by Liz Byrski
Toby sighed and shook his head the way he’d seen George do when someone said something particularly silly.
Adam poured himself another glass of wine and sat down to watch the seven o’clock news. His new routine was working well. Toby was loading the dishwasher and Daisy had just started her homework. The simplicity and practicality were wonderfully satisfying, dealing with the basics – food, washing, ferrying kids around – instead of agonising over marking up scores, organising players, and playing every single note of stuff he hated. ‘Up yours, Rachmaninov,’ he said aloud. ‘Up yours.’ He’d even given himself time off from his private students. There was something about being with the kids, despite the noise and the arguments and their infuriating habits, that brought you back to reality, out of your head and into your body. He often had time alone in the house when Jill was at work and the kids at school – that was one advantage of the job, to balance out the parts he hated. But this week having the house to himself seemed different, as though it were more his than usual, and it was okay to do the things he wanted. He hadn’t played his cello for two and a half days.
‘It’s only like that because you don’t have to do it all the time and you’re not going to work as well,’ Barbara had said when she’d called him that afternoon. ‘I can’t believe you’ve never done this before.’
‘Nor can I, really,’ he said. ‘But you know Jill, she does tend to like things done her way. I feel a bit redundant.’
‘Hmm,’ Barbara said, ‘well, I can fix that for you. Could you come over sometime and help me with my shed?’
He’d laughed when she told him about the bike, and how she was leading by example. ‘You mustn’t say anything to George,’ she said, ‘just behave as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. But I’d like a bit of an escort for my first sortie on two wheels.’
Adam sipped his drink, and swung his feet up onto the sofa.
‘You’re supposed to take your shoes off,’ Daisy said, waving her exercise book at him. ‘Mum’ll be cross.’
‘If you don’t tell her, she’ll never know,’ Adam said.
‘That’s what Mummy says,’ Daisy said, nudging him with her bum to make room for her. ‘Don’t tell Dad and he’ll never know.’
‘About what, exactly?’
‘Oh, heaps of stuff, everything, I can’t remember. Can you read what I’ve written about dinosaurs?’
‘Good lord!’ George said, straightening up from a bucket of soapy water as they rode slowly down Barbara’s path. He was washing his car in his driveway. ‘Where are you lot off to?’
‘G’day, George,’ Adam said. ‘Just a bit of a ride.’
‘Thought you were the shed-cleaning crew,’ George said. ‘I’m barred because I’m a hoarder, but you never know when things’ll come in handy.’
‘So I heard,’ Adam said. ‘I’m no good at throwing out either, and it drives Jill crazy. Hang on, Toby,’ he called. ‘Aunty Barbara’s not here yet.’
‘Barbara walking along with you, then?’ George asked, chucking his cleaning brush into the bucket. ‘Or is she driving the support vehicle?’
‘Oh no, she’s riding too.’
‘Barbara, riding?’ He looked along the path to where Barbara was just emerging from the back garden, pushing her bike. ‘Didn’t even know you had a bike,’ he said.
‘I am a woman of many parts, George,’ Barbara said, and she nodded towards the car. ‘Didn’t you tell me that you shouldn’t stand about talking when you’re washing a car because it goes all streaky?’
George took a step back and dragged the leather from his pocket. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Quite right, better get on. Have a good ride.’
‘Don’t try to get on until you’re off the gravel,’ Adam whispered, ‘then stay by me on the inside until we get round the corner out of sight, then we can reorganise. Okay, kids, off you go. We’re turning left at the end of the road.’
It was strange to be on the bike again, but once around the corner and out of sight of George, Barbara began to feel more confident, and then to enjoy it. They rode steadily for more than half an hour before turning back into Morpeth to stop for coffee at the café that looked out over the river.
‘I could go further,’ she told Adam when Toby and Daisy, having finished their milkshakes, had raced off down the river bank.
‘I’m sure you could but I don’t think we should,’ Adam said. ‘You’ll get stiff and sore and it’ll put you off. Bit at a time – we can go again tomorrow. Lead by example, remember.’
‘I remember,’ she said. ‘Actually, I remember being barely able to move the first time I went out after I bought it. I thought I’d never walk or ride again.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Do you still ride with Kirsty on Fridays?’
‘Mostly. When we both can. I haven’t really got used to her not being there. I still miss her,’ he sighed. ‘Just one of this year’s upheavals. I’ll be glad when the new year comes and I can think about things being different.’
‘You think a date makes a difference?’
‘It’s a milestone, isn’t it?’ Adam said. ‘You need them as markers to put things behind you.’
‘I wish we could all put the shooting behind us,’ Barbara said. ‘I don’t understand how they can’t have found someone yet. It’s as though we’re all on hold waiting for it to be over.’
Adam bounced his helmet on his knee. ‘More than four months since you and I were sitting in that hospital café, thinking that they’d pick someone up any day. Four months. Heather’s coped amazingly well.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Barbara said. ‘I’m not sure that coping is what she’s doing. I think she’s pretending she’s coping but I think she’s waiting, and meanwhile she’s hiding.’
‘Hiding?’
‘Behind this man, this Ellis. She’s focusing on him to distract herself, to create something positive, because without that she can’t handle the fear and the waiting.’
‘She says she’s in love with him,’ Adam said.
‘Yes, well, maybe she is, but . . .’
‘Are you saying she wouldn’t have got involved with Ellis again if she hadn’t just been shot?’
Barbara shrugged. ‘How should I know? I don’t know anything about him, really. But I do think the shooting made Heather feel very lonely and then he came along and seemed to be offering something comforting. Maybe she really is in love with him or maybe she just fell into this because she needed someone.’
‘You didn’t like him, did you?’ Adam said with satisfaction.
‘I didn’t dislike him. He just wasn’t what I expected; he didn’t seem to fit with the picture Heather had painted of him. But I’ve only met him the once. I guess we’ll see him again at Christmas as we’re all going to Heather’s. George can’t stand him. And, of course, we all know what you think, although I must say, Adam, I’m not sure why you seem to hate him with such a passion. It’s unlike you to take against anyone so vehemently.’
Adam looked away, out across the river. ‘We all have our blind spots, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Well, let’s get a move on, the kids’ll be ready for lunch soon.’
‘Just a minute,’ Barbara said, putting her hand on his arm. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. The year that Dorothy and I went on the cruise, remember? When we got back you borrowed some money –’
‘I paid you back,’ Adam said quickly, getting up.
‘I know you did, dear. Oh, for heaven’s sake, sit down. Toby and Daisy won’t starve to death, they’re having a wonderful time over there. Of course you paid me back, but what was it for, Adam? I know I promised not to ask but it’s so long ago it can’t matter now. Why did you need the money?’
SIXTEEN
‘So, what do you think?’ Ellis asked, watching from the kitchen as Heather wandered back in through the glass doors from the balcony.
‘Gorgeous,’ she said, ‘it’s absolutely gorgeous, Ellis, even better
than I’d imagined. Paradise. The stillness out there, the moon on the water, and the little pinpoints of light from the other houses on the escarpment. Magic.’
‘Wait till you see it in daylight.’
‘I’m sure it’s just as lovely, and I’m dying to see Byron Bay.’
Ellis smiled as he pulled the cork from a bottle of wine. ‘It’s taken long enough to get you here.’
‘I know. You’re right; it’s ridiculous living in Newcastle all this time and never having come up here before.’
‘I meant it’s taken me long enough to get you to come to my place,’ he said, walking over to her and handing her a glass. ‘Anyway, let’s drink to the first of many visits,’ and he clinked his glass against hers.
It was enormously satisfying to have her there; enormously gratifying to see how much she loved the house. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. ‘It’s been far too long, three weeks is ridiculous. A day is too long; this is simply not good enough.’
‘Well, at least there’s no chance of us getting sick of each other,’ she said with a laugh.
Ellis blanched. He hadn’t yet got used to Heather’s unerring ability to misjudge the moment, nor her failure to deliver in the romance stakes. Somehow she managed to clodhop all over his sensitivities. She was a good lover, though, and since that first cautious night interrupted by tears, she was more sexually confident. Ellis was enjoying more and more challenging and rewarding sex than he’d ever had in his life. But it had taken him time to get used to her body. He’d always been attracted to slim women, preferably ones with large breasts. Heather was certainly endowed with the latter, but she was also endowed with some rather unnecessary layers and bulges which were less than attractive and certainly not sexy. Ellis had noticed, when he was going through various profiles on an Internet dating site, that about ninety per cent of men stated they were looking for slim or very slim women, but when you read the women’s profiles, a lot were quite overweight – fat, even. He couldn’t understand why women let themselves go like that, especially if they wanted to find a man.
Heather also had funny skin and indentations on her thighs, which he assumed was the cellulite people seemed to talk about a lot. He preferred not to think about it. Years ago her thighs had been smooth and soft, they’d driven him crazy with desire, and long after he and Heather had split up he had still had erotic dreams in which her legs were wrapped around him. Maybe, he thought, if she could get rid of some of the excess weight, the thigh problem would sort itself out.
‘I thought tomorrow morning we’d go for a long walk along the beach and a swim,’ he said. ‘The exercise will do you good, tone you up a bit, then we can go into town for coffee.’
‘Sounds lovely,’ Heather said, snuggling against him, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘And I hear the shops are great, lots of little arcades. I’d like to have a wander around those, and I want to look at some galleries. But most of all I just want to be with you, veg out, sleep, lie on your lovely balcony, watch the view and read.’
‘If we have time,’ Ellis said, seeing his carefully planned schedule for the weekend disappearing into a chaotic mix of sightseeing, shopping and resting.
‘Of course we have time. We’ve got three days, that’s heaps of time. I am so looking forward to a rest and to knowing that if the phone rings it’s not for me. Parliament was hell this week, I’m totally stuffed.’
Ellis bit his tongue. He’d been about to ask her what she’d thought of the business plan that she’d had for weeks, and the three chapters of the book he’d emailed her a few days earlier, but this clearly wasn’t the moment. He pulled away slightly, looking down at her face. She was obviously tired, there were dark shadows under her eyes, and the way she seemed unable to get comfortable on the sofa was an indication that her shoulder was hurting.
‘We’ll eat soon,’ he said. ‘I got some fresh perch in town this morning. You can sit out there on the balcony with me while I cook it.’
‘Bliss,’ Heather said, stretching up to kiss his cheek. ‘You are wonderful, just what I need. The job has always been tough but combined with menopause and being shot, it’s really a struggle.’
Ellis wished she could have left out the menopause bit, he hated knowing about that messy side of women’s lives, and he certainly didn’t want to talk about it. Women these days seemed to have very little modesty about the subject. He had grown up in a time when the menstrual cycle and its distasteful effects were never discussed; at least, not with men. Women kept it to themselves, made an effort to hide it, and seemed quite happy to behave as though it didn’t exist. These days you just couldn’t avoid it – it was as though they wanted to force men to acknowledge that it had some sort of significance. Even when he was still in the law, women openly mentioned in evidence that they’d been menstruating or were premenstrual at the time something happened, or that their behaviour had been affected because they were going through menopause, as though it were something that should be taken into consideration. The other day he’d seen a picture in a magazine of rainbow-coloured tampons, and then a television advertisement of a man going out to buy tampons for his girlfriend and speculating on what size to get. How much more insensitive and tasteless could it all get?
Ellis extracted his arm and stood up. ‘Well, I’ve told you the answers to that,’ he said. ‘You have to put the shooting behind you, and ditch this silly idea that you can’t resign.’ He put his glass down on the table and went through to the kitchen.
‘Just like that! You make it sound simple.’
‘It is simple – what could be simpler?’ Ellis said.
‘You know,’ Heather said, ‘there’s something I’ve never understood about men. They can’t just explore something, they always have to whip up a solution and slap it down in front of you and you’re expected to pick it up and put it on. What would really be nice would be if you could just talk it through with me without trying to push me towards your preferred outcomes. That’s the sort of thing I spend my working life resisting.’
The salon was larger than she remembered and equipped in a minimalist style that was almost clinical. A round reception desk in the centre immediately reminded Diane of the control centre of Dr Who’s Tardis. Each bay was marked with a simple black slate shelf, full-length mirror and black chair, and in diagonally opposite corners two huge, shoulder-height vases stuffed with exotic silk flowers and foliage in shades of green and white provided the only softening effects. Was it the large space and the ceiling height, or just the décor that created the starkness? It would be better, of course, when there were staff and clients, but she had needed to see it empty and on Monday the salon was closed.
‘What do you think?’ Diane asked, crossing to the wet area, her heels clipping across the African slate tiles. ‘A little austere, perhaps?’
‘Austere?’ Barbara said. ‘Intimidating, I think. You’d have to be feeling very confident and self-assured to come in here, especially if your hair was a mess.’
‘She has a very upmarket clientele,’ the agent said, casting a disapproving look at Barbara’s navy blue cotton pants and crumpled white linen shirt. ‘She ran a salon in LA for a while.’
‘So what’s she doing in Newcastle?’ Barbara asked.
‘She has family here.’
Diane strolled back into the middle of the room, her attention to the salon distracted somewhat by her dislike of the agent, a sharp-faced woman in a black suit and white blouse, and too much make-up. She obviously hadn’t read Charlene’s advice on dark lipstick for the over fifties. ‘I think I’ve seen enough, thanks,’ she said.
‘If you want to make an offer . . .’
‘I need to think about it. I’m interested and I like the building and the location, but I’m not sure it’s right for me.’
‘You could reconceptualise the interior, although, of course, it was only remodelled fifteen months ago.’
‘So you said earlier.’ Diane was flexing the assertiveness muscle that
had gone into hibernation when Gerry left but was now reviving. ‘Thanks for letting us in. I’ll get back to you.’
‘My advice is don’t take too long. We’ve had a lot of enquiries. If you leave it too long you may miss the boat.’
Diane put on her sweetest smile. ‘That’s the way of things, I suppose,’ she said. And she steered Barbara out of the door and into the street.
‘Strewth,’ Barbara said. ‘What a pain in the arse. It’s a wonder she sells anything. She looked at me as though I just crawled out of a wheelie bin. For all she knew I could have been the one with the money.’
‘Let’s go next door and have some lunch,’ Diane said. The office had been quiet and with Heather going straight from Byron Bay back to Sydney, it would be a slow week. Shaun had been very laidback, telling her not to rush the appointment with the real estate agent, and she’d been heading out of the office door when Barbara showed up unexpectedly after a visit to the dentist. ‘Come with me?’ Diane had asked. ‘I could do with a second opinion.’
‘Well, what did you think?’ Barbara asked when they’d ordered coffee and toasted sandwiches.
‘It’s beautifully done, not my style, but all the same . . . but intimidating, like you said, unfriendly. I can’t imagine that even when it’s open and there are clients that it would feel much different. It lacks warmth.’
‘You could create that if you do as she said and reconceptualise – what a ridiculous word. Why do people think that creating stupid new expressions will make it sound as though they’re saying something significant? Maybe I’m just a grumpy old woman.’
Diane shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. You know, probably ten, fifteen years ago I’d have gone for something like that but it doesn’t work for me anymore.’
‘I’ll tell you a secret every hairdresser should know,’ Barbara said, leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘Those mirrors that go right down to the floor are a killer. Not only do you go in there with your hair a mess when all around you are gorgeous, but you have to sit for an hour contemplating the fact that the trousers that made you look slim in the mirror at home make you look hideously fat when you’re sitting, and your shoes are all wrong. Don’t have floor-length mirrors.’
