The Not So Perfect Life of Mo Lawrence

by Catherine Robertson

  Michelle knew Chad would leave her to get the door. But when she opened it, she didn’t know whose appearance startled her more. Lowell’s, or—

  ‘Benedict!’

  ‘Yeah, I found him in a gutter,’ Patrick explained as Michelle kissed Virginia and Lowell and ushered them all inside. ‘He was making one of those cardboard signs to hang round his neck.’

  Benedict glowered as much as he dared. ‘It wasn’t that bad. I’m sorry to gatecrash,’ he said to Michelle. ‘I’ll be quite happy with bread and butter.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Michelle under her breath. ‘It may come to that for all of us.’

  She sent Patrick and Benedict off to the kitchen. And then came the part she’d been dreading. No point in delaying, she decided. She led Virginia and Lowell down the hall and flung open the living-room door.

  ‘Look, everyone. Look who’s here.’

  ‘Gin-Gin!’

  Harry jumped up off the floor, where he and his father had been building yet another train track, ran to his grandmother and clamped himself around her legs.

  ‘Darling!’

  To Michelle’s astonishment, Virginia sank down onto her knees, her eyes brimming with tears, and clutched Harry to her in a fierce embrace.

  Oh my Lord, thought Michelle. She’s missed them that much.

  Heartbeat quickening, she girded herself to look at Chad. But he wasn’t looking at her; he only had eyes for his father. Michelle saw that if there’d been any initial shock on Chad’s face, it had been replaced by an expression of such profound love and grief that she caught her breath.

  Saying not a word, Chad got to his feet and followed his mother’s suit by enveloping his father in a crushing hug. Michelle had a moment of extreme anxiety that Lowell’s frail bones might snap under the pressure of the embrace. But instead of diminishing, Lowell seemed to swell and straighten, and the arms that went around his son’s back were strong and sure.

  It was only when Rosie, standing upright in her playpen, gave a shriek of protest at the lack of attention that Michelle realised her cheeks were damp. She swiped the tears away roughly with the back of her hand and hurried over to scoop up her outraged small daughter.

  She brought Rosie over to Virginia, who now had Harry in her arms. Rosie, seeing Harry within lunging distance, made a lightning grab for his hair.

  ‘No, you don’t, you little pill,’ said Michelle, swinging her out of reach. ‘And if you don’t behave, I will banish you to bed, you hear?’

  Her daughter glared at her, but something in her mother’s tone must have registered, because she buried her head in Michelle’s shoulder and kept it there, making small, cross mewing sounds like a disgruntled cat who’s had the dead mouse it was playing with peremptorily removed and disposed of in the garbage.

  Michelle watched Chad lead his father over to the couch and the two men sat knee to knee, talking in low voices. Looking back to her mother-in-law, Michelle observed that her arms were trembling a little under her grandson’s weight.

  ‘Put him down, Virginia,’ she said, ‘and take a seat yourself. You must be bushed.’

  Virginia did not protest. But when Harry was on the floor and she in a chair, she frowned up at Michelle. ‘Don’t you need help in the kitchen?’

  Michelle deposited Rosie back in her playpen, where she expressed her displeasure by smacking her Tickle Me Elmo and plush cow together as if they were sumo wrestlers who’d been forced into a death match. ‘I think I have more help than I can handle,’ said Michelle with a smile.

  Then she suddenly realised that Aishe might not be as pleased to see Benedict as she had been. She had a vision of their set of Global knives, which had been a wedding present. Michelle had sliced through a whole chicken, bones and all, with one of those. ‘But perhaps I’d better just go and check,’ said Michelle and hurried out.

  She found Patrick leaning back in a chair at the kitchen table, swigging a bottle of beer. Gulliver, she noted, had a can of soda in front of him. The boy scowled as Michelle came in.

  ‘You said I could have a beer, didn’t you?’

  Michelle made a face. ‘Well, I may have — what’s the word? Oh yes. Lied. Sorry.’

  Patrick chuckled at Gulliver’s outraged expression. ‘Life lesson number one,’ he said. ‘Shortly to be followed by lessons two to infinity.’

  Michelle saw that Aishe was tipping cooked pumpkin into a food processor. Michelle was about to ask how she was getting on when she became aware of a certain rigidity in Aishe’s spine, which suggested that it would be prudent to leave her alone.

  She moved over and bent closer to Patrick. ‘Where’s Benedict?’ she whispered.

  ‘Benedict?’ he said, making no attempt to keep his voice low. ‘He’s taking a shower. Said he felt like a camel driver’s sock. I told him it’d be OK.’ Patrick paused. ‘Is it?’

  Michelle was filled with a sudden rush of affection that she suspected was highly irrational. She decided not to give a damn, and bent and kissed Patrick soundly on the cheek. Then she laughed, because he blushed like a schoolboy.

  ‘Thanks for everything,’ said Michelle.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ said Patrick, gruffly. ‘Thanks for letting me mooch around. I’ve been here far too long.’ He glanced across at Gulliver. ‘Time to go home.’

  Michelle frowned. ‘You have talked to your wife since you arrived, haven’t you?’

  Patrick’s expression was the kind familiar to any woman who’s suggested a man may have forgotten to do something: stout denial overshadowed by a strong whiff of desperate fabrication.

  ‘Course!’ he said. ‘I’ve texted her every day.’

  That prompted even Aishe to turn around and exchange a look with Michelle.

  ‘Why is that bad?’ Gulliver caught the look and frowned. ‘I text chicks all the time.’

  Now Aishe looked at Patrick. ‘Are you sure boarding school wouldn’t be a better option?’

  ‘Christ no.’

  Benedict was in the doorway, hair damp, wearing clothes that couldn’t exactly be described as clean, but were less dirty than anything else he had in his bag. ‘The only way to stop a boy at boarding school thinking about sex,’ he said, ‘is to whack him constantly about the privates with a lacrosse stick. Actually, now I come to think of it, that would probably only make it worse.’

  Michelle moved to the fridge. ‘Beer?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Benedict pulled out a chair at the table next to Gulliver. ‘What?’ he said, noting the boy’s expression.

  ‘Life lesson one,’ said Patrick.

  ‘Ah.’ Benedict took the beer from Michelle. ‘Let me guess. Life’s not fair?’

  ‘She promised me a beer,’ Gulliver said in a mutter.

  ‘She,’ said his mother, ‘still needs help in the kitchen. Potatoes.’ She pointed at the bag. ‘Peel them.’

  ‘So much for being a guest,’ said Gulliver, scraping back his chair extra slowly to ensure his point was missed by no one.

  ‘No, I’ll do it.’ Benedict got to his feet. ‘I’m the interloper here.’

  ‘God!’ said Michelle, who’d just checked the time. ‘I’m panicking again. What do I need to do? Tell me. I’m blanking.’

  ‘Get the chestnuts out of the jar,’ said Aishe. ‘Dry them off.’

  ‘Chestnuts. Jar,’ said Michelle. ‘I can do that.’

  The phone rang.

  ‘No-o!’ yelled Michelle. ‘Go away!’

  But she snatched it up anyway. ‘What?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Darrell. ‘Bad time?’

  ‘Thanksgiving!’ said Michelle. ‘Food! Hordes! Panic!’ Then she said, ‘Where the freak have you been?’

  ‘I can call back later?’ said Darrell.

  ‘No! It’s been eons. Where have you been? Spill!’

  ‘I’ll give you the Reader’s Digest condensed version now,’ said Darrell, ‘and the unexpurgated one later. OK?’

  ‘Yes! OK! Hurry up!’ Michelle clamped the phone between her j
aw and her shoulder so she could wrestle the lid off the jar of chestnuts.

  ‘OK,’ said Darrell. ‘I went back home to New Zealand — which you know. Very unhappy — which you also know. Anselo tracked me down and flew over to meet me. Quite a lot less unhappy. Then I introduced him to my parents—’

  ‘Poor lamb.’

  ‘I know. Then we went on a big trip all around New Zealand to recover.’

  ‘Camping?’ Michelle shoved the chestnut jar towards Patrick. ‘Can you get this freaking lid off?’

  ‘No, Anselo hates camping.’

  ‘Hello? He’s a Gypsy!’

  ‘Still hates camping,’ said Darrell. ‘So then we came home. And then we got married. The end!’

  Patrick offered Michelle the opened jar. Michelle waved it away impatiently and shifted the phone to her other ear.

  ‘Whoa! Back the truck up. You’re married?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘You got married without me being there?’

  ‘No one was there,’ said Darrell. ‘Except us two, of course — and the marrying person. Oh, and the witness guy.’

  ‘That’s two other people who weren’t me,’ said Michelle. ‘You are a terrible best friend.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, we’ve been threatened with excommunication from the family if we don’t have an enormous reception,’ said Darrell. ‘So you can come to that.’

  ‘Hmph,’ said Michelle. Then she jumped. ‘Hey! What about—?’

  ‘The baby?’ said Darrell. ‘Still there. Shotgun wedding. And I won’t be able to drink at the reception, which is a huge bummer.’

  ‘Anselo must be ecstatic,’ said Michelle. ‘You really made him suffer, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Darrell. ‘Don’t talk about it. I’m in a happy bubble.’

  Michelle heard what sounded like Anselo’s voice in the background.

  ‘You don’t happen to know where Aishe is, do you?’ said Darrell. ‘Anselo called her place, but there’s no answer.’

  Michelle looked across. Benedict and Aishe, she observed, were working efficiently, but moving around the kitchen like two magnets with their wrong ends facing each other. Every time one came near, the other would slide off on a tangent.

  ‘She’s right here,’ said Michelle. ‘Aishe—’ She held out the phone. ‘It’s your brother.’

  Aishe stared for a moment, then slowly wiped her hands on a dish towel before reaching out to take the receiver. After a quick glance around the room, she moved out into the hallway.

  ‘Hi,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Hi,’ said Anselo. There was a pause. ‘Um. How are you?’

  I can’t even begin to tell you, thought Aishe. So she said, ‘I gather you’re married. And that you’re going to be a father.’

  ‘Fuck,’ said her brother, with feeling. ‘When I hear those two things, especially the latter, I want to crawl into a foetal position. Is it meant to be this terrifying?’

  Aishe had to smile.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘You’ll never feel completely safe ever again. But you know what?’ she added. ‘It’s all worth it.’

  39

  ‘That,’ said Patrick, laying down his fork and leaning back in his chair, ‘was a fucking excellent pumpkin pie!’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ said Michelle happily. ‘I’m a genius.’ Aishe shot her a look, to which Michelle added, ‘I am. I put the turkey in the oven, and everything else just happened around me like magic. Brilliant!’

  ‘Yes, the pie was well cooked,’ said Virginia. ‘Everything was. Although I was a little surprised not to see the sweet potato casserole. It’s always been Chad’s favourite.’

  Chad flushed. ‘It’s OK, Mom,’ he said. ‘I don’t need the calories, anyway.’ He made a rueful face. ‘I’ve put on enough weight lately.’

  Michelle reached out and poked him in the waist. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘You are hefting some extra chub.’

  Chad fended off her finger. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Nope,’ said Michelle. ‘I never do. You should know that by now.’

  She looked across to her father-in-law. Lowell had taken Rosie out of her highchair and was now holding her on his lap, feeding her spoonfuls of pumpkin pie. Rosie was clearly enjoying it — every time her grandfather reached down with the spoon to scoop up more pie she’d make impatient grunting sounds, and as soon as the spoon came within reach she’d make a lunge for it with her mouth.

  ‘Look at the greedy little piglet,’ said Michelle with satisfaction. ‘Takes after her mother.’

  ‘Dad, are you OK there?’ said Chad.

  ‘More than fine, thank you,’ said Lowell. ‘Me and my girl are just dandy.’

  ‘Um …’ Chad was clearly hesitant to break the mood. ‘Dad, I’m not sure she should be eating all that pie.’

  That look is exactly the Lowell of old, thought Michelle. It takes years off him.

  ‘Pumpkin is packed full of vital nutrients and antioxidants,’ said Lowell firmly. He dropped a kiss onto his granddaughter’s downy black hair. ‘Exactly what a growing girl needs.’

  Chad blew out a breath. ‘OK, Dad.’ So only Michelle could hear, he added, ‘Just as long as he doesn’t feed her any linseed oil. It’s going to be enough of a poop-fest as it is.’

  Aishe saw Patrick watching Lowell and Rosie, his face rather melancholy. Sensing her eyes on him, he glanced over.

  ‘I’m missing Tom,’ he said. ‘They change so fast when they’re little — two weeks is a long time.’

  He looked at Harry, propped on a cushion so he could eat with the grown-ups, steadily ploughing his way through his own piece of pie.

  ‘Pretty soon, Tom’ll be that age. And then—’ Patrick glanced over at Gulliver, ‘—all hell will break loose.’

  Gulliver’s expression was pained. ‘I am a model teenager,’ he said. ‘Well, I’m not as bad as you were, at least.’

  ‘But not as well behaved as I was,’ said Benedict, with a half-smile. ‘Though I suspect a solid dose of anger might have done me the world of good.’

  He stood and began to clear plates. ‘I’ll do the dishes,’ he said, when Michelle gave him an enquiring look. ‘I could sing for my supper, but I don’t think any of us wants that.’

  ‘Gulliver can help,’ said Aishe.

  ‘What?’ Gulliver saw his mother’s ‘don’t argue’ expression and slumped his shoulders dramatically. ‘Thanks a bunch.’

  ‘Better get used to it,’ said Patrick. ‘Jenico will want you to do more than dishes. And you’ll need to obey him with good grace, too. Or you’ll get a—’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Gulliver climbed slowly to his feet. ‘A clip round the earhole.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ said Patrick with a grin. ‘You got one syllable right.’

  Both Gulliver and Benedict were surprised and mildly alarmed when, only ten minutes into tackling the pile of dishes, Aishe came and took the dish towel from her son.

  ‘What do I have to do instead?’ Gulliver said. ‘Lift barges? Tote bales?’

  His mother’s expression flickered for a moment. But all she said was, ‘Go and help entertain the little ones. They’re too hyped up to sleep, and I think the adults are now the ones badly in need of an afternoon nap.’

  Gulliver moved out the door with alacrity, and Aishe picked up a crystal wine glass and began to dry it. Benedict’s every nerve went on high alert. He could feel her presence like a tingle of static. Her motives for being here were unknown to him, and that made him wary.

  When Aishe spoke, he was so wound up that he almost dropped the pot he was washing.

  ‘Patrick told me your father died,’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’ Benedict did not know what else to say, so he resumed scrubbing.

  ‘He also told me that he thought your father was a complete psychopath. A manipulative, sadistic villain.’ Aishe gave Benedict a quick sideways glance. ‘Seems you were right to run.’

  ‘No,’ said Benedict, and t
his time he spoke with certainty. ‘No, I was a fool. But what’s done is done. Time to move on.’

  He rinsed the pot and placed it on the draining board.

  ‘What will you do now?’ said Aishe, after a moment.

  Benedict glanced at her in surprise. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  Aishe stood very still, the dish towel poised over the glass in her hand.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said quietly. ‘I think I need to know that someone has a plan.’

  Benedict felt his heart lurch and, without thinking, hands still damp, reached out to touch her arm.

  Aishe shied away. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘The last thing I need is your pity.’

  ‘That’s all right then,’ said Benedict. ‘I’ve run out of pity. I used it all up on myself.’

  Aishe found herself surprised into a laugh. She put the glass to one side, and for the first time since he’d arrived in the house, looked Benedict directly in the eye.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Sorry I was such a bitch.’

  ‘You weren’t!’ Inside Benedict, ingrained good manners wrestled with honesty. ‘Well, not all the time …’

  Under Aishe’s amused stare, he flushed.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I can’t be any more embarrassed, so I may as well say this. I think you’re the strongest woman I know. It will be a wrench to have Gulliver gone, but you’ll deal with it, I know you will. You won’t give in.’

  All trace of a smile had vanished from Aishe’s face. Her expression was ashen, stricken.

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ she said to him. ‘The pain of it …’ Her voice broke. ‘I don’t see how I can bear it …’

  This time, Benedict didn’t hesitate. He took her in his arms, cradled her head on his chest and held her tight. He could feel her shaking with sobs that she was trying to keep under control, and dropped a kiss onto her hair.

  ‘It’s only distance,’ he murmured. ‘It’s only miles. You haven’t lost him. Not even a little bit. In fact, I can guarantee this will bring you and him closer.’

  ‘You can guarantee, can you?’ Aishe’s voice was muffled by his chest.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Benedict. ‘I can promise you that it will all work out for the best.’