Head Over Heels

by Felicity Price

  We sat at the dining table, which was now squeezed into the side of the lounge, and made the best of the meal. Only Adam protested at the charred nature of the chops, and he still managed to scoff them at his usual famished pace and even ask for more.

  ‘Jenna’s father said he’d give her an allowance to go flatting next term,’ Charlotte announced midway through her dinner, which she was consuming at nana-pace by conscientiously chewing every mouthful thirty times.

  ‘Oh, really?’ I said. Charlotte had been making a case for going flatting all term but the excuse that I couldn’t afford to subsidise it was a cast iron one.

  ‘And Dad said he’d think about it. He said if it was all right with you, he might give me an allowance too.’

  ‘Oh, really.’ I stopped myself from asking how he thought he could afford it when he and Jacinta were about to be reduced to one income.

  ‘So, is it?’

  ‘Is what?’

  ‘Is it all right with you if I go flatting?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘You always say that.’

  ‘I know. And I always think about it.’

  ‘And then you always say no.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ve said yes lots of times. In fact, I reckon I say yes far too often.’

  ‘Mum lets you have whatever you want,’ Adam chimed in. ‘You’re spoilt.’

  ‘That’s so not fair,’ Charlotte cried, shaking her ponytail vehemently. ‘I am not. I’m not allowed to have a car, and Jenna’s had her Rav4 for ages.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know how to drive, so what’s the point in having one?’

  ‘Adam, you’re so unfair. What’s the matter with you tonight?’ Charlotte retorted.

  ‘Nothing,’ Adam mumbled.

  ‘You should get off your arse sometimes and get on a bike like me.’ She reached over and prodded his thickening tummy. ‘Look at it poking out. When did you last get any exercise?’

  Adam swatted her hand away.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Stop it, you two,’ Dad interjected, laying down his knife and fork and wiping his mouth with a napkin. He was almost as slow an eater as Charlotte. ‘You’re too old for that carry-on.’

  ‘You should ask Charlotte about her boyfriend,’ Adam threw in, no doubt to deflect the focus from his expanding waistline. ‘You wouldn’t let her go flatting if you saw what he was like.’

  Unusually, Charlotte didn’t retaliate. Instead, she visibly blanched.

  ‘Now, young man, you’re stirring the pot again. You leave your sister alone,’ Dad said, wagging his finger at his grandson.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, Charlotte,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you bring him home some time? I’d like to meet him.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea,’ she said, standing up suddenly, picking up her plate and gathering up her grandfather’s, then fleeing to the kitchen.

  ‘See, I told you,’ Adam crowed. ‘She’s ashamed of him.’

  ‘That’s quite enough,’ Dad admonished.

  ‘But why would she be ashamed of him?’ I asked Adam. Though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

  ‘You’ll see,’ Adam said, picking up his plate and heading for the kitchen, where a row soon erupted with Charlotte.

  ‘You have to ruin everything!’ I heard Charlotte wail. Moments later she stomped off upstairs and her bedroom door banged.

  To make up for goading his sister, Adam agreed to stack the dishwasher and clean up the kitchen. He even made a passable job of scouring the charred grill tray. But he went straight back to his room as soon as he was done.

  ‘Make sure you get your maths assignment done tonight,’ I called after him. ‘You told me it was due tomorrow.’

  He mumbled something from halfway up the stairs and I made a mental note to check on him in half an hour. I felt too pooped to deal with it right at that minute, as I contemplated the sooty remains of the grill.

  ‘I popped in to see Mum on the way home,’ I told Dad when the Coro ads were on.

  ‘Oh? How was she?’ Dad asked, even though it was only four hours since he’d last seen her himself.

  ‘I thought for a minute that she knew who I was,’ I said. ‘She gave me a really piercing look. It was quite unnerving. D’you know what I mean?’

  ‘Aye, she can do that at times. But I’ve learned not to get my hopes up. It doesn’t last.’

  ‘And she kept saying the same thing over and over again.’ I took his arm. ‘She kept saying “Get me out of here. Get me out of here.” Does she say that to you?’

  A strange look crossed Dad’s face. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if he were ashamed to admit something. He fiddled with his empty coffee cup and mumbled.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Fortuitously for him, Coro came back on again and he turned back to the telly. I could tell the subject was closed.

  ‘Well, I’ve got some papers to read,’ I said. ‘I’ll take them upstairs.’

  I’d settled on the bed, papers spread across the duvet, when the phone rang. A few moments later, Charlotte appeared in the doorway.

  ‘It’s Simon,’ she said, handing it over. She lingered at the door, as if she wanted to listen in. I waved her away.

  Simon was about the only good thing in my life right now. I’d met him last summer on a tramping trip. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not cut out to be a tramper; in fact, it was the moment I realised this, after sliding down a muddy bank and spraining my ankle, that Simon came and rescued me. There was chemistry from the start, which is apt because he teaches science — well, microbiology — at the university. His specialty is marine biology, which occasionally fills me with fear that he only finds me attractive because he’s used to swimming around old wrecks. Unexpectedly, I was swept off my feet — literally as well as figuratively, since I was unable to walk and had to be virtually carried to the next hut …

  Mind you, Simon was no beefcake. He was tall and gangly, especially in his tramping boots, with knobbly knees on long, long skinny legs propped up by galumphing great size-thirteen feet. And he sported the sort of beard that university types are parodied for. But as soon as Simon flashed me one of his wide, slow and sexy smiles, I was a goner. The attraction had proved mutual and had continued since.

  ‘Hi, Simon,’ I said when Charlotte closed the bedroom door behind her. ‘How’s things?’

  ‘Good, Penny. How about you?’

  ‘Oh, okay …’

  ‘Only okay? When we spoke earlier in the week you were positively fizzing at the bung. You reckoned all your stars were aligned and things were finally coming right.’

  ‘Well, the stars got themselves very much out of line today,’ I sighed. ‘It started to go downhill badly after I got myself into deep doo-doos.’ I told him about my trip to the poo ponds, followed by the weirdness when I’d been to see Mum. ‘It was really unnerving,’ I said. ‘She usually doesn’t make much sense, but she looked at me as if she knew exactly what she was saying and really meant it.’

  ‘Well, who could blame her? If she was having a lucid moment, of course she’d want to get out of there. Wouldn’t you?’ Simon chuckled.

  ‘Yes, I guess.’

  ‘So that’s why you’re feeling a bit low?’

  ‘Mmmm, I guess.’

  ‘Come on, Penny, that doesn’t sound right. It’s not like you to let something your mother says get you down. You keep telling me she’s away with the fairies.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘So what is it, then? What’s really getting to you?’

  I took a deep breath and told him about Jacinta, willing myself not to be a crybaby again.

  ‘It’s just so unfair. It’s bad enough being overweight compared to Jacinta but now everyone will know I’m over the hill as well. I’ll never have babies again.’

  ‘Do you want to have babies again?’

  ‘Well no, but …’

  ‘So what are you worried ab
out? Being compared to Jacinta? I would have thought you’d come off pretty well in that showdown.’

  ‘But it makes me feel so … well, old. And past my use-by date.’

  ‘You’ve got the baby blues without the baby!’

  I didn’t laugh. There was an awkward pause. ‘Would you like me to come over?’ Simon said.

  I took another deep breath. ‘No, really, I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll feel better when I’ve had time to digest the news. I need to sleep on it, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, you know I’d very much like to help you do that,’ he said, laying on the innuendo.

  ‘No, really, I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night. We can sleep on it together then.’

  Somehow, the mere hint of making love — of being loved even — made me feel much better. We ended the call after arranging to meet down by the harbour after work, then catch a movie. I would leave an overnight bag in Rosie — the old Jag would be safe enough in the underground office car park — and pick it up on the way to his place, then he would drop me back at the car as usual on Saturday morning. Charlotte would be off at her father’s and, once again, Adam and his grandfather would be home alone together. They’d managed perfectly well on previous occasions — in fact, they seemed to enjoy it. Last time, they’d even collaborated on an enormous sausages, eggs and beans fry-up for Friday night dinner, ignoring the lower-fat lasagne I’d left in the fridge.

  Chapter 5

  I nearly didn’t make it to work on Friday, having forgotten about the warning on the petrol gauge and noticing it only a second before I turned onto the motorway. I had a frenetic day once I arrived, chasing my tail most of the time and getting nothing finished. I didn’t even start on Ted Philips’s oil-from-sewage job — although after the potential disaster of running out of petrol I was considering installing a Portaloo biofuel converter in my boot. At the end of it all I couldn’t wait to escape to meet Simon.

  My workmates, of course, didn’t let me get away without a ribbing, especially when I whipped into the ladies’ to change into something more desirable. But finally I fled the building, flagged down a cab and edged through the six o’clock traffic to the back end of the harbourside bars.

  Simon was waiting, as promised, in Portobello’s corner bar, nursing a beer. Dark blue jeans covered his knobbly knees and accentuated his lean legs and cute bum; his grey Untouched World long-sleeved polo clung to his chest, revealing a pounamu pendant at his neck. His sandy hair was, as usual, unruly — the inevitable result, he’d warned, of agreeing to try growing it a bit longer. It had that sexy, not-long-out-of-bed look 24-7.

  He glanced up and waved, beaming broadly. It had been a little less than a week since I’d last seen him, but still I felt that familiar lurch inside. I waved back and made my way over to his welcoming hug.

  ‘Your usual?’ he asked.

  ‘Please.’

  He managed to lasso a barman and ordered an Astrolabe pinot gris. So engrossed was I in our discussion, two more Astrolabes came and went before we realised we’d be late for the movie if we didn’t make a run for it.

  ‘We can see the movie another time,’ he said. ‘Let’s just go home and take it easy. The kids won’t be there until tomorrow. We can have the place to ourselves.’

  With an offer like that, who was I to refuse? Simon also had two teenagers still at home, Zac and Drew, but they were staying with their mother. They weren’t too bad, though Drew had turned into a right little cow when she thought I was starting to muscle in on her father — despite the fact that her mother had run off on them all with her much younger co-lead in a suburban production of The Graduate.

  We got a cab to his place, ordered pizza delivery and settled in on the ancient couch with Ella Fitzgerald down low on the stereo. I’d been to Simon’s place heaps of times but it still felt a bit unsettling, like it didn’t belong to him, like it was still his ex-wife Myra’s. There wasn’t much of her furniture left now — she saw to that when she demanded her half share, and then some — but a sense of her remained. Mind you, I was mighty glad she’d taken the marital bed: I would have drawn the line at having that beneath us.

  But material possessions are not Simon’s thing. He couldn’t give a toss what colour the furniture is, or even if every single item clashes, as long as it’s comfortable and there when he needs it. As a result, every room of his house is a second-hand-store kaleidoscope of eclectic mismatches, most of it cadged from friends. The orange and brown sofa, the pink faux-leather armchair, the oddball collection of dining chairs, are all part of the rich tapestry that is Simon’s interior décor. It’s like living in a packet of liquorice allsorts, or being in a student flat, except there are equally disconcerting signs of opulence, like the expensive sound-buff’s stereo system and the barista-sized coffee machine on the kitchen bench.

  Simon polished off the rest of the pizza and brought me a perfectly brewed coffee, then we sat back in contentment while Ella worked her magic.

  ‘This was a good idea,’ I said, nestling back into the sofa, trying to find a comfy spot.

  ‘Much better than a crowded movie theatre,’ he said, wriggling closer and putting his arm around me.

  I leant into him and he kissed me. For a long time. He tasted of coffee.

  ‘Mmmm. I think it must be getting near bedtime,’ he said when we came up for air.

  ‘I think you might be right.’ I pulled him back for another kiss.

  Suddenly, the doorbell rang, several times.

  ‘Who on earth … ?’

  ‘Maybe one of the kids?’ I shrugged. I certainly hoped not.

  ‘Shouldn’t be. They’re supposed to be at their mother’s.’ He got up and left the room.

  I heard a woman’s voice, shrill, with a bit of a whine in it. Then Simon said something and she became even shriller.

  Moments later, a tall, red-headed, peaky-looking woman — reminding me of a listing, weather-beaten stop sign — burst into the room and started gesticulating at me, somewhat disjointedly. I suspected from the way she was swaying slightly that she’d had a bit to drink. I heard the front door slam and Simon came through to stand in front of her.

  ‘See, see, I told you!’ she shrieked. Her eyes looked like they were going to pop, her face contorted with fury. ‘I knew you had a woman here. Drew told me she’d be here tonight.’ She turned to me. ‘You’ll be that Penny Rushing-about person I hear so much about from Zak. Well I’m Myra Wakefield and that’s my husband you’re messing about with.’

  ‘Myra, you can’t say that. You walked out three years ago. You’ll have to go or I’ll call the police,’ Simon protested.

  ‘You can’t put the police onto your own wife. They wouldn’t take any notice of you.’

  I felt extremely uncomfortable. It didn’t seem a good idea to intervene — I was, after all, the evil interloper in this threesome. But I could tell from Simon’s voice that he was getting increasingly angry.

  I’d never seen him angry at a person before. I’d seen him kick his old Range Rover when it broke down in the middle of nowhere. I’d seen him hurl his mobile across a car park when it had been the bearer of bad tidings, and I’d heard a distinct edge in his voice a couple of times when Drew was being a bit of a miss. But Myra’s barging in on us was really winding him up. He turned away from her, closed his eyes and smashed his fist into his palm before spinning to face her again.

  ‘You don’t seem to understand,’ he said between gritted teeth. ‘You’re not my wife any more. You gave up that position of your own free will a long time ago. And you’re not welcome here. I’m asking you to leave.’

  He took her by the arm and tried to steer her towards the door, but she was having none of it.

  ‘Don’t you tell me what to do. I’m not going anywhere.’ To make her point, she sat down on the threadbare armchair opposite me, folded her arms and gave me a determined stare as if to say, ‘So there.’

  I felt like edging as far along the co
uch as I could then fleeing the house, but she’d fixed me with her fiery gaze. I couldn’t budge.

  ‘Very well then, you leave me no alternative.’ Simon fetched the phone and started to punch in some numbers.

  ‘No, no, don’t call the police!’ Myra cried, jumping up and trying to grab the phone off him. ‘I’ll go. It’s all right, I’ll go.’ She collapsed back in the chair and put her head in her hands.

  Simon kept the phone open for a moment then closed it, shutting off the call. He approached his ex-wife, but didn’t try to comfort her.

  ‘I can’t understand you, Myra,’ he said. ‘You left me, remember?’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she sobbed. ‘But that was three years ago and I’ve been lonely. You don’t know what it’s like, being lonely.’

  I suspected Simon knew only too well what it was like. From what he’d told me, he’d been totally devastated when she’d left him with the kids, and there was little likelihood two self-absorbed teenagers would have known how to comfort him.

  ‘It’s time for you to go home now, Myra,’ he said firmly. ‘How did you get here? Did you drive?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d had a few brandies. Not right to drive. I got a cab.’

  ‘Well, I’ll call you another one to take you home.’

  It seemed an eternity before it arrived, but I was mightily relieved that Simon hadn’t offered to drive her. In her emotional state, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had been all over him.

  Simon filled the gap by making small talk about their kids, about Drew’s horse, about his job, while I sat like a dummy, not knowing where to put myself. I would have liked to have escaped to the bedroom, but even I wasn’t that insensitive. I thought of offering to make tea, but realised that would convey a sort of proprietorial ownership of either Simon or his house, which just a few years ago had been their marital home.

  When Myra finally left, Simon was abject in his apologies. But the earlier romance had dissipated. Somehow, her presence lingered. I felt out of place. I wanted to go home. Glumly, Simon drove me. I’d have to get Adam to help me pick up Rosie in the morning.