Summer

by Michelle Zoetemeyer

  The conversation was turning out to be more difficult than Peter had anticipated. He was mindful of trying not to sound lame or insincere. “Well…um…I guess I was a bit worried that you might be falling too hard and setting yourself up for disappointment.”

  Stephen’s voice became defensive. “What do you mean, setting myself up for disappointment?”

  Peter realised that if he didn’t change his tact soon, he would risk messing up the entire conversation. “Maybe that came out the wrong way,” he started. “I guess, what I was trying to say is that I don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all. You must’ve worked out by now, Jane is a fair bit older than you and I’m sure you’re not her first boyfriend. And I doubt that you’ll be her last.”

  “So? What’s that got to do with anything?” Stephen looked at his dad, still defensive but more curious than anything now. “What are you trying to say? Is there something I should know?”

  Peter considered how far he should take the conversation. He didn’t want to lie to Stephen outright, but he did want to plant a seed of doubt as to Jane’s true intentions. He felt he owed it to his son to warn him that Jane was only using him, but was aware that if he weren’t careful he would succeed in causing more suspicion than doubt. “Well, it’s just that I know Jane a lot better than you,” he said carelessly, causing Stephen to question his father with the raise of his eyebrows. “Having taught her all year,” Peter added quickly – too quickly perhaps – “I think it’s fair to say that she’s a little…” Stephen waited with interest while Peter considered what he was about to say. “Um... how do I put it?” Peter asked, not really expecting a response from Stephen but getting one nonetheless.

  “Oh, I get it.” The tension that had started to show on Stephen’s face melted away instantly. “Is this your way of telling me that Jane might be expecting something to happen?” Stephen looked at his father, smirked, and fought the urge to laugh. “Dad, don’t you think I’m a bit old to hear about the birds and the bees?”

  Peter looked at his son horrified. “No…actually…I was trying to say that…” Stephen cut him off. “Come off it! What do you take me for, a budding teenager who’s just had his first wet dream?” Stephen got up from the lounge, indicating the conversation was at an end. Seeing the funny side of things, he looked down at his father, amused. “Don’t worry Dad, we always take precautions, I promise.” He drew a cross with his finger in the centre of his chest as a gesture of truthfulness, turned and left the room.

  Peter's heart sank. He had no idea things had become so serious between Stephen and Jane. Talk about biting off more than he could chew. The realisation that things were far worse than he had imagined stung him like a slap in the face.

  “Well,” said Maggie, sneaking up behind him and making him jump, “I’m sure that hurt you more than it hurt him.”

  Peter spun around at the sound of her voice. “Were you listening the whole time?”

  Maggie sat down beside him, laughing. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was coming in to tell you that dinner was ready and I overheard you talking.”

  Peter looked uncomfortable.

  Maggie continued, “I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about, babe. Stephen’s a sensible kid. I don’t think he’ll do anything foolish.”

  Like Stephen, Maggie had misunderstood Peter's intentions. He had not set out to give his son the where did I come from talk. From the outset of Stephen and Jane’s relationship, Peter had set himself the challenge of not thinking about how they occupied themselves when they were alone, which was turning out to be often. For the most part, he had not been successful in his endeavours, but until hearing his son’s confession, he had naïvely assumed that Jane and Stephen’s time spent alone was somewhat less fruitful.

  Peter was angry that the suggestion of intimacy between Stephen and Jane should send his heart racing. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” he said, determined not to sulk.

  Maggie realised that Peter was not seeing the maturity in his son’s reaction. “You’re still having doubts about them?”

  “Well, I know you think Jane’s a nice girl, but from what I know of her, she’s a bit…how shall I put it…easy.”

  Maggie looked surprised by Peter's comments. “Really? She doesn’t strike me as the sort of girl to fool around.”

  “Maybe not,” said Peter warming to the conversation, “but you heard what she’s been up to with our son. Take it from me he’s not alone there.”

  “Hmm,” Maggie considered what Peter had just told her. “Well, I’m sure Stephen’s old enough to choose his own girlfriends; easy or not so easy. We can’t baby-sit him for ever.”

  “True, but…” Maggie cut him off mid-sentence, “But, nothing,” she said decisively, “how about we let Stephen make up his own mind.” She stood up and took Peter's hands, dragging him up from the lounge with her. “Come on babe, dinner’s ready. The kids will be going out soon and then it’ll be our turn to misbehave.”

  ***

  “Jane’s here!” Maggie called from the dining room.

  At the mention of Jane’s voice, Stephen came rushing into the room. Judging from his Bryl-creamed hair and the unmistakable smell of Old Spice, he had finished getting ready for the pyjama ball. “Whoa,” Maggie waved at the air frantically, “I think you were a bit heavy handed with the aftershave.”

  Stephen looked at his mum seriously. Then, sounding remarkably like a television advertisement he said, “the whole idea of a man’s cologne is to start a kind of fire in a woman.”

  Recognising his words as just that; an advertisement for Old Spice, Maggie laughed. “Well, I hope Jane has a strong constitution. She’ll need it to go out with you smelling like that.”

  “And looking like that,” added Peter.

  At the mention of his dress sense, Stephen twirled around. “Well, what do you think?”

  Maggie laughed at Stephen’s attire. He wore his dad’s red and blue striped pyjamas, a green neck tie with brown polka dots, and black shoes and socks. “Well, the Marlborough Man you’re not,” Maggie commented. “I do hope Jane realises what she’s getting herself in for.”

  At the mention of Jane’s name, she called a hello from the front veranda. “Come in,” Maggie called back, “we were just admiring Stephen’s evening attire.”

  Jane entered the dining room wearing pink baby doll pyjamas, long white gloves, and her hair tied in pig tails. At the sight of each other, Jane and Stephen giggled like school kids. Peter tried not to let his apprehension show and laughed along with them. Maggie jumped up and ran towards the bedroom. “I’ll just get the camera, so I can take a photo of you kids dressed up like that.”

  She got to the bedroom and called out for Stephen to grab the camera from where it was stored in a box on the top shelf, too high for her to reach. Stephen excused himself from the room and raced in after her.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever seen a pair of my pyjamas at a ball before,” offered Peter for lack of something else to say.

  Jane looked at Peter inquisitively. “They’re your pyjamas?”

  Peter nodded, “Uh huh.”

  Jane looked behind her to make sure they were still alone. “Well, Sir, what can I say?” She gave him the cheekiest of smiles, “I’ve always looked forward to getting into your pyjamas, now it seems I might get the chance.”

  Peter was dumbfounded. He didn’t know how to respond to her comment and he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with her, so he studied the wall hanging beside the kitchen door instead. It was made from wool and resembled thick shag pile carpet. A wooden rod was threaded through the top and bottom of the piece and it was at least two feet long and half a foot wide. Its red and blue geometric design clashed terribly with the green swirls on the wallpaper, but Michelle had made it at school many years ago and had given it to them as a gift, so despite its ugliness, neither he nor Maggie had the courage to take it down. Instead they consoled themselves with the knowledge that
when the door swung wide open, the hanging could not be seen.

  Peter could feel Jane’s gaze burning him and willed Stephen and Maggie to return. He was aware that she was expecting a response, so he ignored her completely and took the dirty plates from the table to the sink. With his back to her, he could at least pretend she wasn’t standing in his dining room, taunting him. He noisily rinsed the dishes, the whole time silently praying for Maggie and Stephen to hurry up and rescue him. An awkward silence was beginning to develop between them and he was fast running out of dishes to rinse. Instead of taking the hint and leaving him alone, Jane continued as though nothing had happened. “Stephen said that it might be okay if I stayed the night?”

  Before Peter could respond to Jane’s enquiry, Maggie was back in the room with the camera in hand. “Of course you can stay. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be driving home alone that late. You can stay in Michelle’s room, can’t she babe?” Maggie looked at Peter expectantly.

  Jane shot Peter one of her brilliant smiles and without waiting for his confirmation thanked him and Maggie for letting her stay. Seeing her smugness at Maggie’s invitation, Peter felt like throttling her. Instead he agreed with Maggie and left the room with the excuse that he wanted to watch television.

  After a short while, Maggie came into the lounge room and tossed Peter two Polaroid pictures of Jane and Stephen. “Don’t they look funny?” she enquired.

  Peter studied the pictures intently before handing them back. He couldn’t help but notice what a nice looking couple they made. Jane with her vibrant looks and bubbly personality that shone through, even in the developing image that he held in his hand, and Stephen with his dad’s dark hair and complexion and big brown eyes.

  Jane and Stephen came into say goodbye. Maggie showed them the pictures, causing more laughter, before walking them to the door and seeing them off. “Don’t drink too much,” she warned. “I’ll leave the front veranda light on for when you get back.”

  ***

  Peter lay in bed listening to Jane and Stephen come in. They made a fair racket, but managed to keep it down just enough to prevent Maggie from waking. Peter even considered going out and telling them to keep the noise down, but thought better of it. Instead, he lay in bed, unable to sleep, waiting for the noise to stop. He listened intently, trying to make out the conversation at the other end of the hall. Stephen’s room was located down the hall from his and Maggie’s, and Michelle’s room was opposite theirs. After a while the noise drifted up the hall until it was just outside his bedroom. He heard giggling and feet scuffing on the carpet, followed by loud whispering and then nothing. Everything went silent. He heard Stephen’s door close and waited for a similar response from Michelle’s room. When it didn’t come, he gave up and tried to sleep. The last thing he needed was to focus on what might be happening in Stephen’s room.

  Almost forty minutes had passed before Peter got up the courage to go to the toilet. He knew he was never going to get to sleep with a full bladder, so he tiptoed out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him so as not to wake Maggie. The front veranda light was still on. It cast its glow through the glass panel in the front door, lighting the hall just enough for Peter to see where he was going without the need to turn the hall light on. He noticed that Michelle’s door was slightly ajar, but that the room behind the door was black. He assumed that Jane was still in Stephen’s room, but didn’t bother to check. He tried extra hard not to make any noise as he snuck up the hallway and into the bathroom.

  Peter pushed the door without closing it properly. He turned on the light and untied the string in his pyjama pants. He wore a pair of short cotton pyjama bottoms with no top. It was quite a warm night, so he didn’t need anything else. Peter noticed his reflection in the mirror and instinctively sucked in his tummy when he saw the slight bulge caused by his poor posture. Standing up straight made it disappear instantly and he looked at his physique with renewed approval.

  Peter could see from the mirror that the door was opening behind him and he instantly stopped undoing his shorts. He turned in time to see Jane poke her head around the corner, rubbing her eyes as though she had just woken up.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise you were in here,” she whispered.

  The memory of the other day flashed through his mind. The image of him, cornered in the bathroom by Jane, with his jeans undone, came embarrassingly to mind. He hoped like hell that he was not about to have a similar encounter. That was all he needed, with Maggie asleep only doors away and Stephen just down the hall.

  Peter turned to close the door. “Well, I am,” he said rudely. “I won’t be long.”

  As he pushed the door shut, Jane stuck her foot in the gap, causing it to stop short of closing. “Unless of course, you need a hand?” she offered.

  Peter was astounded. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone with as much gall as Jane. Standing in the bathroom, half naked and feeling rather foolish, it occurred to Peter that he didn’t really know her at all. Once, he thought he did, but it didn’t take Einstein to work out that he got it wrong. Way wrong, in fact.

  He realised that Jane was looking at him expectantly. “Um…no, thanks, I can manage.”

  She looked down towards his pyjama shorts. “Come on Sir, it’ll be just like old times,” she spoke so softly he only just managed to catch what she said. Something in the way she spoke made him snap. It might have been the sultry way she looked at him, suggesting that all she needed to do was flutter her lashes and he’d be putty in her hands, or it might have been the fact that his wife and his son were practically next door. Either way, his next words came out sounding far more vicious than intended. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, all traces of courtesy gone.

  Indifferent to his response, Jane shrugged in the carefree manner of someone being offered a cup of tea. “I take it that’s a no? Oh well, it was worth a try.”

  “Stop playing games,” Peter lowered his voice so as not to wake anyone and draw attention to the fact that he was in the bathroom with Jane, “you know damn well what I’m talking about. I’m referring to Stephen.”

  She looked at him with the innocence of a child. “What about Stephen?”

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my son?”

  Despite the venom in his voice, Jane held her composure well. Peter almost admired her for it, but then remembered that she was a skilled performer. Instead of backing off, she inched closer. “Well, if you must know, despite his lack of experience, he’s very enthusiastic,” she said.

  Peter was disgusted with Jane for what she was saying, and with himself for how it was making him feel. “How dare you. You think you’re pretty clever, coming here all innocence and smiles. Don’t think I can’t see through you.”

  Her smile never wavered. “Sir, I’m surprised at you. Is that any way to speak to a guest?”

  Peter was petrified of waking Maggie. “Will you keep your voice down?”

  “Well, is it?” she said more quietly.

  “Please don’t take me for an idiot, Jane,” he warned.

  “Or what?” she challenged.

  Peter knew that she had him, or what, indeed? He was hardly in a position to do anything about her presence. Unless of course he wanted to reveal to Maggie and Stephen every experience he and Jane had shared, which, for the record, he did not. “You tell me,” he demanded somewhat more calmly, “what exactly do you hope to achieve by all this?”

  Jane smiled at him as though he were finally behaving reasonably. “Well, Sir, I thought that would have been obvious.”

  He snapped at her through clenched teeth. “Stop calling me Sir.”

  Peter’s callousness was finally paying off. Instead of being flippant, she became serious. “Okay, to answer your question, I don’t really know what I hope to achieve. After all, we’ve only just met. But, I don’t mind saying, things seem to be going swimmingly, wouldn’t you say?”

&n
bsp; “You bitch. Don’t think I don’t know that you’re using my son to get to me.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. I rather like to think that Stephen and I could make a good go of things. He’s very nice, you know? Although, I must say, he’s drunk a bit too much to be of any real use to me tonight.”

  Peter stared at her, unable to think of a single thing to say.

  “Oh dear, listen to me,” Jane giggled uncharacteristically, leading Peter to believe that Stephen was not the only one that had drunk too much; “here I am telling you about your own son.”

  “It won’t work, you know. I’ll make sure of it.” Peter was aware of how childish he sounded, but it was the best he could come up with.

  Jane looked amused. “Oh really?” she whispered. “Pray tell; what exactly are you going to do about it? Let me guess, you’re going to tell Stephen that his daddy’s been a bad boy? That he has a thing for his son’s girlfriend? I think not.”

  Peter glared at her. “Let’s get one thing straight. I do not have a thing for you.”

  “Mmm,” she wiggled her finger at him, “well, you could have fooled me. For someone that was happy to grope around under my skirt – and not so long ago, either, I might add – you sure have a strange way of showing it.”

  The look on Peter’s face caused Jane to flinch, which in turn gave him the encouragement to continue. “What sort of spiteful bitch would use someone the way you’re using Stephen? Why can’t you just get it through your head that there is nothing between us and leave my son out of it?”

  For the first time since their encounter, Jane backed away. Peter noticed a slight change in her demeanour, but wasn’t sure what it was. Until she spoke, then he realised her mock playfulness was gone. In its place was something more frightening than Peter had experienced thus far, pure malice.

  “I’m sure Stephen doesn’t see things quite the same way as you do,” she said soberly. “In fact, I’m sure that if you ask him what he wants, he’ll tell you that he’s very happy to have me as his girlfriend. I’ll even bet that your pretty wife, Maggie, who’s sleeping like a baby as we speak, would agree...”