Galling. Definitely galling.
I still had the winning hand, though, didn’t I? He was on a new road? So was I. I was starting again, and my new life included a man I wanted more than anything, a man worth loving. Whereas Max was stuck being the man he was, forever.
And my kids’ dad. Also forever. Which meant there was no real winning and losing, just living life the way it actually was, the best I could.
Pity real life is never quite like the movies. Or, possibly, a good thing. Maybe your actual life is what happens after the credits roll.
“If you turn your face to the sun,” Matiu’s Koro had said, “the shadows will fall behind you.” I had shadows, but I also had sun. I was doing my best to walk toward it, and I was going to keep doing it.
All you could do was your best, right? My best was pretty bloody imperfect, but there you go. It was my own.
44
Maturity. Wisdom. Etc
Matiu
I didn’t see Poppy again on Thursday, and I didn’t see her on Friday.
We’d wanted to, both of us. But she’d said, when I’d had a quick chat with her on Thursday evening during the briefest of breaks, “It’s the kids’ weekend with Max starting at five tomorrow afternoon. If you’re here when they wake up tomorrow morning, even if you’re just here for lunch again tomorrow, they’ll talk to him about it. He’ll get upset and grill them, and Hamish will worry that he’s made his dad angry, that he shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want their second weekend to go that way. It’s hard enough for them as it is without adding more awkwardness. They shouldn’t have to be in the middle.”
I said, “That’s extremely wise and mature of you. Bugger.”
She laughed. “Yeh, I know. But could you come tomorrow, after work? I’ll be alone again, and ...” She hesitated for a long moment. “And I don’t know what. But I know I want to be with you.”
I said, “I’ll be there. It’ll be two by the time I get there, though, after my workout.”
“Then come at two,” she said. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
“No,” I said in alarm. “Don’t leave the door unlocked. And have you had the locks changed since Max left?”
She sighed. “I should hate that you’re sounding that protective. Why don’t I? I also just got an idea for my jaguar. That’s how he’d feel, isn’t it? If the lioness were going back to the pride after being with him?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering why it felt so important to talk about her jaguar and lioness, and then not wondering at all. They were irresistible attraction, and they were more than that. They were love, and the jaguar was me. Or how she saw me, anyway. “That’s exactly how he would feel, and it’s how I feel.”
“Right,” she said. “Use the key around the left side of the house, then, under the electrical box. It’s in one of those black cases, stuck on with a magnet. It’ll be dark out, though. Hard to find.”
“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll find it.”
“You’re confident,” she said.
“No,” I said. “I’m motivated.”
Poppy
On Friday, the front that had been moving in since the night before stalled over the South Island landmass, and the rain bucketed down. I drove Hamish to school in the car, taking care through water that was starting to pond at the intersections, my windscreen wipers slapping frantically to clear the sheets of rain that blurred my vision.
Sandbags being deployed in the downhill suburbs, it said on the weather website, and possible road closures on the Southern Motorway, but it wasn’t too bad. As usual, it was worse on the West Coast. Streams risen past flood stage on the Milford Track, trampers stranded in huts.
Flooding expected in St. Clair, too, near the beach. Max lived in St. Clair now. Of course he did. St. Clair was as close to trendy as Dunedin was ever going to get, with its cafés and even some non-student nightlife, and Max craved that like oxygen.
I wasn’t going to be the one with the leather trousers in the club, I realized. That was going to be him. The thought made me laugh. Bitchy? Yeh, probably. I was willing to own my Inner Bitch. You couldn’t be mature all the time.
I was jumpy as a cat all day, and the kids were the same. The rain not letting us go out, the weekend ahead, I didn’t know. We’d packed their bags the night before, and I’d done my best to make a game of it. Choosing books and toys to take with them, picking out their clothes. Being appropriately mature, putting their welfare first. Not easy. Hamish had been quiet, and Olivia had been noisy. After I’d got Olivia to sleep, though, I’d gone back into Hamish’s room. Giving him my undivided attention for once, because for the last few days, Isobel had decided, with the well-regulated calm that she’d inherited from somebody decidedly not me, that she would like her bedtime to be seven, please. I’d put her down on her back and wind up the mobile, she’d stare at it for ten minutes or so, and then she’d close her eyes. It seemed too good to be true, but so far, it was happening.
Good thing I hadn’t had this baby first. I’d never have been prepared for Olivia.
I sat down beside Hamish, who had Buddy curled up beside him on his Spongebob duvet, positioned so his head was under Hamish’s hand, and asked him, “Do you want me to read you a story?”
“Yes, please,” he said. Small, polite voice. Wary eyes.
I read him Here and Now. Right here, right now, I showed him, ants were building. Right here, right now, worms were tunneling. Right here, right now, construction workers were working.
When I closed the book, Hamish sighed and said, “I like that story, because it’s about noticing.”
“Yes,” I said, smoothing my hand over his hair, my heart aching with love for him. “It is. Noticing is helpful, I think. Especially if things are hard or scary. You can stop and take a deep breath and notice, and that helps. You know who I’ve learned that from?”
“No,” Hamish said. “Who?”
I smiled and kissed his forehead. “From you. I’ve learned it from you.”
A few seconds of silence, and he said, “Do you think Buddy will be very sad when I’m at Dad’s?”
Stop and think, I told myself, then said, “I think he’ll be a bit sad, yeh. I think he’ll be waiting for you to come home, and so excited when you do. But Buddy’s good at loving people. That’s another thing that’s like you. He can love me, maybe, while you’re gone. What do you think I could do for him to make him less sad?”
Hamish considered. “You could pat him, maybe. And play ball with him.”
“All right,” I said. “I can do that.”
“I still wish I could take him to Dad’s, though.”
“I know you do.” I thought about saying something chirpy, but I didn’t. Sometimes, you had to acknowledge the sadness and sit with it, not try to run away from it. That was another part of noticing. You couldn’t move on from something unless you’d already been there.
Hamish said, “Livvy is going to cry again. Daddy doesn’t know the right things to eat, and he gets angry sometimes when she pretends.”
“She’ll probably cry, yeh,” I agreed.
“I try and make her not be sad,” he said, “but sometimes she’s sad anyway.”
“It could be she won’t be quite so sad this time,” I said, “because it won’t be brand-new, will it?” I thought that was worrying Hamish, too, and maybe it was better to come at it from the side.
“No,” Hamish said. “And maybe I can tell Daddy which are the right things to eat.”
“You can try, but remember, Daddy’s a grownup. You aren’t responsible for the things grownups do, or for making everything work out right for Olivia. You helped her choose her toys, and that was good, but she may just have to be a bit sad until she gets used to going to Daddy’s. He’ll have a fun thing planned, though, and she likes to do fun things.”
“Like Buddy,” Hamish said.
“Exactly like Buddy.”
“What if the baby cries very much, though?” H
amish asked. “What if she gets too hungry, and Daddy is talking on his phone? I could pick her up, but she’s kind of heavy.”
I hadn’t even thought of this one, and I’d have said I’d worried about everything possible. My mind was trying to run away with me at the thought of Hamish trying to get Isobel out of her cot, not holding her head. I said, “No. You can’t do that. She’s too heavy for you, and you have to pick her up a special way. That’s why you can only hold her if you’re sitting down and somebody gives her to you, remember? Babies are fragile. That means they can break. If she cries and Daddy doesn’t hear, go tell him. She can cry for a few minutes. That won’t hurt her, not for one night.”
“OK,” Hamish said, and yawned.
I kissed his forehead again. “You have a plan, and your suitcase is all packed. Do you think you can have fun with your dad and not worry?”
“Yes,” Hamish said. “But I may still worry a little bit.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “Everybody worries a little bit.”
Right now, I was worrying. Not that Olivia would lose her temper, because that was already happening. That I would.
At ten o’clock on Friday morning, when I was in the midst of drawing my protective jaguar insisting on running back to the pride with the lioness, Olivia forgot about the potty, ended up needing another bath, and cried. At twelve-thirty, when I’d tossed my sketchbook too hard onto the kitchen bench and possibly raised my voice a wee bit when she decided she didn’t want to eat her cheese sandwich because it was too slippery, she cried. At twelve-forty, after I’d made her tuna instead, she flung herself down on the kitchen floor and launched into a full-blown, kicking, screaming tantrum, upsetting her glass of milk along the way.
I squatted down with three dishcloths and Isobel strapped to my front, mopped up milk, ignored the kicking and screaming, plus Isobel doing some sympathy-crying of her own, stepped around her to toss the cloths into the washer, and breathed. When she’d finally worn herself down ten minutes later, I asked her, “Do you want cheese sandwich or tuna sandwich?”
“I want pizza,” she said, sniffing pathetically. “Because I am a human bean.”
“We don’t have pizza,” I said. “Cheese or tuna?”
She had her bottom lip stuck out. I thought, Pity you’ve got a ginger for a mum, kiddo. I’ve had a few tantrums of my own, and I can outwait you any day. Finally, she gave a gusty sigh and said, “Tuna.”
“Fine,” I said, giving up on “please” for this moment. I gave her the tuna sandwich and started eating the cheese one. Standing up, but I did some of my best eating standing up.
Olivia stopped eating and said, “You’re eating mine.”
“Yes,” I said. “I am.” And kept on doing it.
She seemed to be considering the wisdom of another tantrum, and I looked at her narrow-eyed and thought, Try it, and I’ll eat the tuna one, too. I’m hungry. Also, Matiu, you don’t know what you’re missing.
When we went to collect Hamish, after a bit more crying from Olivia about not wanting to leave the house in the middle of her drawing, and me ruthlessly stuffing her into her car seat anyway and waiting for the galloping arrival of Child Protection once the neighbors heard the ear-splitting shrieks, it was still raining. When Olivia decided she didn’t want to wear all blue clothes anymore and we repacked her suitcase, it was still raining. When she crawled into my lap afterwards, took my face in her hands, and said, “Mummy, I love you very, very much, because you are the best pretender,” and I wondered again at the way you could keep loving your kids through the times when they were hardest to love, it was still raining. And when Max’s car pulled into the drive at five o’clock, it was still raining.
Half of me wanted to bring up the money right the hell now. The other half told me that the kids were nervous enough, and it wasn’t the time. I knew that half was right.
Adulting is hard.
Max got out of the car. The problem was, he wasn’t the only one. Violet Leung got out on the other side, and they dashed for the shelter of the roofed terrace on the way to the front door. They were holding hands, and she was laughing. Gaily. I recognized her by the shiny black hair and the teeny-tiny bum.
I might not have enough maturity and wisdom for this.
45
Exposure
Poppy
I let Max and Violet into the house on a swirl of wind-driven rain. Hamish and Olivia ran to their dad before he’d even got his anorak off, and Max laughed, cuddled Hamish with one arm, scooped Olivia up with the other, accepted her smacking kiss, and said, “We’ve brought all the four winds with us, eh. It’s Noah’s Ark out there.”
“Yes,” Olivia said, “and the puddles make a very big splash when you drive the car!”
Hamish said, “D’you see my dog, Dad? His name is Buddy, and he does tricks!” He called the dog over, and Max stepped back, but he didn’t set Olivia down. When Hamish demonstrated Buddy’s rolling-over abilities, he smiled, and when Buddy played dead, he laughed, and so did Violet.
She was wearing snug black trousers and a red jersey that showed off her slim but spectacular figure. Her skin was white, her lips were red, her hair was black, and she was more glamorously feminine than I’d ever be if I lived three lifetimes. But at least she was laughing.
The kids seemed to notice her, finally. Olivia asked, “What’s your name?” Showing me that Max hadn’t introduced them to her during their last visit, or when he’d taken the older two for the afternoon before that. I’d wondered, and I hadn’t asked. Pumping your kids for info on Daddy’s girlfriend was, I was pretty sure, not on the list of approved marital-breakup interactions.
She said, “My name is Violet. Your name is Olivia, and your brother’s name is Hamish. Your daddy’s told me all about you, and I’ve been so excited to meet you.”
Hamish said nothing. Olivia said, “Oh.” Max said, “Violet is going to stay with us and help me take care of you.” Weasel words. She could’ve been the nanny. I wondered if she’d moved in. I wondered how much I cared about that.
So far, not much. Unless she was awful to the kids. Or unless she made it a competition, not wanting Max to focus on them.
“That’s right,” Violet said. “I’m going to stay and have fun with you.” She smiled some more.
Olivia wasn’t listening. She was tugging at Max’s hand, saying, “Come see my drawing, Daddy. I drew a magic kitty and colored it all purple, and it is for you.”
Max glanced at me. I had Isobel in her carrier, ready to go, but I said, “Take a few minutes.” Because cordial relationships between parents helped kids. Because wisdom and maturity. Because I was pretty sure there was no other good response. After that, I exercised truly heroic restraint and told Violet, “Come and sit down. Let me take your coat.”
Hamish went with his father and Olivia, with one last, quiet glance back at us, and Violet followed me into the kitchen. When I set Isobel’s carrier on the floor, she glanced at me and asked, “May I hold her?”
“Yes,” I said, putting the electric jug on and wondering wildly how surreal this could possibly get. “I guess you should, if you’re staying. With Max, I mean.”
She picked Isobel up carefully. Almost—lovingly. She put her against the red jersey, which looked like silk, and when I pulled a tea towel from a drawer and handed it to her silently, she smiled and said, “Thank you. I didn’t think. I have a niece, but it’s been ages since she was a baby. I should have worn something more casual, clearly.” Her English was barely accented, her smile genuine, I’d swear.
Silence for a minute, while I poured boiling water over teabags, and she said hesitantly from behind me, “You’re angry, of course. I don’t blame you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. She said, “Yes. I see that. I can say that I fell in love, but that’s no excuse, is it?”
“No,” I said. “Not really.”
There was some pink on her perfect cheekbones, and she put
her hand onto Isobel’s head, cupping it in her palm the same way I would, because there’s nothing as pleasing as that roundness under your hand. “But I promise you,” she said, not looking at me, “that I will help care for your children. I wasn’t sure if it would be right to come tonight. I knew it would be hard for you to see me, but I thought, as Max had difficulties the last time ... maybe it would be better for me to stay instead of going away for the weekend, and better for you to know that there would be two of us. He’s not used to three at once, on his own.”
I said, “He’s not used to one on his own.” Knowing I sounded sour and bitter, and unable to help it. Also, that answered the question of whether she’d moved in, and the question of how hard Max was willing to work to try to get me back. He was cutting his losses, clearly.
It wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it wasn’t exactly not, either. It was ... I had no idea.
“But,” I forced myself to add, “if you’re going to help, I’m glad. It was hard for you to come tonight, I’m sure. To face me, and to say that.” It should be hard, I didn’t say. This room was full of all the things I wasn’t saying. Like, Do you think you were the first? Because I don’t. And, Do you think he won’t cheat on you because you’re hot? I was hot once, too.
Not as hot, though. Maybe it would take him longer to cheat.
She swallowed, and there were tears in her eyes when she said, “Yes. It was hard. I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’ve lain awake on many nights, telling myself this must stop, that it’s wrong, that I should go away and find somebody new. But as you see ... I didn’t.” She offered up a trembling smile, and despite myself, I could understand the appeal. She looked as beautiful as the moon and as fragile as a cobweb, and I suspected she was good at her job all the same. Those looks would be extremely effective in the logistics business. With men.
Stone Cold Kiwi (New Zealand Ever After Book 2) Page 33