Three’s a Crowd

by Dianne Blacklock

  Rachel paused, glancing at Hannah. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. ‘Had she ever said anything to you?’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘Of course not. She didn’t know she was going to die.’ She rolled over onto her stomach, propping her chin with her hands and looking squarely at Rachel. ‘Dad wanted us to have somewhere we could visit Mum, but I think it would have been against her beliefs.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘Well, I’m sure she would have gone with the most environmentally friendly option, and scattered ashes would have virtually nil impact on the environment.’

  Sophie had been a mainstay of the debating team throughout high school, she knew how to mount an argument.

  ‘Though I guess those incinerators couldn’t be all that good for global warming . . .’ Sophie paused, thinking. ‘Maybe she would have preferred to donate her body to science.’

  Rachel glanced at Hannah; her lip was trembling and she was beginning to look a little dismayed. This didn’t seem to be an appropriate topic for conversation right now, but on the other hand, if Sophie needed to talk about it, it wasn’t Rachel’s place to stop her. Then again, maybe Hannah shouldn’t have to listen . . .

  The door opened suddenly and Tom appeared. Thank God.

  ‘Thank God, everyone’s gone!’ he announced as he strode into the room and fell backwards onto Sophie’s bed. Hannah leaped straight up off the floor and clambered up next to him, snuggling into his outstretched arm and burying her face in his neck.

  ‘Okay, that’s my cue,’ said Rachel, getting up.

  ‘No, no, Rach, I didn’t mean you,’ Tom protested. ‘You’re not everyone.’

  ‘Still, I’ll leave you guys to it.’

  ‘Wait just a sec,’ said Tom. He stroked Hannah’s hair. ‘Hey Hannah-pie?’

  She lifted her face. She looked sleepy more than teary, Rachel was relieved to note.

  ‘I’m just going to talk to Rachel for a minute, okay?’

  ‘Sure Dad,’ she said, shifting out of his way.

  ‘It’s okay, Tom,’ said Rachel. ‘I can see myself out.’

  He ignored that. ‘I’ll be right back, girls.’ He ushered Rachel out onto the landing, pulling the door to. ‘Do you really have to go?’

  She hesitated. ‘Well . . . no, but I think I should, Tom. The girls might need some time with you,’ she said. ‘Sophie’s coming out with some strange stuff, and I’m not sure how Hannah’s taking it.’

  He listened, nodding faintly. ‘Okay, I’ll talk to them, but they’re going to crash any minute,’ he said. ‘They’re both beyond exhausted.’

  ‘You must be too,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Yeah, but I haven’t been sleeping that well,’ he shrugged. ‘And I’m going to need to wind down from today.’ He looked at her directly. ‘Would it be too much to ask for you to hang around till I get them settled?’

  Rachel didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Please, Rach,’ he added. ‘I don’t think I can face being alone right now.’

  ‘Of course,’ she assured him. ‘Whatever you need, Tom. But take your time with the girls, okay? Don’t rush them. I’ll be here.’

  ‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’

  She headed downstairs to the kitchen. The furniture was back in place, but everything looked a little bare. She carried the two chairs in from the hall and placed them either side of the table, then she went to inspect the contents of the fridge. She found an open bottle of wine and took it over to the sink, where a solitary glass stood draining. Rachel gave it a quick rinse under the tap and poured herself a glass of wine. She gazed out the window into the dwindling light and Annie’s garden. At least the hired help had left that alone. Rachel wandered over to the screen door and pushed it open, it squeaked as she stepped outside.

  There was nothing restrained or formal about the garden, in fact it rather ran riot. Plants had to be hardy this close to the ocean to survive, so there were rosemary and lavender bushes, seaside daisies, some pretty funky-looking cacti, and here and there a quirky little statue peered out from behind the foliage: fairies and goblins and gnomes, put there when the girls were little.

  At least half an hour must have passed before Rachel heard Tom moving around in the kitchen. She came to the back door.

  ‘No, stay out there,’ he said. ‘I’m just gathering supplies.’

  ‘Are the girls okay?’

  ‘Yeah, Hannah was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.’ He took a couple of glasses from an overhead cupboard and turned around to look at her. ‘When I went back in to check on Soph, she was plugged into her iPod. I took the hint. They haven’t had a minute to themselves the whole week, and Sophie likes her privacy.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘Do you want a hand there?’

  ‘Nuh, coming now.’

  She held the door open as Tom walked through, his arms laden with bags of chips, a bottle of Scotch, glasses and an ice bucket. He set it all down on the outdoor table.

  ‘Let’s get drunk,’ he said.

  Rachel eyed him dubiously.

  ‘Don’t give me that look, not you, Rach,’ he sighed, dropping into a chair. ‘All day, the “looks” I’ve been getting, you have no idea.’

  ‘Sophie said something about that.’

  ‘If I cry, people are uncomfortable; if I smile, they’re uncomfortable. I spent the day contorting my expression into what I thought people could cope with. It’s exhausting.’

  ‘You didn’t have to do that, Tom.’

  ‘Oh, but I did. I have a responsibility to everyone to grieve the way they want me to grieve.’

  Rachel watched him loosen his tie and undo the top button of his shirt. ‘I haven’t cried,’ she said suddenly.

  He glanced at her. ‘I won’t hold it against you.’

  ‘But you know I thought the world of Annie, and Lexie can’t stop crying. What’s wrong with me?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Tom. ‘That’s exactly what I was trying to say. There are these expectations about how you’re supposed to grieve.’

  ‘I never seem to get it right,’ Rachel shook her head. ‘I have a terrible tendency to laugh when I hear something really sad, or tragic, or serious, or just at totally inappropriate times. It’s so embarrassing.’

  Tom was smiling at her. ‘Like at your wedding.’

  ‘Oh no, don’t bring that up,’ she protested, covering her face.

  It was possibly the worst thing Rachel had ever done. Poor Sean struggled valiantly through vows he had written himself, while she struggled just as valiantly, though with less success, to suppress the fit of giggles that had seized her. Half the congregation were shocked and dismayed at the bride’s lack of composure, the other half were too busy trying to contain their own laughter.

  ‘See, I’m a terrible person.’

  ‘You’re not a terrible person, Rach. They were pretty lame vows.’

  ‘Oh, come on, at least he tried, God love him.’

  ‘Whereas you, you had nothing,’ said Tom.

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ Rachel groaned.

  ‘I never got to ask you what happened back then. Did you go blank or something?’

  ‘No. Apparently Catherine put it on my to-do list, but I didn’t see it, or I forgot . . .’

  ‘You forgot to write your wedding vows?’

  ‘I thought they told you what to say,’ she defended. ‘Why else do you have the guy with the robes if you’ve got to do it all yourself?’

  Tom smiled, gazing at her across the table.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m just glad you’re here. Thanks for staying, Rach.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  He picked up the bottle of Scotch. ‘So, are you going to help me drown my sorrows?’

  He was almost too pretty for a man, was Tom. He had big, crystal-cut blue eyes framed with thick curled lashes, high cheekbones, bowed lips, and caramel hair tipped with blond that looked like it had b
een done by a professional, but Annie insisted he never stepped foot in a hairdresser’s, she cut his hair. He’d always had good hair; he wore it longer at uni, surfie-style, his shoulder-length locks bleached bright blond by the sun and sea. Had all the girls drooling over him. Had all the girls, period.

  But for some reason he had taken a seat right next to Rachel in their first lecture, their very first day of first-year Law. She probably looked safe, ordinary, non-threatening, despite the fact that she was desperately trying to look ever so cool and like she absolutely belonged there. How anyone thought they could pull that off in first year, Rachel had no idea. But that was the whole thing. She had no idea.

  ‘Hi, I’m Tom,’ he’d said as he dropped into the chair. He reminded her of a big friendly puppy.

  ‘Rachel,’ she nodded.

  ‘Where are you from, Rachel?’

  She was living in college because she didn’t have any choice. But she was determined to find an alternative, especially before the end of semester, so her parents couldn’t drag her over to London or Madrid in the break.

  However, she wasn’t going to admit to this guy that she lived in college, it didn’t exactly fit with the image she was trying so hard to project. So she just said, ‘I’m a local.’

  ‘Cool. I’ve come down from Crescent Head, do you know it? Up the north coast? So I’m living in college and it sucks. If you hear of anyone looking to share a place . . .’

  And that’s how she and Tom and a procession of housemates came to share a sprawling old Californian bungalow on the somewhat whimsically named Rainbow Street, for the next two and a bit years, until Rachel dropped out and took off overseas. Tom was the only one who understood at the time. Her parents shook their heads as they wrote their cheques, writing cheques being pretty much the extent of their parenting, and of far greater use to Rachel than any discipline or advice they might have cared to administer. And Catherine thought she was plain mad, throwing away two whole years of a law degree. Not quite two years, Rachel reminded her. She had failed yet another subject, so she was falling further behind. ‘That means you’ll be taking a lot of classes with me,’ Catherine pointed out. She was a year behind Rachel and Tom, but gaining fast. Giving birth to Alice in her HSC year had created a momentary setback, but setbacks were only ever momentary in Catherine’s life, whereas they had a tendency to completely derail Rachel’s. She sometimes had the feeling her whole life thus far was one big setback.

  Catherine maintained that Rachel had wasted too many years travelling, and that’s why she was where she was today. Which was nowhere, in Catherine’s estimation. But travelling had suited Rachel; the incredible freedom of drifting from place to place without a plan, finding somewhere to stay for a night, then staying for a month. Or six. And moving on when she felt like it. She had never been happier, except for that brief period at Rainbow Street, and that was a big part of the reason she left. She knew it couldn’t last, so she didn’t want to get too used to it, too attached, only to watch it inevitably dissolve around her.

  By the time she returned from overseas there was no more share house. Everyone had moved on, graduated from uni and into adult life. Catherine was forging ahead with her career and had already managed to fit in a brief marriage and divorce. She had insisted that Rachel be back in time for her second wedding. And Tom was thoroughly settled with a wife and two kids. Rachel suddenly had the urge to catch up to her friends, to settle too, whatever that meant. Perhaps it was time to make a home for herself. That was right about when Sean came along, so she settled for him.

  ‘So, shall we drink to Annie?’ said Tom, raising his glass.

  ‘Of course,’ said Rachel.

  He clinked his glass against hers and they drank, though as the Scotch hit the back of her throat she gasped a little, just managing to swallow it down before she had to cough.

  ‘Are you right there?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Just not so used to spirits,’ she croaked, clearing her throat again.

  ‘Me either. But this is pretty smooth stuff.’ He turned the bottle to check the label. ‘Clients give it to me. I keep it for special occasions,’ he added, shaking his head ruefully.

  Rachel looked at him. ‘Well, you got through today,’ she said. ‘That was no mean feat. And Catherine certainly didn’t help.’

  He frowned. ‘Yes, she did, of course she did.’

  Rachel winced. ‘I know that, I just . . .’ God, she sounded like a bitch. ‘I only meant, well, I know what Catherine’s like, better than anyone, and I should have reined her in –’

  ‘Hey,’ he interrupted her, ‘she’s not your responsibility. Besides, I’m grateful to her. I realise today wasn’t very “Annie”, but I wasn’t up to organising it,’ he went on. ‘Let’s face it, the only person who’d be able to pull off an Annie-style funeral would be Annie herself.’

  He had a point. ‘Surely the girls would have liked to have some input?’ said Rachel.

  ‘I think they’re still in shock, Rach. Perhaps after a while . . .’

  She thought about it. ‘So maybe you can plan your own memorial, say, in a year’s time, just the three of you.’

  He was staring out into the garden. ‘How are we ever going to get through a year?’ he said quietly.

  ‘One day at a time, isn’t that what they say?’ said Rachel, before wincing again. ‘Sorry, I should be able to do better than that cliché.’

  ‘No, all the clichés work,’ he assured her. ‘It really is like a bad dream, and I do keep thinking she’s going to walk through the door any minute. Or that I’ll come home and she’ll be sitting at the piano with one of her students . . . and everything’ll be back to normal. But nothing’s going to be normal ever again.’

  Rachel watched him staring into space, his eyes glassy. ‘You didn’t have any warning, nothing to prepare you for this. If you’d known about the condition, or she’d been sick for longer, you’d have had time to get used to the idea.’

  ‘How could I wish Annie had suffered so we could get used to losing her? That doesn’t seem right.’ Tom shook his head. ‘No, I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I’m pretty sure this is the way Annie would have wanted it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what she was like, she believed in destiny, fate, all that new-agey crap.’

  ‘I take it you didn’t share those beliefs?’ Rachel said wryly.

  He smiled then. ‘Not really, but whatever, if this had happened to someone else, she’d have had a whole lot to say about how it was “meant to be”, that the person was never destined for long on this planet. All that. The worst part for her would have been leaving the girls without a mother. But worse than that even would have been the idea of putting them through years and years with a sick or dying mother. It would have broken her heart to do that to them.’

  Rachel thought about it. He was right. Annie was totally devoted to those girls, they were her life.

  ‘So you see,’ Tom went on, ‘if she was meant to die young, this is how she would have wanted it – no dramatic build-up, no lingering. Get it over with, and then get on with it,’ he said plainly. ‘Except she’s not here to show us how to do that.’

  ‘You’ll figure it out.’

  He was shaking his head. ‘I just don’t know if I’m up to it. It’s so hard, Rach, too hard. It’s crushing.’

  Rachel’s stomach began to churn, what was he suggesting? That life wasn’t worth living now?

  ‘Can I tell you something I haven’t told anyone?’ he said.

  She swallowed. She didn’t really want him to, but she could hardly say no under the circumstances. ‘Sure,’ she said, before taking another gulp of Scotch.

  ‘What I’d really like to do is just go away,’ Tom said plainly, ‘somewhere no one knows us, and start all over. Not have to explain, no one would have to know about Annie. Then I wouldn’t have to be the dutiful widower.’

  Was this all about finding another woman?

  �
��No one expects you to be a monk, Tom,’ Rachel said awkwardly.

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m talking about,’ he shook his head. ‘Sorry, I’m not explaining myself very well. The thing is, I’m suddenly a widower. I didn’t ask for the role, I wasn’t prepared for it, I’d never even considered it, but now I don’t have a choice. I’ve been sentenced to some arbitrary period of misery, of people feeling sorry for me, feeling uncomfortable around me, not knowing what to say. And I don’t know either. My life has changed forever and I don’t know how to live it any more.’

  ‘It’s still your life, Tom,’ said Rachel. ‘Go away if that’s what you need to do.’

  ‘But it’s not just my life, that’s the thing, it’s the girls’ as well,’ Tom reminded her. ‘And I can’t do that to them. They’ve lost their mother, they’re going to need security, and continuity, so everything else is going to have to stay the same.’ He glanced at her. ‘I’m worried about Soph.’

  Rachel nodded. She could see why, if the conversation upstairs was anything to go by. ‘Does she have any contact with her father?’ she asked tentatively.

  Tom looked wounded. ‘I’m her father, Rach.’

  ‘Of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –’

  ‘I know, but that’s the very reason I’m worried about her.’ He drained his glass, setting it down on the table. ‘She’s going to feel like the odd one out now, she doesn’t even have the same surname as me and Hannah. That’s just the kind of thing Sophie will obsess about.’

  Annie hadn’t changed her surname when they married, so she had certainly seen no reason to change Sophie’s, who was nearly two when she and Tom met. When Hannah was born, it had seemed only fair to give her Tom’s surname, and though they had decided it was the perfect time for Tom to formally adopt Sophie, she and Annie remained Veitches, while Tom and Hannah were Macklins. They could never have anticipated a reason to do otherwise.

  ‘She knows where she belongs, Tom,’ said Rachel.

  ‘I hope so, she can be hard to read.’

  ‘She’s a sixteen-year-old girl, doesn’t that make her illegible?’ Rachel suggested.