by kendra Smith
No flippin’ way. ‘Maybe.’
She gingerly opened the lid of the cardboard box to view the new houseguests and peered inside. There, nestled between the mulberry leaves were fat, pudgy little worms with deep folds of skin wriggling around. Yeuch.
‘Lovely. Now keep the lid closed tight,’ she said firmly as she herded Andy and James into the car, placing the silkworms carefully under a school bag in the seat next to her so none could escape.
On the way they stopped by the roadside so that James could pick some more mulberry leaves for his wriggly pets. As they pulled away, she was touched by how much care he was putting into his new friends. With that thought, she felt a tickle on her leg. Oh holy cow, had the bastards escaped?
‘Who made the first ant? Mum?’ Little Andy was tapping her on the shoulder. ‘A mummy ant?’
‘What? Yes, darling.’
‘No, it was Allah, Mum!’ James interrupted.
Allah? (Note to self: review which religious class James was in at school, as yesterday in the bath he was whispering to Andy that Allah owned all the world’s lightsabres…)
‘Mum?’ Now it was Andy.
‘Yes, dear?’ The tickling got worse. She brushed her thigh, keeping her eyes on the roundabout ahead, but glanced at the box next to her and noticed air holes in the box. Damn, thought Katie, I think I have a silkworm wriggling up my thigh.
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, Andy?’
‘If you kiss a girl on the lips for a long time, you’re married then, right?’
‘Sometimes, darling.’
‘So is Daddy also married to that lady?’
Her eyes flew to the rear-view mirror where she stared at her four-year-old, grinning at her and covered in chocolate. Looking back at the road, she missed an oncoming car by inches.
As she switched her gaze from the road to between her legs and back again, her eyes rested on something looking up from between her thighs. It was no escaped silkworm; it was a huge, brown, disgusting cockroach. Screaming, she pulled over the side of the road and leapt out of the car, furiously brushing her legs, jigging up and down. A horn blew nearby and she turned around, startled. Naomi was driving past, waving at her, smiling. She raised her hand, did a weird sort of salute, then collapsed back inside the car. God, it would be her, thought Katie, annoyed. Whatever next? Magpies in the garden, cockroaches between her legs, possums on the roof, redbacks all over the North Shore…
‘Mummy, don’t kill it, it’s Allah’s creature!’ James was screaming at her.
Damn and blast Allah’s ugly little disease-carrying creature, damn and blast the heat and insects in this country and damn and blast every second woman’s pert tits in Sydney.
*
Katie let the boys out of the car, and they scampered off to play in the back ‘yard’. She’d just pulled up at the rental house. It was in North Balgowlah, Balgowlah being an Aboriginal word for North Harbour, a quaint inlet of water with sailing boats bobbing on the horizon, only a few minutes’ drive away. North Balgowlah was also a stone’s throw from James’s school and a thirty-minute commute into the city. It’s perfect for the moment, thought Katie, smiling and looking at the big cerise bougainvillea bursting out of a pot at the front door. Number 36 Ponderosa Avenue looked ideal. Ideal and flat – and cheaper than the other place because it wasn’t so near the sea. A double brick house, painted in a beautiful pale mint colour, with a pretty front garden housing gardenias and a stunning jacaranda tree, in full bloom with fluttery purple flowers.
Her smile faded as she remembered the conversation from the night before: a permanent role, permanent role… Luckily, this place had an eighteen-month lease. They wouldn’t need it after that; their London house had a renewable lease, so that worked too.
She clutched her mobile and tapped out Tom’s number. ‘Tom, I’ve found a house.’
‘Good, because Harry wants me to sign these papers today, the ones about the permanent role…’
‘We need to talk about that, darling.’ Her voice was urgent.
Peter, the estate agent, was standing next to her, waiting for some happy news about the rental. Suddenly, she felt a strange sensation around her ankles. Her maternity trousers had fallen to the floor. She tried to grab them. Oh fuckety fuck. What else can go wrong?
14
Katie was on the deck writing Christmas cards. It was mid-December. The boys were in bed, the air con was humming away in the bedrooms upstairs, making them bearable to sleep in. Tom was working late. A thunderstorm was brewing, angry clouds gathered in the dark sky and swirled above her. The heat was oppressive. Cicadas and frogs were taking turns in the garden, a summer concert in the making. The air was thick. Finally, it broke with a deafening clap of thunder, then lightning. Katie jumped. The first fat drops of rain splatted onto the deck and seeped into the wood. She watched as the downpour began, watched as the torrential rain pelted down from the roof as if someone was holding an enormous power shower over the house.
Christmas: the stay-at-home mums’ arms race. Katie sighed inwardly. In Syria they have chemical weapons, but as a SAHM you had an arsenal of innuendo capable of doing much more damage. Have you ordered your turkey? Got all your shopping? Oh yes, I made a gingerbread house with homemade icing, little bits of decoration. So very fucking FAMILY. (Translation: I shall go to heaven. You, however, shall be wallowing in the murky waters of that place in between gingerbread-making heaven and shop-bought icing hell. Somewhere about 170 degrees Celsius in a fan-forced oven.)
She picked up some of the cards that had already come in. Her mum had sent a parcel with two little Santa hats for the boys, embroidered with their initials – and some bootees for when the baby was born. Wham, there it was again, thought Katie, as she inhaled the deliciously sweet earthy scent from the garden, listened to the cicadas start up once again – the homesickness boomerang had hit her square between the eyes.
She wiped her eyes as well as the sweat from her brow, looked through some other cards, read the messages, recalled some of the photos sent on Christmas emails. Godchildren, nephews, nieces, close friends. They were growing up; the hour hand of the clock kept turning even though when you looked at it, it seemed still. Katie closed her eyes and wondered what Tom was doing right now.
Pulling another letter from the pile, she recognised the handwriting straight away. Lucy.
Hi K
Our first Christmas in the country in our new house!!! I feel so blessed. Adam up in London a lot, but I’m keeping myself busy with all the village events – so far there has been a cheese and wine; I’ve made mince pies for the charity coffee morning and fund-raiser for the local church (they need new heating); I’ve put my name down for table centrepiece flower arranging at the church – I know, don’t laugh! It’s for charity! We have been so busy with the farmhouse renovations.
We need to get the whole place rewired, and we’re also getting quotes for the kitchen to be ripped out and redone. Have got the happy task of choosing my own kitchen at last! It’s such a great community here, wish we’d moved sooner. Mum and Dad are down for Christmas, plus the ‘Bohemians!’ – we’re going to do the whole festive shebang. Adam’s dad will come for Boxing Day.
How are you? Hot I imagine? Miss you, wish we could share Christmas… Must dash to get this to postbox.
Much love,
L & A & bump.x
Katie went to the computer to dash off a quick email.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Luce
Great to hear from you. God I miss you… miss England… anyway all fine here… Baby due in couple of months. Who will be first?! Am EXTRAORDINARILY hot. Most days over thirty-two degrees. Tom working late again. Have also discovered that whole of our suburb is riddled with deadly spiders called funnel-webs and redbacks. Crikey! Just wrapping Christmas presents – paper here full of kangaroos in ermine trim hats – classy.
Kx
Goin
g back to her table, all her Christmas spirit seemed to have drained from her along with the rain down the cracks in the decking outside. Picking up the pile of cards, she wrote ‘Merry Christmas from all of us’ hastily on them in a trance. I don’t feel very merry, Katie thought, wrapping an arm over her belly. Where is my husband?
*
Katie had read somewhere that apparently you know when it’s summer in Sydney because you can’t touch your steering wheel. Summer all right. She looked down to watch rivers of sweat collecting between her breasts. Sweatius heavvius. It was so, so hot. Tiny beads of perspiration had appeared on her brow, around her hairline, bra – and her knickers were permanently damp. Sweat dribbled down the backs of her legs as she got out of the car.
She was at ‘the mall’ getting a few things for their Christmas drinks party that afternoon. She’d decided to put a brave face on it, grab a bit of Lucy’s community and village spirit. She would host a little get-together – get in the mood.
She had gone to the deli earlier that day to get cheap frozen party food: prawns wrapped in filo pastry, chicken satay and spring rolls. Anyway, who wants mince pies, she thought, as she’d stood in the deli queue, it’s all so Northern Hemisphere, isn’t it? Doesn’t quite feel right to offer mulled wine when it’s thirty degrees outside and the humidity is through the roof. Bit like wearing a velvet dress in a swimming pool.
As she drove home, she was struck by something. She gazed at the houses, scanned the scenery. Neighbours who had good jobs, were otherwise normal, who gave to charity, had blow-up Santas on their houses. How very Southern Hemisphere, she found herself thinking and smiling.
When she got home and pulled into the driveway, she nearly crashed the car. Tom had put fairy lights all over the house. All over the inside and all over the outside. She laughed out loud.
‘What you doing darling?’ She giggled, watching Tom balance up a ladder at the front of the house.
‘Got this lot at the garage. Half price! Aren’t they great? Kids will love ’em!’
She grinned. It was all quite tasteless. Sometimes it amazed her that this grown man, who was helping to build some of the biggest, most complicated financial structures in the Asia-Pacific region was so hopelessly still a five-year-old at heart. A big kid who couldn’t say no to temptation.
A while later, the deck was full of people: some Katie had met through the school – Naomi, in a revealing cherry red dress, Andrew, Ann and Paul. Naomi had asked if Blake could come along, and there were some of Tom’s work colleagues, plus a few neighbours. Kids were running round the garden, clutching handfuls of popcorn from bowls and pulling the Christmas crackers she’d bought.
Glancing out through the windows that led to the deck, Katie looked past the Christmas tree. It was such a family icon; it triggered something in her and she expected to see her mum in her new Christmas Outfit (can’t be seen in the same outfit every year, darling. What would the photos look like?), Gramps, Debra… She closed her eyes, opened them and turned the volume up on the Outback Christmas CD. C’mon, girl. Be nice, get in the mood.
I will be a Cheery Host even though I feel about as festive as a turkey with sage and onion stuffing up its arse, thought Katie with a sudden giggle. She picked up a mineral water from the glass table and knocked it back. She looked down at her green slingbacks. ‘Wow! They’re “fuck-me” shoes, sweetie!’ Naomi had laughed at a startled Katie when she’d seen them.
‘Anybody want some?’ Katie stood on the deck at her own party, holding the tray of food on top of her belly. Nobody looked around. She felt slightly alone. She headed over to Paul and Tom. They were deep in conversation. She stared at them both as she wandered over.
Must be hard for Paul and Ann, all that yearning for another child. She had waved at Paul as he sat in his car at school pick-up sometimes. He’d pushed his sunnies up and smiled at her. Could work for the Aussie tourist board he looked so True Blue. Actually, he almost did. Paul worked in Sydney Harbour, was one of the skippers on the tourists’ boats that went around the coast and bays and into Darling Harbour. Originally he’d wanted to join the navy, but his eyesight proved too poor for their high standards when they’d tested him. He loved his job, said Ann, always wanted to be out on the water.
Katie couldn’t help but notice how tall he was; towering above her in his hibiscus-patterned board shorts, red T-shirt and baseball cap. He also had slight stubble sprouting out of amber skin; his feet, like any true Aussie were, of course, encased in a pair of flip-flops. His hair was very short, browny-blond and he had tremendous lines etched on his face. It was a face that the sun hadn’t so much kissed as snogged for half its life. Katie nibbled on some cheese. She held the tray out to them.
‘Whatcha’ got there, darlin’?’ Paul took a skewer of meat and ripped it off with his teeth.
‘Satay,’ said Katie, smiling at him.
‘That traditional Christmas fare in England?’ He laughed.
‘No. Can’t be bothered cooking, actually,’ said Katie, taking the finished stick from him and shrugging her shoulders. ‘Too tired.’
‘You look great, though.’ He grinned, leaning down and giving her a kiss on the cheek. ‘You must be proud, Tom, mate?’
Tom looked at Katie and then visibly shook himself. ‘Yes, yes I am,’ he said putting an arm round her.
‘Thanks.’ Katie smiled at both of them, buoyed by Paul’s compliment. Up close she noticed his laughter lines remained – the texture of his skin was almost leathery. But his eyes were lovely, the blue of a summer sky and twinkly. Such a jolly bloke, thought Katie, listening to him and Tom joking about sport, about who fielded the better cricket team: Australia or England. The endless Ashes debate…
Suddenly Paul clapped his hands next to her and she nearly dropped the tray.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I want to tell a joke! That all right, Katie?’
She nodded – anything to liven up the party – and she stared at his hands, which were still clasped together. They were enormous! Dark brown from the sun, dark blond hairs all over the back of them, small hairs caught underneath his wedding ring, straining to get loose.
‘Ready folks?’ he said, smiling, enjoying holding court and then launched into his joke.
‘Two women friends have gone for a girls’ night out; both are very loving wives. However, they have been a bit over-enthusiastic on the vodka shots.
‘Incredibly drunk and walking home, they need to wee, so they stop in the cemetery.
‘One of them has nothing to wipe with so she decides to take off her undies and use them.
‘Her friend, however, is wearing a rather expensive pair of undies and doesn’t want to ruin them, but is lucky enough to squat down next to a grave that has a wreath with ribbon on it, so she uses the ribbon.
‘After the girls do their business, they go home.
‘The next day, one woman’s husband is concerned that his normally sweet and innocent wife is still in bed hungover, so he phones the other husband and says, “These damn girls’ nights out have got to stop. I’m starting to suspect the worst. My wife came home with no undies.”
‘“You think that’s bad,” says the other husband. “Mine is lying in bed with a card stuck to her arse that says: From all of us at the Fire Station. We’ll never forget you.”’
Everyone was howling with laughter as Katie handed round the antipasti plate. It was crude, but she had to admit it was one of the funniest jokes she’d heard in a long time. She giggled. She hadn’t thought Paul would tell a joke quite like that.
After she piled more food on the tray in the kitchen, she went to find him. ‘Paul,’ she said, going over to hug him, ‘what a great joke.’ He held on to her and she smelt a powerful citrusy aftershave. As she tried to move away, he tightened his grip. His piercing blue eyes were staring right at her.
‘Katie, you enjoyed that, didn’t you, sweetie?’ He smiled.
‘Very funny, Paul, yes.’ Katie laughed loudly, stiffening in his a
rms. He grabbed her elbow. ‘Not so fast, I want to ask you something,’ he whispered. As he bent over he leant in so close she could see his pores. He winked at her and then muttered something under his breath.
She could smell beer and tried to move away. ‘What?’
‘I said, do you like men or women?’ he murmured in her ear. Katie felt her cheeks prickle and stared at Paul.
‘Mum!’ It was James holding out Christmas cracker jokes for kids. ‘What did one toilet say to the other one?’
‘Not sure sweetie.’ Act normal.
‘You look a bit flushed!’ And with this went off sniggering.
‘Hey, is this a private party?’ Naomi came over and poked her in the ribs. ‘Hi, Paul!’
‘No, no!’ Katie could feel the blood rush to her face, but instantly felt annoyed. ‘Want some party food?’ Katie turned around, glad to get away from Paul, and thrust the tray at her.
‘You look a bit hot, babe.’
‘Yup, two kids and one in the belly – I’m in a bit of a fluster!’ Katie found herself training her eyes away from Naomi’s bust, trying to look only at her eyes. Katie noticed how well the black eyeliner had been applied, neat little flicks outward on the upper lid.
She didn’t want to mention that, actually, her tiredness came from lying awake last night, worried about Tom, why he always had to work so late, how much he was putting into paying back their debts. Remembering what she’d whispered when he finally crept into bed. ‘You can’t keep this up, Tom.’
He’d rolled over, placed a protective hand over her belly and fell into a deep sleep, left Katie lying awake for hours. She’d felt guilty that she’d been annoyed with Tom for leaving her alone for such long periods.
Just then, Ann came up behind them both and took some tiny spring rolls from the tray. ‘I’m too knackered to cook!’ mumbled Katie, apologetically, wiping satay sauce from her lips and letting Ann help herself.
