Jacaranda Wife

by Smith, Kendra

  Naomi burst out laughing. ‘I’m sure I’ve got some wipes! Don’t know how you cope with all your kids, honey, and pregnant, I really don’t,’ she said handing over the wipes and staring at Katie. ‘Andrew, you know, always did want more kids, but …’ she looked away, then started fiddling with the clasp on her bag.

  Katie looked up at her: skin-tight jeans, diamonds glittering from her left hand and sighed; I must look like an alien to her. A flustered, pregnant alien. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she yanked up her maternity knickers, hoping nobody noticed. Her lower back was damp and her T-shirt dress was clinging to her in the November heat. Various women had gathered round, were talking to her, being kind, offering tissues. Would British women be this nice to each other?

  Katie headed to Naomi’s house, having left Tom a text message with directions. I feel hot, flustered, worried that my hands have poo on them and feel like an overdressed turkey about to appear for a Christmas dinner, thought Katie. It is 30 degrees in the shade in this blessed country most of the time, she muttered to herself as she wiped the sweat off her brow. It could also be because I am wearing my trusty M&S cardigan. She wiggled out of her pink lambs wool cardi and stuffed it in her bag.

  Naomi was at the top of the stairs to meet them. She looked every inch the part: she had changed into low-cut linen trousers, perfectly ironed, which revealed a glimpse of tanned and taut midriff complete with belly ring and a knitted black halter neck top stretched across a bust which seemed to defy gravity. Prada sunglasses on top of her head and bright red toenails finished off the look, noticed Katie. And I feel like Makka Pakka, she sighed, smiling at Naomi. ‘Hi there.’

  ‘Hi Katie; hello guys,’ she knelt down to give a Andy’s hair a ruffle and James a high-five. ‘Found us OK?’ No re-growth, thought Katie as she scanned Nomi’s roots. Billy, her son, rushed past her. ‘Mum, can we all go for a swim?’

  The house was stunning, set right into the cliff, taking in the views of Middle Harbour – one of the best spots in Clontarf. It was a pale azure blue with three levels to it – complete with three balconies offering the kind of views estate agents would sell their mothers for. Andy ran from one balcony to the other shouting ‘sailing boats! sailing boats!’

  Katie sat on the balcony and stared at the view: the boats, bobbing in the harbour, the landscaped garden beneath the house including a shimmering lap pool, deep blue, deeply stylish and deeply expensive, thought Katie. Andrew, Naomi’s husband was one of Sydney’s top gynaecologists. Huge gum trees swayed in the afternoon breeze; sunlight dappled the balcony. She stared at a tray of delicate prawn canapés. I want to pick them up and shove the whole lot in my mouth, she thought. Andy was bouncing around on her lap. To him there was no connection between mummy’s bump and a baby attached to a placenta in there.

  James’s teacher was there, was saying something to her. ‘Ohh, yes, 18 hours ...’ Katie looked up, ‘Sorry?’ she said, holding her hand over her face to shield it from the sun. Katie smelt BBQ sausages; images of grabbing some and squishing them inside some white bread and watching the tomato relish ooze from the sides filled her mind.

  ‘My obstetrician was a lovely wog, older bloke, father of four.’

  Katie almost swallowed the lemon floating in her drink.

  ‘You can’t call someone a …’ she lowered her voice, conspiratorially, ‘wog.’

  She looked down at Katie and scratched her head. ‘Why not? Means Italian, or Spanish, sweetie, you know Mediterranean …’ she looked over, squinting in the sunlight at Katie.

  ‘Guess what?’ It was James, rifling through his Pokémon cards. ‘If you have a demon, they have all the powers, the attack damage, they’re the baddies and the yellow fighter has negative times four powers, and the blue guy – well he gets to have the powers after the battle!’ Have I given them too many E-numbers, worried Katie.

  ‘Wow. Do you have Beedrill?’ Katie recognised the voice.

  ‘Yeah, I got him last week, look, he’s got 30 damage,’ answered James as she looked to the right. There’s that guy from the coffee shop. ‘That’s way cool,’ he said, letting out a whistle.

  James rushed off to tell Ed about his hand.

  ‘You speak Pokémon, then, as well as make coffee?’ Katie laughed.

  ‘When you teach kids to surf it’s amazing what you pick up. Want one of these? I made them.’ He handed Kate a plate of canapés. Large tail-on prawns drenched in marinade, tiny little pastries and some filo-type morsels she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Try the lemongrass and chilli prawns,’ his eyes were wide and staring at the prawns on the plate – ‘they are to die for, or the little pies are tomato and basil; oh and the curry puffs are vegetarian,’ he added, beaming at her, holding out the platter. She was torn between shoving the whole lot in her mouth, or demurely nibbling a curry puff.

  ‘Katie! There you are,’ Ann was coming towards her, carrying a tray of vol au vents. She winked and smiled at Katie.

  ‘Katie, have you met Blake, Naomi’s brother.’ She leant over and gave him a peck on the cheek, her wooden beads clanking on the tray.

  Katie almost choked, then started coughing. ‘Have actually. We met at the coffee shop.’ He couldn’t be more different from Naomi if he tried, thought Katie; probably thinks Prada is a make of car. ‘So, you’re Naomi’s brother?’

  He nodded. ‘Let me help you up - again!’ He smiled at Katie and helped her off the chair as she headed for the kitchen to get some water. Suddenly Tom appeared, smoothing down his hair and then his shirt.

  ‘You OK?’ Katie pecked him on the cheek and noticed how hot he was.

  ‘Hi darling, need a beer, back in a mo,’ he said, heading to the kitchen. Katie followed him inside the house, then got stuck with another guest, talking about where to buy baby clothes. Eventually, she wandered around the house, glad of the cool dark corridors, the shiny parquet flooring which she could silently glide over in her bare feet. She eventually saw Tom in the kitchen, in the basement of the house. She caught her breath. It was an enormous chefs’ kitchen with black granite surfaces, shiny stainless steel appliances glittering in every corner, a huge vase of creamy white lilies stood majestically on the table. She craned her head to the left and peered. Coming in from the sunlight it took a while for her eyes to get used to the dark interior. She stopped in her tracks and blinked. Have I just seen what I think I’ve seen?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A huge chocolate cake covered in sparklers was coming toward her. Tom had remembered the sparklers, at least. The boys screamed with delight. She had let them stay up – it was only 7 o’clock; it’s my birthday, she thought, and really, sitting in a rented house, alone on your birthday waiting for your husband to come home ranks as about as enjoyable as having your bikini line waxed by an inexperienced therapist. She remembered her birthday last year, recalled the party her mum had thrown for her in Putney, in her garden with a marquee and fairy lights roped around the apple trees. Tom had left a voicemail earlier that day: Happy birthday darling, I will be home early tonight with a surprise.

  A one-way ticket to London?

  ‘Katie?’ Tom and the boys were staring at her, they’d lit the candle and her darling children were singing.

  ‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, you look like a monkey and you smell like one too!’ Maybe not so darling.

  There were snorts of giggles. The phone was ringing, the start of the birthday-phone-call-marathon from all her family and friends, made worse by the time difference. Gramps phoned first. He asked the boys to sing another verse of the monkey happy birthday song, which they delightedly did.

  ‘How are you Katie? How you feeling? Must be a bit hot for you?’

  She skimmed over her homesickness, told Gramps she was fine, that the baby’s latest scan was fine; she asked if he’d managed to organise a housekeeper yet.

  ‘Well, actually that’s proving a bit difficult. Not to worry, I’m sorting it out myself. You wouldn’t believe how many
washing powders there are!’ he laughed down the phone, but Katie could tell he was putting on a brave face.

  ‘Actually, my dear, this old chap at the Golf Club has mentioned this agency to me.’

  ‘Marvellous Gramps, do they find the girls for you?’

  ‘Well, no it’s another agency, Katie,’ he cleared his throat. ‘Called Silverdating; really rather super. Had a look already and there are some charming ladies.’ He coughed. ‘Haven’t clicked ‘liked’ under any names yet, though,’ he chuckled down the phone.

  Katie was speechless. Must talk to Tom about it, as she handed him the phone and patted him on the arm.

  Debra Face-timed them next on the iPad and when her voice filled the room, Katie had wanted to reach through the screen and touch her, hold her tight, she seemed so happy. God, she missed her, missed the fact that only she held the key to some of their shared memories. She remembered how her mum used to shout up, ‘You two … I hope you’re in bed!’

  ‘Yes mum,’ they used to chorus back. But all the while they were actually leaning out of their bedroom window and, giggling in their Holly Hobby nightgowns, thinking about the chocolate biscuits they’d smuggled up after tea, staring at the hideous turquoise flowers on the wallpaper. That was about as exciting as life got in a village outside St Albans, where your dad worked for in a carpet factory for 20 years and your mum had a part time job in a dress ‘agency’. An ‘agency’ which hired outfits for special events for ladies who couldn’t afford to buy them: sometimes Mum got to take them home, to keep them if they were past their best or torn. She’d twirl around in front of the mirror then sigh at Katie, who’d be watching her from the bed. ‘All dressed up and nowhere to go,’ she would smile ruefully.

  They’d had a straightforward life; family holidays in Cornwall and a few times even to France. But her dad hadn’t liked the heat, so more often than not they’d stay at little B&Bs or family hotels in Dorset, Norfolk and Suffolk and forgo ‘the Continent,’ even though her mum loved it. It wasn’t an upbringing to shout about and she remembered how excited she’d been when her offer of a place came at Cardiff University to study Sociology; how grown-up it sounded; how she had longed to leave home. And yet, when she’d got there she’d felt very alone, acutely homesick in fact – hadn’t quite appreciated how much value she put on the familiar.

  ‘Katie?’ Debra was looking at her quizzically. She was sitting cross-legged wearing jeans and a big duck-egg blue knitted jumper, her eyes shining. Unlike Katie, her blonde hair fell easily into a neat bob, tied back with a blue bandanna. She grinned at Katie, ‘You alright?’

  ‘Fine!’ Who was she kidding?

  Debs told her about Simon, a guy she’d met at work, had been married before but, you know, there are always two sides to -

  Katie laughed, ‘Every story!’ they chorused.

  Mum had sounded chirpy too on the phone – ‘Have a super time, darling, look after yourself, have put some money in your account and sent you a little something. Hope they fit. Enjoy yourself - I’ll send you a postcard from Sardinia.’ (She was off on yet another cruise with her best friend Diana - had taken her retirement to a new level, laughed about ‘Ski’ holidays - Spending the Kids Inheritance- isn’t that funny, darling?) What Katie hadn’t seen were the tears at the other end, the wet tissues lying by the phone. I’m just glad she’s enjoying life, thought Katie, who drained her glass of apple juice and tried to keep each conversation brief.

  Eventually, she sat down on the sofa and pulled out her birthday present from her mum: a pair of LK Bennet suede slingbacks in the palest grass-green shade, packed very carefully in tissue paper. Mum knows what I like, she thought, knows my exact size. Of course she does. Shopping is her main past-time now, and she deserves it. Katie admired the shoes and remembered back to when her mum and dad were together, before he suddenly… about how he’d wanted to carry on working, even past retirement age. Every time she came home for the holidays her dad seemed to have aged a hundred years, shrivelled a little. What she and her mum didn’t know was that the reason he had wanted to carry on working was that he had been paying a hefty sum into a life insurance policy every month, and it hadn’t matured yet. He wanted to make sure they were comfortable in their retirement. In the end, the irony was that the boredom of not working – coupled with worsening angina - killed him. But it left Katie’s mum with an enormous pay out which, eventually, she realised shouldn’t just sit in the bank. She finally took some holidays with another widow in the village. Then eventually, she moved to London. She was 66 by then, but she bought a ground floor flat in Putney overlooking the Thames. She could walk to cafes, shops, the Tube and her life started all over again.

  Katie turned the shoes round in her hand and forced herself to smile. I will wear them tonight, she decided. And Gramps’ orange beaded necklace. She pulled a face … but he’d chosen it with such care when they left, she wanted to honour that. Reminds me of you, old girl, bright and shiny! She could hear Tom upstairs, his soothing voice, reading the boys a story: the giggles, the murmurs of getting the boys ready for bed as she lay on the sofa, closed her eyes and wondered how she would get through the evening. Really, she just wanted to stay in with Tom.

  Katie was lying in bath, breathing in the tangy fragrance of lemongrass bubble bath, when Tom barged in with the phone: ‘For you,’ he said and hastily handed it to her.

  ‘Hey babe, Happy Birthday!’ said a slow drawl which immediately gave her goosebumps. She watched as her nipples became erect in the bath.

  ‘Adam! How are you? Lucy OK?’

  ‘Well,’ she could hear him clearing his throat. ‘Got some news. We’re going to be parents. Wanted you both to know.’ He suddenly sounded formal. As he told her, for some reason, it felt like a tiny arrow was going through her heart. A little one, one I will be able to live with, she thought, but it will niggle me, move a little at times, nudge me and maybe twist a bit, rather like a splinter you can’t get out but then you press on it accidentally and you scream. They are pregnant. Lucy and Adam are pregnant. She closed her eyes and tried to understand what she thought. She knew what had happened with Adam was wrong; she knew it was because her own marriage was rather frayed round the edges. But she also knew how much Adam really loved Lucy, wanted to make her happy. She knew this because of the handwritten letter he’d sent her a few weeks after their trip. She had kept it in her drawer by the bed.

  ‘Dear Katie

  What happened on the beach was wonderful, exciting – and wrong. I love my wife and she means everything to me –she’s been badly hurt before and I don’t want her to let her down. The long journey home gave me time to think about it all and I’m deeply, deeply sorry for what happened in that moment. Ever since your party I had thought about you, and wanted to see you again - it was entirely my fault and I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. It was a mixture of feeling huge pressure from Lucy about leaving London, the holiday vibe, the sun, the sea ... we both know that we were playing with fire – nothing could come of it - and I’m glad we stopped when we did.

  Tom is a great guy – but he’s very stressed at the moment, told me a lot when we sat out on the deck that night about money; about how worried he is for his family, that you had been amazing to support him, to go on the journey. Not many wives would do it! You are both good friends and I want to keep it that way. I wish you both luck. Please don’t hate me. Take care,

  Adam’

  Katie opened her eyes and remembered where she was and stared at the phone in her hand. ‘That’s brilliant. Well done!’ She made it sound like they had just had a planning application approved.

  ‘Thanks,’ he sounded so proud, thought Katie. ‘I’ll get Lucy, hang on,’ he was talking fast, sounded distracted.

  ‘Adam? Thanks for your letter,’ said Katie softly, clutching the phone.

  ‘Katie? It’s me!’ the girly voice was brimming with happiness on the other end of the phone. ‘I’m having a baby!’

  ‘Great
! Great!’ Katie closed her eyes and hoped Lucy hadn’t heard her last remark.

  ‘Isn’t it? And also, we’ve seen this amazing Grade II listed farmhouse in Berkshire online – we’re going to see it this weekend! It has dreamy things like roses over the front door, and a vegetable garden and a proper bell you ring, remember?’ her voice quickened. ‘Thinking about it keeps me going, am desperate to really start living our lives. Adam says he might get a studio flat in London, has to be at the fruit markets so early, I’m not sure … anyway …’ her voice trailed off. A cough. ‘Anyway how are you? How is it over the Other Side of the World?’

  Lucy laughed down the phone as Katie let herself sink lower down in the bath.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They were in the chic Eastern suburbs, dining at Victor’s the latest trendy Italian restaurant to have opened in Sydney. When they had got to the restaurant, Tom marched across the room to a table to greet Naomi and Andrew, Ann and Paul - but also someone Katie didn’t recognise. It was Tom’s boss Harry. Couldn’t help it, darling, he insisted on coming, said it was on him.

  Naomi and Andrew smiled encouragingly at Katie. The waiter was very patient. He had taken everyone else’s order and was scratching the back of his hand, waiting for Katie. He looks like he wants to slap me with a nearby John Dory fillet, thought Katie. She almost giggled. She couldn’t help her chronic indecision, could she?

  ‘Do you have any prawn cocktail?’

  ‘No madam.’

  ‘Just a few? Maybe chef could whip up a little, you know, marie-rose sauce?’ Katie flashed the waiter her best smile. Tom looked over at her. He was wearing his best linen shirt, his hair was carefully combed and he’d put on some expensive aftershave she didn’t recognise. Where’s the Imperial Leather?

  ‘Tuna sashimi?’ he offered hopefully. His fingers were tapping the notepad.

  ‘No. I’ll have the goats cheese and onion tart, then the beef.’