Take Two, page 12
‘George!’ Nicky roared. ‘I saw that, young man!’ She cut herself a ring of sausage and examined it critically. ‘Medium rare. Probably not ideal.’ She shrugged, dipped it in a puddle of tomato sauce and ate it anyway. ‘Weren’t you supervising the cook?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I was fully occupied by listening to the cook’s troubles.’
She grimaced. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘No need to apologise,’ said Emil, materialising suddenly from goodness knew where. ‘She was laying valuable groundwork, weren’t you, Laura? Best time to get them is on the rebound. Nicky knows that; it’s how she caught me.’
In a long unpractised but once familiar move, honed during many high school lunch breaks, Nicky and I raised our middle fingers in unison.
‘Mummy did the fingers at Daddy!’ shouted one of the small boys under the trampoline gleefully, whereupon Nicky laughed and did it again in her son’s direction.
‘So that’s your idea of responsible parenting, is it?’ said Emil. ‘I’m not angry; I’m just disappointed.’ Shaking his head sorrowfully, he went away.
‘Moron,’ said Nicky, looking after him fondly. ‘He said you crushed Justin like a bug, and it was beautiful to watch.’
‘Why on earth did you invite them?’ I asked. It occurred to me belatedly that this was a somewhat offensive question — but no, they couldn’t possibly be friends. Nicky couldn’t have changed that much.
‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘Bloody Emil, he’s incurably hospitable. Last Christmas we were landed with some dire bloke with a nose whistle who he met online.’
‘A nose whistle? Like a nose flute?’
‘What’s a nose flute?’
‘Traditional Māori musical instrument.’
‘No. That might have been quite cool. This man had a nose whistle. So every time he breathed in there was a wheee noise, and every time he breathed out he went aaahh.’
I began to giggle. ‘Poor man. What a terrible affliction.’
‘Well, yes, but he was such a self-opinionated bore that you couldn’t even feel sorry for him.’
‘Mummy!’ a small girl wailed. ‘George took my sausage!’
Nicky sighed and stood up. No sooner had she moved away than Dan appeared before me, holding two glasses of white wine and smiling sheepishly. ‘Wine?’ he asked, offering me one.
I took it, studiously ignoring Emil, who was waggling his eyebrows at me from the other side of the patio. ‘Thanks.’
‘It’s an apology for droning on at you,’ Dan said, sitting down beside me. ‘What do you do for a living, anyway?’
‘I’m a freelance communications manager. You?’
‘Chemical engineer. You married?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Children?’
I shook my head. ‘You?’
‘Two. Five and eight.’
‘Very cool,’ I said, since some response seemed to be expected.
‘Yeah, it’s a great age. Old enough not to need naps during the day; young enough to still want to hang out with parents …’
‘How often do you have them?’ I asked.
‘Week about,’ said Dan, and frowned. ‘Oi! We’re supposed to be talking about you! Would you like kids someday?’
‘I’d love them. But I’ve got crappy substandard ovaries.’ If I was sufficiently brisk and matter-of-fact about it, eventually, surely, I’d stop minding so much.
‘What about IVF?’
‘Only works if you’ve got eggs in the first place.’
‘Tough luck,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, smiling.
‘In that case, someone with a couple of ready-made kids could be just the ticket.’
Things seemed to be progressing at breathtaking speed. ‘Aren’t you trying to get your wife back?’ I asked.
‘Well, yes, but seeing someone else would be a great way to make her jealous. And who knows? The someone else might even start looking like the better bet.’
‘That’s terribly flattering, but I’m not in the market for a relationship at the moment,’ I said.
‘Fair enough. Are you in the market for casual sex?’
‘No!’
Dan grinned. ‘Asking for a friend, obviously,’ he said.
* * *
I stayed until midnight — mostly because Nicky was outraged when I tried to leave at ten — declined another, more pressing offer to spend the night with Dan and drove back up the hill.
Men, I thought, are peculiar creatures. They might be genuinely heartbroken because their marriages are crumbling, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try to get a little bit of pick-me-up sex from someone else. And why on earth do they think that telling the someone else all about how much they love their wife is a good way to get it?
Mick’s car wasn’t there when I got back to Cat and Peter’s. The only light inside came from the Christmas tree, glowing like a beacon of hope and beauty from the corner of the living room. I went up the hall and switched the kettle on, and a car came up the driveway. Mick. I smiled as I got out a second mug.
The door at the end of the hallway opened, and there was a soft thump, as if someone had stumbled and knocked the wall with an elbow. And then a girl’s giggle, quickly bitten off.
I was out of the kitchen, across the living room and in through the door of Cat’s little sewing room before I’d even formulated the idea of going. I closed the door softly, leaned against it and covered my face with my hands. He’d brought her home. I could not, I could not, stay in the kitchen and make pleasant conversation with Mick and Anna before they disappeared into his bedroom for the night. I slid down the door to sit, rested my forehead on my bent knees and started to cry.
Which was actually vaguely enjoyable, in a melodramatic sort of way, until someone knocked on the other side of the door a few minutes later. I shot back across the carpet like a startled crab and hit a small wire-wove rubbish basket, which fell clattering against Cat’s sewing desk.
‘Laura?’ Mick said.
A car crept past beneath the window; Anna leaving, after all.
‘What?’ I croaked.
And he opened the door.
I scrambled up to face him. I hadn’t turned on the sewing room light, and he was lit only from behind. I couldn’t really see his face.
He, evidently, could see mine. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, taking a step towards me.
I don’t know why I told him. I wouldn’t even have had to make something up; I don’t want to talk about it would have done the job nicely. But I pressed my hands against my hot, wet eyes and muttered, ‘You … she …’
There was a pause — quite a long pause — and then he said, ‘Are you jealous?’
His voice sounded odd. I lowered my hands. Even in the dim light I saw his smile. It was wide and incredulous, and it hurt like a punch to the stomach.
‘Go away!’ I whispered savagely.
‘What?’ he said. ‘No! Laura …’ He crossed the room and took me by the shoulders. ‘I’ve been jealous for twenty years.’
‘Of — of what?’
‘Of Hamish. Because he was with you, and I wasn’t.’
‘You … But …’
Mick looked at me and decided that further speech was not the way to get his point across. His hands tightened on my shoulders, and he kissed me.
He nailed it: both strategy and execution. It cut straight through all my upset and embarrassment, and it short-circuited my brain, which was so clearly unfit, just then, to process anything. The only thing left in the world was Mick, his mouth and hands and warm, hard body against mine. I slid my arms up around his neck and kissed him back fiercely.
Sometime later — quite a long time later — we broke apart, breathing heavily.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Mick.
I leaned my forehead against his shoulder, partly for support and partly to hide my face. He put his arms around me, and that first wild spike of physical desire softened into a sort of warm, all-pervasive contentment. ‘This is a bad idea,’ I murmured. It was a particularly stupid remark; like saying coyly, I shouldn’t, as you take the piece of cake. Why say it, while in the process of actively disregarding your own advice? It doesn’t make the cake any less fattening, and it doesn’t make the kiss any less fraught with complications.
‘What?’ said Mick sharply.
‘I —’ I said, and stopped.
‘You can’t kiss me like that and then take it back.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘Are you taking it back?’
I hugged him, eyes stinging. There were so many reasons why I should. I was with his brother for thirteen years. He’d probably only kissed me because of some ancient teenage crush. I couldn’t have children, and Mick would be a wonderful father. I was four years older than him … was that enough to qualify as a cougar?
‘Oh, fuck, you are,’ he said. He disengaged himself gently and went away.
I stood there for a while, wondering what the hell to do.
In the end, I went to bed.
CHAPTER 11
‘Good night?’ Peter asked when I emerged from the sewing room the next morning to find the older generation at breakfast. The youngest generation was absent; Doug had taken them home the night before.
‘Yes, very nice,’ I said wanly. I’d had approximately forty minutes of sleep, and I felt at least a hundred and two. ‘How was yours?’
‘We had a lovely evening,’ said Aunt Zelda, pouring herself a cup of tea. ‘We watched a movie, and then we chatted for a while … I think we were all in bed by ten. Very civilised. What time did you get home?’
‘Twelve thirty,’ I said.
‘And Michael was even later, I have no doubt. These dashing young bachelors!’
The dashing young bachelor came up the hall just then, looking about as bright and enthusiastic as I felt. He went straight into the kitchen and began to spoon coffee into the plunger.
‘Feeling rough, huh?’ Peter said, looking at him.
‘Yep,’ said Mick.
‘Well, don’t expect any sympathy from me,’ Aunt Zelda remarked. ‘It’s all self-inflicted. Cat, my dear, would you like the bed in my room made up again, or shall I strip it and leave it to air?’
‘Just strip it, I think,’ said Cat. ‘Thank you.’
‘Laura, if you give me your bed linen as soon as you’ve had some breakfast, I’ll put the washing on before we head away, and we’ll save these good people a job.’
‘Will do,’ I said.
Cat smiled at me fleetingly, and said, ‘What time are you planning to head off, Zelda? I’ll let Hamish know, so he can bring the children down to say goodbye.’
‘What a dear, thoughtful boy he is. Now, let me see. I’d like to visit Stella and Mike on my way home — did you know they’ve moved off the farm, Peter? They’re just out of Taupō now, on a little lifestyle block. They have alpacas, of all things … And I want to get groceries — but of course I won’t be able to, will I, on New Year’s Day? All the shops will be shut.’
‘Not the supermarkets,’ Mick said, pushing a cup of coffee across the counter towards me without meeting my eye.
‘Thank you,’ I said, but he’d turned away.
‘Are you sure?’ Zelda asked. ‘I thought they were legally obliged to shut for Christmas and New Year’s Day.’
‘Not New Year’s,’ Mick said, opening the fridge to put away the milk.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
She remained doubtful, however, until he googled it for her. Then she pondered, out loud and at length, the time it would take her to reach Mike and Stella’s house if she stopped to buy them a few nice cheeses and some buns. Perhaps she should do a proper grocery shop while she was at it. She could pop the things that should be kept cold into their fridge for a couple of hours. What was the chance, though, that she’d forget to take them when she left? It was shocking, the price of milk; it was no wonder that people on benefits gave their children soft drink instead and rotted their little teeth off at the gums.
Eventually, nine thirty was chosen as the hour of departure, and Doug was notified accordingly. Aunt Zelda decreed that I should go when she did, so as not to waste anyone’s valuable time in extended farewells, and under her close supervision I duly packed up my belongings and loaded them into the car.
The whole thing felt farcical and dishonest, and almost unbearably irritating on top of my acute misery about Mick. He’d disappeared after breakfast, returning only when Doug and the children arrived to say goodbye.
Fresh horror arose when I realised that Doug hadn’t been told that I was staying on. Beneath his aunt’s interested gaze, he gave me a brief, hard hug. ‘Thank you,’ he said soberly. ‘You take care. It was really good to see you.’
Polly clung to my knees dramatically, and Riley shook my hand. ‘It was very nice to meet you,’ he said solemnly. ‘Come back again soon.’
Feeling more foolish and uncomfortable by the second, I hugged Cat and Peter then, finally, Mick. ‘Are you really going?’ he muttered, beneath the cover of Zelda’s goodbye to Polly, which was equally noisy and theatrical on both sides.
‘No,’ I whispered back, and his arms tightened around me for a fraction of a second before he let me go.
‘Alright, then, we’re off!’ said Zelda brightly. ‘Lovely to see you, Laura; you take good care of yourself, won’t you?’ She kissed my cheek, whispering very audibly, ‘Just you remember, there are plenty more fish in the sea!’
Torn between embarrassment and helpless wrath, I climbed grimly into my car and drove away.
I went up the road, not down, and pulled off onto the verge opposite Doug and Camille’s driveway. From there, screened by a large flax bush, I watched Zelda’s little white Golf wend its way down the hill towards the main road. I gave her a few minutes just in case she did what I was doing, then did a U-turn and went back.
Cat was waiting on the porch. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said as I got out of the car again and retrieved my bag from the back seat. ‘What a ridiculous charade.’
Riley ran out and down the steps. ‘Did you forget something?’ he asked. ‘Was it your phone charger? Daddy always forgets his phone charger.’
‘No, I just couldn’t bear to leave you, after all,’ I said, crossing the gravel towards him.
‘Laura’s back!’ he said, turning and scampering inside again. ‘Dad, Granddad, Laura’s come back! She couldn’t bear to leave us!’
‘Hooway!’ Polly cried. ‘Is Aunty Zowda coming back too?’
‘Heaven forbid,’ said Peter. ‘Put the kettle on, would you, Michael? Thirsty work, deceit.’
‘What the hell is going on?’ Doug asked.
‘I’ve asked Laura to stay on and run the shop for me for a few weeks,’ Cat said. ‘I wanted to spare Zelda’s feelings, but my harmless little white lie turned into a big fat lie, as lies do.’
‘There’s a moral there somewhere,’ said Peter.
‘Were you just pretending to go, so Aunty Zelda would leave?’ Riley asked, frowning as he tried to follow the conversation.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Like a Judy goat!’
‘A what?’
‘It’s in my book I was reading. There’s a Judy goat at the works that gets all the sheep to follow after it, and then they get killed.’
‘A Judas goat,’ Cat told him. ‘Judas was a person in the Bible — he was a traitor. That means someone who gets other people in trouble, Riley.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Riley uninterestedly.
‘Sounds a bit dark for a kids’ book,’ Mick remarked.
‘It’s a story from one of those old school journals I kept years ago,’ Cat said. ‘Back in the days before all stories for children had to be about cultural diversity or poo.’
‘Ah. Who’s having tea?’
Peter raised his hand, Cat smiled at him and nodded, and I said, ‘Yes, please.’
‘No, I’d better get going,’ Doug said. ‘Mum, I’m sorry, but could you have the sprogs yet again? I haven’t been to the hospital since Wednesday.’
‘Can I come?’ Riley asked, looking at his father plaintively. ‘Please, Dad? I’ve never seen Peanut, and I’m his big brother. I’m sure he wants to meet me.’
‘And me!’ Polly cried. ‘I want to come!’
‘Daddy, no! She’s too loud!’
‘I am not!’ Polly roared. Realising almost immediately that she had made a strategic mistake, she stopped roaring, fastened herself around her father’s legs and looked up at him appealingly. ‘Pwease, Daddy?’ Polly’s r’s all came out as w’s, but her l’s were perfectly enunciated unless she wanted to be especially adorable.
‘Polly, you’re a menace,’ Doug said, smiling.
Silently, hopelessly, Riley began to cry.
Doug looked from one child to the other and sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Riley, go and get in the car. Polly, not this —’
The end of the sentence was drowned by a wail like a fire siren. Doug bent and scooped up his daughter, carried her down the hall to her bedroom and closed the door. The wailing became higher pitched, punctuated by thumping sounds.
‘Sorry, chaps,’ Doug said, coming back into the living room. ‘Enjoy.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ his mother said serenely.
‘I’ve just got one mob of cattle to move, and then we’ll head up to Hamilton. I shouldn’t be home late.’
He went out, Riley scampering behind him. There was another barrage of thumps from Polly’s bedroom.
‘Shall I go and see her?’ I asked.
‘Absolutely not,’ Peter said. ‘She’ll calm down. No point in having a tantrum all by yourself.’
* * *
Polly calmed down in the time it took to make the tea. She came slowly up the hall, face blotched with tears and clutching the long-suffering Piggles, and climbed onto Mick’s lap. ‘There’s a wabbit under my bed,’ she said, squirming to get comfortable.
‘Ow!’ said Mick as he was kneed in the groin. ‘Polly!’
She ignored him. ‘Not a whole wabbit. Just the ears and some wed bits.’
