The End of Cuthbert Close

by Cassie Hamer

  ‘Why won’t you try,’ she muttered under her breath, as the child-puppies gambolled up the field in pursuit of the ball, leaving Noah ambling in their wake.

  ‘Here you go. Decaf double shot. Extra sugar.’ James pressed a warming coffee cup into her hands. ‘Miss anything?’

  ‘Jas scored a goal but Noah won’t move.’ Alex gritted her teeth. ‘What is wrong with that child?’

  ‘Jas scored? That’s great.’

  Alex glared at him. ‘This was supposed to be about Noah.’

  James sipped his coffee. ‘Maybe soccer’s just not his thing.’

  Maybe life just isn’t his thing.

  Somehow, the ball had emerged from the pack of kids and it dribbled towards Noah. A little boy from the opposition team set off in pursuit.

  ‘Kick, Noah! Kick! Stop that boy. Get him!’ Alex shrieked.

  Her son looked up in surprise.

  ‘The ball, Noah. Get the ball!’

  He stared at her, then back at the ball, by which time the other child had scooted past and kicked the ball clear.

  Alex’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ said James quietly.

  ‘Can’t what?’

  ‘Yell at him like that.’

  ‘Why not?’ She gulped the coffee and swallowed hard, her mouth scorched by the heat.

  ‘The other parents don’t like it.’

  Alex looked around. He was right. A few other puffy-coated souls were looking her way and whispering.

  ‘But I’m only yelling at my child, not theirs,’ she said. ‘Theirs are probably as deaf as Noah and can’t hear a word I’m saying.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. You saw the sign.’

  Ah, yes. The sign that had greeted them at the entrance to the wind-swept park.

  Please remember

  These are kids

  This is just a game

  The coach is a volunteer

  The referees are human

  This is not the World Cup

  ‘You reckon they have that kind of sign for kids in Russia?’ Alex spoke in a low and urgent tone. ‘No wonder Australia never does any good in the World Cup.’

  James set his coffee cup down on the grass. He took her by the shoulders, blocking her view of the game.

  ‘What are you doing? I want to watch!’ cried Alex, trying to look over his shoulder.

  ‘Talk to me.’ James squeezed. ‘Ever since we left that silly fundraiser last night, you’ve been as wound up as a spring. You wouldn’t say anything in the car and you stomped around the house all morning yelling at everyone and I want to know what’s going on. Tell me.’

  Alex dropped her gaze to the muddy grass. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘I’m not moving until you tell me.’

  ‘The game’s going to finish in five minutes.’

  James sighed. ‘Just tell me.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Alex could see that Jas had the ball and was dribbling it down the sideline, while Noah stood at the other end of the field and looked up at the grey clouds overhead, scudding across the sky.

  It was hopeless.

  ‘Last night, Martin told me that Macauley is introducing an egg-freezing program, so they can get more years out of the female solicitors, you know, don’t worry about having kids in your thirties, just freeze your eggs, do IVF, build your career, have them when it suits you et cetera et cetera … They want me to be the partner that champions it. Promotes it.’ She couldn’t look at her husband.

  James dropped his hands. ‘Shit. They really have no idea, do they.’

  ‘I don’t know …’ she said. ‘I mean, other companies do it, like Google and Facebook.’

  ‘Yes, the real high bar of ethical behaviour, those two.’

  Alex startled. Her darling husband didn’t do sarcasm. He generally left it to her.

  ‘You do remember, don’t you … what it was like?’

  ‘Of course I do …’ She shivered again, not because of the cold, but because of what flashed into her mind. James, standing before her with a needle, chock-full of hormones to boost her egg production. He’d been so patient, so kind, while she’d been an emotional wildcat through the entire process. Manically high on the fumes of hope one minute, and curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor the next as the midwives calmly informed her that the embryo hadn’t ‘taken’. Ten rounds it took to get the boys. It was, without doubt, the hardest eighteen months of their lives – a period that had ended up costing them over a hundred grand, and nearly their marriage.

  This was what Macauley wanted her to sell to the women of the firm.

  ‘I’m trapped,’ she whispered, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes.

  Suddenly, she felt James’s arms wrapped around her. His hand guided her head into his shoulder and she let the tears flow freely as she recalled everything she’d gained, and lost, in having the twins.

  A little head nuzzled in between them. ‘Mummy, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?’ It was Noah. He slipped his hand into hers. ‘Please don’t be sad. I’ll try. Really, I’ll try for the next game. Promise. You won’t have to yell.’ His lower lip trembled. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Alex felt her chest tightening as she took in her son’s pale face. Oh, the guilt. Her knees wanted to buckle. Why had no one ever warned her of this? That mother-guilt was so crippling. Literally. She put her arm out to James for support and kissed the top of her son’s head. ‘It’s not you, darling,’ she sniffed. ‘It’s me.’

  Behind them, further down the sideline, the other parents cheered.

  Jasper had scored again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ‘New clothes?’ Max stood before the bed. Beth had heard him stomp in five minutes ago. But instead of rushing to greet him, she’d stayed right where she was, reading the latest Liane Moriarty, and enjoying an uncustomarily lazy Sunday afternoon.

  ‘Yes.’

  After her conversation with Charlie Devine, Beth had raced up to the shops before the gym class began and bought the brightest, boldest set of leggings and matching crop top that she could find. Chloe’s clothes weren’t her. Charlie was right. Beth wanted something bigger and bolder than boring old black. She wanted pinks and yellows that clashed in a totally mad, yet somehow completely stylish, way. She would show that woman who she really was! An exotic, dancing bird of paradise. And she’d show Max, too, while she was at it. The old Beth might have sought to justify the purchases, or explain how she got them at a substantial discount – not that Max ever seemed to query her about the money, it was just something she felt she ought to do, given everything she spent on herself had been earnt by him.

  Not the new Beth.

  As she calmly put down her book and asked her husband how his game of golf had gone, she noticed his eyes lingering over her body.

  ‘A bit off today.’ Max shrugged. ‘It was windy out on the course. The ball was flying around a lot.’

  ‘Hmmm … you poor thing,’ said Beth. ‘Not to mention the fact you didn’t actually take your golf clubs.’

  Max startled. ‘I just forgot them,’ he muttered. ‘Borrowed Angelo’s.’

  ‘I thought Angelo and Sylvia were overseas at the moment?’ Angelo was a workmate of Max’s and Beth knew full well that right at that moment he was on a barge, sailing down the Canal du Midi in France. Sylvia had emailed to let her know they wouldn’t be able to make the party.

  ‘Angelo came back early. Sylvia’s still there, visiting family.’ Max sat on the bed and grunted with the effort of bending over to undo his laces.

  ‘So he’ll be coming to the party, then?’

  ‘Ah … no,’ Max panted. ‘He won’t want to come on his own.’

  Beth nearly snorted. Max was such a terrible liar. Surely he knew she could expose his fibs with just a couple of phone calls?

  He obviously took her for a fool. Didn’t even consider that she suspected a thing. Well, she would show him! But not yet. Not till after the party. Until t
hen, she was going to have her own fun.

  Max lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. ‘I’m exhausted.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine how exhausting all that walking must be. Poor Max,’ she cooed, and pressed her body into his.

  ‘You seem happy. What did you get up to today?’

  ‘I took a dance class,’ said Beth, running her hands lightly over Max’s chest. ‘It was amazing.’

  That part was true. The Zumba class had been loud and sexy and loads of fun. The instructor was a very hot young Brazilian guy who flirted outrageously with all the women in the class with his winks and shoulder shimmies. At first, Beth had flushed as bright as her lairy leggings at the instructor’s attention. But midway through the class, Jorge took a two-minute break during which Beth spotted him kissing another man on the lips by the water cooler. Of course, gay. What a relief!

  In the second half of the class, Beth flirted with complete abandon. It was incredibly liberating. She hadn’t felt this free since … well, since before she had children. The music swept her up, pulsed through her body and made it come alive. It was different to the nightclub. There, she’d been so conscious of the crowd around her, and the gorgeous Adam. Here, in this class of twenty middle-aged women and one very hot, very camp instructor, she was completely free to be herself. In the mirror, she watched the way her body moved easily to the music. Sexy and sultry. Underneath those chinos and loose knits was a fiery Latina lady.

  ‘I’ll show you some of the moves if you like.’

  Before Max could answer, Beth leapt off the bed. Jorge had directed her to a streaming service on her phone where they could find the music they’d danced to in class. With a few taps, Beth had the bedroom grooving to a sensual Latin American beat. She closed her eyes and started to do the moves Jorge had taught them, the slow body rolls and the hip circles – moves that in class had made Beth cringe at first with the overt raunchiness of them.

  As the music came to an end, Beth opened her eyes.

  ‘I’m impressed. You’re a fast learner.’ Max sat up on his elbows and narrowed his eyes. ‘Why don’t you come here and practise some of those moves on me,’ he growled and patted the mattress beside him.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Beth pretending not to notice the bulge in Max’s pants that proved exactly how impressed he was with her moves. ‘You’re tired, and I’m all sweaty.’ Beth sashayed towards the bathroom, putting a little extra hip movement into her walk.

  ‘I’m not tired, and I don’t mind if you’re sweaty.’ Max’s tone was pleading, almost pathetic.

  Beth closed the bathroom door and pressed herself against it. ‘Besides, you hate dancing, remember.’ Locking the door, she switched on the water.

  ‘Bethy, let me in. Please. I’m sweaty too.’

  She imagined him, standing on the other side of the door, jiggling at the handle and horny as a bull.

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ called Beth as she sat on the toilet seat and felt a little bit sorry for him, before remembering that in all likelihood, Max had already scored his hole in one that day. And not with her.

  ThePrimalGuy.com.au

  From: The Primal Guy

  Subject: How to Get What You Want

  Hey there, Prime-Ministers,

  You know how many people like to run me down for trying to live by pre-historic principles? A shit-load. ‘The world’s moved on, man. You can’t actually go kill a woolly mammoth. It’s the 21st century.’

  Dude, I know that.

  What I’m about is learning from the past. Like, there’s this book you’ve probably heard of. How to Win Friends and Influence People. It came out in 1936. Yup. It’s ancient. But people still talk about it, because it’s the biz. Okay, so it’s nearly 300 pages long and I know you’re a slave to the man and haven’t got time to read it, so I’ll give you the bottom line – if you can get people to like you, they’ll do what you want them to.

  Next problem – how do you get people to like you? It’s not that hard. You be nice. Smile. Use their names. Give compliments. Don’t insult, shame or embarrass them.

  In other words, be a bit of a pussy.

  Now, you know me and you know I’m no kitty-cat, but when I have to, I can suck up with the best of ’em. I’ll tell you something.

  Right now, I’m sucking real hard in this new place. But that’s okay, because it’s going to get me where I need to be – right in the sweet spot where people are going to let down their defences, and let me in. And then I can really raise hell.

  Peace out,

  Ryan (AKA the Primal Guy)

  PS No reason you can’t look hot while you sweat. Buy one ‘Primal. It’s Final’ t-shirt and get one free. This week only!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Cara rushed down the hallway and out the front door, her daughter’s backpack slung over her arm, a piece of toast in one hand and Poppy’s toothbrush in the other.

  Standing on the front step she called back inside. ‘Poppy, where are you? We’re going to be late.’ She checked her watch. 8:25 am. Monday morning. The week had barely begun and Cara felt it already starting to spin out of control.

  Her shoot started at 9 am and the studio was at least half an hour away, but first she had to get Poppy to school and she hadn’t even finished her breakfast or brushed her teeth.

  ‘Morning, Mrs Pope.’ Talia Devine waved from the footpath and trundled past with her hands grasping each strap of her backpack like a safety parachute.

  ‘Hello, Talia. But it’s Cara, please.’ She tapped her foot. ‘C’mon Poppy, we don’t have all day,’ she called down the hallway.

  Talia stopped and leant on the O’Rourkes’ gate. ‘I’m just waiting for the twins.’ At that moment, Alex’s front door opened and the boys tumbled out, followed by their harried-looking mother, also clutching toast, two toothbrushes and schoolbags.

  ‘Snap!’ called Cara to Alex, smiling and holding up her hands.

  ‘Look at us.’ Alex limped towards the gate, trying to juggle the putting-on of a second high heel, balanced precariously in the same hand as the toothbrushes. ‘If only Germaine Greer could see us now. Really nailing this working mother thing, aren’t we?’ She grinned before handing the bags, brushes and breakfast over to the boys at the front gate. ‘I think we should put a ban on Daddy going to work early. What do you both think, hmm?’

  ‘Hey, I got some good news on the house over the weekend. Any chance you could come over later for a chat and a cuppa?’ Cara dumped the backpack and began wrestling Poppy’s curls into a ponytail.

  ‘Absolutely! I’ll come tonight once the boys are down.’ Alex stopped and stepped into her second shoe. ‘Now Talia, when the boys are done with the breakfast and the brushing, just put the toothbrushes into the front pocket of their bags, okay?’ She gave the boys hurried kisses. ‘Quickly, boys, or Mummy’s going to be late.’ At the car, she stopped and turned, shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘Cara, Talia’s walking the boys to school – it’s on the way to hers – I’m sure she wouldn’t mind taking Poppy as well.’

  Cara thought for a millisecond.

  ‘Talia, is that all right?’ she asked.

  ‘For sure.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’ Charlie Devine’s voice cut across the close. Where had she come from? She must have been watching from her house. Now, she stood by her daughter, her arms folded over a white satin dressing gown.

  ‘It’s fine, Mum. Really. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Three children? That’s a lot …’ Charlie looked knowingly at the twins.

  ‘Honestly, Mum. It’ll be fine.’ Talia sighed. ‘Trust me.’

  Cara stepped in. ‘Poppy’s very responsible, I can assure you. Talia will probably find it easier to have her tag along. The twins seem to listen to her, for some reason.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Alex confirmed. ‘They listen to Poppy more than they listen to me.’

  ‘I can bring them all home too, if you like?’ offered Talia. ‘It’s basically o
n my way.’

  Cara clasped her hands together. ‘Oh, would you? That would be amazing, Talia. I’m out this morning at a shoot but I’ll be cooking in the shed all afternoon. We got flooded with orders over the weekend.’ She made a face. ‘Just come and knock on the door when you get back.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Talia. ‘See ya, Mum.’ She waved and set off down the street with the caravan of kids in tow, while Alex sped away in her car. Up front, Cara could hear Poppy chatting away to Talia about how her mummy was the best cook and she was famous because she was on the internet and everyone wanted to buy her food, and she heard Talia reply, ‘Did you know that my dad is famous too?’

  So sweet.

  ‘Things are going well then, with the business?’ Charlie Devine was still standing at the end of her drive, watching the kids disappear into the distance.

  ‘Almost too well,’ Cara admitted. ‘I really should be staying here to cook with Beth but it’s too late for me to cancel this shoot.’ She checked her watch. ‘I’m sorry to rush but I really better get going.’

  Charlie nodded, unsmiling. ‘That’s the way it is in this business. You say yes to everything because you never know what’s around the corner. It’s easy to become a victim of your own success. But you really should take it slow. Threats are everywhere and you won’t even see them coming.’

  There was a strange tone in Charlie’s voice and later, after they’d said their goodbyes and Cara was driving to the shoot, she mulled over the words. Was it advice Charlie was giving her, or a warning?

  She shook her head. It was silly. Maybe a little paranoid.

  She had everything she wanted. Will had agreed to go halves in the house, and Nourish was booming, which meant she could easily service whatever small loan she might need to take from the bank.

  It was all perfect.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  ‘Oh, no, no, no. No, you don’t.’ Seated in her office chair, Alex rolled away from her desk, and away from the envelope that Brianna had just placed on it. A perfectly ordinary, plain white envelope, unsealed and with one, simple handwritten name on the front.