by Lisa Heidke
I wandered back inside and started thinking about what to wear tonight. What was the appropriate dress code for a divorce party?
I glanced at the fragrant cumquat tree sitting beside the kitchen bench, its base wrapped in forest-green cellophane. Rosie’s request—‘a medium-sized citrus tree’.
‘Orange or lemon?’ I’d asked.
‘Don’t mind. How about a cumquat?’
It was such a peculiar demand that I didn’t question her when she said the citrus was ‘essential to the ritual’.
In hindsight I should have said, ‘What damn ritual?’
•
Armed with a cumquat, Stephanie, her pearls, her perfectly dead-straight hair and scant knowledge about what the evening would entail, I arrived at Jo’s Manly home at five o’clock. Rosie had already spent four hours setting up. Helium balloons, banners and individually wrapped chocolates trumpeted ‘Happy Divorce’. It was quite a sight. Guests were due to arrive at six. In the meantime, Stephanie and I set up the bar—wine, champagne, vodka, gin, as well as pre-made daiquiris and cosmos. Then we laid out four huge antipasto platters.
‘And mains?’ Stephanie asked Rosie.
‘What do you mean, mains? That’s the joy of catering for women. Generally speaking, they don’t eat.’
‘Okay,’ Stephanie said, surveying the room. ‘You do know antipasto means before the meal? And there’s a lot of alcohol on offer.’
Rosie glared at me, then at Stephanie. ‘Who are you? Mother Teresa? Lighten up.’
I shrugged. ‘She has a point, Rosie.’ It was going to be a long night.
All the guests seemed to arrive at once, and from what I could tell were all versions of each other—shades of blonde, gym-toned, mid-thirties physiques. Once drinks were in hand—cosmos and champagne being the most popular—the main event got underway.
Jo, who was wearing a vibrant-pink satin ‘It’s all about me’ sash, and never without a full glass of champagne, handed everyone a pen and paper and asked that guests write down all the things that irritated them about her ex-husband, Mitchell.
‘The aim,’ said Rosie, ‘is to put all the pieces of paper in this cardboard box—’ she held up a black shoe box ‘—and bury it in the backyard.’
Everyone clapped. Jo whooped.
‘Thus symbolising an end to the bad. The past will be dead and buried. Then we’ll plant this gorgeous cumquat tree on top of the box, to symbolise new beginnings.’
Ah! So that was what the tree business was about.
‘Bravo,’ yelled out a couple of identical-looking blondes.
Elsewhere, there was general giggling and I overheard Jo’s ex-mother-in-law, Patsy, say, ‘I’m really not comfortable doing this.’
Her daughter patted her arm. ‘Come on, Mum, it’ll be fun.’
‘Of course it’ll be fun,’ screamed Jo. ‘That’s what we’re here for.’
‘Rosie,’ I said, after I’d unsuccessfully tried to get people to tuck into the antipasto. ‘This game has disaster written all over it.’
‘Nonsense.’ Looking around the room, she paused for a moment. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ Then she addressed the women. ‘Jo, what about if people write down their thoughts but keep them secret? You don’t read them out in public?’
Jo hesitated. ‘I guess.’
Meanwhile, drinks were being downed faster than we could refill them. Patsy continued to steadfastly refuse to join in, as others wrote on slips of paper and popped them into Rosie’s shoe box. As Jo got progressively drunker and louder, the more forcefully she insisted her motherin-law play the game.
‘Excuse me,’ said Stephanie, bearing down on Jo. ‘Do you realise how disrespectful you’re being to your former motherin-law? She doesn’t want to join in such a distasteful activity—and neither should you.’
I was horrified. Patsy looked shocked but relieved. Jo was momentarily stunned before gearing up to fire back but Rosie got in first.
‘Excuse me, killjoy, but it’s Joanne’s party and you’re a guest here.’
Jo stumbled, righted herself and chimed in with, ‘Yeah. What she said.’ She was glaring at Stephanie. ‘Who are you, anyway?’
I swear Stephanie had steam coming out of both ears.
‘It’s fine,’ said Patsy, joining the conversation. ‘I’ll play.’
Joanne faced Patsy and clapped. Any notion of finding out why Stephanie was present, totally dismissed. Calamity averted. And as long as the papers weren’t read out loud, no harm would be done.
But almost before I could comprehend what she was doing, Jo snatched the cardboard box out of Rosie’s hands and started reading the contents in a slurred but booming voice.
‘Mitchell has bad BO,’ she started, giggling. ‘Can’t argue with that. Boring.’ She scrunched up the piece of paper and threw it over her shoulder.
Around the room, women tittered nervously as Jo pulled another from the box.
‘Mitchell always laughed at his own jokes and they were never funny. Cracker. Next.’
She pulled out another. ‘Mitchell tongue-pashed me at a New Year’s Eve party once. He’s a revolting sleaze.’ Jo took a breath. ‘That, I didn’t know.’ She glanced around the room. ‘Who wrote this?’
No one said anything and the atmosphere became decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Who wrote this?’ She demanded again.
‘Jo,’ started Rosie, ‘I think it’s time we put all the notes back in the box, plant the tree and light the candles. What do you think?’
‘I think I want to find the fucker who wrote this.’
That was when Stephanie pulled me aside. ‘It’s really distasteful preying on others’ misfortune. I hope you won’t mind but I think I’ll get going. It’s past my bedtime, anyway.’
Rosie stepped in and made a point of glancing at her watch. ‘It’s nine-thirty.’
Stephanie forced a smile. ‘Thank you for an… interesting night. God bless.’ And then she was gone.
‘Thanks, Rosie. There went my lift.’
‘Suck it up, big girl. I’ll drive you.’
Excellent. I’d be here until the wee hours. Exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid.
We both looked over to where Joanne was still bellowing, ‘Who the fuck wrote this?’
As Rosie and I poured the last of the guests into taxis four hours later, I couldn’t help but feel relieved that no one had videotaped the fiasco. Yes, eventually, Jo had calmed down and the tree was planted and the box buried, but everyone kept looking sideways at each other.
‘It wasn’t me,’ quickly became the most popular refrain of the evening.
‘Clearly, we have a few teething problems to iron out,’ said Rosie the next morning over a coffee de-briefing.
‘Clearly. The motherin-law was moments away from calling the police, which would’ve been unfortunate given Jo’s ex is a policeman and was on duty last night.’
‘Okay, so rule number one,’ said Rosie, wagging her forefinger in the air. ‘No ex-in-laws to be invited. Ever. No exceptions. And no more Stephis, either. She sucks the fun out of people. She’s a miserable fun sucker.’
‘Yes on both accounts. To be fair, the party started out well. The symbolism of burying the bad was inspired.’
Rosie nodded.
‘The food was nice, too.’
‘No one ate it.’
‘And the cake,’ I said, thinking back to the wedding ring coffin cake with the words, Bury the past and move into the future, written in white icing. ‘I liked the cake.’
‘Yeah, the food really wasn’t for you. You should’ve been controlling the guests.’
‘Once women start weeping uncontrollably, it’s best to stand aside. At least Jo didn’t make anonymous calls to her ex.’
‘Only because I took away her phone,’ said Rosie.
I ran my hand through my hair, thinking before I spoke. ‘Are you sure this divorce-party idea is good?’
‘What do you mean? It’s gold! Just needs a bit of tweaking. Now t
hen. On to more exciting matters.’ Rosie searched around her bag and pulled out a cheque for seven hundred dollars, which she handed over.
I blinked. Twice. ‘Really?’
‘Stick with me, kid,’ she said as her phone started bouncing around on the table. She glanced at the number. ‘It’s Joanne,’ she whispered, her face contorted.
‘Answer. You may as well get it over with.’
Rosie sighed. ‘Hey, Jo,’ she said in a ridiculously fake happy voice.
For the next couple of minutes I sat transfixed as Rosie nodded, shook her head and occasionally said, ‘Okay… right… great… thanks.’
She hung up and smiled. ‘What do you know? She loved it. Said all that pent-up hurt and aggression had been driving her nuts. Said she’s never felt better.’
‘So she’s still drunk?’
Rosie sipped her coffee. ‘Undoubtedly.’
After saying goodbye to Rosie, I went for a long walk along the beach. Last night had definitely been an eye-opener. Despite Rosie’s enthusiasm, I wasn’t convinced about the merits of celebrating the end of a marriage in such a way. I did, however, appreciate the money.
Maybe Jo’s emotional state and heightened anxiety really did come down to her having had too much to drink, but one thing was for sure, I hoped that in future, Rosie would stick to the no ex-in-laws rule.
10
After I got back from the beach, I couldn’t settle. The house felt too big and quiet. I missed the girls. I tidied their rooms, even going to the extent of cleaning out their cupboards because I wanted to be close to them. I should have been relishing the solitude, but today I didn’t. I wanted them home with me. In the past whenever I’d been home alone, I at least had Baxter to keep me company. I’d have taken him to the beach or the dog park and chatted with other owners, but going to the park without a dog wasn’t a sane look.
Given I had several hours before the girls were likely to arrive home, I settled down in the sunshine and tried to read my book. It felt like only moments later when I heard Liam’s car pull up out the front. I sat up, feeling disorientated, nervous. Yesterday afternoon Liam and I had barely spoken two words to each other. Today I’d at least invite him in for a cup of tea.
When the girls walked through the front door alone, I was surprised.
‘Where’s Dad?’
‘He and Uncle Brad are going somewhere,’ said Evie.
‘Where?’ I couldn’t help myself.
‘Dunno,’ she replied. ‘I think some barbeque, a friend of Uncle Brad’s.’
‘Probably to see a new girlfriend,’ Olivia chimed in.
I took my time responding. ‘Olivia, what makes you say that?’
‘Dunno. Just sayin’. YOLO.’
‘YOLO?’ I repeated.
‘You Only Live Once,’ Evie explained.
‘Right, well,’ I said looking straight at Olivia. ‘It’s not particularly helpful.’
Unperturbed, she and Evie dumped their bags in the middle of the hallway, which was incredibly annoying, but I resisted the urge to nag. ‘Did you have a nice time?’
‘Yeah,’ said Evie.
‘We had to sleep on the pull-out couch. Together, as always,’ squealed Olivia. ‘Yuck!’
They proceeded to rip open their bags to show me all their new gifts, including DVDs, makeup and skirts so short they were little more than face-washers.
‘I can’t believe Dad let you buy these clothes.’
‘He didn’t come into the dressing room, Mum!’ blasted Evie.
I groaned. ‘In other words, he has no idea what you bought?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Didn’t he want to see what you were spending money on?’
‘Nup.’
‘Okay, well, I’m glad you both had a nice time. I’m… I’m sorry about everything.’
‘I wouldn’t get too cut about it,’ said Liv. ‘Dad’s cool and at least he’s got Brad.’
‘What does that mean?’ I said.
Liv shrugged. ‘He seems happy enough.’
I wanted to keep the conversation going, but when my phone started ringing, Olivia saw her chance to scarper.
On the other end of the phone, Stephanie launched into the conversation with, ‘I just saw Liam drive off without coming into the house. That must be terribly upsetting for you.’
What was this woman doing? Monitoring my house twenty-four-seven? Still, I felt the need to defend him. And me. ‘Hi, Stephanie. Yes, Liam was late for an appointment.’
‘On a Sunday afternoon?’
I silently counted to ten.
‘Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about last night. I’m sorry I rushed off like that, Friday, but I couldn’t stay. I was disgusted. It’s just not right.’
‘It wasn’t that bad.’
‘But do you really want to end up like Joanne? Or Rosie, for that matter. Instead of going to those parties, you should be thinking about how to win Liam back. The last place you want to end up is alone and desperate.’
If I wasn’t already feeling lonely and miserable, I certainly was now. ‘Thanks, Stephanie, but everything’s fine.’
‘You say that but it’s clearly not. Sorry, Friday, but you need some tough love here. You have two teenage daughters to consider.’
‘Yes, I do and they’ve just arrived home so I’d better go and talk to them. I appreciate the call, Stephanie. Talk soon.’
I hung up before she could say any more. Why did I answer the phone? More to the point, why had I invited her to Joanne’s party? I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
With the girls otherwise occupied—Evie taking a shower and Olivia on her computer—I walked into my room and glanced at myself in the mirror. Maybe it was a good thing Liam hadn’t come inside. I was feeling and looking worn-out and tired.
Moments later, Olivia walked into the room holding the landline handset. ‘Mum, Nanna’s on the phone.’
She handed it to me and walked out.
My eyes widened and I took a deep breath. ‘Mum.’
‘Oh, darling, is it true? I’ve just been speaking to Auguste and he said you and Liam are going through a rough patch.’
Rough patch. Those two words covered a wide spectrum. ‘I guess so, yes.’
‘Should I fly over? I feel so far away.’
‘There’s really no need. We’ll sort it out.’ For the next fifteen minutes I gave Mum the short, sanitised version of events.
‘Darling, I’m so sorry. You know you can always come home if need be.’
I was almost in tears. I missed her. ‘Thank you. Maybe in the school holidays.’
After the phone call, I was feeling even more pissed off with Liam for starting all of this in the first place. The run-on effect of a separation knew no boundaries. Yes, I had time to think things through and consider my options but, really, I just felt angry, rejected and upset.
When my mobile started ringing minutes later, I glanced at the number and answered without thinking.
‘I want to see you,’ Blake said before I had a chance to speak.
I hesitated, shocked I was actually hearing his voice. I wanted to leap through the phone. I wanted to see him again, too, but I was scared. Scared about how I felt for him and what it might mean if we saw each other again.
‘Why haven’t you answered any of my texts? I miss you.’
‘I miss you, too.’ My voice was just above a whisper.
‘I’m at the farm. Any chance you could meet me on my way back, say in Kiama, tomorrow evening?’
‘For the night?’
‘Why not?’
Evie and Olivia were going back to Brad’s Monday night because Liam was taking them to Cirque du Soleil, but it was risky. A night away from the house. What if they called me? What if there was an accident and I was two hours away?
‘What are you thinking?’ said Blake. ‘I promise you’ll have a good time.’
I imagined him holding me in his arms, kissing me.
‘
Friday?’
‘Okay,’ I replied nervously.
‘Great. I know this great little B&B, right on the beach.’
We arranged to meet in Kiama late the next afternoon. I’d have to reschedule a couple of appointments (and it was a hell of a long drive), but my desire to see Blake overrode any guilt I felt about shifting two clients to the following week.
I felt strangely calm, excited and anxious about seeing him again. I thought back to his text, the ‘falling in love’ one. Could it be?
It felt like months had passed yet it had only been two weeks.
I barely slept given how edgy I was about seeing the farmer, but the next morning I found myself grinning and I felt wonderful when I checked my phone and read a text from him saying, Can’t wait to see you. In love with your tits (and you).
I got the girls off to school and changed my clothes three times, settling on a V-neck Leona Edmiston jersey dress that definitely emphasised my cleavage. I drove to work, determined to focus on my clients until I could leave at three o’clock for our six-pm rendezvous.
As usual I was busy, but Deirdre cornered me in the kitchenette when I was making a green tea.
‘How’s Liam?’ she asked.
‘Okay.’ And then for some senseless reason, I added, ‘We’re still taking a break.’
Deirdre pounced immediately. She wrapped her perfectly tanned, unlined and moisturised hand around my upper arm, compelling me to look at her perfectly brown doe eyes, above which sat perfectly manicured dark eyebrows. ‘No!’ she squealed. Okay, she didn’t squeal. She spoke with a tempered, concerned voice. ‘But you and Liam are perfect together. And you’re looking so gorgeously refreshed after your week away. How could he not want to jump you? I only have to glance sideways at Derek and he’s on to me like a—’
‘I get the idea,’ I interrupted, drinking my tea.
‘But, Friday, if you two can’t make it, who can?’
I shrugged. ‘It’s okay, really. We’re fine. I’m sure it’s only temporary.’ Lame. Especially given I was about to meet up with Blake.
‘Fri, I’m concerned about you. What can I do to help? More time off, maybe?’
I didn’t need time off. If anything, I needed extra hours. Anything to take my mind off Liam. The farmer. My ridiculous predicament. Part of me was thinking Do I really want this so soon after the end of my marriage? I needed to talk to Blake about it—to ask him once and for all about the state of his marriage. And I would. As soon as I saw him in Kiama.
