It occurs to me that of the seven of us round the table, only three are currently in a stable marriage. I feel a slight curiosity about Lee’s wife, and say to him, ‘Does your wife ever come to the pool? We’d always be happy to swell the ranks.’
‘Thanks. But not really. She’s more of a beach-goer.’ He looks at his watch and stands up. ‘Talking of wives, I’d better get going.’
Wendy says, ‘You’re not going to be expected to eat breakfast after that cheesecake, are you?’
He laughs and pats his flat stomach. ‘No. But she’ll worry that I’m going to be late for work. See you all next time.’
Doug is on his feet too. ‘Ditto here. Fun over. Time to earn a dollar.’
The blokes gone, we linger on and have the second slices of cheesecake we’d never have ordered in front of them.
‘Which leg did you find the hardest?’ Laura mimics, nudging me in the ribs. ‘Touchingly concerned for our Charlie’s welfare, wasn’t he?’
‘And Karen’s,’ I say. ‘He smiled with the utmost tenderness at the thought of your endorphins, Karen.’
‘You’re just trying to take the heat off yourself,’ she laughs.
‘Of course. And why not? I am not the only single girl in our company. In fact I’m one of three, because for all practical purposes, you are single too, Laura.’
Laura looks almost surprised. ‘Suppose I am. Never viewed it quite that way. Sam mightn’t agree, of course, given what seems to be turning out to be a permanent state of cohabitation.’
‘That’s working well though, isn’t it?’ asks Cate.
‘Yep. My bedroom’s up one end of the house, his is down the other. He cooks the meals, I pay the bills.’
‘And you can keep an eye on him while he looks after the place for you?’
‘Without assuming he has a right to a say in my life. Perfect really.’
Karen looks down at her plate, poking at the remains of cheesecake. ‘But it’s not the same as having a mate.’ She looks sad, lonely.
‘You know you’ll find another mate one day,’ says Wendy softly.
Karen smiles a bit, but it’s clear she doesn’t find the thought very enticing. Wendy slips an arm round her shoulders. ‘Don’t believe for a minute there was only one person out there with your name on. There are bound to be others, except some of them are probably in Scotland or Alaska, or other distant places, which narrows the odds.’
‘Wendy’s right,’ I say. ‘If Adam had been the only person in the whole world just perfect for you, think about the chances of having actually met him. How unlikely would it have been that he, the one and only of all the billions, happened to cross your path?’
‘I’d never thought of it that way.’ It’s a grudging concession from Karen. Then she looks at me with those dark, speaking eyes of hers. ‘If there are so many potential soulmates out there, it’s really sad that you haven’t found one of them yet, Charlie.’
‘Charlie needs to develop an eye for opportunity,’ says Laura.
‘Hard when it’s head down, tail up all the time.’
‘There’s more to life than being in a relationship,’ says Wendy. ‘Take me. Stable, secure marriage and all the trappings, but sometimes I feel I’ve wasted opportunities. Look at you all. You’ve done so much. I’ve done nothing.’
‘I wouldn’t call raising a family nothing,’ I say indignantly, ‘Besides, you’ve years ahead to do all sorts of other things.’
Suddenly we’re interrupted. ‘Hi girls.’
We look up. It’s Sharon Lewis. I haven’t seen her since the day we swum the dam.
‘Sit down,’ says Wendy, too kind and too polite not to invite her to join us, though I can tell she’s a little worried about how I will react.
Sharon takes the seat directly opposite my own. Suddenly my second slice of cheesecake doesn’t taste so good. I’m pushing it round my plate, squishing and spreading it. Sharon lifts a hand to a passing waitress. ‘Flat white. And a bit of that,’ she adds, pointing to our sticky plates. ‘Looks like it’s pretty good.’
‘It is. Was,’ I say, eyeing the mangled remains in front of me. Then I’m thinking of Laura’s words: You should be kissing her for giving birth to the catalyst that got rid of him for you … The thought makes me smile, and though the kisses don’t come, words aren’t so difficult as they were the last time. ‘We’ve grown brave in the dam,’ I tell her. ‘Swimming across without a chaperone.’
‘Good for you. Too many people never get off their bums to do anything these days.’
‘You look very fit,’ I say. ‘Very athletic.’
‘Runs in the family. My kids are all about sport.’
I want to ask her if she ever sees her daughter. I need to ask her, but can’t. It seems awful not to mention Emma, as if she’s dead. I try to ask, but the words get stuck halfway up my larynx.
‘Do you ever see Emma?’ asks Laura.
Thank you. Thank you, friend of my heart.
‘Saw her last week. Thanks love,’ Sharon says, as the waitress deposits her order in front of her. ‘Her and the baby.’
‘There’s a baby?’
Laura reaches for my hand under the table.
This is right out of left field, a sledgehammer between the eyes. My mouth is open but I can’t speak, can’t breathe. There’s a tightness in my chest that’s paralysing everything, but my thoughts are remarkably clear. I can separate the grief from the fury from the disappointment from the relief. Yes, sheer relief that it’s not me, that he and his child are not my responsibility, and never will be again.
But foremost in my mind is anger and disappointment. Not for me, but for Mikey and Dan. Two little boys who have a half-brother or sister that no one’s bothered to tell them about. What kind of father could abandon two beautiful children, apparently without flinching, then go on to have another and not bother to let anyone know?
Everyone’s staring at me, and I realise I must look strange. Sharon says, ‘I’m sorry, love, didn’t you know?’
I shake my head.
‘Little girl. A year old now.’
The tightness in my chest is easing, but I still can’t speak. I manage a nod.
‘They’re happy enough, the silly buggers, upsetting everyone like that. Took me a while to settle down about it. Guess the baby helped.’
I achieve a flick of a smile and, encouraged, she continues. ‘I didn’t think it would last – they split up for six months or so. Did you know?’
I shake my head. No. No.
‘Well I guess he was a bit ashamed of himself, mucking up your life the way he did. Otherwise he might have come to see you.’
Or his boys.
‘Emma went off to Byron Bay. Met some other bloke, but she went back to Alec. Reckoned she couldn’t do without him.’
She’s welcome to him. Welcome.
‘And now there’s the baby. So all’s well that ends well.’
Is it? What about Mikey and Dan, whose father might as well be dead for all the good he does them?
CHAPTER 14
ONE EVENING, JUST AFTER the boys have gone to bed, the phone rings. It’s Doug Bernhoff.
‘This is one lonely person ringing another,’ he says. ‘I’d like to take you out to lunch.’
Panic. I experience a sudden desire to flee the country. Can’t very well abandon the children. Not when their father’s beaten me to it. My pulses are racing, calculations spinning in my brain. The silence between question and answer is starting to get a little long. Say something … say anything. ‘That would be lovely,’ I say.
What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t want to go on a date. Any date. With any man.
‘Great,’ he says. ‘Are you free Friday?’
‘What?’
‘Friday.’
‘This Friday?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I’ll just check my calendar.’
I don’t have a calendar. I sit in silence with the phone pressed into
my lap. Why didn’t I say something clever, like I’m on a deadline with my new book and can’t afford the time to socialise? I try to think of an excuse. Dentist. Canteen duty. Washing my hair. But if I say something’s on this Friday, he’ll make it next week. Better get it over and done with.
‘This Friday is fine,’ I say. ‘Where shall I meet you?’
‘I’ll pick you up from home,’ he says. ‘I thought we might go down to the coast. There’s a new seafood restaurant on the esplanade, called the Reef House. I’d like to try it. Twelve o’clock suit you?’
‘Okay.’
‘See you Friday.’
‘Okay. See you then.’
I put down the phone. A seafood restaurant on the coast. That more than smacks of a date. It is a date. I ring Laura.
‘How can I get out of it?’
‘You can’t,’ she laughs.
‘I have to. Maybe you can diagnose me with something contagious. Smallpox might do the trick.’
‘Calm down, Charlie. You might enjoy yourself.’
‘Enjoy myself? That’s as likely as a fly enjoying being in the grip of a salivating tarantula.’ I’m hit by a sudden ray of hope. ‘I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you pretend you’re down there doing some shopping, and stroll into the restaurant. An accidentally bumping into us kind of thing. He’d have to invite you to join us.’
‘I work on Fridays.’
‘Maybe Wendy will do it.’
‘No, Charlie. You’re an adult, remember? It will be good for you.’
‘Bad for blood pressure, stomach ulcers and all that.’
‘Have a glass of wine with lunch. You’ll be fine.’
‘What if he tries something when he drives me home?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. If he had that sort of thing in mind, he’d have asked you out to dinner, not lunch. Much easier to seduce a girl after dark than sitting in a car in broad daylight.’
‘True.’
‘You can tell him you have to be home in time for the school bus.’
I’m grateful to Laura for that suggestion, but I still think smallpox would be the best solution. Or anthrax perhaps …
When I arrive at the pool the next morning, Wendy and Karen are already in the changing room. I dump my bag on the floor and sit on the bench. There’s immediate concern for my slouched appearance.
I explain.
‘Hey, that’s great,’ says Karen. ‘About time.’
‘But you don’t understand. I can’t do it. I’m not ready. Not within light-years of being ready.’
Wendy sits down beside me. ‘That’s just what you’ve conditioned yourself to think. You’ve got to take a step forward sometime if you’re ever going to change your life.’
‘But I like my life as it is.’
Cate strolls in.
‘You tell her,’ I say to Wendy.
Cate’s eyes light up at the news. ‘About time.’
‘That’s what Karen said. Is he here today?’
‘Yep.’
‘I don’t want to see him.’
‘He’s halfway through his session. Should be well gone by the time we finish ours.’
Laura arrives and slings her bag on the bench. ‘What’s all this? Do I scent a scene?’
‘Just a touch of nerves,’ says Wendy.
Karen squats down in front of me. ‘Charlie, Doug might not be The One, but you’ve got to start somewhere. Lunch is safe. Easy. Perhaps you’ll only go out with him a couple of times, who knows? But think what it will do for your confidence.’
Listening to Karen fills me with shame. She has so much more reason than I do to feel hurt by life, yet she’s done so well. Facing the water, returning to work, being so goddammed cheerful all the time. I feel like a malingerer, who after more than three years has no right whatsoever to make such a fuss about past issues.
When I tell her this, Karen shakes her head, laughing. ‘What’s wrong with you isn’t so much what happened three years ago, it’s the fact of the three years. The getting straight back on a horse when you’ve fallen off advice is not to be underestimated. My fear of water would have compounded horribly if I hadn’t got in here and started swimming.’
‘You barely gave yourself time to think.’
‘Exactly. But you’ve spent three years reinforcing your determination to ward off any man who dares approach. Shooting out such strong unavailable vibes that anyone less puffed up than Doug wouldn’t have dared approach.’
‘And now you can’t imagine living any other way,’ adds Laura.
‘You make me sound like some witch from a fairy tale whose heart has shrivelled into a walnut.’
‘Not a walnut. A bruised peach,’ says Wendy.
I smile. ‘That’s kind. A peach. I like that. Though peaches are edible,’ I remind her. ‘They need to be guarded.’
‘Then learn to trust your own ability to do just that,’ says Laura, and gives me a squeeze. ‘Otherwise you’ll always be dependent on others to prove it to you.’ She jumps up. ‘Time to swim.’
I reach for my cap and goggles, feeling a little rueful. ‘Thanks girls.’
Friday dawns with alarming speed. I don’t swim. It’s the first time I’ve missed my morning training session all season, but I can’t face the thought of running into the Black Douglas at the pool.
But I’m such a very good mother this morning, packing special lunchboxes for the twins, slipping in extra treats and more carefully assembled sandwiches than they usually get. I walk to the road, seeing them onto the bus. They hate it, hate the idea of other kids on the bus thinking they’re being molly coddled. I restrain the urge to kiss them.
When the bus pulls out I wait and wave until it is a speck on the horizon then slowly, reluctantly, return to the house.
I’m not bothered about tidying up inside, because I have no intention whatsoever of letting Doug Bernhoff get his foot through my door. But I need to tidy myself up.
I stare in the mirror and hate what I see. Though I’m not as pale as I once was, it’s still a decidedly wan look for a Queenslander. My fair hair is straight and wispy, and damaged by chlorine. It looks dry and brittle. What the hell am I going to wear? I drift into the walk-in wardrobe and rummage through the vast quantity of clothing I’ve accumulated in my adult life. Something that doesn’t show too much skin. Something that doesn’t say, Hey, look at me. I start trying things on. Hating everything. Hating Doug for plunging me into this purgatory.
But I do make an interesting discovery. There seems to be a different fit about clothes I haven’t worn for a while. No quite so much straining over bits that used to bulge. Irrefutable evidence that swimming has trimmed me enough to make a difference in my clothes. Pity I’m not in a fit state to enjoy the improvement. Another point to hold against Doug, I muse as I zip up a pair of dove-grey pants. No. No. I rip them off, quickly deciding against trousers altogether.
Skirt and shirt will show less in the way of contours. I try on straight skirts, gathered skirts, knee-length, calf-length, above-the-knee. Above-the-knee gets discarded in a nanosecond. Gathered seems the best option. No chance of the hemline heading north when I sit down. I select a charcoalgrey pleated skirt that I’ve had for about ten years. Very prim. Very dowdy. Better jazz it up with a more flattering top. I scrummage through piles of shirts and blouses, trying on, discarding, trying on, discarding. I settle on a pale pink sleeveless shirt I’ve never worn. It reveals nothing, without being too covered-up looking. I look at the clock. I still have three hours to go.
By eleven-thirty, I’m showered, hair washed, dressed and ready. And sweating. The palms of my hands are sticky and wet. What if he shakes my hand when he arrives? Of course he won’t. Maybe a kiss on the cheek. I wander about, shutting windows, locking up. If I don’t want him inside, I must be ready at the door, nothing left to do.
By eleven forty-five I’m standing at the door listening for his car. The phone rings. It’s Laura. ‘How are you doing?’ she asks.
; ‘Terrible,’ I say.
‘I can’t talk for long, I’m between patients, but I just wanted to check on you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Relax, Charlie. It might be fun.’
‘It might not be.’
‘It’s not as though you’re under threat. The worst case scenario is that you’ll be bored. Remember that.’
When I’ve hung up the phone, I go to the kitchen window. It’s a good place for spotting arrivals without being spotted. At two minutes to twelve, a silver Lexus swings into my driveway. I jerk back and away from the window. Then I collect my bag and go to the door.
Behind my closed front door I wait, doing deep breathing. There’s a knock. Count to ten slowly. Mustn’t let him know I’ve been standing at the door. I open the door and smile. ‘Hi, you’re very punctual,’ I say.
‘Often early, never late,’ says Doug. Then, ‘You look nice.’
‘Thanks. Easy to improve on the drowned rat from the pool.’
He laughs, and peers over my shoulder. ‘Interesting house.’
‘Cluttered,’ I say. Then, ‘Shall we go?’
I close the door, try to lock it without visible handletrembling. He opens the car door for me. I hate it, hate him being solicitous, hate him doing anything that reminds me that he’s male and I’m female. I try to relax on the comfortable seat of his immaculate car.
‘I hope you like seafood,’ he says.
‘Love it. Love all food really.’ Oh god, did that sound greedy? Now he’s going to think I’m a glutton.
‘That’s refreshing,’ he says. ‘So many women these days pick at their food like it’s poisoned.’
The journey takes forever. I sit as I do in the dentist’s chair: stiff and sweaty, hands clasped together tightly, all the while trying to give off an air of relaxed wellbeing. Worst case scenario: boredom. Just get through it, conceal the yawns, talk about the weather, swimming, his work.
The Swim Club Page 17