Just Another Week in Suburbia

by Les Zig

  ‘Where will you go?’ I ask. ‘We have a spare room made up.’

  ‘That’s kind. But I’m going to stay with my mum for a while. Then I’ll look at getting my own place. So will you?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘We have a staff meeting after school, though.’

  ‘Shit. Forgot about that. Well, we can go afterwards. We should still have plenty of time.’

  ‘Okay. I don’t know how much help I’ll be.’

  ‘You’ll be a help just being there,’ Beth says.

  She wants the chaperone, like I can be some knight. It’s exciting, in its way, but I know my imagination and reality don’t reconcile.

  Hopefully, Roger won’t come home.

  Third period is Year 9 English. I give the kids some reading to do, then text Jane:

  Beth’s leaving Roger. Wants me to help her move her stuff out while he’s at work.

  I put the phone on my desk. It chimes not long after. I apologise to the kids and tell them to get back to their work. I put my phone on silent and check Jane’s answer:

  Tell her she can use our spare room, if she wants.

  I send back:

  Already suggested it. She’s staying with her mum.

  Jane answers not long after, the phone now vibrating noiselessly in my hands:

  Okay. Leave the offer open with her.

  Jane’s happy for me to help Beth and for her to even stay with us, but I can’t cope with Kai giving Jane a lift.

  I put the phone in my pocket.

  By lunchtime, the rain’s stopped and it’s overcast, which means the kids are out in full force and I have the whole school to patrol again. After the uncertainty of the morning, everything’s falling back into place.

  I think I’m coming to peace with Jane; Beth’s taking action about Roger—even if it’s not the action she originally wanted, it’s letting her move on; Stuart’s off my back; I’ve dealt with Bianca and her interaction with Jean Jacket.

  I can do anything.

  Kids are crowded in the locker room. I hear the whisper of ‘teacher’. I smell cigarette smoke. I go through the entry way. The kids hush. I can see some of the older kids standing conspicuously at the rear, hands behind their backs.

  ‘Doubtful anything I say is going to stop you smoking,’ I say. ‘Just don’t do it here.’

  Some of the kids cheer me as I leave because I am like a pal. This isn’t the right message to be sending, but it’s impossible to make amends now. Next time, I tell myself, but it’s a rationalisation, and I hate myself for it.

  I head out the back where there are kids milling around. They filter past in their own individual slipstreams. I hear snippets of conversation. Some greet me. I smile and nod. Then I pause, enjoy their presence. Sometimes—inevitably always in the classroom—they’ll swell to a cacophony. But outside, where they’re happy, where they’re unencumbered, the noise is different. It’s free and alive. It’s something you lose as you grow older, as everyday life begins to cage you in.

  A drop hits me on the ear. Then another. It’s an indecisive spatter, as if the rain can’t decide whether to make a comeback or not. It’s enough for the kids, who retreat to cover. I look into the grey sky. It’s amazing weather after the week of heat, although the humidity remains thick.

  It occurs to me I look odd standing here, so I resume my yard duty, heading back the way I came. I round one of the main buildings, see the entrance to the locker room ahead, then decide to go have a look behind the lockers. Sometimes, when the kids have been reprimanded for smoking in the locker room, they’ll go out and smoke behind it.

  The concrete finish of the courtyards doesn’t follow the locker rooms all the way around. Instead, it’s all grass. My feet get wet. I consider not bothering, but hear sounds—something muffled. The rain grows a little harder.

  I round the locker room and see two students grappling, kissing. The guy has his hands in the girl’s skirt, one hand into her underwear and onto her buttock.

  My first thought is that it’s David and Deidre, who’ve become the item of the week, and who I’ve already seen in the locker room twice this week—the second time when I was with Stuart. But then the girl lifts her head—so the guy can kiss her neck—and she sees me.

  It’s Justine. She gasps, pushes the guy away, and smooths out her skirt. The guy—none other than Dom—is confused initially. Then he sees me. He smiles shyly, runs a hand through his hair. Justine bows her head.

  ‘Mr Gray …’ Dom says, but for once there’s nothing else.

  ‘It’s starting to rain,’ I say. ‘You two better get under cover and not get caught out here again.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Gray.’ Dom rockets past me.

  ‘Thanks.’ Justine can barely be heard as she follows Dom.

  Justine and Dom—that wasn’t a pairing I saw coming. I would’ve thought Dom and Bianca were likelier, although I never actually expected any pairing from that trio.

  The rain starts to pound.

  After the staff meeting, Beth and I hurry out into the parking lot. She bounces as she walks. I’m amazed that the man she wanted to get serious with has been such a weight on her. Now that she’s freeing herself from him, the change is extraordinary.

  ‘I’ll meet you at my place,’ she says when I walk her to her car.

  ‘Okay.’

  I walk over to my car and get in. My heart’s sped up. It’s not excitement. I’m nervous about seeing Roger. But Beth needs me.

  My phone buzzes. It’s Jane:

  Helping Beth?

  I write back:

  On my way.

  I put my phone down in the change compartment, start my car, and drive out of the parking lot.

  20

  Beth unlocks the front door to her house. I half expect Roger to be there. Nothing but silence. I follow Beth in. She heads straight to the bedroom. I stand in the doorway and lean on the jamb. The house is so still that it’s pregnant with threat.

  Antique stuff fills the bedroom. The king-size bed has ornate bedposts. A big mirror with baroque gold trim hangs on the wall and in the corner sits a hulking armoire with intricate patterns inscribed across the doors. Whose taste is this? Beth’s? Roger’s? Or both? I decide it must be Roger’s—ostentatious.

  Beth steps into the walk-in robe in the corner of the room and emerges with a bag. She opens drawers and stuffs clothes into the bag until it’s bulging. Then she disappears back into the walk-in. I hear her at work, but don’t know what she’s doing.

  ‘Casper?’

  I join her in the walk-in robe. She’s filling a suitcase with dresses and other outfits that hang on a rack. Underneath them are several pairs of shoes. From another rack hang Roger’s suits. He has more shoes than Beth.

  It takes Beth a while to fill the suitcase, even if she just folds and drops everything in. When she’s done, she closes it but the seams of the zip don’t meet. She sits on top, but to no avail. I sit on top of it with her. She laughs. We could be kids sneaking a smoke, or about to make out in secret, like Dom and Justine.

  She pulls the zip on one end and I pull from the other end. I get my side going first. The zip resists and I really have to drag it to get it going. I meet Beth past halfway. She clasps my hand and smiles at me.

  ‘Can you take this and my other bag out to my car?’ she says.

  ‘Sure.’

  I heave the suitcase up, carry it from the walk-in robe, and grab her other bag on the way out. My progress is slow. The suitcase keeps threatening to topple me over, and I’m worried the zipper will split. It’s even harder going down the stairs. The rain’s not letting up.

  About halfway down I skid on the step. I fall back. The suitcase slips from my grasp and bounces down the stairs. I cringe, expecting the case to burst. But it hits the bottom and is still. I hoist the bag over my shoulder, hurry down, and pick up the suitcase. It’s scratched and the corners are scuffed, but it’s otherwise fine.

  A car slows in front of the house. I look up sh
arply. But it’s not Roger. The car drives on.

  I get to Beth’s car, open the front door, and find the lever for the boot. I pull it open. Then, two-handed, haul the suitcase into the boot, followed by the bag.

  I return to the house. Beth’s filling two other bags with clothes and toiletries, and a box with odds and ends—some books, her hair dryer, and a little ceramic elephant. I keep standing in the doorway but really want to get out of here. I’m sure at any moment Roger will return. Beth takes her time.

  ‘I sorta dropped your suitcase down the stairs,’ I say.

  ‘Clothes don’t break,’ Beth says.

  ‘The suitcase got a bit banged up.’

  ‘That’s fine. It’s his.’

  She keeps packing, occasionally pausing to consider what she’s forgotten. I incessantly check the time on my phone. At one point, Jane texts and asks how we’re going. I tell her we’re almost done. But it hardly seems that way. Beth often disappears into some part of the house and returns with something else to pack. Some of these things don’t seem important. One time she brings back a spatula. Another time, a box of incense sticks. I wonder if she wants us to get caught so we can have a confrontation with Roger. I hope not. But, finally, after bringing back a worn oven mitt, she nods with satisfaction.

  ‘I think that’s it,’ she says.

  I look at the two bags and the box. Like the suitcase and bag before them, they’re overflowing. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yep,’ Beth says.

  I pick up the two bags. She grabs the box.

  ‘I feel like I’m robbing my own place,’ she says as we head for the front door.

  ‘You going to leave a note?’

  ‘I think the absence of my clothes and other stuff will tell him what’s happened.’

  We exit the house. Beth takes two keys from her key ring and throws them into the hallway where they skitter across the hardwood floor. She grabs the front door.

  ‘Wait!’ I say.

  She halts in the process of slamming the door.

  ‘You’re sure you got everything?’

  ‘I’ve got everything I need.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Maybe after all the dust settles I can get the rest, but right now, I’ve got all I need. Life’s not about things anyway.’

  She slams the door.

  I help Beth pack the rest of her stuff in her car. Some of it goes in the boot, some on the back seat, and some in the passenger seat. She’s happy with it, but it doesn’t seem a lot to show for a life. I don’t say that to her, though.

  When we’re done, Beth throws her arms around me. She fits differently into my body, her face up on my shoulder, not on my collarbone. Her breasts are larger against me. I can’t help it, but an erection stirs. I pull my hips back from hers so she doesn’t feel it.

  Her phone rings. She breaks the hug, pulls her phone out of her pocket, and rolls her eyes. ‘Roger,’ she says. She declines the call and shoves the phone back in her pocket. ‘That was then. This is now.’ She smiles at me. ‘Thanks, Casper. Not just for today. But for everything.’

  ‘Any time.’

  ‘If you ever need anything, feel free to call me, okay?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She clasps my hand. ‘I mean it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She kisses me on the cheek, then gets in her car. I close the door.

  ‘See you at school tomorrow, huh?’ she asks.

  ‘Sure.’

  I get into my car.

  On the drive home I pass a florist. Flowers would be good, given the mess with Jane last night, and how understanding she’s been about Beth. I watch the florist disappear in the rear-view mirror. No, I should do this.

  I make a U-turn, and drive back to the florist to buy a bouquet of red roses. They sit on the passenger seat on the drive home, their fragrance filling my dingy little car, and convincing me that things are going to be okay.

  21

  It’s about 7.00pm when I pull onto my nature strip. The neighbourhood’s quiet. It feels like everybody might’ve packed up and gone.

  I grab my roses, walk up to the house, reach for the security door. Wallace barks from inside. I open the front door. Wallace jumps at me. I scoop him up in one arm and scratch his chest while he tries to lick me. His little paws are cold against my skin.

  He starts squirming and I put him down. He runs to the entrance of the dining room, then looks at me, his ears perked, his little tail bouncing. He’s telling me where Jane is. Or telling Jane I’m here. He barks once. Then his jaw hangs open, making it look like he’s grinning.

  I drop my bag in the study, walk into the dining room and stop.

  Jane lies on the couch naked, watching TV. My bathrobe lies on the armrest. On the coffee table are two plates. One has a half-eaten tuna sandwich. On the other plate is a ham, cheese, and lettuce sandwich. Resting by it is my sketchpad. One of the kitchen chairs awaits in front of the coffee table.

  Wallace hurtles up onto the couch, sits by Jane’s belly, looks at me, his tongue out.

  Jane’s face softens at the sight of the flowers, and she begins to get up, but then stops herself. ‘Well?’ she says.

  I put the flowers in a vase, place them on the coffee table, then proceed to pose Jane, getting her to lie on her right side, her right elbow planted on the couch, the side of her face resting on her palm. I move her left arm so that her hand covers her crotch and reposition her left leg so it’s cocked over her right leg, accentuating the arch of her hip.

  Wallace, meanwhile, remains seated where he was. That’s okay. I can draw around him. Or maybe even draw him.

  ‘Good?’ she asks.

  I don’t know if it is. I’m sure there needs to be much more thought put into this—the aesthetics of the angles, the lighting in the room, and even my own position, but I want to get underway.

  I grab a beer from the fridge, open it, leave it on the corner of the coffee table, then sit on the kitchen chair. I pick up my sketchpad, flip it open, and try to digest every detail of Jane.

  I’ve seen her every day for the last eight years, I’ve lusted after her, I’ve loved her, I’ve supported and cared for her, I’ve fought with her, and, at times, I’ve even been bored by her, but now I want to deify her.

  I put pencil to paper.

  ‘Thanks for the flowers,’ Jane says as I draw.

  ‘You’re welcome. I’m sorry.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  I smile.

  ‘What happened with Beth?’ Jane asks.

  I tell her about getting Beth’s things from her house, about the nervousness of expecting Roger to come home at any minute.

  ‘Beth looked like she didn’t care in the slightest,’ I tell Jane.

  ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘I would’ve thought she’d mourn the relationship—regardless of what’s happened to it. She was like, I don’t know, gleeful.’

  ‘What do you think happened between them?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Whenever she got the marks on her wrists.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘She might’ve wanted to get serious with him, thought he was the one, then he did whatever to bruise her wrists like that, and she realised he wasn’t. You should give her credit.’

  I pause only long enough to take the smallest sip from my beer. Wallace, who’s been sleeping with his chin on his paws, rolls onto his side.

  ‘A lot of people will kid themselves and keep going back to something that isn’t right,’ Jane says. ‘They’ll tell themselves it’s okay or it’ll change. Like battered wives who go back to abusive husbands. Beth’s realised this relationship is no longer for her.’

  ‘So, if I did something to you that you didn’t like, would you leave me and be happy about it?’

  ‘I think we know pretty much everything there is to know about one another.’

  ‘What about this?�
��

  ‘What?’

  ‘You. Lying naked on a couch. Posing.’

  Jane looks like she wants to shoot me down and continue championing her point, but she has nothing to say.

  ‘I never would’ve expected this from you,’ I say.

  ‘Okay. But we’re married.’

  ‘How’s that different?’

  ‘I guess I feel safe with you, so I can push those boundaries.’

  ‘I don’t know if that’s any different.’

  ‘Couples explore boundaries. Especially after they’ve been together a while.’

  My pencil stops. My face remains bent towards my sketchpad, but my eyes lift up towards Jane.

  ‘So, we’re … what? Stale? Experimenting?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Jane says. ‘We know each other. But it’s still nice to surprise one another. Don’t you say it to me all the time? “Surprise me”. Here you go—you were surprised. But I bet Roger broke some boundary. He seems that sort of person.’

  I can’t argue with that.

  ‘You should eat your sandwich.’

  I sip my beer. Keep sketching.

  ‘How long will this take?’

  I shrug.

  ‘Don’t you have any idea?’

  ‘You’re only the second naked woman I’ve drawn.’

  Jane looks at me sharply. ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, sorry—I’ve said too much.’

  She laughs. I smile, and pick up my beer. There’s a thumping at the door. Wallace immediately sails from the couch and runs out, barking. Jane and I lock eyes. The thumping continues. Jane sits up.

  ‘What the …?’ She slips on my bathrobe.

  I get up, go out into the hallway. Wallace barks at the front door. I pull the curtains aside from the windows enough to peek out. It’s Roger. He has the security door open and is about to hammer the front door again. But then he sees me.