The End of Cuthbert Close

by Cassie Hamer

  The lift was empty and Alex urged it through the floors.

  When it pinged, she rushed out and straight into Brianna, nearly spilling coffee over the both of them.

  ‘Jesus, what are you doing out here?’

  Brianna only left her desk for fire drills and Friday afternoon drinks in the boardroom, and only because both were somewhat compulsory.

  ‘Martin’s looking for you. C’mon.’ Brianna took her jacket and bag, and motioned for her to start walking. Long-legged and with what seemed an almost unfair amount of long hair, she walked the corridor like a thoroughbred and Alex had to trot to keep up. ‘There’s a huge matter that’s just come in and he’s thinking about giving you the brief. I didn’t want you to miss out.’

  You mean you don’t want to miss out.

  That was fine. Brianna was smart and ambitious, and, judging by how often she brought her lunch, not rich. She was paying her own way through law school. Alex admired and respected that. She understood it. Brianna was herself, before children. Focused, and with texta-free clothing.

  ‘There are some letters on your desk that need signing.’ Brianna hung Alex’s jacket and slipped efficiently into her workstation while Alex flopped into her seat and sighed.

  Made it. She swivelled to face the window for a moment. Gathering herself for the work ahead.

  ‘Ah, so you are here.’

  It was Martin – her boss – standing neatly in the doorway. Everything about Martin was neat. He was English and reminded Alex of a squirrel with his little buck teeth and jerky movements.

  ‘Yes, of course. Been here for hours. Just popped out for a coffee.’ Alex held up the cup.

  ‘Right, well, a large matter has just come in. Rather huge, I’m afraid. Terribly complicated.’ He smiled, teeth over lips, like a squirrel nibbling a nut.

  ‘How … exciting,’ said Alex, with forced enthusiasm.

  ‘Indeed. Would you have a moment?’ Martin rose up and down on his toes, which was another of his odd little habits. Alex thought he did it to make himself appear taller, while Brianna thought he was strengthening his calf muscles. He cycled for six hours every Saturday. ‘Imagine him in Lycra,’ Brianna would comment in a tone of disgusted wonder while Alex tried very hard not to. The visual image of her squirrelly boss in genitalia-revealing bike pants wasn’t pretty. Nuts. Bleurgh.

  ‘Of course.’ As Alex gestured for Martin to take a seat, her phone buzzed, and she surreptitiously looked at the number.

  The boys’ school.

  It stopped, and Martin began droning on about a big takeover that the firm was being asked to handle. What a complex case it would be. How much work would be involved. Yadda yadda.

  No message on her phone. Phew. Mustn’t be anything serious. Probably a mislaid hat, or grazed knee.

  The phone started buzzing..

  Alex glanced sideways.

  The school. Again.

  This time, her stomach dropped.

  Martin was still prattling on. Bid … takeover… stakes… shares … hostile.

  Nervously, Alex tapped the darkened screen. Again, no message. She slipped the phone into her hand and held it just under the desk.

  Her palm vibrated. Alex looked down.

  The school.

  ‘I’m sorry, Martin, but I’m expecting a rather urgent call from … from opposing counsel in the Acton matter. Would you mind if I take this?’ She stood in a rush and held up the phone.

  Martin peered at the screen. ‘The caller ID says School.’

  Shit. Of course. ‘Oh, yes, right … Ah, that’s my nickname for him. He’s very conscientious.’

  Martin gave a doubtful nod. ‘All right then. We’ll continue our chat later. I want you taking the lead on this one.’ He rose and, with another little bob, was gone.

  Alex dived on her vibrating phone. ‘Hello, this is Alex speaking.’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs O’Rourke, it’s Annabelle Ryan calling,’ said the cool voice at the end of the line.

  Mrs Ryan. Shit. The principal. Alex’s eye twitched. ‘Is everything all right? Are the boys okay?’

  ‘The boys are here with me in the office. They’re fine.’

  In the background she heard one of them yell out, ‘Hi, Mum. We’re okay now.’

  ‘Jasper, quiet please while I’m on the phone.’ That bit was muffled. Probably Mrs Ryan putting her hand over the receiver. ‘Mrs O’Rourke, the boys are physically unharmed. But there has been an …’ She paused. ‘An incident. I’d like to meet with you and Mr O’Rourke as soon as possible. Today, ideally.’

  Alex thought of the twenty-nine unread emails waiting for her, and the brief for the Acton matter that still required a mountain of work to get through, and now this takeover thing that Martin had just landed on her. The visit to the obstetrician had already set her so far behind that a visit to the school would make the day a complete write-off. Besides, if the boys were talking and breathing, it clearly wasn’t an emergency.

  ‘Mrs Ryan, I’m sorry but I have several work commitments today that I am obliged to attend to. Could we possibly meet tomorrow morning, before school?’ Alex attempted her solicitor-addressing-the-judge tone. Authoritative, yet accommodating.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs O’Rourke, but this issue cannot wait. I’m happy to fit in with your work commitments but it really must be today.’

  Alex tightened her grip on the phone. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  ‘And Mr O’Rourke too?’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Alex hung up, pushed herself out from behind her desk and paused. How could she do this without being spotted?

  She rose, slipped her phone into her pocket and dug a credit card out of her wallet. It was all she needed. It would be cab–school–cab–work. She collected a file from her desk and approached Brianna, whispering urgently.

  ‘I have to go to the boys’ school. There’s been an emergency.’

  Brianna nodded and kept typing as if Alex had simply told her to dig out a file. On many occasions, she had declared that she would never have children – and she said it with a certainty that made Alex feel both amused and envious.

  Holding the file as if off to a meeting, Alex marched down the hallway to reception, and kept on going right into the lift. Out on the street, she flagged a cab, gave the driver the directions and dialled James.

  ‘Hey there. Everything okay? The baby?’ She heard the worry in his voice.

  ‘It’s fine. All good, but I could murder a Macca’s chocolate sundae right now,’ she joked.

  ‘Well, you must be pregnant then.’

  She heard the smile in his voice. ‘I guess so. But, uh, listen, um … I just got a call from the boys’ principal, Mrs Ryan.’

  ‘Which one of them is it? Leg? Arm?’ he said in a rush.

  ‘No. No. She said they’re physically fine. But she needs to talk to us straight away.’ Alex cradled the phone and reached into her pocket, where she’d been known to stash her lipstick when her tiny handbag was too full.

  ‘Oh, no.’ He sighed. ‘They must have hurt someone. Another kid or something.’

  ‘The boys? No. They wouldn’t hurt a fly. Noah cried this morning because I accidentally squashed the daddy-long-legs in his room that he’d nicknamed Alfred. They probably just graffitied something, or said the f-word maybe.’

  ‘You really think they’d call us in for that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. It’s a school. The boys got in trouble for wearing the wrong coloured sneakers, remember? Anyway, I’m going to be there in twenty. Can you come?’

  ‘Sure. My next patient’s not till 12,’ said James. ‘But I don’t like the sound of this.’

  Alex ran a slash of red lipstick around her lips, the colour she always wore when she wanted to project confidence. ‘Hon, it’ll be fine. Seriously. They’re alive and breathing. How bad could it be?’

  But as she hung up the phone, Alex asked the taxi driver to pull over. Into the gutter she quietl
y heaved up her breakfast.

  Getting back in, she cursed herself.

  Now she’d have to redo the lipstick.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Beth swung into Cuthbert Close, but instead of feeling the warm sense of comfort that usually came over her when she drove into the street, she experienced a prickle of irritation. Why hadn’t the school rung earlier to say the sewing bee for the upcoming production of Cats was cancelled? The art teacher had been apologetic. Terribly sorry. But no one else had been available to attend the daytime session because they all had jobs. Didn’t she get the email from the school saying it had been postponed to an evening next week?

  No, she hadn’t. She didn’t check her email every day. At that revelation, the art teacher – dressed in a caftan and jewelled turban – had looked at Beth in wonder, like she was some kind of strange and exotic species. Or a relic.

  Perhaps she was.

  When the kids had started school, it hadn’t been difficult to find other full-time stay-at-home mothers like herself. Drop-offs and pick-ups were a social event. But over the years, the number had dwindled. Friends returned to work, and then there was the nature of high school. Larger and more anonymous. The kids didn’t want her anywhere near the school gate. There was, generally, less need for parental involvement.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. Chloe and Ethan definitely needed her. Look at this morning for instance. Ethan, scrabbling around for his tie, which Beth eventually found stuffed behind the dirty clothes basket, and Chloe with her sudden, urgent need to produce ten plastic bottle tops for a recycled-art work. Max was no help. He’d swanned into the chaos, fresh from his morning run, and swanned straight back out again to the shower. Had Beth been rushing off to work, there would have been no way she could have helped the kids, and Ethan would have gone tie-less. Chloe, bottle top-less.

  But now, driving down Cuthbert Close, the day stretched out before her like a yawn. Four and a half hours until the kids got home. She crawled along the curb, wanting to somehow extend the drive so as to eat up a few extra seconds.

  Hang on. Wasn’t that Max’s car in the driveway? Yes, it was. Her spirits started to climb. He would understand. He would talk to her. Console her. Agree with her over the school’s lack of consideration. It could be a small chance for them to reconnect after the distance of the last few months. Strange, though, he hadn’t mentioned anything about coming home. Was he sick? He’d been perfectly fine when he left that morning. Then again, there was some kind of gastro bug doing the rounds.

  She pulled quickly into the drive and hurried inside.

  ‘Max, Max, I’m home,’ she called into the silence.

  Nothing. Just the hum of the fridge.

  She dropped her keys on the bench and walked through the house, calling Max’s name.

  Fishing out her phone, Beth dialled his number.

  ‘Everything all right?’ He sounded breathless.

  ‘Yes, fine. Where are you?’

  ‘At work. Where else would I be?’

  ‘Well, I’m at home and your car is here, but you’re not.’

  A slight pause. A woman’s voice in the background. ‘Ah, well, I’m actually just over at the Devines’. There’s a couple of … um … problems with the house that need attention, so, I’m … uh … attending to them.’

  ‘You’re next door?’ Beth went to the front windows.

  ‘Yes, just finishing off now.’

  There he was, walking out the door, phone jammed between his neck and his ear as he wrestled to put his suit jacket back on. No tie. Top button undone. Was that how he’d left for work?

  ‘I didn’t know you were going to the Devines’.’

  ‘I mentioned it, but you were rushing to get to school.’

  Was that true? It was plausible. The mornings were a whirl of activity, trying to get Ethan and Chloe moving, the lunches made, and this morning, the added drama of the missing tie and the desperately needed bottle tops. Was she really so busy that she couldn’t even listen to her husband? Guilt nudged at her.

  ‘Would you like some lunch? There’s roast chicken in the fridge. I could make a salad?’

  His face broke into a smile as he walked down the Devines’ drive. ‘That’d be great.’

  Beth headed for the kitchen and tried to recount the events of the morning. In the maelstrom of tie-finding and bottle top-scavenging, had she even kissed her husband goodbye? Beth had no specific recollection of it. In twenty years of marriage, it was normal for her memory of these things to blend and fog. But remembering this one suddenly seemed important. Had he told her about the Devines? She felt sure that any mention of the name would surely have piqued her interest, given the quiche fiasco – an incident she hadn’t divulged to Max. Beth still felt a sense of shame that Charlie had tagged her as a meddler and she knew if she told Max he would dismiss it as a storm in a teacup, which wasn’t helpful at all. It was all right for him. Management of neighbourly relations wasn’t his job. It was hers. Though, in the case of the Devines, the lines were blurred. With the Pezzullos overseas, Max was effectively Charlie’s landlord. She couldn’t afford to tell him to butt out. She needed him.

  ‘Hey there.’ Max sauntered into the kitchen, a bundle of junk mail in his hand. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at school? The sewing thing?’

  ‘Cancelled,’ said Beth. ‘No one else could make it, so it’s been postponed to an evening next week.’

  ‘And they didn’t tell you?’

  ‘There was an email …’ Beth trailed off and Max nodded briefly, before turning his attention to the catalogues and pamphlets in his hand. ‘Maybe I should get a job.’

  Max looked at her, head cocked. ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘I’m like a dinosaur at that school. All the other mums have jobs, except for me.’

  ‘You do a lot of work for the school.’

  ‘Not as much as I used to. I think I could do more.’ She paused. ‘So, do you think I should get a job or not?’ she said in a rush.

  Max regarded her, folding his arms. ‘Only if you want to. It’s not like we need the money, and Chloe and Ethan do need someone to drive them around everywhere, which would limit a bit what you could do.’

  ‘So you think I shouldn’t get a job?’

  ‘I’m not saying that … I just haven’t really thought about it.’ He went back to sorting the mail. Beth bit her lip.

  ‘How was Charlie? Any problems?’ She kept her voice light and avoided Max’s gaze by going to the fridge to get out the salad ingredients.

  He paused and she felt his eyes on her. ‘Just minor stuff. Dishwasher on the blink. Remote for the aircon missing. Sticky window locks.’

  ‘Don’t the junior agents normally handle that kind of thing?’ Beth focused on the two plates before her, laying a bed of rocket, then pieces of roast chicken. ‘You don’t want Charlie to feel like you’re watching her.’

  She looked up briefly. Max leant against the bench, arms folded. ‘Seemed silly to send another agent when I’m right here.’ He shifted. ‘I think Charlie actually appreciated it.’

  Beth cut wedges of avocado, enjoying the feel of the knife slicing easily through the creamy flesh. ‘Did she say when her husband’s coming to join them?’

  Max despatched the junk into the recycling box. ‘I don’t know what’s happening there.’

  ‘You think there’s a problem?’

  ‘He’s not on the lease, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.’ Max pulled out his phone. ‘Just need to send a couple of messages.’ He walked slowly into the living room, head bowed, and Beth finished the salads with a glug of olive oil and a dash of balsamic vinegar.

  ‘But lunch is ready,’ she called after him. Her husband’s habit of disappearing when a meal was about to be served was legendary, and annoying.

  ‘This will only take a minute.’

  And now she had nothing to do. Beth looked about the kitchen and her gaze settled on the iPad. Emails. Yes, she should check
them. Confirm the school had not forgotten her entirely. She brought the screen to life. Yes, there it was. Sewing Bee Postponed.

  She made a note of the new date and time and replied to confirm her attendance. There were a couple of RSVPs for the anniversary party. An email from The Primal Guy. Beth read it and pressed ‘delete’. Chicken bars and black swans. What a strange man. She went to her favourite recipe website. The anniversary party was getting closer, and now that her day was devoid of activity, perhaps it was time to start planning the menu.

  Up came a message on the iPad.

  So what time tomorrow?

  A bit odd, she thought. But probably just one of those annoying pop-up things. She went to close the box and stopped. There were ten numbers above the message and they looked quite familiar. Aha! It was Max’s mobile. She looked up to see him fiddling with his phone. They must have accidentally synced up, the iPad and his phone. She was about to tell him when up popped another message, this one from a number she didn’t know.

  5:30 pm suit you? Really excited about it.

  Beth paused. Who exactly would be telling Max that they were really excited to meet up with him? It wasn’t the kind of language you’d expect from a work colleague, and it clearly wasn’t from one of his existing friends. She waited, her heart moving from a slow plod to a modest trot.

  That’s good for me. Never done this before …

  Don’t worry babe. Everyone freaks out about their first time. But after you’ve done it once, you’ll want to come back again and again. It spices up your life like nothing else. Promise! Xx

  Beth inhaled sharply. Was Max really part of this conversation? Quietly, she padded to the doorway between kitchen and living room. Silently, she watched her husband, tapping away and frowning at the phone in his hands.

  Ha! I hope I can keep up with you. I’m a little out of shape these days.

  Well, that was a complete lie. Max was the fittest he’d been since they were married. He would turn forty-five in September and was in training for a half marathon, his first, which meant rising every morning in the dawn light to pound the pavements around Cuthbert Close for nearly an hour, conveniently arriving home just as the kids headed off to school. He was doing it for charity, he said, and had set up a fundraising page to which he invited all their friends to contribute. So far, he’d raised $100 (donated by Beth) which seemed a paltry amount over which to risk a heart attack. She would pay him $100 not to do it.