clothing, she decided to transfer her services to the outside workers. From where I am standing at the kitchen window I can see all three of them bent over the garden beds, actually working together while performing veritable miracles with the weeding. Click! I take a mental snapshot and store it away carefully for my old age. It’s moments like this that make everything else worthwhile.

  I put on the kettle for a well-deserved cup of tea and watch the kids for a little while longer. From the time they were each born I have always received an almost guilty pleasure from watching them surreptitiously, through the kitchen window like now, or peeking into rooms where they have set up some elaborate game, or even quick looks through the classroom window at school after dropping them off. Furtive glimpses which reveal how they react and interact with themselves and their peers without me running interference. Suddenly they are individuals. And it’s a glimpse into their personalities, which is sometimes really heartening, sometimes rather worrying, sometimes even totally gut-wrenching, but always irresistibly fascinating.

  While I watch, Sam leans forward and passes something over to her little sister, who pops it into a glass jar. Probably a slater. CJ loves the ugly little critters and I’m always finding mummified remains around her bedroom. Or the cat is. I can hear that ridiculous dog next door going ballistic at the fence, probably trying to tear his way through. Ben throws a handful of weeds to one side and goes over to the fence where he squats down and starts to talk to the dog trapped on the other side. The yelping ceases immediately. Boy, do I wish I had that sort of power!

  Sam and CJ haven’t even looked up. Their two heads, one blonde and one dark, are now side by side peering into the glass jar to observe the activities of the inmates. I smile contentedly and reflect that I must have done something right. Apart from the occasional spat, my two girls get along very well together and even Ben seems to fit quite well into the equation. And when it is required, they do rise to the occasion and stick together. Look at Tuesday when I was delayed in town, or today when there is an enormous amount of work to be done in preparation for tomorrow. Yes, they are pretty good kids. And I love them dearly. If I’m going to start counting my blessings and being more positive about life then they come right at the top of the list of life’s little blessings. And life’s big blessings. Between the three of them they may have given me stretch marks and somewhat saggy boobs, but what the hell? What would I do with a perfect body anyway? And as for those extra wrinkles they’ve caused over the years, well, most of them are laugh lines that have been formed by watching their antics and smiling at them while they are asleep.

  I decide that, now I have this unexpected break from work, I am definitely going to set aside some quality time to spend with them. Especially Benjamin. I shall try to share his interests a bit more; in fact I will even go on a tour of the garage with him and have a look at the inhabitants. I’ll just have to have a stiff drink first, that’s all, and hold my breath. But it is of vital importance that I break down the barriers, build on our bonds – and all before February, when his father returns to stake a claim.

  While I have been musing on the vagaries of parenthood, the ménage à trois and its temporary truce have broken up and, leaving a large pile of vegetation (including quite a few plants which look suspiciously un-weedlike) on the lawn, have departed for places and parts unknown. Well, unknown for approximately twenty-five seconds then, as usual, they pop up behind me.

  ‘Why’re you staring out the window? Have you been spying on us?’

  ‘Mummy! Look at all my slaters!’

  ‘Sam’s such a bitch.’

  SATURDAY

  8.45 pm

  It has just occurred to me that Diane never rang to confirm her presence on the morrow. This has the potential to be positively catastrophic; I really really need her to act as a buffer between certain relatives and me. I’m quite willing to beg if required. Besides, I’m dying to find out how her family took her big news. Twins! I decide I’d better ring her.

  I head to the phone in the hall and settle myself down for a chat. Unfortunately, David answers brusquely and informs me that she’ll ring back as
soon as she is able. Don’t tell me they’re having another family discussion? My soft spot for my brother-in-law is beginning to harden. I was always aware that Diane spoilt her family but I never would have thought that they were this selfish. I hope to God that they soon start sharing in her delight, maybe a little, before it sours. They could at least pretend.

  Maybe it’s just as well if they don’t come tomorrow. I don’t know whether I could watch her pale face all afternoon without saying anything. Or maybe she could come and the rest of them can stay away if they can’t handle what’s going on. At least then Diane will get a little peace and quiet. I decide that, if she’s still having problems, I’ll suggest it. I just hope that she doesn’t wait too long before she calls back. I’m planning on going to bed very early tonight. Sam, dressed in skin-tight black jeans and a minuscule red jumper, flits down the hallway and stops when she spots me sitting on the telephone stool.

  ‘I need to use the phone.’

  ‘Well, you can’t. I’m waiting for a call.’

  ‘I need to ring Evan.’

  ‘What for? You’ll see him tomorrow.’

  ‘But I need to ask him who he’s bringing!’

  ‘Samantha! Your cousin is not bringing anyone and don’t you dare tell him to!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because this is not a teenage social event! It’s a family get-together!’

  Samantha gives me a filthy look and stalks back down the hallway towards her room. Just as she gets to the door, I hear a car pull into the driveway. It honks twice.

  ‘Sam, your lift’s here! Don’t forget your jacket!’

  ‘I know! I can hear!’ She slams her bedroom door, hurries up the hallway and is halfway out the front door before she turns and drops a brief kiss on my cheek. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘See you. Have fun, and don’t ring your cousin from Sara’s house. Oh, and grab a jacket!’

  ‘God, Mum, sometimes you’re just like Hitler! I can’t wait till Dad moves next door!’ She casts yet another filthy look in my direction and slams the door behind her.

  I grin despite myself. She is so transparent sometimes that just foiling her can make my day. Then again, I am really pleased that she gets on so well with her cousins. I can remember once, many moons ago, when a five-year-old Sam was granted the singular honour of being the only girl invited to Evan’s sixth birthday party. The theme was monsters, and the pièce de résistance was when each of the party guests got to choose a particular monster from Evan’s brand-new ‘Monster Club’ book. Despite being given first choice, Sam rejected each of the monsters in turn, electing instead to become her own invention: Flora, the Flower Bunny. When the rest of the party guests expressed their disgust in no uncertain terms, her gallant cousin informed them that, if they insisted on picking on Flora, they would all have to go home. I still have Sam’s official monster membership certificate somewhere – with ‘Flora, the Flower Bunny’ printed on it loud and clear.

  Well, the Flower Bunny has now departed for the night. Jacket-less. First she is going to an underage, non-alcohol teenage disco affair for the evening, and then she is planning on staying at her friend Sara’s house overnight from where she, and Sara, will be returning for the festivities here at lunchtime tomorrow. This way she craftily avoids having to be around me as I undergo last-minute preparations in the morning. Clever girl.

  I lean forward and pick up the desk diary, closing my eyes to imagine what tomorrow’s motto will be. I decide that perhaps something full of disaster and dire predictions would be appropriate. Instead the motto reads: Strength for today is all that we need, for there never will be a tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring but another today with its measure of joy and sorrow. I frown as I read the motto again. Is that a message? If so, perhaps I can get another one.

  I close my eyes and flick the diary open to another page. It reads: Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time: for that is the stuff life is made of. That’s good, I like it. So I flick again and this time Robert Louis Stevenson tells me that There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy. Okay, this is getting creepy. Maybe there is a higher power trying to send me messages of encouragement in my search for my control, inner peace and all the rest of that crap.

  I decide on one last try, close my eyes, flick and then read: It is very dangerous to run with scissors. Okay, that’s more like it. I never run with scissors and I don’t encourage those around me to do so either. As for the rest of those bons mots, I’m not so sure. Have I been squandering time? Have I been worrying too much about tomorrow to really enjoy today? But then again, I quite enjoyed today and I already know that I am really looking forward to tomorrow as well. It’s true, I am really looking forward to tomorrow. With all its measure of joy and sorrow. So what was wrong with me earlier in the week? And last week, and the week before that?

  I think about what I said to Terry last night. Was a major life shake-up, whether it came in the form of Maggie, or Diane’s comments, or any of the other stuff, all I needed? Or was I, as Terry so blithely put it, just expecting crap? I know I never used to be like that. I remember now. So it must have been just a bloody awful soul-destroying habit I developed over the last couple of years. It has probably been building slowly since Keith. And if so, it ends now. Right now. I know it’s not as easy as that, but if I at least know what my problem is, then I am halfway to fixing it. Think positive. I grin happily at nothing in particular.

  On that note, the phone rings and I dive forward to answer it.

  ‘Di!’

  ‘Actually, I’d prefer to live if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’

  ‘Yes, dear, and please try to contain your joy in hearing from me just a little.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m expecting a call from Diane, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I won’t keep you. I just rang to let you know that Harold and I would be delighted to come to your barbecue tomorrow.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to comment on me having a barbecue in the middle of winter?’

  ‘Of course not. I think it’s a marvellous idea. No revolting insects, no sweltering heat, and you can all get to meet Harold. Very thoughtful of you. I’ll simply bring a coat. And it’s not the middle of winter, it’s nearly the end. Now, Elizabeth asked me to pass on her acceptance as well. She’ll be bringing her new boyfriend. He’s a vet. Do you want me to bring anything?’

  ‘Um, I can’t think.’ Just bring the vet, he’ll be quite enough, thanks.

  ‘Do try to concentrate, dear. How about my potato salad? You’ve always liked that.’

  ‘Yes, okay, that’ll be lovely, Mum.’ I seem to remember that it’s Bloody Elizabeth who always liked the potato salad. I vastly prefer the bought variety but never mind, it’s the thought that counts and who cares anyway? Potato salad with a touch of vet on the side sounds just about perfect.

  ‘All right then, I’ll prepare it in the morning and it’ll be lovely and fresh. Elizabeth and Phillip – he’s Elizabeth’s vet – are collecting us and … is that another call trying to come in, dear?’

  ‘Yes, it is! I’ll have to go, Mum, I’ll see you tomorrow – you, Harold, Elizabeth and her vet. Bye!’ I’m still chortling over the thought of Bloody Elizabeth having her own private vet (which could go a long way to substantiating several notions I’ve had regarding her dubious claim to humanity over the years) as I press the necessary buttons to pick up the new call.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘There you are. Were you on another call?’

  ‘Yes, but it was only Mum. Are you coming tomorrow or not?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, I’m fine. So nice of you to ask.’

  ‘That was my next question. Did you tell David, was he okay, do the boys know, are they okay, is everything fine now, have you thought of any names, and how are you?’

  ‘All right, I’ll try to answer in order. Yes I told him, yes he’s coming around, yes the boys know, and funnily enough they are absolutely t
hrilled so everything is becoming okay, yes we’ve thought of a few names already but I’ll tell you tomorrow because yes, we are all coming – aren’t you lucky? Hope you bought enough meat. And yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘That’s great to all of it! And really great to the family-thrilled stuff. And really, really great that you guys can make it tomorrow. I suddenly realised you hadn’t rung back to confirm and thought not only would I end up with a surplus of food, but I’d have Mum etc for the afternoon without your calming influence.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t do that to you! Even if Dave and the boys were busy, I would still have made an appearance. Though I must admit that I’m not really looking forward to telling Mum about the babies.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’

  ‘Bitch.’

  ‘I have to get my thrills somewhere. And while I think of it, just in case my eldest daughter rings and tries to talk Evan into bringing some friends, I’d prefer if he didn’t.’

  ‘Of course not. Evan wouldn’t do that anyway.’

  ‘Great.’ I know damn well that he would if given half the chance, but when it comes to Diane and her boys, there’s never any point trying to make a point. ‘Anyway, listen, Mum is definitely bringing Harold so you’ll get to meet your new stepfather, and Bloody Elizabeth is bringing her boyfriend too.’

  ‘A stepfather … unbelievable.’

  ‘A guy who likes Elizabeth … unbelievable.’

  ‘You know, this might be fun.’

  ‘Hang on, Di, I’ve got another call coming through – don’t go, back in a sec.’ I press the necessary buttons again: ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s me.’ Keith waits for a second after he makes this announcement, as if there is a drum roll happening that only he can hear. ‘I can’t have CJ next weekend now, so I’ll have to have her tomorrow instead. I’ll pick her up around ten.’

  ‘Hey! Hold it, I’ve got something on!’ Hell’s bells, don’t tell me I’ll have to explain to everyone why CJ isn’t there and they’ll think that I’m letting Keith call the shots again, and I’ll have to ring Caron and cancel Caitlin coming over and explain to CJ herself why she won’t be here and it’ll be all my fault again.