On the Same Page, page 19
‘Amy’s not Clara quite yet,’ Adam says. ‘But it won’t be long.’
I hold out my hand and she takes it. ‘Hello, Amy, I’m Miles.’
‘Have you been crying?’
‘Amy!’ Adam says.
I put my hand on his arm. ‘That’s okay. Is my face blotchy, Amy?’
She nods gravely. ‘And your eyes are red. How come?’
‘I get upset when The Nutcracker prince breaks.’ When she laughs, I laugh too.
‘Where are you sitting?’
She throws an arm behind her. ‘At the very back.’
‘I have two spare seats in the dress circle. Would you like to join me?’
Adam sits in Dad’s seat and Amy sits in Dad’s friend’s seat, putting her elbows on the railing and peering wide-eyed at the stage. When Adam pats her bun, she doesn’t look up but moves her hand over her hair straightaway, ensuring it’s still smooth.
‘Amy has two left feet,’ Adam whispers. ‘But Annie and I encourage her anyway. Self-esteem and all that.’
‘You’re a good father, Adam.’
‘I’m a lucky man.’
‘I liked Annie very much.’
He glances at Amy and lowers his voice. ‘My wife thoroughly enjoyed the reading, and also the workshop.’
‘What did you think?’
He grimaces. ‘Let’s just say, Emma has given me a new perspective on orchids.’ He taps the program on my lap. ‘She will appear soon, won’t she, Miles?’
I nod jerkily. ‘She’ll do her best.’
Chapter 34
Caro calls on Monday afternoon. For the first two minutes, all I hear is sobbing.
‘Are you at home?’ I say. I think she says yes. ‘I’ll finish up at work and see you soon.’
Caro lives in a block of apartments across the Harbour Bridge in Milson’s Point, so I take a taxi. The security man in the marble foyer rises to his feet when he sees me and pushes the lift button to her floor. She’s waiting for me upstairs, wearing grey yoga pants and a collared pink shirt.
‘Thanks for coming,’ she says, shuddering as she releases a breath. I follow her into the dining room, where she sits at the table, picks up a glass of wine and cradles it in her hand. She waves towards the bottle in front of her. There’s only a centimetre left, so I go to the kitchen and pour a glass of water.
Even crying, Caro is beautiful. Her glossy black hair falls over her forehead in a graceful sweep, and although the rims of her eyelids are pink, her dark-brown eyes are tragic watery, not ugly watery. She reaches for a tissue infused with aloe vera and delicately pats her face.
‘He’s been fucking your mother,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘His wife, of all people. For weeks. And there was I, believing he was impotent.’
I have a clear memory—I must have been around ten—of Mum and Dad getting back together one Christmas Eve. I thought I’d received the best present ever. We held hands and danced around the tree, the three of us, and then they sent me to bed. The next morning I was still excited about Dad being there, but they acted like splitting up and reuniting wasn’t terribly important. Nothing has changed.
‘Are you sure it’s my mother?’ I say. ‘He was flirting with a woman at the ballet last week.’
‘He was here last night,’ she says. ‘I listened at the door when he spoke to Margaret and arranged their next …’ Caro sobs, ‘assignation.’
‘You might be better off without him.’
‘What? That man is the love of my life. I’ll never find anyone to replace him.’ She blows her nose. ‘There are no good men left.’
I empty the rest of the bottle into her glass. ‘You’ve been to a million parties with Dad. Surely you’ve met some good men.’
She sniffs delicately. ‘Lars Kristensen is charming, I suppose he might suit. And I understand he’s dating again, now he and Cassandra have broken up.’
Is Lars a rake like Edward? I shouldn’t want to know, but … ‘Do you think he’s a player?’
She shrugs. ‘He has a high-profile position and he’s extremely attractive. I imagine he’d be spoilt for choice.’
I take a sip of water. ‘You should try to keep busy.’
‘How?’ she says. ‘Working on my PhD reminds me of Raymond. He’s been editing my work.’
I have plenty of books I could lend Caro, but she’s not much of a reader, which is rather odd considering Dad’s livelihood. Maybe she’d like one of Clinton’s gardening books, since she’s researching Joseph Banks, or … Cupid’s Arrow? Sir Antony betrays Violet. She might even have married him if she hadn’t found him in the summerhouse with Lady Louisa.
I find Caro’s iPad and make her log in. Then I go to an online ebook store, and download a first-edition Cupid’s Arrow. I point to the file. ‘Emma Browning is one of my clients. She writes very well.’
She peers at the tagline. A love like no other … ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘Just try it.’
She sighs. ‘Now I know I’ve hit rock bottom.’
I google Emma’s website and click on the link to Bodices and Breeches, scrolling to her posts on ‘Fighting for What You Want’ and ‘Being on Top and Powerful’.
‘Read them, Caro, you might pick up some tips. In the meantime, I’ll have a word to Mum. I’ll let you know whether it’s serious with Dad and her or not.’
Caro gives me her glass and picks up her tracksuit top, tissues and iPad. She stands and steadies herself. ‘I think I’ll have a bath now. Then I’ll take Emma to bed. Thank you for coming.’ She puts everything down again so she can kiss me goodbye. And then she sighs. ‘Raymond and Margaret. How did you survive?’
‘I had therapy.’ I collect her things and hand them back. ‘I had Jack, and I had my books.’
***
Mum is sitting at her regular table in the Paddington café bookshop on Tuesday morning, her hair kept off her face by a vibrant blue scarf.
‘Good morning, Miles,’ she says, calling the barista over and ordering a latte and tea. ‘Your shirt is awful.’
I roll up my sleeves. ‘That’s exactly what Jack said.’
‘How is the delightful Jack? Do give him my love.’
Jack annoys Mum because he’d be an interesting and attractive addition to her dinner table, if only she could trust him not to insult her or her guests. I tidy the serviette rack and flatten the lumps in the sugar bowl with a spoon.
‘He and Jules are speaking again.’
‘As are your father and I. Are you aware we’ve reconciled?’
‘I heard something.’
‘From Caro, I suppose. Are you pleased?’
‘Is he moving back home?’
‘Not exactly.’ She puts her hands around her latte glass. ‘Have you heard of polyamory? It comes from the Greek word poly, meaning many or multiple, and the Latin word amor, meaning love. Our new relationship involves trust and the negotiation of appropriate boundaries.’
‘Right, then.’
‘We’re quite excited about the possibilities. Overcoming petty jealousies and possessiveness in the pursuit of sexual freedom. We started last week and—’
I try to shut her up, but she insists on providing details. Dad has someone else, probably the brunette from the Arts Council, and Mum will continue to have sex with the artist she’s been seeing on Mondays and Wednesdays.
‘I have to get back to work.’
Mum points her spoon at me. ‘Not before we talk about your sex life.’
Whenever I think about sex, I think about Lars. Caro said he was dating again. Has he had serious relationships or one-offs? What would he think about polyamory? I don’t imagine he’d approve of it. I close my eyes and take a breath. As I don’t want him, none of this should matter.
Mum taps my saucer with her spoon. ‘Do you have sex with Tom?’
‘I’m not answering that.’
‘Don’t be silly. So, you don’t have sex with Tom, or Jack of course. But you had a sexual relationship with Anthony. I asked him.’
‘That’s not fair, you can’t just …’
Mum places her hand on my forearm. ‘Please, calm down. I’m just getting things straight in my mind. And really, I can’t think why you didn’t tell your father and me about your new relationship earlier. It was the poet who pointed it out, the Stapleton judge. Though he tells me people have had their suspicions for months.’
Surely the poet couldn’t be referring to Lars and me?
‘I insist she comes to my next dinner party,’ Mum says.
She? ‘Who?’
‘Emma Browning, your girlfriend.’
Chapter 35
My dear Miles,
I was delighted to receive your letter. I remember you with great fondness and have followed your career with interest. The Stapleton Prize for Emma—quite an achievement!
I hope I may put your mind at rest by responding to each of your points:
‘Am I losing the plot?’ Certainly not. As I have consistently said, you have a creative mind and an active imagination. You are independent and insecure, argumentative and self-effacing, intelligent and modest. These qualities are quite capable of confusing, indeed confounding, people you come into contact with.
‘I dislike my parents a lot of the time.’ The only wonder is that you do not dislike them all of the time. They are a bad lot, Miles, and will never change.
‘Should I go back to the hypnotherapist for the panic attacks?’ Etienne may do you some good. You may be amused to know he now sports a mid-life-crisis hairnet of dreadlocks.
Kind regards,
Andrew Witherspoon
***
Now we’re on the cusp of November, the frangipani tree in Maurice and April’s garden is spouting leaves. Gordon the garden gnome fishes in their shade.
Maurice opens the door before I ring the bell. ‘Come in, my dear, come in.’
We finalised the copyedit for Cupid’s Chariot a couple of weeks ago, but I’m here for our Tuesday meeting anyway. I sit in my usual spot on the two-seater sofa and April and Maurice sit opposite. The blue-and-white striped teapot is on the coffee table between us, as are the invitations I organised for their fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration.
‘What do you think?’ I ask.
April is teary. ‘I’m a little forgetful sometimes, Victoria.’ She shushes Maurice when he interrupts. ‘But I’ll always remember this gift. Aren’t they lovely, Maurice?’
‘Yes, quite lovely.’
On the front of the card is a photo of April dressed in the outfit she wore on the day she was married, a red checked gingham dress with a small white collar. She’s standing next to Maurice and smiling into his eyes. The photo of them driving away in a convertible, laughing and waving at the photographer, is in the middle of the card. I asked Billy to take the photo that appears on the back. They’re sitting on the sofa holding hands and April is smiling into Maurice’s eyes, just as she did fifty years ago. Pippy did the layout for the invitations and Crystal sorted out the printing. Emma wrote the text—a few paragraphs about Maurice and April and their journey through life together.
‘Miles,’ Maurice says, his voice soft and shaky, ‘please thank Emma. Her words are beautiful. Quite beautiful.’
‘Not too sentimental?’
He laughs. ‘Love is a soppy state of mind.’
The party will be held at the bowling club at the end of the street, and because Maurice and April’s family live in Melbourne, I’ve been helping with some of the arrangements. When Maurice gave me the guest list so Pippy could address the invitations and envelopes, he asked whether I thought Lars would mind if he and April invited Cassandra.
‘She’s a lovely young woman, and close to Lars’s mother,’ he explained. ‘As there’ll be no honeymoon next year, she hopes to visit this year instead.’
‘I don’t see why Lars would object,’ I said. ‘I understand it was he who ended the engagement.’
‘You’re quite right,’ Maurice said. ‘Why would he mind?’
Do I mind? I probably won’t meet Cassandra because I’ll be helping in the kitchen. And even if we did meet, I don’t have anything to feel guilty about because Lars wasn’t engaged to her when we kissed. Twice.
‘Victoria, you must dance at our party,’ April says.
‘I’m not much of a dancer.’
‘Neither am I,’ Maurice says. ‘We’ll leave the dancing, April, to you.’
We’re at the door saying goodbye when Maurice tells me he’ll see me at the meeting at Iconic on Thursday.
‘What meeting?’
He pats my arm. ‘I know how busy you are. It’s perfectly understandable that it has slipped your mind.’
‘Or Pippy hasn’t told me about it. Not that I would have gone anyway. Those meetings never end well.’
He nods sympathetically. ‘But perhaps you should come to this one?’
***
‘Miles! There you are.’
Pippy must have been listening out because she meets me at the top of the stairs and follows me into my office. She’s wearing a summery halter-neck top. Yellow sticky notes almost cover one of her arms.
‘Maurice said there’s an Iconic meeting on Thursday,’ I say.
‘There’s one every Thursday. Should I give your apologies like I always do?’
Covering for me is brave of Pippy, because she’s a little frightened of Lucinda. ‘Who’ll be there besides Maurice?’
Pippy takes three tags off her arm and reads the messages. ‘It is essential that we meet ASAP. No excuses! That one’s from Lucinda. The marketing campaign will be in total disarray if we don’t meet soon. This is serious! That was from Adam. This is my final warning. Attend Thursday’s meeting or suffer the consequences.’
I grimace. ‘Lars?’
Pippy nods. ‘He’s dialling in from London.’
‘I’ll go because Maurice asked me nicely.’
‘I’ll let them know.’ Pippy files the three notes on her hand.
‘What are the other messages?’
‘Just things Crystal wanted me to remind you about. You have to pay your phone bill and the electricity for your apartment, and Angelo said he knows you’re struggling, so you can pay the rent by next Friday, not this Friday. There are lots of other bills as well. I’ll get the folder.’
I sit at my desk and arrange my accounts from most overdue to least. Then I start transferring funds—I’m about halfway through the folder when I have to stop because the balance in my bank account is $98.40. I’ll have to borrow from Jack again.
Chapter 36
When Pippy and I arrive at Iconic, I head straight for the bathroom. My hair has been blown about by the wind, so I secure the loose ends and then wash my hands, drying them thoroughly. By the time I arrive in the conference room, Lucinda, Adam and Maurice are already sitting at the table. Pippy is in the kitchenette finding plates for the chocolate slice she baked last night. I mumble something about helping her and put the kettle on.
‘Miles,’ Lucinda drawls, as she appears at the door. ‘Please come and sit down.’
With a wide-eyed glance at Lucinda, Pippy shoos me away, so I sit next to Maurice. ‘April sends her love,’ he says.
Immediately Lucinda dials Lars on the conference phone, I feel nauseated, so I remind myself he’s on the other side of the world and has promised not to say anything about Emma until December.
‘Sorry to call you in the middle of the night,’ Lucinda says when he answers, ‘but Miles is busy every afternoon.’
‘And every morning,’ he says, ‘or she would pick up her phone.’
I don’t say anything as Adam outlines his plans for Emma’s books. But when he says he’d like Emma for the imminent launches of Cupid’s Arrow and Cupid’s Revenge, Lars interrupts and tells him Emma won’t be available until the launches of Cupid’s Trap and Cupid’s Chariot in December. Lucinda sits up straight and gives me her caring and concerned head-girl look; I put my shaking hands in my lap and bite my lip. I’m determined to keep working on Anime Emma for another few weeks before presenting my case again.
‘Miles? Do you have anything to add?’ Lars says. He sounds a little tired. I imagine him in his bedroom in Bloomsbury, propped up on pillows and rubbing his hand across the stubble on his jaw. I wonder whether he’s wearing pyjamas, or a T-shirt and boxers. Maybe his chest is bare? If he’s naked, he must have central heating because it’s late autumn in London and bound to be cold. Objectifying Lars inappropriately like this increases my heart rate and my head clears.
‘I have nothing to add, except I’d like to get back to work.’
Pippy thumps her fists on the table, making me jump. ‘Yes, you do! We need to germinate income.’
‘I think you mean generate income,’ Adam says.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she says. ‘Or Miles will have to do another job as well.’
I finish my tea. ‘Time to go.’
‘Like Fantine in Les Misérables,’ Pippy says. ‘She was penniless and on the streets, too.’
‘Pippy!’ Lars interrupts. ‘Explain yourself.’
‘Shush, Pips,’ I say. ‘Lars, this is none of your business.’
Adam takes off his glasses and cleans them on a paper serviette. ‘Are the ledgers not balancing? Maybe I can help. Sometimes it’s just a matter of rearranging your finances.’
‘Really, I’m fine. Some of my clients are slow in settling their accounts, that’s all.’
‘Clinton pays on time,’ Pippy says.
I stack my cup, saucer and plate. ‘Yes, he does.’
‘Clinton gives Miles honey. When he’s short of money.’
Clinton has bipolar and hasn’t been well lately, but Iconic doesn’t need to know that.
‘He keeps bees,’ I say. ‘It’s very good honey. Maurice, you and April like the honey, don’t you?’
‘Very much indeed.’
Pippy crosses her heart. ‘And the reverend pays on time.’
I tug at her cardigan. ‘We’re off, then.’
‘He gives us the organic vegetables he grows in the cemetery.’
‘Delicious and nutritious.’ I stand and hold my briefcase. ‘Let’s go.’
