The Three of Us

by Kim Lock

  Aida nodded and dragged on her cigarette.

  ‘Our neighbours are bastards, aren’t they, babe? Noisy sons of bitches, arguing into the night. Throwing things, slamming doors. He drinks like a bloody fish,’ he added, as though that explained everything, ‘but so does she.’

  ‘Stole my underwear,’ Sara said.

  ‘Your underwear?’ said Aida.

  Sara nodded, squinting against smoke in her eyes. ‘Yep, took them right off the washing line. I’ve lost more pairs of undies than I can count.’ As she lifted one leg to slap at a mosquito, a flash of dark underwear showed as if to illustrate her point.

  ‘Have you been to the police?’ Elsie looked scandalised, whether at the underwear theft or display Aida couldn’t tell. She stifled a bubble of laughter.

  ‘Nah,’ Sara said. ‘Coppers aren’t interested in my duds.’

  ‘Not in that way, anyway,’ Teddy said. He slapped the armrest of Thomas’s chair for consensus.

  Aida swigged the last mouthful of her beer and reached for another. The stars pricked into the sky above them and cockatoos quarrelled like old ladies over their roosts in the gums. No one, it seemed, was inclined to entertain any notion of ending another day by heading quietly off to bed. Even Arthur wasn’t keen to go to bed until Elsie had disappeared inside and read aloud from his favourite Biggles book for twenty minutes.

  When Arthur was asleep, and Millie had phoned asking for permission to stay the night at Jenny’s, Thomas opened a bottle of port and offered it around.

  It wasn’t long after that when things started to get weird.

  *

  ‘I don’t believe you’re nearly forty,’ Teddy said to Elsie. ‘No, I don’t believe it.’

  Elsie was laughing. ‘I can show you some ID if you like.’

  ‘But you don’t look a day over twenty-five!’ He sat forward in his chair so vehemently the last of his port flew up in droplets from his glass and spattered onto his yellow t-shirt. His disbelief at Elsie’s age seemed so genuine Aida thought he might actually take Elsie up on her offer to present identification.

  ‘And you.’ He turned to Aida, port glass dangling from his hand, ‘You’re also a picture of youth.’

  ‘Gee, thanks, Ted.’ Aida lit another cigarette with the butt of her last one. ‘Aren’t you the charmer.’

  Sara put a clammy hand on Aida’s forearm and leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Oh, he can turn it on, all right.’ Her breath was beery and humid in Aida’s ear. Drunk, Sara swung away in the other direction.

  ‘No doubt,’ Aida muttered to herself.

  That’s when Teddy, grinning widely, levelled a finger at Thomas and said, ‘What a lucky, lucky prick you are.’

  Thomas looked taken aback. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘My wife is wonderful.’

  ‘She’s a beaut,’ said Teddy, ‘and you’ve got another stunner right across your backyard. Not even a whistle away.’

  Thomas eyed him warily.

  ‘You guys heard of that actor, going out with those two sisters?’

  Aida said brightly, ‘Should I get some more nuts?’

  Teddy went on, ‘Sweet set-up going on there, if you ask me.’

  ‘Oh, Ted,’ Sara spoke up. ‘No one’s asking you.’

  ‘Nah, hear me out.’ He held up his hands. ‘They have what he reckons is called an open relationship. Open, right? As in, it’s not locked down. Not exclusive to two people – same old, same old, day in and day out. Instead, they spread the love around. And no one gets all possessive and jealous. They embrace the sharing.’

  Sara gave a nervous laugh. ‘Ted –’

  ‘Variety, right? Keeps you interested, keeps you healthy. I don’t reckon we’re made for the same old bacon sandwich for years on end.’ He leaned back, crossing his hands behind his head with a grin. ‘And it’s the seventies, you know, man? It doesn’t have to be only two people. When there’s a party, there’s room for more.’

  There was a long moment of silence. The high-pitched sonar of a bat zapped from overhead. A dog barked in the distance.

  Teddy lowered his hand now onto Sara’s pale thigh. In the darkness her bare legs, long and folded over themselves, looked creamy and luminous.

  Teddy said, ‘It’s all cool.’ Still looking at Thomas, he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of Sara’s dress.

  Aida thought, oh, boy. She saw Elsie’s eyes widen and Thomas looked stumped.

  Fondling Sara’s thigh, Teddy put his free hand into his pocket and fumbled around. Something jangled as he withdrew his hand. He leaned forward and into the empty, salty peanut bowl, he dropped his keys.

  He sat back and grinned. ‘Isn’t that how it goes?’

  Aida silently choked.

  Thomas, baffled and outraged, looked as though someone had stolen his underwear from the washing line.

  Elsie, wide-eyed, said, ‘What’s wrong with bacon sandwiches?’

  *

  Sara and her fiancé left shortly after. The evening was still warm as the tail-lights of their car faded down the street.

  When a wedding invitation arrived in the mail a few weeks later, there were two separate invitations inserted into one envelope: one to Mr and Mrs Thomas Mullet, the other to Aida + guest. While Thomas arranged to send a brand new Sunbeam kettle as a gift, all three respectfully declined to attend.

  And that was the last they ever heard of Sara Scott.

  62

  Elsie heard the music when she was out of the shower. Picking up a towel, she opened the window to let out the steam and that’s when she heard it: the faint bass thud of music through walls.

  She found Arthur cross-legged on the lounge-room floor, watching Young Talent Time on the TV. A teenaged girl with fluffy brown hair and a colourful, spangled jumper was singing and frolicking on the screen.

  ‘Did you have the volume up loud, just now?’ she asked.

  Arthur looked up at her. ‘No, I’m not allowed to adjust the volume.’

  ‘Has Aida come home early?’

  ‘Not yet.’ He turned back to the TV. ‘I thought she was going to stop in and have tea with Mrs Southam after hiking?’

  Elsie padded to the back door and poked her head out into the darkening yard, listening. Sure enough, the music was coming from next door. Aida’s house. But Aida was out, and Thomas was in Melbourne at a conference.

  Elsie slipped damp feet into her shoes, growling, ‘How many times must I tell her . . .’ Her t-shirt clung wetly as she crossed the lawn, strode through the gate, and pushed through the back door.

  It had always been Aida’s house. The three of them had not shared a bed from retiring to rising since Millie had started school; when Millie was old enough to start noticing who slept where, Aida had put a stop to it. Late-night trysts, once the children were asleep, however, had not been an uncommon occurrence – bare feet creeping across dewy, moonlit grass. Sometimes Aida craved her solitude; sometimes the children had sleepovers at Aunty Ay’s. A foot-track was worn to dirt across the backyard and through the gate, but the children weren’t supposed to have a run of the place, free to come and go as they pleased. The children were welcome there but it remained Aida’s house – and that meant a certain level of respect was expected.

  A level of respect that precluded, while the neighbours were trying to eat their tea, the loud blasting of Blondie.

  Inside, the curtains were drawn and the air was stuffy. ‘Heart of Glass’ blared from Aida’s bedroom. The door was ajar, a yellow crack of light showing through, and Elsie knocked at the same time as she pushed it open.

  ‘Millie, you know you can’t –’

  ‘Mu-um!’ It was a horrified, dismayed shout.

  Elsie gaped, reversed out, then stormed back into the room. Within that time she ascertained that the boy on Aida’s bed wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he was, mercifully, wearing
pants.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Millie tugged feverishly at the hem of her dress, and Elsie flashed back to decades ago: Aida, in that same room, tugging at her own dress to cover herself after the wardrobe had fallen on her.

  ‘This isn’t a hostel, my god, Millicent!’

  ‘You can’t barge in –’

  ‘I can and I will.’ Elsie marched to the tape player and hit stop on Blondie. The room plunged into a silence so laden with discomfort Elsie considered letting it play again.

  Her daughter’s face was livid with embarrassment and rage. ‘Ay said it was okay to come over here with my friends.’

  ‘Not in this way, she didn’t. One or two girlfriends if you’re going to talk quietly.’

  ‘Mum, I’m sixteen –’

  ‘Excuse me, could you kindly . . .’ Elsie flailed at the boy, ‘excuse us? Perhaps go home?’ He had pulled on a shirt but hovered next to the bed, his hands folded over his crotch as though he needed to piss.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Millicent.’

  ‘Brett, you can stay.’

  ‘No, Brett can not stay.’

  The boy named Brett said, ‘Er, it was nice to meet you, Mrs Mullet.’ After a pained look at Millie, he fled.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Elsie pointed at her daughter, a bundle of righteous indignation on the bed. ‘You can’t have boys in here.’

  ‘Where else am I supposed to get some privacy? Arthur’s always –’

  ‘You have plenty of privacy. Just not to . . . fraternise with boys –’

  Millie groaned, disgusted. ‘God, Mum. Stop.’

  Elsie crossed her arms. ‘All right. Explain yourself. Why should I let you run around with boys in Aida’s house by yourself?’

  Millie thrust herself to her knees. ‘There’s nothing to explain. Brett’s my friend and we were only hanging out.’

  ‘It didn’t look that innocent to me.’

  ‘You don’t know anything!’

  ‘I know what it means when a girl lies on a bed with a half-naked boy.’

  Millie made a noise not unlike vomiting. ‘You’re overreacting.’

  Elsie sighed, and sat on the end of the bed. Millie recoiled, scooting backwards to the bed-head and turning her face away.

  ‘Look, you can’t sneak around. If you’ve got nothing to hide, why are you so angry?’

  ‘What’s wrong with wanting to keep my life to myself?’

  Elsie rubbed her forehead.

  ‘No, seriously, Mum. I’m asking a question: why should I keep my life in the open, when all you’ve taught me is that privacy is perfectly okay – actually, it’s preferable – when no one is being hurt?’

  ‘Well, look, that’s different –’

  ‘Is it?’ Millie demanded. ‘No one’s being hurt here except me, now, because of you! I’m so embarrassed. Brett’s never going to talk to me again.’

  Elsie let a silence fall. She regained control over her flustered breathing. ‘All I’m saying is that I’d like you not to hide behind closed doors with boys.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Elsie wanted to say, Ask Aida what happens to girls who go around with boys. She wanted to say, Because if you got pregnant, I don’t know what I would do. Elsie saw Millie’s hands clench into fists at her knees, and she wanted to tell her that when Aida had been taken to the lying-in hospital, the doctors had asked Aida questions about how she had gotten pregnant: what ‘position’ they had used; whether or not Aida had liked it. She wanted to tell Millie that Aida had been examined, against her will, for venereal disease. Aida had told Elsie that when she was in labour, the nurses had tied her to the bed, held a pillow in front of her face, and Aida had fought so desperately to see her baby that by tugging at her restraints she had dislocated her thumb.

  Elsie’s temper flared. ‘Because you’re too young.’

  ‘You met Dad when you were nineteen.’

  ‘That’s three years away for you. And I married him.’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s right. Because your marriage is so public and innocent.’ Millie’s eyes flashed. ‘You want to talk about hiding and sneaking around? How about having to lie to all your friends your whole life – having friends stop talking to you because you don’t want to invite them for sleepovers. How about having to pretend someone you think of as pretty much a mother is only the babysitter when they pick you up from school when you’re sick?’

  Elsie blinked rapidly. ‘I don’t . . . I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m not an idiot, Mum. I’m almost an adult and you still think I don’t know what’s going on.’ Her voice went wobbly. ‘I figured it out. You and Dad . . . and Ay.’

  Elsie said, ‘Oh.’

  ‘Look.’ Millie held up her hands, but wouldn’t look at her mother. ‘It was a bit like realising that the tooth fairy isn’t real. It was kind of a suspicion and then a realisation, but when I figured it out – yeah it sucked to think about, but it made sense. Aida’s always been here; she’s always been with you and Dad.’ She tugged again at her hem, stoically. ‘One day I worked out that it was . . . or that it was more than . . . well, you know.’

  Another silence fell. For years Elsie had anticipated this moment; she had never known whether it would be one – or both – of the children figuring it out, or whether she would simply decide to tell them the whole truth. But inside of her, Elsie had always known that Aida was too much a part of her for that to remain unknown. And now she felt something akin to relief, because she had always wanted her children to know how much she loved Aida. Seeing that Millie knew, and hearing that Millie had loved Aida like a mother, too, blunted the sharp edges of all the lies, the years of secrecy and shame.

  ‘I’ve never wanted to be dishonest with you,’ Elsie said.

  ‘But you were.’

  ‘We thought that if you knew the truth about the three of us, our relationship –’

  ‘Whatever. I’m really not interested in going into what you and Dad and Ay . . .’ Millie shuddered.

  Elsie didn’t know what to say. To tell her daughter, now, as she squirmed with humiliation over the shirtless boy her mother had banished, that her lies were only ever an attempt to protect her children seemed such a feeble thing.

  Millie’s gaze dropped to the rumpled blankets. ‘It’s hypocritical, Mum. To tell me I can’t hang around with Brett.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Elsie said with a sigh. ‘It is.’

  A quiet crept through the room. Millie pressed her fingertips into a seam of stitches on the blanket; Elsie felt her chest rise and fall.

  ‘Do you . . .’ Elsie said eventually, ‘do you have any questions?’

  Millie looked at her from under lowered brows. ‘Decidedly not.’

  ‘Okay.’ Elsie exhaled a breath that she felt she had been holding for more than a decade. ‘So, do you know Brett from school?’

  Millie rolled her eyes and heaved herself from the bed. ‘Uh, yes, but please stop now.’

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘Trying so hard.’ Millie stomped to the door. ‘Forget it. I won’t tell your secrets if you leave me alone about mine.’

  Elsie’s anger returned. ‘Millie, you can’t –’

  ‘I’m not doing anything wrong,’ Millie said. ‘I’m not hurting anyone.’

  Elsie heard her daughter’s footsteps march down the hall; the back door slammed, and Elsie sat on Aida’s bed, tracing her fingers over the crumpled blankets, the impressions left by her daughter and the boy, and let her daughter’s fury wash through her veins. An atonement.

  63

  The oval was a chaos of colour and noise. On a late summer’s day at the beginning of 1982, teenagers in shorts and t-shirts swarmed across bright green turf, the lurid primary colours of their clothing glaring beneath a high, cloudless sky. There were shouts and chee
rs, applause, whistles shrilling and the crackled blare of a voice bawling over the loudspeaker. Adults with clipboards barked orders as they marched between throngs of leggy, sweaty kids; other adults in polo-shirts and knee socks jogged about spitting instructions and clapping enthusiastically at students’ backs like stockmen with a cattle prod.

  Thomas thought it was fantastic.

  ‘It wasn’t like this when I was at high school,’ he said to Elsie. He was so pleased to have taken a rare day off work. They were sitting on a long row of bleachers set up at the edge of the oval. Whole families had come to watch their kids: parents, grandparents, cousins and aunties and family friends. The three of them were nothing remarkable; they were simply here to cheer for Arthur and his team. They were at one end of the bottom row, and the feet of those on the seat behind them jabbed on frequent occasions into Thomas’s back.

  ‘We all wore white uniforms,’ he went on, ‘and stood in orderly lines. Although most of us skinny lads just sat in the back rows and watched the sporty kids win everything for their teams.’

  Elsie grinned at him from behind her sunglasses. The lenses were purple at the top and orange at the bottom, and the frame reached below her cheekbones. ‘I did pretty well in the egg and spoon race,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t fast, but I was careful.’

  Sitting on the other side of Elsie, Aida laughed. ‘Did you hard boil the egg first?’

  ‘They’re letting every kid have a turn,’ Thomas said. ‘They’re not leaving anyone out. It’s marvellous.’

  ‘It doesn’t look marvellous for that fellow.’ Aida pointed to a boy scurrying fruitlessly down one of the track-and-field lanes, chasing a yawning gap between himself and the other runners. His fists pumped, his chin thrust upwards, but his team mates had wandered away from the sidelines by the time he reached the finish.

  ‘Poor kid,’ Aida said.

  ‘At least he gave it his best,’ Thomas said.

  ‘Millie should have come along,’ Elsie mused. ‘She was being stubborn. She would have enjoyed this.’

  ‘Would you have wanted to go back to your school when you’d only just finally become free of it?’ Aida asked.