by Bree Darcy
I closely observed my husband as he unravelled our new hammock but he never as much as glanced at Felicity. I know I’d promised her that I wouldn’t say anything to Curtis but could I continue to pretend that I didn’t know? And what had Delia made of the whole brother swap – I guess she probably didn’t care as long as the effortlessly accomplished Felicity Spencer-Holmes joined the family somehow.
With a sigh, I folded up the plastic tablecloth and went to put it away in the linen cupboard. Ryan was tucked away in the dimly lit home theatre, plucking away at his new guitar.
“Aren’t you going swimming with the rest of the kids?” I asked, ruffling his hair.
“Not yet, I want to get these chords down. See this is the A.” Ryan strummed the note then moved his fingers into a different formation. “And this is C and C7. It’s much harder to learn than you’d think.”
He was clearly in his element, his tongue stuck out to the side in concentration. I was so glad he had found something to interest him.
Meanwhile outside, Ryan’s poor school grades was the subject of discussion as Curtis and Ewan strained to hook the hammock between two palm trees.
“You should get Ryan some tutoring to improve his marks,” Ewan suggested. “I mean, no Carmichael has ever scored a D before.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Curtis replied curtly. “It has just taken him a while to settle in to high school. I’m sure next year – I mean this year – will be fine.”
“You need to motivate him so he’ll apply himself to his studies. Julian got an A-minus on a paper before we came away. He was so devastated he rewrote it, even though he wasn’t allowed to resubmit it. That’s the sort of attitude that will take him far. But I guess not everyone is cut out to be a top student.”
“I’ve been inside listening to Ryan play his guitar,” I interrupted, turning my back on Ewan to talk directly to Curtis. “He’s picking it up really quickly.”
Ewan yawned as he climbed into the hammock. “Did we tell you Harry’s been appointed lead violinist in his youth orchestra? That means he’ll play a solo at the Royal Albert Hall. And of course with him being rugby captain as well, his house master says he’s never seen a more talented all-rounder in all his years.”
Leaving the brothers arguing over who had been the better student during their own time at Sidewell, the posh school Ewan’s two oldest boys attended, I headed over to join Felicity and Delia; Thomas was still inside somewhere, catching up on the news on his new iPad.
Delia pulled a face as she nibbled a strawberry. “These are a little tart. Beryl gets the most exquisite strawberries from a berry farm on the south coast. Their jams always win prizes at the Royal Show. Remind me to order some in for you. So much nicer than this supermarket fruit.”
“Being able to eat strawberries this time of year is a treat in itself,” Felicity said, dunking a slice of berry into her glass of champagne.
Delia called out to Curtis, patting the seat beside her. “You’ve been running around all day, you need a rest,” she instructed. “Come sit next to me.” She brushed away some drops of water that had splashed on to her blouse from Ciara demonstrating a backflip into the pool. “Kellie, do you think it’s a good idea for Ciara to be doing that? It’s rather uncouth.”
Curtis deflected his mother for me. “Ciara’s a real water baby, she can look after herself. Mother, did I tell you how my colleagues raved about your party…”
I shot my husband a grateful smile.
That evening, instead of disappearing into his study, Curtis stayed out on the balcony with me, snuggled up on the oversized egg-shaped chair. Once or twice I nearly pressed him about his relationship with Felicity but then decided it wasn’t worth ruining our night. It was all in the past, after all. Although in little over a month, my past was turning up in Sydney.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Happy birthday for yesterday.” Dan handed me a can of cola. “Having a good time?”
“Yes, thanks,” I replied. “Though not as much fun as Nikki.”
My party animal friend was laughing raucously with a group engaged in drinking games. She had thrown me this party because her parents and younger brother Brady were holidaying in Busselton for the week. She’d begged off joining them by stating it was impossible to miss her best friend’s seventeenth birthday. And she had ensured the silence of the middle-aged guy who lived next door by sending over a free pizza every night.
Chatting away to Dan, I cast my eye around to see if I could spot Andy. He had disappeared a while ago with a group of Dan’s basketball friends. Apparently they were checking out someone’s new car. Maybe they took it for a spin.
Dan was in the midst of relating a tale about hooking a big snapper on his last fishing trip when I spied Andy returning to the party. He flung his backpack on the ground and squeezed in next to Nikki in the drinking game circle.
“Never have I been in love,” said Nikki clutching her heart. I was about to step in and rescue my friend from over-sharing when I realised they had moved on to the Never Have I game, where those who have done the act have to stand and skol.
I was happy to see Andy jump up quickly with those who considered themselves lucky-in-love.
“You wanna join in?” Dan asked me.
“No thanks. But you go ahead. I’m happy watching.”
Dan’s mates made room for him as one of the girls proclaimed that she had never skinny dipped.
This time only Andy and two boys stood. Andy held out his can to me. “Kell should really have a drink too,” he laughed, as I blushed, remembering one crazy night we camped beside a river.
Dan was next. “Never have I used marijuana,” he said, staring directly at Andy, who again rose, followed by most of the other guys there.
The questions continued, and each time Andy clambered to his feet, letting the others learn far more than they needed to know about him, and often me by proxy.
Soon the group moved on to Truth or Dare, and as the birthday girl I had to go first. I opted for dare.
“I’ve got one for you,” said Andy with a glint in his eye. “You have to get up on that table and dance for us.”
I eyeballed him back. “You’re on sweetheart, but only if you buy me the New Kids album when it comes out next week.”
“No sweat.” Andy pulled a twenty-dollar note out of his jeans pocket and tucked it under my bra strap. “Money’s all yours. Now off you go.”
“Not so fast, I haven’t finished my conditions yet. You must personally go into the record store to buy it and you have to take the slip cover out and kiss the band members’ faces, one by one – in front of the shop assistant.”
“Whatever. It’ll be so worth it to see you up there shaking your thang.”
Nikki offered to be my dance partner, so together we clambered up on the wooden picnic table. With MC Hammer’s U Can’t Touch This blasting out of the CD player, we danced a routine that had only ever before been seen in the private confines of our bedrooms. Andy was on his feet cheering as we shuffled our feet up and down the tabletop before showing off our impressive running man moves. When some of the boys fired water guns at us, Nikki stripped down to her bra, to a chorus of wolf whistles.
After we curtsied to loud applause, Andy lifted me down and gave me a long drunken kiss.
“Dare completed. And that’s exactly the sort of kiss I want to see you giving my record cover on Monday,” I told him breathlessly. “Tongue and everything.”
After midnight, only a small group partied on with some live music. By special request of the birthday girl, Bad Disease had not been invited to play. But their lead guitarist was asked to do some acoustic numbers. It was such a shame Stacey hadn’t been invited because Andy even played a Bon Jovi number.
* * *
“Time to rise and shine,” I exclaimed.
Andy rolled over to face the wall, folding the pillow over his face. He had ended the previous night chugging from a yard glass of beer, as th
e remaining partygoers egged him on.
“See ya, stinky,” I said, bending down to kiss the top of his head.
“Wait, where you going?” Andy sat up, rubbing his bleary, blood-shot eyes.
“I’m off. I’ve already helped Nikki tidy up. You’ll need to give her a hand moving the outdoor furniture back but apart from that …” I bundled last night’s clothes into my backpack … “no one will ever be the wiser that a party was held here last night.”
Andy flopped back on the air mattress again, groaning at the sudden movement. “Why don’t you come back to bed, let me sleep this off, and we’ll hit the beach later.”
“No can do. I told you yesterday, I’m going to that political launch with Dan.”
“Aww don’t go. Stay with me,” Andy wheedled. “Why would you want to go to some thing with Dan when you can come to the beach with me?”
“Because one, there will be lots of influential people there; two, it’s my chance to see how a policy launch works; three, I hear they do really nice canapes. Do you want me to continue?”
Dan’s realtor father was the local branch secretary for the Liberal Party. Having heard all about my reporting aspirations, Mr Hunter had invited me along as a guest to today’s event. An election was likely to be called any day now and his party was desperate to get back in power after ten years on the Opposition benches.
“But aren’t they the same people who want to introduce that tax you protested about?” Andy said, closing his eyes as I rubbed his temples.
“I don’t need to agree with their politics to go along and meet people. Or enjoy their catering. Anyway I won’t be able to let my personal beliefs sway me in my job – you have to be impartial. Dan says this is a great opportunity to network. It’s not what you know but who you know.”
“Dan says,” Andy mimicked. “I tell you who I wish you didn’t know – Dan. There’s something about that boy I don’t like. Not at all. Why are you laughing?”
“Because I never thought I’d see the day you’d quote Wham lyrics at me.”
“I am not even going to pretend I know what you’re talking about.” Andy folded his arms. “So I’ve got to spend the day alone?” He jutted out his bottom lip in a sulk.
I nodded.
“Next weekend, any protest plans I need know about? Saving the whales, logging in the Amazon jungle …”
“I’ve got a very special cause next weekend. Boyfriends turning eighteen.”
“So I get your full undivided attention.”
“Absolutely.”
I had secretly booked us into the camping grounds on Rottnest Island for three nights. Known as Rotto, it was less than an hour’s ferry ride away but was like stepping into another world. Everyone biked everywhere and the beaches were to die for. My mouth was already watering at the thought of the bakery’s cream buns. Andy would love it.
Dan tentatively knocked on the bedroom door. “You ready? Dad’s here.”
“Just coming,” I called as Andy, wearing only a pair of jocks, swung open the door.
“Shit, you look rough, mate,” Dan said.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night, did we, Kell?” Andy smirked.
“Well, you can go crash for the rest of the day. I’ll take good care of her.”
“I’m sure you will.” Andy turned to me. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”
“Oh sweetie, I’m not sure. Mr Hunter has invited me to dinner with their friends.” I looked to Dan, who nodded in confirmation. “I’ll ring when I get back, okay?”
“Fine,” Andy muttered, scratching his stomach.
“I would have invited you too but my dad’s friend is a lawyer for the immigration department,” Dan said. “Thought it might be a bit uncomfortable for you, being an illegal worker and all that. He thinks people like you are a blight on society, taking things you don’t deserve.”
“Fine,” Andy repeated, this time more forcibly as he glared at Dan.
Dan clapped him on the back. “Knew you’d understand, mate.”
* * *
The last weekend before school resumed, we joined the gang at a national league basketball game.
With We Will Rock You blasting through the speakers, the sell-out crowd clapped and chanted as the two teams warmed up on court. We waved the giant foam hands that Andy had sweet-talked the Panthers mascot into giving us.
By half-time, our team was ahead by six points and an audience member was about to be given the chance to win one thousand dollars by shooting a basket from half court.
“And today’s contestant” … the announcer paused for a drum roll … “is sitting in Seat F14, Block D.” The crowd whooped as the number flashed up on the big screen.
“That’s our block,” Nikki said, turning around to see if she could spot the lucky person.
“Our row,” Dawn added.
Corey and Dan stood up to check their seat numbers. “I’m nine,” Corey said. “Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen,” he counted pointing to the seats. “Fourteen.” Everyone turned to look at Andy sitting at the end of our group.
“Andy, it’s you!” Nikki squealed.
“Maybe it would be better if Dan took the shot,” Dawn said to me. “He’d have a much better chance getting it in.”
“Do you want Dan to do it for you?” I asked Andy, who’d gone pale and hadn’t budged from his seat.
“Have we got the contestant from Seat F14, Block D?” the announcer repeated. “Come on down.”
“Even one of the girls would have a better chance than Andy,” Dan scoffed. “I’d be more than happy to step into your shoes, mate, and save you the embarrassment.”
“I’m sure you’d like to step into my shoes but no need,” said Andy, pushing him back into his seat and bounding down the steps towards the court. The noise was overpowering as the thousands in the stands stamped their feet on the ground.
Moments later, the crowd was eerily silent, watching Andy roll the basketball around in his fingertips. He looked tiny next to the six-foot-six basketball player who was out on court to give him a last-minute pep talk.
Andy tapped his Converse-clad foot on the ground, then kissed the ball before flinging it, overarm style, towards the goal. The crowd cheered, willing the ball on to its target. The ball sailed through the air, and many people gasped as the ball did the unthinkable. Hit a cameraman crouched down about fifteen metres from the hoop.
Dan nearly wet himself laughing.
The basketballer shook Andy’s hand in commiseration and the glamorous girl representing the bank company left with the massive cheque still in her hands.
Andy did the rock salute to the crowd and sauntered back to his seat.
“How does it feel to have thrown away a thousand bucks?” Dan asked him as he squeezed past.
“Win some, lose some,” he replied. “I’m perfectly happy with what I’ve got.”
I gave him a comforting hug.
“Fuck,” Andy whispered in my ear. “I’m in agony. Think I’ve wrenched my shoulder out of its socket.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“More media jobs under threat,” said Curtis, folding down his Sunday newspaper to reach for an extra slice of wholemeal toast. “They’re saying fifteen hundred will get the chop at Peyton tomorrow.”
I leant over him to read the article. There had been speculation about job losses at our main competitor for weeks but that was a massive cut.
“Yours isn’t exactly a growth industry, is it? Unlike mine. Thank goodness people will always get sick.” Curtis gulped down his three daily vitamin capsules, before flipping to the sports section.
Maybe it wasn’t wise to be looking for another media job, maybe I should be considering a different career choice altogether.
I scooped up Curtis’ breakfast dishes and wiped down the benchtops. Book club was meeting here this week so I needed to get the place ship-shape. The lounge room was my first port of call. Stepping over Ryan who was sprawled in front of a computer game
, I surveyed the mess left over from Ciara’s sleepover – popcorn and a pizza box under the couch; magazines, nail polish bottles and DVDs scattered over the rug; and bedding strewn across the room.
“Follow me into the cave, we have to annihilate the robot master,” Ryan exclaimed though a headset to his gaming pal, Aariz. “No! No! Don’t pass that crate, it’s wired to blow.”
I gathered up my own pile of magazines from the coffee table and carted them upstairs, popping my head into my daughter’s room on the way. “Ciara!” I had to shout her name three times before it registered. “Downstairs now to tidy up. Otherwise I’m confiscating your phone.”
As an overtired and cranky Ciara stomped off, I stacked the magazines under my bedside table. Ooh, look at that – a cover story about Neil Lucas on holiday in Cancun with his new girlfriend. I sunk on to the chaise longue to check out the shots of him emerging from the surf. Even Daniel Craig would be jealous of that physique.
Thirty minutes later, my feet were still up, engrossed in my reading. It was work research after all! I’d finish this one last magazine, then I’d get back to the tidying up. My heart flipped as I turned to an article about Chandler Ellement’s induction into the rock’n’roll hall of fame. Amid the photos of craggy-faced music legends was one of Chandler with his family. He stood front and centre in a quilted teal blazer, his girlfriend Kristin, a svelte former Olympic gymnast, draped over him. They had flown in from their private island in the South Pacific for the day apparently. As you do.
Chandler and Kristin had been a couple for three years, even though he was still officially married to Siena’s mother, Marjorie. Mrs Ellement the Third had scarpered off to Costa Rica years ago, leaving a teenage Siena behind. She had hitchhiked to Tamarindo, a mecca for hippies, surfies and turtle lovers, where she ran sessions in nude collaging and crystal sound healing. Her last public sighting was at the Burning Man festival in the Nevada desert, where she was shacked up with a reclusive indie film director.