The Adulterer's Daughter: A Novel

by Sam Anthony

  “Is that all?” said Eric sarcastically.

  “Yes. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll give you a prescription for some magic pills.”

  “Viagra?” Eric perked up.

  “Sildenafil citrate, yes.”

  “Can’t I have that first and skip all the other stuff?”

  “I’m afraid not. ‘The other stuff’, as you put it, is what we GPs like to call a healthy lifestyle. You’ll benefit from it whether it cures your erectile dysfunction or not. Sildenafil, however, sometimes comes with a few rather unpleasant side effects: nosebleeds, headaches, stomach problems, flushing, trouble sleeping and fever. So I’ll only prescribe it as a last resort. Let’s try a healthier lifestyle initially, see how that goes, and if there’s been no improvement in a few weeks, we’ll look into possible medicinal intervention. Is that okay for you both?”

  They nodded.

  As they were walking back to the car, Serena said, “What time do you have to be at work?”

  “I’ve got a mitral valve repair at three-thirty.”

  “Perfect. Let’s go home and get changed?”

  “What for?”

  “We’ll start with a 5k run up the hill and back, then we’ll do some stretching and yoga, and I’ll pick us up a salad on the way home for lunch.”

  “Salad? Oh, God, this is going to be hell.”

  “It’s all right for you. I’ve got to learn how to cook.”

  Chapter 23

  Friday 12 September, 2003

  O’Connor bedroom, 10:05 p.m.

  “Dad, this parcel came for you while you were out.”

  “Thanks, Pumpkin.” Steve held out his hand.

  “What is it?” Ava asked as she handed it over.

  Now, this was awkward. Steve prided himself on always telling the truth, but there was no way in hell he could tell his sweet, innocent daughter what this box contained. It would be easy to lie and say it was a gift for Ava’s upcoming birthday, or it was some tools for work, but those answers would be lies, and he didn’t lie.

  “Go to bed and mind your own business,” he said with a reassuring wink.

  ◆◆◆

  Steve was reading when Fiona returned from another habitual check on her daughter. He put his book face down on the bed between them. “She okay?”

  “Fast asleep.”

  “Do you think she’s happy?”

  “Why would you ask that? Of course she’s happy.”

  “I was just wondering.”

  Fiona picked up Steve’s book and glanced casually at the spine; then anxiously at the cover.

  “Oh my goodness! What on earth is this?”

  “Relax, Fi. It’s just a book I’m reading.”

  “The Adulterer’s Handbook! Why are you reading something about adultery? Are you cheating on me?”

  “It’s a bloody novel, woman. It’s not an actual step-by-step guide to infidelity.”

  Opening the book to a random page, Fiona scanned the words. And again. And a third time. “It’s … it’s just a story.” She breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the cover. “Sam Anthony; never heard of him. I bet Mrs Anthony wasn’t impressed when she read this.”

  “Who says the author isn’t a woman? Samantha? Samara? Samira?”

  “You’re reading it. Do you think it was written by a woman?”

  “No chance. This is definitely a male perspective. And a sex-obsessed male to boot. Sorry I freaked you out, love. Would you prefer to approve all my reading matter going forward?”

  “Do you mean ‘in future’?”

  “Sorry; my bad.”

  “Look, Steve, if you mean ‘in future’, just say it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. I’m getting fed up with you spouting nonsense phrases as if they’re common parlance.”

  Steve sighed and said in a monotone, “Would you prefer to approve all my reading matter in future?”

  “Of course not. You can read whatever you like. What a preposterous notion.”

  “I just thought I’d run it up the flagpole.”

  “Arghh!” Fiona thumped her pillow, ostensibly to beat it into shape but really to assuage her aggression. “Stop saying ‘going forward’, ‘my bad’, ‘run it up the flagpole’ and all your other made-up expressions. They’re absolute gobbledygook.”

  “I disagree, but I hear what you’re saying, love, and I’ll action your request henceforth. We’re both tired, so let’s punt it into the long grass for now and circle back to it later.”

  Steve thought he might have heard his wife mutter ‘For fuck’s sake!’ as she made her final visit to the bathroom, but he couldn’t be sure.

  When Fiona returned, she was frowning.

  “I know you always tell me the truth,” she said. “What’s just occurred to me is you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Which one?”

  “Are you cheating on me?”

  “No, no. Absolutely not. I never have.”

  “And you never would?”

  “Never say never, love.” Steve winked and retrieved his book. “It’s a big day today, you know.”

  Fiona racked her brains in response to this apparent non sequitur. It’s not his birthday. It’s not my birthday. Is it our anniversary? No, that was in August. What the heck could it be? “Is it? What big day?”

  “In Parliament. It was the second reading of the Household Waste Recycling Act. Only a few more weeks until it becomes law.”

  Fiona shook her head. “Goodnight, Steve.” And she turned out the light.

  In the darkness, he said, “That thing I ordered arrived today.”

  “Did it?”

  “Uh-huh. When can we try it out?”

  Fiona didn’t reply.

  Chapter 24

  Saturday 13 September, 2003

  The pub, 9:12 p.m.

  “I want to discuss the same thing the boys talked about the last time they met,” said Mia. “What philosophies do you two live your lives by?”

  Serena chuckled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “It’s weird that we still call them ‘the boys’. They’re middle-aged men.”

  “They’re never going to grow up, though,” said Mia. “Ollie’s still got a nickname for his penis.”

  “What is it?”

  Mia deepened her voice and said, “The Destroyer!”

  They all fell about laughing.

  When they’d regained control, Serena said, “What do you call it?”

  Mia blushed. “I’d rather not say.”

  “Oh, come on. We don’t have any secrets here,” said Serena.

  Fiona prodded Mia in the ribs. “Tell us or we’ll tickle you to death.”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  Serena prodded her from the other side.

  Mia squirmed. “All right, all right, I’ll tell you. It’s ‘Ollie’s lolly’.”

  “Why?” asked Fiona, bemused.

  “Surely you can guess,” said Serena, sucking her middle finger into her mouth.

  “Oh, I see.”

  “What about you, Fiona?”

  Fiona made a face like she’d just swallowed a bad oyster. “If I have to refer to it, I call it ‘that thing’.”

  “That’s rather harsh. What does Steve call it?”

  “Big Steve.”

  “If his knob is ‘Big Steve’ then what do you call him?”

  “Just Steve.”

  “Sounds confusing to me. Serena, what about you?”

  “Eric doesn’t call it anything, but I recently referred to the little chap as ‘Mummy’s Best Friend’.”

  “Ahh. That’s sweet. You seem happier today. Are you and Eric getting along better?”

  “We are. I think we may have turned a corner.”

  “That’s great. What happened?”

  “We had a long talk and we’ve … come to an arrangement. We’re going to spend a lot more time in each other’s company, improve our diet, exercise together, drink
less, and generally do whatever it takes to jolly well get me pregnant.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Mia. “Is that why you’re on the single gin and tonics tonight?”

  “I didn’t say I was going to give up altogether.” Serena finished her drink in one gulp. “Who wants another?”

  It was a daft question. They both did, as always.

  “It isn’t your round, is it?”

  “No, but I want to get them in while Ron’s behind the bar. I don’t know what it is about that tart Mandy, but I don’t trust her. There’s definitely something about her I don’t like, I just can’t quite put my finger on it.”

  When Serena was out of earshot, Fiona said, “Well, I can put my finger on it. She’s too pretty by far.”

  As soon as Serena was back at the table, Mia returned to her question. “Fi, you go first. What’s your philosophy for living?”

  “Easy. The classic golden rule: Treat others as you’d like to be treated yourself. If people treat me with respect, I give them the same courtesy.”

  “Fair enough. Serena?”

  “Live in the moment. I don’t like dwelling on what’s happened in the past, and I don’t like worrying about what might happen in the future. At this precise moment, I’m with my dear friends, enjoying a delicious gin and tonic …”

  “Or five.”

  “Yes, or five. And nothing else matters.”

  Fiona wasn’t convinced. “If you took heroin, you might feel wonderful at the time, but what about the consequences? You might become addicted. You might have to turn to crime to feed your habit. You can’t just say, ‘I’m going to do whatever I feel like doing in this moment’, because there might be serious ramifications later.”

  “Well, I’m obviously not going to take heroin. I just think people spend too much time worrying about the past or the future when they ought to be enjoying the present.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Mia. “Ollie wastes so much of his life worrying that he’s going to die of cancer. Even when he’s at his happiest, it brings him down. It’s as if he thinks he’s going to have to pay a price for experiencing joy. ‘Everything is wonderful for me at the moment so something awful is bound to happen to balance it out.’ He’s going to worry himself into an early grave, that man.”

  “So, what’s yours, Mia?” Fiona asked.

  “My philosophy is to just take life one day at a time. That is my goal. Can I get through this one period of twenty-four hours? If I succeed, can I do it again tomorrow? That would be my advice to everyone. Of course, if you’re going through a rough patch, break it down further: take it one hour at a time. And if you’re unfortunate enough to be teaching year 9 set 5 – a torment I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy – take it one minute at a time. That’s what I do when Wayne Smith kicks off. Rather than think, ‘I can’t put up with this little shit for another forty-five minutes, I’m going to end it all now and jump out the window into the peaceful embrace of certain death’, I just say to myself, ‘I’m going to survive this temporary discomfort for one more minute. My response to his disruption and defiance will be to keep calm and carry on.’ And if I make it through that minute, I do it again for the next one. Before I know it, the bell has rung and Satan Junior has gone off to make someone else’s life a misery.”

  Fiona rubbed her neck. “Jumping out of a window ... I guess that’s one way. Have you two ever thought about how you’d commit suicide?”

  “Jesus, Fi, this conversation has taken a dark turn.”

  “Sorry. Sometimes in court, when one of the solicitors is droning on about some obscure point of law nobody cares about, I pass the time by considering ways I could take my own life. I’d never actually do it, of course, but it’s interesting to think about.”

  The other two looked at her, aghast.

  “We can talk about something else if you’d prefer,” she said.

  “Pills, I reckon,” Serena ejaculated. “A bucketload of pills, a gallon of gin and tonic, and a nice bubble bath.”

  “What’s the matter with you both?” said Mia. “Why are you even contemplating suicide? Should I be worried?”

  “You brought it up.”

  “Not as a serious proposition.”

  “Are you serious, Fi?”

  “No, it’s just something I ponder now and then. Pills was my first thought, but what if someone found me – still alive – and I had to have my stomach pumped? I hate throwing up. That’s a big no-no for me. So then I thought: carbon monoxide. Just fall asleep with a bit of a headache and never wake up. Easy. But it turns out it’s tricky to do it that way these days.”

  “How come?”

  “Thanks to Steve, and his mission to save the planet single handedly, our car’s got a catalytic converter with very low emissions, so there’s hardly any carbon monoxide in the exhaust fumes.”

  “Shame.”

  “Apparently you can burn charcoal to produce carbon monoxide instead, but I’d probably set fire to the house. I really don’t fancy burning to death.”

  “What about a faulty gas heater?”

  “Why are you encouraging her!”

  “I can’t exactly buy a faulty gas heater from Amazon.”

  “Good point.”

  “Pills or carbon monoxide are painless ways to go, but they both take a while to kill you. What if someone found me and I was resuscitated? I’d hate to have to explain myself. And then I’d probably still endure a slow, lingering death from liver failure.”

  “What about one of the quick, sure ways?”

  “Jesus! I’m getting some more drinks,” Mia said, standing.

  “We haven’t finished these yet.” Serena held up her glass.

  “I don’t care. I’m not enjoying this conversation.” Mia wandered over to the empty bar.

  “Which quick, sure ways?” Fiona asked.

  Serena pondered.

  “Well?”

  “Three spring to mind. Shoot myself in the head, jump off a tall building, or stick my neck on a rail track in front of a speeding train.”

  “Yes, that last one is actually my current favourite. I wouldn’t want to jump; too much thinking time on the way down, and so messy. And it wouldn’t be easy to get hold of a gun. But a train is a decent idea: Anna Karenina myself to death. Quick, reliable and dramatic.”

  “Whoa, spoiler!” said Mia, returning with the drinks. “I haven’t read that book yet. It’s third from the top in my TBR pile.”

  “But all the blood, the broken bones.” Serena screwed up her face. “What if I felt the pain as my head was separated from my body? Even if only for a millisecond. Have you ever considered drowning?”

  Mia threw up her hands. “Why are you two still going on about topping yourselves? We’re supposed to be having a nice friendly drink and a bit of a laugh.”

  “It’s just a thought experiment. No, drowning sounds extremely unpleasant. Being aware of my lungs slowly filling up with water. Needing to cough. Reflexively fighting to take a breath. And the thought of my dead body being eaten by crabs just freaks me out.”

  “Okay, forget that one.”

  “How about we forget all of your daft suicide methods and have a gossip about Mandy the randy barmaid instead?”

  Chapter 25

  Tuesday 16 September, 2003

  The hill, 3:55 p.m.

  Jemima and Ava (and Lord) met up, as arranged, near the top of the hill.

  Ava thought she was the first to arrive until Jemima stepped out from behind a tree, glancing around furtively.

  “Hi. How was the party? Did Drew like your outfit? Tell me all about it.”

  Ava was about to answer when she noticed wisps of smoke coming from behind Jemima’s back, and she smelt the telltale stench of burning tobacco.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Oh, this.” Jemima brought the cigarette up to her lips and took an inexpert puff. “Yeah, I’ve been smoking for ages. Everyone in my year does it.”


  “Do they?”

  “Well, apart from the swots and the jocks.” She tapped it on a branch and a speck of ash fell to the ground.

  “Why, though? Isn’t it bad for you?”

  Jemima forced a laugh. “I feel okay so far.” She reached into her pocket for the nearly full packet and held it out to her friend. “Here. Have one.”

  Ava practically recoiled. “No thanks. My mum and dad would kill me.”

  “Please yourself.” Jemima dropped the half-smoked cigarette and crushed it with her foot. “So, what happened at the party?”

  Ava kicked a stone, and it bounced reluctantly down the hill. “Nothing. It sucked. Remember those parties we used to go to when we were six?”

  Jemima nodded.

  “It was like that. The birthday girl opened her presents while we all watched. Then we had jelly and ice cream. Then we played pass the parcel.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. Then we had to sing Happy Birthday while she blew out the candles on her cake and made a wish. Then we had a ‘disco’,” Ava did air quotes, “in her kitchen, and nobody danced. Then we got sent home with a party bag and a piece of cake. And, to make matters worse, Drew wasn’t even there.”

  Jemima couldn’t help laughing. “Fucking hell, it sounds awful.”

  “It really was. Hey, don’t let my mum hear you use language like that. You know how she gets.”

  “She’s not here now though, is she?”

  “No, I guess not.” Ava sighed. “I’m so depressed. I had high hopes for that party. How am I supposed to get Drew to notice me if I never see him?”

  “Perhaps I can help,” said Jemima with a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll see if I can get you invited to a year 11 party.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, why not? I should warn you, though. It won’t be jelly and ice cream. It’s more likely to be booze and weed.”

  “Weed?”

  “Marijuana. Pot. Wacky backy. Dope. Grass. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”