Tom Houghton

by Todd Alexander

  Maggie usually won their traditional game of Scrabble but Kathy could be lucky with her letters on rare occasions. Today was one of those days. The secret, of course, was using all letters at once. Fifty bonus points could make all the difference.

  They’d been playing for around an hour, sipping tea and passing time until they left for the train. Kathy was two points in front of Maggie and had just placed a word worth twelve, ‘human’. Maggie looked at her letters for three minutes until out of the blue, the word came to her. IERMOSE. She could intersect with Kathy’s ‘M’ to create ‘memories’, thereby using all her letters. It was nearing the end of the game, there was no way Kathy could catch her now.

  ‘Memories,’ Kathy said, getting up from the table to stretch her legs. ‘And fifty points! Quite a fitting word, though. I was just thinking about how our lunches began. How, when I first met you, I knew I’d get along with you. Remember? Emily had just been born; leaving her with my Mum once a month and doing something for myself was heaven for me.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it must have been,’ Maggie said, not sure of where this was going.

  ‘You know, my mother wasn’t much of a grandma to the boys when she was alive. I think she was afraid of kids, worried that she’d come to rely on them for something. When she died, I knew I’d never get over the grief of losing her, knew that I’d always feel like picking up the phone just to have a chat. I also thought that I’d never have anyone anywhere near as special as her. I just want you to know that I’m so glad you’re in my life. You’ve made these past few years so much easier on me – and the kids adore you!’

  ‘Thank you, Kathy,’ Maggie said bashfully. ‘I’m glad to be with you too.’

  ‘Just so long as you know how special you are to us all,’ Kathy said, smiling. ‘Even Brett, though he’d never say it.’

  ‘Is there something in the air today?’ Maggie said jokingly. ‘Everyone I know is telling me how special I am.’

  ‘Well, I hate you for beating me at Scrabble, but aside from that you’re okay,’ Kathy said, followed by a sly laugh.

  They finished their game (Maggie won by thirty-two), and drove to the train. They were met at the station by the other ladies and there was something conspiratorial about the way they were huddled, and the fact that all four of them were there before Maggie and Kathy.

  ‘Well, hello, Mrs Apperton,’ Cheryl announced. ‘The ladies and I have worked it out. Today marks our fifth anniversary of lunching and we owe it all to you, dear. From all of us, a big thank you for creating the club that brought us all together!’ She produced a bottle of sparkling wine from a cooler bag and a beautifully wrapped gift for Maggie. Val started handing out plastic cups.

  ‘I, I . . . I’m totally stunned,’ Maggie began, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Today has been the most marvellous day. I feel very special and this just takes the cake. Five years is hard to believe! I count all five of you as my closest friends and I thank you for this. Who would have thought after our first awkward lunch we would be here celebrating our fifth anniversary?’

  ‘The even better news,’ said Cheryl, her voice raspy after a lifetime of smoking cigarettes, ‘is that Val and I pulled off a bit of a jackpot last night. Today’s on us, ladies – no questions or arguments. Enjoy yourselves!’

  By now they each had a cup of wine and were toasting toward the middle of the group.

  Maggie led the cheer, ‘To us.’

  Before the train arrived, Maggie opened the gift, relishing the moment. She was delighted to find a book signed by one of her favourite authors, some tools for her garden and a small bottle of perfume.

  • • •

  The six of them got quite silly on the journey to Sydney as the train rocked along the track and the bubbly started to take effect. The warm rays of the sun through the window and the alcohol had Maggie feeling particularly giddy.

  Val had made a booking for them at a seafood restaurant right on the harbour’s doorstep. It was set back from the boardwalk but still provided a lovely view of the Opera House and the coming and going ferries. Although several school excursions walked noisily past their table, Maggie couldn’t have been happier with this restaurant. She usually found something appealing on the menu, the service was great and she always got a silent thrill knowing that the place purchased things from Marcus’ company. She felt so happy, so lifted by the unexpected events of the morning. Love was something she didn’t think about often, something she no longer knew how to express, yet here she was, on a day like any other, but for some reason she felt more loved, more alive, than since she was a young woman.

  Lunchtime conversations began around what dish each one of them was thinking of choosing. They all read their menus aloud and discussed what took their fancy. Maggie was a fish lover – light and tasty, she found it perfect for lunch. She felt that red meat only went well with red wine and three or four glasses of red at lunch would have had her under the table. No, white wine was a lunch drink and fish was the perfect accompaniment.

  Today she chose grilled barramundi for her main and a potato and fennel soup to begin with. The waiter took their orders and as he left they all began to giggle like schoolgirls. He was handsome in a manufactured way and they suspected he was gay. Of the five of them, Maggie had told only Kathy about Patrick, and that she disapproved of the path he had chosen for his life.

  ‘God, I love this city,’ Brigette said.

  ‘You know, I’ve never really been to another one.’ Maggie frowned as she took a bite of her bread roll.

  ‘What?’ Cheryl said in astonishment.

  ‘Well, outside Australia, I mean. I was brought up in Melbourne, but that doesn’t count.’

  ‘You ought to get Marcus to take you to visit Isabel,’ Kathy said.

  ‘No, he’d never take a holiday . . . only business trips and then he’s always gone alone. He once went to France for business and he said it was a complete waste of time, that the French are far too rude. He doesn’t believe in expensive trips for leisure.’

  ‘How is Isabel going, Maggie? Have you heard from her?’ Cheryl asked.

  ‘Oh yes, she writes these very long letters that come straight from her diary. It’s strange, they read like a run-down of her daily itinerary and she shares some very odd situations. I think she writes them for Marcus more than me. They seem to share a special bond . . .’

  ‘Well . . .’ Cheryl chuckled, ‘do tell.’

  Maggie noticed that the other conversations around the table had stopped and each of the ladies was focused on her.

  ‘She wrote about an exhibition she saw at the Pompidou.’ Goodness, I hope I don’t sound pompous, she thought. ‘It was called “Masculine and Feminine”. In her letter, she wrote there were so many graphic depictions of genitals, or to use Isabel’s words, “d’s and c’s and open a’holes” that she felt like a voyeur and had to run outside for fresh air for fear of throwing up.’ It embarrassed Maggie to even intimate the words that Isabel had written deliberately to shock her.

  ‘She uses words like that to her mother?’ Val questioned.

  ‘I think it’s great that she does,’ Cheryl said. ‘My kids are that open with me.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that’s the irony,’ Maggie sighed. ‘Isabel isn’t at all open with me. In her letters she never asks about what’s happening here – it’s just “Dear Maggie and Dad”, and then she launches into a travelogue of events without saying how she really is, and whether she’s seeing anyone . . . all those things a mother likes to know.’

  ‘Well, at least she writes,’ Norma said into her glass of wine. She was referring to her own son, a merchant banker living in London.

  ‘You don’t hear from Hal at all?’

  ‘Christmas and birthdays,’ Norma sighed. ‘I suppose that’s better than nothing. Tell me, Maggie, has Isabel been over to London lately?’

  Maggie would have preferred to be in the conversation that was taking place between Kathy and Brigette. She couldn’t help
feeling a particular stab of jealousy at the sight of them giggling away while Maggie had to repel Norma’s fantasy. She had been insisting Isabel stay for a weekend at her son’s cottage in Bath. This had been persisting for close to two years and the only time Maggie ever mentioned it to Isabel, she’d slammed down the phone.

  ‘She seems so busy,’ Maggie said to Norma. ‘Most of the articles she writes for the magazine are researched on the weekend,’ she added a little unconvincingly.

  ‘Horny Hal still after Isabel, is he?’ Cheryl cackled from the other end of the table.

  The rest of them burst into laughter – they all knew Hal had no interest in Isabel; this match-making was all his mother’s idea.

  ‘Oh, sod off, Cheryl!’ Norma said, gulping some more wine.

  There was more laughter as the handsome waiter delivered their entrees.

  ‘Strangest thing . . .’ Kathy whispered in Maggie’s ear as the waiter went to retrieve the other three plates from the kitchen, ‘I felt a flush through my body at the scent of his cologne.’

  ‘I don’t think he’d be interested in your type, somehow dear,’ Maggie teased.

  ‘How is Patrick?’ Kathy asked.

  ‘What?’ Maggie said, realising the connection Kathy had made between her son and the waiter. ‘He’s fine, he hasn’t come to see Leroy for a few weeks but I know he’s always busy.’

  ‘So he does tell you what he gets up to?’

  ‘Oh my heavens, no! We don’t discuss those things. In fact, all he usually says is in disagreement with something I’ve said, or to tell me he doesn’t like what I’m wearing, my perfume’s too strong.’

  ‘You should tell him to wise up, Maggie.’

  ‘I’m used to it now, Kathy. He’s Sagittarian, he always speaks his mind and I have learnt to accept that.’

  ‘As long as he doesn’t upset you. Now eat up before your soup gets cold.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ Kathy moaned as she tucked into her oysters with delight.

  ‘Here’s to the Cleopatra machine we won on last night!’ Cheryl raised her glass. ‘May it continue to provide us with lunches for months to come.’

  ‘And to our anniversary!’ Maggie added.

  ‘I have to ask you all,’ Brigette said seriously and narrowed her eyes, ‘is this outfit too . . . bright?’

  There were a few moments of no one knowing what to say.

  ‘That depends on whether I’m wearing my sunglasses or not,’ sniggered Cheryl.

  ‘Oh, sod off, Cheryl!’ Norma said again and they all giggled.

  They took it in turns tasting each other’s entrees – with the exception of Kathy who’d consumed her dozen oysters without offering any to the others.

  ‘Chocolate and oysters,’ she said dryly, ‘you’d be hard-pressed getting me to share them for anything less than sex.’

  ‘I think you’re pretty safe around us,’ Val joked.

  ‘Ladies,’ Kathy said as she motioned for a waitress to bring another bottle of wine. ‘You’re all mothers – should I worry about my oldest smoking pot?’

  Between them they had thirteen children and nine grandchildren.

  ‘How old is he?’ Cheryl asked.

  ‘Fourteen,’ Kathy said with a shrug. Maggie was disappointed to find out that Brett smoked marijuana but she couldn’t condemn him as she suspected her own son of doing the same at his age, and then some.

  ‘Well, I knew that my son was in with the wrong crowd,’ Brigette said, her accent making its first strong appearance of the day as she began her third glass of wine, ‘but I don’t think it was the marijuana smoking I should have been concerned about. Perhaps if I had acknowledged it instead of allowing him to hide his drug taking, he would still be alive today.’

  Brigette’s only child had died twenty years earlier when he had stolen a car and slammed it into a traffic light as the police pursued him. She never referred to him by name, it was always ‘my son’. Come to think of it, Maggie wasn’t even sure she knew his name, but she didn’t dare ask it.

  ‘Not that I mean to worry you, Kathy,’ Brigette continued, ‘but if I had my chance again I think I’d demand an open exchange with him. No secrets.’

  ‘Oh, I’m quite glad Patrick and I have secrets,’ Maggie said, speaking more to herself than anyone in particular. ‘I don’t need to know everything he does.’

  ‘My girls told me everything,’ Cheryl said. ‘I knew every period, every kiss, and each loss of virginity.’

  ‘I just don’t want to encourage him,’ Kathy said. ‘I don’t want him to be one of those layabouts with no ambition. I went out with a boy like that once . . . and ended up raising his three children alone.’

  ‘My advice?’ Cheryl offered. ‘Smoke a joint with him and tell him you understand, but you only want him to do it once a week at most. Always with his friends, and never alone or when they have to drive or are supposed to study or anything.’

  ‘That’s outrageous!’ Norma shrieked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Maggie turned to Kathy. ‘You seem to be doing a great job embracing everything you know about your kids. You show them that you’re one of their friends and they respect you for that. It’s something I could never do with mine.’

  ‘It’s never too late, Maggie,’ Kathy said. ‘I haven’t had pot in about ten years,’ she added with only a hint of suggestion.

  ‘Why don’t you get some for all of us?’ Cheryl picked up on the hint.

  ‘Count me out.’ Brigette put her wine glass firmly back down on the table.

  ‘You’ve all lost your minds,’ Maggie said with a smile to defuse the situation. ‘I’m off to the ladies.’

  • • •

  In the bathroom, she felt a sense of dread. How gut-wrenching that life couldn’t continue without her deteriorating. Her future was mapped out and it terrified her that she had no control over how it would end. Though she had finished, she sat on the toilet a few moments longer to regain her composure and steady her rising blood pressure. Maggie eventually made her way to the basin to wash her hands. It was then that she noticed tightness in her forehead, the first sign she was getting drunk. She splashed some cold water on her face and stared at herself in the enormous mirror.

  What is it, Maggie? What insanity are you going to let spoil this perfect day? She splashed a little more cold water over her arms and shook away the excess moisture, and her doubts. The main course would be served soon.

  • • •

  As she approached the table, everything softened as though broadcast through a dream. None of the ladies would look at her, consciously avoiding her gaze. Only Kathy made eye contact, her face white with shock. In one hand she held Maggie’s mobile and she slowly rose to hold Maggie’s hands in the other.

  ‘Maggie, that was Marcus’ work. He’s had an accident.’

  Maggie began to shake her head. That can’t be right. She made her way to her chair and sat down, taking a gulp of wine and a deep breath. The room suddenly turned silent.

  ‘So, what’s he gone and done?’ Maggie tried to be cheery, though she knew from her friends’ faces things must be serious.

  Kathy moved her hand up Maggie’s arm, as if to warn her of the state of Marcus’ condition. ‘It happened on the freeway, sweetheart. There was an accident and they’ve taken him to hospital. They say he’s on life support.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Royal North Shore.’

  ‘I have no idea what to say,’ Maggie said awkwardly. ‘I suppose I ought to know what to do in this situation but I’m a little lost. I’m sorry for spoiling everyone’s lunch. I guess I should go . . .’ her voice trailed off.

  ‘You have to be strong, Maggie. Just stay strong.’ Norma. It was all Maggie could do to stop herself from wringing her neck.

  Maggie got up slowly from the table, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. Then the sounds around her became audible again. The chink of cutlery. The drone of boat engines. Squawking seagulls. The hum of distant traffi
c and thunder of trains. A plate dropped in the kitchen. Her own heartbeat. It was suddenly hard to breathe – if she didn’t move she would faint. She clutched her bag, snatched the blasted phone back from Kathy – who answers somebody else’s mobile anyway? – and hurried away from the table, down the stairs and around the side of the sandstone building. She noticed she was on grass and for a brief moment she felt like throwing herself down. Instead, she placed one hand against the cool of the stone. She wasn’t sure how long she leaned there fearing she might vomit. Absurdly, she thought I must explain this sensation to Marcus and it took her a few moments to comprehend that there may not be any more conversations to have. She shuffled over to the street and threw out her arm to hail a passing taxi. Her vision was blurry, so the tears had come after all.

  The taxi smelled strongly of the driver’s sweat, of stale bread, and of a sickly sweet deodoriser. She apologised to the driver, got out and closed the door almost as swiftly as she’d opened it. And then she vomited. A burning, painful rejection of soup and wine, a return to sobriety and reality. Taking a moment to regain her composure, she longed for water but decided she should get to the hospital as quickly as possible, for how could she ever live with herself if her hunt for water was the one thing that kept her from spending Marcus’ last moments with him?

  It took longer to hail a second taxi and Maggie found it difficult to concentrate on the task. The acid bile coated her tongue and the sunlight made it nearly impossible to gauge whether each passing taxi had its vacant light on. Eventually, she gave up trying to distinguish and stood there on the side of the road feeling foolish with her arm held straight out, hanging with blind hope.

  What if he dies? she thought. What if the one constant in her life simply ceased to be? Tears welled in her eyes and her throat burned as she tried half-heartedly to imagine a life without Marcus. Who did she have left aside from Kathy? The simple answer was no one. Patrick couldn’t be relied upon for anything and the rift between her and Isabel was now impossibly deep and, even if Maggie wanted to try to bridge it, Isabel was so stubborn that she’d push Maggie even further away at the first sign of an attempted reconciliation. It scared her to think of being alone in the world, to be forced to concede the reason she had not managed to hold on to anyone other than Kathy and these tenuous ties to the four other women who joined her for lunch once a month.