Summer

by Michelle Zoetemeyer

  Peter cringed at his brother’s thick-headedness.

  Without saying another word, Mary got up and flounced inside. Head down, arms swinging furiously beside her, she almost bumped straight into Jane who was walking down the back steps, cautiously balancing a bowl of salad in each hand. Jane looked over her shoulder after Mary as she stormed past. She gave Peter a quizzical look and Roger a warm smile, winning him over instantly.

  “Ah, what a doll,” Roger whispered to his brother. Peter pretended that he hadn’t heard him and continued cleaning the plate. Then, just as he ran out of plate to clean, Michelle and the others started making their way over to the table. Grateful for the diversion, Peter instructed Roger to take the meat to the table and went inside to make sure everything was okay.

  ***

  Maggie’s long sigh successfully conveyed how tired and worn out she felt. “Well,” she said to Peter, who was the only person remaining, “I thought that was never going to end.”

  Dinner, which was somewhat awkward, but mostly uneventful, was mercifully over. As such, it was the first opportunity they’d had to talk in private since the others had left. Mark and Rebecca were the last to go, leaving Michelle and Paul, and Stephen and Jane, inside playing Monopoly.

  Maggie smiled when she thought about the four of them strewn over the lounge room floor with their Monopoly money laid out in front of them. She couldn’t help but notice that little had changed in the years Michelle had been away. Michelle’s row of money was orderly, with every denomination carefully stacked neatly from smallest to largest. Whereas Stephen, in stark contrast to his sister, had chosen to arrange his notes in the manner that was most likely to cause Michelle indignation, in one higgledy-piggledy stack. Things were just as they had always been, for as long as Maggie could remember.

  Maggie had no doubt that Jane and Paul were in for a treat. This was especially the case if they thought they were up for an hour or so of casual gamesmanship. Maggie recalled the past matches clearly and laughed. It was always the same. Michelle, fiercely competitive and intensely serious, would seethe with frustration at Stephen’s infuriatingly complacent, yet effectively obstructive, playing style. Before too long, Michelle would be blasting Stephen for deliberately preventing her from gaining full ownership of the colour-matched real estate. Unlike Michelle who was determined to own as much property as possible in order to collect maximum rent, Stephen was content at picking out single properties based solely on whatever colour Michelle appeared to be collecting, without ever completing a single set himself.

  Maggie wondered if the presence of Jane and Paul was sufficient to dampen their spirits and allow some semblance of congeniality to prevail. Then, recalling the scene she had witnessed prior to coming outside to share some well-earned peace with Peter, she gave up wondering and resigned herself to the knowledge that everything would be fine. The kids – or more aptly, the young adults – appeared to be having a jolly old time.

  “There you go, babe.” Peter lit two cigarettes and handed one to Maggie.

  She took a long hard draw and blew the smoke out slowly. “Ah, that’s better. Thanks.” Peter reached across and took Maggie’s hand. Before too long, the topic of Mary and Roger came up. Peter was grateful for anything that would take his mind of the increasing level of discomfort Jane’s continued presence was causing and engaged in the subject with more enthusiasm than he really felt. “What was wrong with Mary?” he asked Maggie, not really caring one way or another.

  “Well,” Maggie considered the question carefully, “how did Mary put it? Apparently, Roger was making an idiot of himself carrying on with Jane.”

  Despite it being in connection with someone else, Peter's heart rate increased markedly at the mention of Jane’s name. “Carrying on with Jane?”

  Maggie nodded. “Uh huh.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Not sure. She wasn’t very talkative, other than to say that she had walked in on him carrying on with Jane and that it was the last straw,” Maggie paused to think about what else Mary had said. “Oh yeah, she also said something about it being in bad taste after what had just happened, whatever that meant. Then she said that she had put up with him stepping out on her a number of times before, but that enough was enough.” Maggie took another drag on her cigarette. “Poor Mary; fancy having to put up with a cheating husband. I don’t know how she does it.”

  Peter stared at Maggie. “What was Roger doing with Jane to make her say such a thing?”

  Maggie waved at Peter dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure he wasn’t doing anything with Jane. I took her comments to mean that he must have had a number of affairs already, one of which was fairly recent. Then, on top of that, he’s no doubt been a bit too enthusiastic with his praise for Jane and Mary’s taken offence.”

  Peter wasn’t convinced. “Well, something must have happened between Roger and Jane for Mary to get so upset.”

  “Don’t be silly. What on earth could have taken place? Jane was with Stephen the whole time. I’d say Roger was just being his usual tasteless and insensitive self and Mary thought that enough was enough. Besides, I’m sure Jane’s not interested in a man old enough to be her father.”

  “How would you know?”

  Maggie laughed. “Come on; give the girl some credit. She’s much too sensible for that kind of thing. Just because Mary talked about her as though she were a skuzzy little trollop from the local pub, doesn’t make it so. It’s pretty obvious to me that she’s not that kind of girl.”

  Maggie took Peter's silence as agreement. “Anyway,” she continued, “why am I telling you this? You, of all people, should know just how far a girl like Jane will take things.”

  Peter was grateful for the approaching nightfall. He was sure he could feel the colour draining from his face as he resisted the intense urge to choke on his cigarette. “What do you mean? Why would I know anything about her?”

  For Peter, the split second Maggie took to respond felt like aeons. “Well, if I’m not mistaken, she was one of your students for a whole year. Surely, in that time you must have got to know her pretty well, which would make you a better judge of her character than a bitter and angry wife that’s been cheated on several times by her chauvinistic husband.”

  “Um…well, I don’t know about that,” responded Peter, recovering slightly.

  Maggie nudged him playfully, “Aw, come on. Don’t tell me you never noticed Jane before now. You haven’t forgotten that she was one of your students already, have you?”

  “Well, of course not,” said Peter, wondering if he had just managed to allow himself to be cornered.

  ***

  Dragging a chair each, Michelle and Paul sat down beside Maggie and Peter.

  “Who won?” enquired Maggie.

  “Let me guess,” interrupted Peter, “Michelle did.”

  “No, smarty pants, I didn’t.”

  Peter laughed. “Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Don’t tell me you got beat by a boy?”

  “Actually,” said Michelle smugly, “I was beaten by Jane.”

  Maggie poked Peter in the leg. “Why do you assume she got beaten by a boy?”

  “Oops, I’ve done it now, haven’t I?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Dad, what are you trying to say; that boys are smarter than girls?”

  Peter held up his hands in surrender. “I give in. I’m sorry; I never meant anything by it.”

  Everyone laughed. “Besides,” said Maggie, not quite ready to let Peter off the hook, “Jane strikes me as someone that’s smarter than most.”

  Michelle agreed. “I reckon. She seems really nice too. And she’s pretty, don’t you think?”

  “Now there’s a rare combination,” said Paul bravely, leaving no doubt as to whose side he was on.

  Michelle and Maggie both pounced on him at once. “What are you trying to say, exactly?” demanded Michelle. “You only have to look around to see that there are two of us h
ere that fit that category. Three if you count Jane.”

  “And that, my dear boy,” added Maggie, “does not, in my books, constitute rare.”

  Peter reached across and patted Paul on the shoulder. “Thanks, mate, it’s good to know who your friends are. But, take it from me, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of these girls, they’ll eat you alive.”

  Michelle looked at Paul with smug satisfaction. “There. You listen to Dad; he’s giving you good advice.”

  Peter nodded his head. “Oh, you better believe it, mate, I meant every word of it.”

  Michelle winked at Paul before turning to Maggie. “Speaking of Jane; what’s the deal with her and Stephen?”

  “Well, I think she’s his new girlfriend.” Maggie looked at Peter for confirmation.

  “Hardly,” said Peter, “she only met him yesterday.”

  Paul joined the conversation. “I hear she’s one of your students.”

  “Used to be,” corrected Maggie, “not that it would be an issue if she was, mind you. I think she’s a very nice young lady.”

  “Stephen certainly appears to think so,” added Paul.

  “Well, who could blame him,” said Michelle. “Who would’ve thought my goofy little brother could score himself a girlfriend like Jane.”

  “I think,” said Peter, less jovially than he intended, “you are all jumping to conclusions. They only met yesterday, for Christ’s sake. I think it’s a little early to be marrying them off just yet.”

  Surprised by his comments, Michelle looked at her dad inquisitively. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you like her?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just think that it’s a bit foolish to suggest that they’re an item after one day, that’s all.”

  “Peter has an issue with her age,” offered Maggie. “He thinks she’s too old for Stephen.”

  Michelle looked back at her dad. “What? Like you can talk.”

  Holding his hands up in the air, Peter tried to reassure his daughter that he had no such problem. “I don’t have an issue with her age. I just don’t necessarily agree that she’s such a good match for Stephen.”

  “Why not?” Michelle challenged.

  Peter realised he was outnumbered. “I just don’t, that’s all.” Then, to indicate that he didn’t want to discuss the matter further, he excused himself and walked inside to go to the toilet.

  “Ah, I get it,” he heard Michelle say as he walked away; “Papa bear’s being protective of baby bear, is he?”

  “Something like that,” confirmed Maggie.

  Despite the bleak mood Peter felt developing, he couldn’t help but chuckle as he walked past the lounge room to find that the game of Monopoly had been left sitting in the middle of the floor. Seeing the familiar game, with the box taped up on the corners to prevent the well-used contents from escaping, he was immediately reminded of how, when Michelle and Stephen had been much younger, the game had never once been packed away without Maggie or Peter first making a fuss. Then, seeing that on this occasion the contents had at least been put back in the box, Peter consoled himself with the knowledge that some minor progress had been made.

  He left the game on the floor and cursed himself for having drunk so much beer. Apart from making him tipsy, it meant frequent trips to the toilet. Having held off for as long as he could, he now needed to be as quick as possible, thus reducing the likelihood of running into Jane and Stephen, who he imagined were taking advantage of the fact that they had the house to themselves.

  He heard music coming from Stephen’s bedroom and mouthed a silent thank you. He tried not to think about what they might be doing as he unzipped his fly and hurried through the bathroom door. His jeans were almost down before he heard the tap running.

  “Well, well, what have we here?”

  Given the urgency with which Peter needed to relieve himself, he was surprised that the sudden shock at hearing Jane’s voice didn’t cause him to empty his bladder right there. In fact, it took a feat of extreme control to save him from complete humiliation, but given he had no intention of letting Jane in on his private struggle, he clenched his abdominal muscles without allowing his face to distort, and resisted the urge to cross his legs. “Um…sorry, I didn’t realise you were in here. I thought it was empty,” he managed.

  Jane turned off the tap and dried her hands on the towel. “Don’t mind me, I’m almost done.”

  Jane’s obvious pleasure at her good fortune caused Peter to instantly sober up and take stock of the situation. “I’ll wait outside,” he said, edging backwards towards the door.

  Jane glanced downwards at his open jeans.

  He immediately began to fumble with his fly, not taking his eyes off her for fear that she would take him unawares. She slid towards him, causing him to quickly abandon his zipper and put a hand up in front of him to stop her coming any closer.

  “Excuse me,” she said, clearly amused by his assumption, “if I can just squeeze past, I’ll be able to leave you with some privacy.”

  Feeling foolish, Peter turned sideways to let her past. She started to open the door then stopped. Her next statement took him by surprise. “I’m glad I met Stephen,” she confided.

  “And why is that?” Peter asked, barely concealing his skepticism.

  “Well, I would have thought that was obvious, Sir. He’s smart, he’s handsome and I think we hit it off beautifully.” She gave him her sweetest smile. “Wouldn’t you say?”

  Peter recalled Jane’s skill at transforming innocent conversation into awkward innuendo and was determined not to fall for it this time. “I think I’ll reserve my judgment, if it’s all the same to you.”

  She dismissed his response with a shrug. “Your prerogative.”

  Instead of leaving the room like he expected, she stood burning him with her stare. “Um, if you don’t mind,” Peter looked at her questioningly, “I’d like to use the bathroom.”

  To Peter’s surprise, Jane actually had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Oh, of course, sorry.” She turned to leave, then stopped for the second time. “I was just thinking, you’re very much alike, you know?”

  Although it should have been obvious to Peter who Jane was referring to, he was too focused on getting her out of the bathroom and preventing an accident to realise who she was talking about. “Huh?”

  “Steve and you, he’s just like you.”

  “Yeah, but he’s not me, is he?” Peter’s words came out sounding more like a challenge than a statement. He regretted them as soon as they were out. The last thing he needed was to invoke another discussion with Jane, standing in the bathroom with his trousers agape. Not to mention that Maggie was just outside and Stephen was practically next-door. Peter was not too tipsy to know that he was living on borrowed time as it was. The conversation with Jane had already taken way too long and was beginning to look like it was never going to end. Then, much to Peter's relief – both emotionally and physically – instead of taking him up on his challenge, Jane turned on her heels and stomped off without saying another word.

  Chapter 33

  Saturday, 22 December 1979

  It’s hard to believe that just over a week ago I said I couldn’t wait for my birthday. That was before Shortie died and everything changed. I feel bad that I still look forward to my birthday, but I know Shortie would be proud of how loyal I’ve been. I’ve been telling Mum ever since he died that I don’t want a party, but she’s insisting that I have it, so it’s not like it’s my fault.

  I could hear Mum in the kitchen clunking pans and slamming doors. I don’t know why she didn’t just knock on my door. I was determined to stay cranky with her, so I deliberately stayed in bed knowing she would be dying to give me my birthday present. It was a struggle for me to stay in bed, because I really wanted my present as much as Mum wanted to give it to me.

  In the end, her eagerness must have got the better of her, because she sent Brian in to get me up. He barged into my room and bounced on
my bed. “Happy birthday, sleepy head.” I kicked him from under my blankets, but he just bounced harder. “C’mon, get up. Come and open your present.”

  His bouncing almost broke my foot. “Alright, don’t chuck a mental, I’m getting up.”

  Brian raced from my room yelling. “She’s coming, she’ll be here in a minute,” he loudly informed everyone.

  Boy was he excited, and it wasn’t even his birthday.

  It was too early to put on my party dress, so I changed into a pair of shorts and a top. I brushed my hair and put it into a ponytail. I even took the time to make my bed, knowing that everyone would be waiting for me by now. I was actually a bit excited, but I didn’t want anyone else to know that, so I deliberately tried to act cool.

  “Happy birthday, little sister,” Tracy said.

  Kate was shoveling down cornflakes. “Happy birthday,” she mumbled.

  Mum came over and kissed me on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Jenny. Your father’s down in the shed, he said to send you down when you got up so that he could wish you a happy birthday.” I was excited about the idea of a present, but so far, there was no sign of one. No doubt, Mum would have it waiting for me when I got back from the shed.

  I walked down the back steps and into the garage via the side door. “Happy birthday, Blondie, I hope you like it.” Dad stepped aside so that I could see into the garage behind him.

  Wow! A new bike! I couldn’t believe it. It was a shiny red one with a white basket.

  “It’s not brand new, but I did it up so it looks like new.”

  Mum walked in behind me, “So, what do you think?”

  I looked at the bike in front of me and couldn’t hold back my smile. Dad was right; it looked as good as new. There were no stickers on the bike, but I could tell by its shape that it was a Speedwell; just like the ones Tracy and Kate used to own. The seat looked new and the chrome sissy bar sparkled. Apart from the lack of stickers, you couldn’t really tell it was second-hand.

  “It’s a beauty,” I said, thinking how retarded I sounded. In fact, I thought I sounded disturbingly like Uncle Dennis, and that’s worse. He’s always saying retard things like “crikey”, and “stone the crows”.