Unmarry Me

by Nicki Reed

  ‘You do? I think most people will hate it at first, but think it’s okay in the end.’

  ‘Nah, it’s a good idea. We had an apprentice a couple of years ago. Short story, his mother found him hanging in the shed. She said that if gay people were allowed to marry, if it was just another wedding, maybe Sean wouldn’t have felt his difference so badly. You know what I mean?’

  I couldn’t have said it better myself. As soon as we’ve finished here we’re going to see The Girls to tell them. I hope I can say it like Stuart said it. ‘Thanks, Stu. It means a lot that you’d take my hand in un-marriage.’

  ‘I’d unmarry you anytime, Ruby.’

  The sun casts a firm shadow across Stu’s face, and it makes the cleft in his chin seems deeper; he looks Clark Gableish. Clark Gable in Melbourne wearing a Dr Who T-shirt and Hawaiian board shorts.

  ‘Say it again,’ I say. ‘Do it with a Southern accent.’

  ‘Why sure darlin’.’ He sits up, doffs his imaginary hat. ‘I’d unmarry you anytime, Ms Ruby.’

  5.

  Glass smashing. Door slamming. Teeth rattling. Mark has taken Celeste to the sandpit in the backyard and I’m staying put since it’s my fault.

  I thought Peta and BJ didn’t argue, that at the most they had an annual blowout and spent the rest of the year making up. Or that one of them would go for a tearful drive, and the other would charge down the tram tracks on a white horse: ‘Forgive me!’ Don’t ask me where I thought they got the horse.

  But this.

  ‘And you.’ Peta points her finger at me. I hate it when she does that. ‘Who are you really doing this for? Are you bored? Is married life not up to scratch?’

  I let it go. Serenity now and all that. We still have to tell Keith, and this divorce stuff is harder, and going faster, than I planned. Come to think of it, I didn’t do a whole lot of planning and here we are in Round Two of Upset Your Friends and Family.

  ‘Peta, you don’t have to be a harridan about it.’ BJ is never one to keep quiet. That’s why Peta loves her.

  ‘You always take her side, BJ. Why? Why do you always think she’s right before I am? You never back me up.’ That’s right, Peta. When feeling the pressure, use absolute words like ‘always’ and ‘never’.

  ‘I’m proud of what Ruby and Mark are doing,’ BJ comes straight back.

  BJ’s great. And I like her new jacket even though it’s too warm for leather. A Christmas present from Peta. BJ says she’ll be damned if hot weather will get in the way of her cool.

  ‘She’s hijacking the issue so she can be somebody.’

  ‘I’m going to forget you said that, Pete.’ I could do with that white horse right now. We’d have to put some paper down in case it crapped on the carpet. My kingdom for a horse.

  ‘What about Mark, Peta?’ BJ says. ‘He’s getting a divorce, too. Why aren’t you roughing him up?’

  If I wanted to sit on the horse, I’d have to use the coffee table to get up on it because I don’t have any experience with mounting a horse. And if I managed to get on it, my head would touch the ceiling.

  ‘Mark’s a bloody sook sometimes, spineless. He’s too easy to push around. Look, he’s pissed off to the sandpit like a three-year-old.’

  He’s not spineless, he simply knows an excellent idea when he hears one. And I love a bloke in a sandpit with his kids. Especially if he takes his shoes off: sandy naked feet are sexy.

  ‘He didn’t want Celeste to hear us,’ I say. Because when you invite a horse to the lunch table shit goes down.

  ‘We don’t need straight people fighting our battles.’

  ‘What the fuck, Peta!’ BJ storms down the hallway. Peta and I don’t move. She’s standing there and I’m still sitting in the chair I was on when the divorce announcement was made. The screen door bangs. The car starts but it doesn’t drive away. The car door slams. The screen door bangs again.

  ‘Yeah?’ Peta has a hand on her hip. If she ever went missing, if I ever had to describe her to the police, I’d have to mention the hand on her hip.

  ‘Peta, you know when we go out and people stare?’ BJ is creepily calm now.

  What must it be like to go about your shopping or to the movies with people thinking you’re a novelty? What must it be like to have to quickly let go of your loved one’s hand in case you offend someone?

  ‘Yeah,’ she sighs. ‘Every day.’

  ‘You just did a version of that to Ruby. You othered her.’

  ‘Why does she have to divorce the guy I divorced? It’s ridiculous. Who’s going to play me? Do I get a say in the soundtrack? If so, it’s got to have, “All the Single Ladies”.’

  Up on my horse I hum the song in my head.

  ‘Why? Because your sister thought of it and because she’s got the courage to do it. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Harrumph.’ Yes, Peta actually said that. For a second I thought it was my horse.

  ‘Come on, if it was some couple you didn’t know and you saw it on the news, do you think you’d be such a dickhead about it?’ BJ is almost smiling now.

  This is so great. I’m on my imaginary horse and I haven’t had to say a thing. I should ride horses more often. I don’t care if Peta thinks it’s a high horse.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to be the big sister of Unmarrieds Unanimous.’

  This citizen’s divorce thing has legs if Peta’s that worried about it. And that’s not a bad name, a little cheesy, but not bad. I might need a campaign manager. I also might need to chill. I might need to remember that tomorrow Mark and I are telling Keith we’re getting a divorce. ‘So, you think I’m onto something then?’ I try to sound breezy.

  Peta sighs and flops onto the couch. ‘Rube, I do. Withholding marriage from a group of people diminishes marriage. It shouldn’t be a bargaining chip. I mean, as well as all the legal implications, it’s about love, too.’

  Why does everyone say this so much better than I do?

  ‘Hear, hear.’ That’s Mark. He’s clapping. Celeste claps, too. She’s such a cutie. She skips across the room and flings herself into Peta’s lap.

  ‘Mark.’ Peta is not finished. ‘Why can’t you talk to them?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The High Court.’

  ‘You want me to talk to the judges?’

  ‘Well, what good is a government solicitor if he can’t solicit the government?’

  Mark looks uncomfortable. ‘I don’t make the decisions, Peta, I provide expert counsel. You work in a law firm; you know what I do. The High Court decided the Act was unconstitutional, not that gay people shouldn’t marry. The decision was not about marriage equality.’

  ‘Well, it was for us,’ BJ says. ‘In fact, you saying that makes it even worse.’

  I feel a bit the same way, but it’s not Mark’s fault. ‘Leave him out of this,’ I say. ‘If there was something more he could do, he would do it. Anyway, he’s getting a divorce. That’s a start. Boydy, we better go. Your fish toothpaste needs to be in the fridge. You might die from food poisoning before I get to divorce you.’

  ‘Before you go, Rube, can we talk?’

  I guess if Peta wants to talk, it means she’s finished yelling at me. ‘Sure.’

  There’s a magnolia in the middle of the front garden. Apparently, it’s one of the oldest in the area. It flowers in cold weather and now, six months from winter, I can’t remember what colour the flowers are.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rube. I’m probably jealous. You’re lucky, you can do something. It’ll seem more concrete because you’re married, I guess. I’m just jealous.’

  ‘You said that.’ I want a hug. Enough of this halfway to saying sorry.

  ‘We don’t get to wear our rings,’ she says. ‘And you’re choosing to take yours off. It’s fucken unfair.’

  ‘Are you going to start shouting again? I don’t have time for more shouting. I want to go home and figure out tomorrow.’

  ‘No, no, I’m sorry, Rube. I know all this upsets you. I know the High Court
thing wasn’t the stunt it wound up looking like on YouTube. But your big ideas don’t always pan out.’

  ‘True,’ I say, remembering when I was twelve and I’d chained myself to a bulldozer. Well, I hadn’t chained myself to the bulldozer, just to some metal next to the bulldozer, and it drove off without me, knocking down trees as it went. Peta found me tired, hungry and tear-stained. You can bet she’s remembering it, too.

  ‘That was before,’ I say. ‘I was a kid.’

  ‘Just be careful, Ruby.’

  Now can I have my hug? ‘Well, I got a couple of friends out of it. Brian and Dan. They warned me to dive for the bushes. They live at Noosa and said to pop in if I’m ever there.’

  Peta yanks weeds out of the cracks in the driveway. I’d poison them, and save my back. She tucks the weeds into the pocket of her dress. Strange. ‘I love that about you, Rube. You are a pain in the neck, you’re impatient and selfish-seeming, but you make friends wherever you go.’

  ‘Um...thanks.’

  Mark, BJ and Celeste are at the front door.

  ‘Is it safe?’ Mark says. He’s giving his little girl one last cuddle before next weekend. She rubs her head on his spiky chin.

  ‘Yes, it’s safe,’ Peta says.

  Now I’ll get my hug. She’s good, my big sister. She’s solid and smart, she has a hot-headed, righteous streak and you’ve got to like that in a person. ‘I love you, Pete.’ ‘I love you too, Rube. Happy divorce.’ She squeezes me and my face gets jammed into her collarbone.

  I pull away and rub my cheek. She grins because she meant that. ‘Well, it hasn’t happened yet. We’re in preseparation mode.’

  Mark hands Celeste to BJ. I lean in and get my kiss. ‘Bye-bye, Celeste. See you soon.’ I love the way her chubby cheek squashes when I press my lips on it.

  ‘Bye-bye, bye-bye.’ Celeste blows sandy kisses.

  They stand at the front gate to watch us get in the car. It feels like something. I want them to go inside; that horse will be tearing up the lounge room.

  Mark opens the door for me and then goes around to the driver’s side. It’s going to be hard to open doors for each other when we live in separate houses. This fake separation is going to be more real than I counted on.

  ‘You know,’ Mark says, as we pull away from the kerb. ‘If I sign an application for divorce, and we haven’t separated, it’s contempt of court. I could lose my licence to practise.’

  Mark loves me. He loves Celeste. He loves BJ and Peta in an I-have-forgiven-you way. And he loves The Law. He’s a lawyer; it’s the photo of himself that he has in his head. He loves a brief and he likes saying things like for all intents and purposes and be that as it may.

  ‘We better not get found out then. That was a stop sign just then, Mark. Concentrate or you won’t have a licence to drive, either.’

  6.

  Our kitchen is tiny and straight out of 1976 but I like it because it’s old-fashioned funky. It has rust-brown tiles that remind me of Mum in her kitchen and it has an orange stovetop that reminds me of bad taste.

  I’m in the corner at the coffee machine. ‘I reckon I’m going to need a campaign manager.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Mark, just once I’d like to have a conversation that didn’t start with What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He’s taking the toast out of the toaster. ‘Ruby, why a campaign manager?’

  ‘That’s better.’ I pat him on the chest. ‘If we’re doing the divorce properly, it needs to have visibility.’

  ‘Eh?’ He stops spreading, puts the knife down and now I know how Vegemite gets in the peanut butter jar.

  ‘At the start,’ I say, ‘I just felt like our marriage wasn’t legit if the High Court said Peta and BJ couldn’t be married. But now we’re doing something big, it needs to be public.’

  ‘Rube, it was a smart decision. The decision is about the Constitution. I explained that to you.’

  ‘Talk about defensive,’ I say.

  He gets back to the toast. ‘It means that the highest court in the land did not say same-sex marriage was wrong. It could be a launching point for the next attempt.’

  God, legal niceties are boring.

  ‘Hey Mark, did you hear the one about the lawyer who just woke up from surgery? He asked, “Why are the blinds drawn?” And the nurse said, “There’s a big fire across the street and we didn’t want you to think you’d died.”’

  ‘Very funny,’ Mark says, not a glimmer of a smile, because for him lawyer jokes are as funny as cold sores. ‘Here, eat your breakfast. Hurry up. I can’t wait to tell Dad I’m coming home.’

  Keith and Cath’s place is ten minutes in the car, twenty by bike, and a forty-minute run. I don’t know how long it would take by skateboard, but it might be an option. Keith lets us in.

  ‘What news do you have?’ he says. ‘Been up to anything outlandish?’

  Peta has been on the phone. When Mum was alive we stuck to Don’t tell Mum, but with Keith she lets it all hang out.

  I kiss Keith’s scratchy cheek and give Cath a kiss, too. I know what it’s like to be the second wife. It’s lovely that we got our Boyd men, but that’s a family history you’re breaking into. Keith and Cath got married last year in their backyard and the celebrant was one of Cath’s daughters. Peta and BJ would have used Mickey in Canberra but she was booked that weekend.

  ‘So you know we’re getting a divorce,’ I say.

  ‘A not-so-little bird told me.’

  The minute I get out of here I’m calling Peta to tell her that Keith said she was fat. It’s the least I can do.

  Mark and his dad are the same height and width: if you saw them in shadow you wouldn’t know who was who. Keith has silver hair and there’s lots of it and he’s handsome in an old-time newscaster way. Maybe if we have a baby it will be a boy, and maybe we could call him Keith. I don’t mind letting myself think about that.

  We all move out onto the deck. The biggest fernery in the universe is down the side and it’s another world under that shade cloth.

  ‘Far be it from me to tell you how to run your lives, but are you sure about this? You’re just one couple. How is it going to make any difference?’

  I like that Cath is a straight-talking woman, Keith is a straight-talking man, but if we were going to get a lecture from our olds I expected it to be from Keith.

  ‘Cath’s right, Mark. You’re only just married, like us, you’re only just on your way in life together.’

  ‘Two years is more than only just, Dad.’

  This is good practice. The more we tell family and friends what we’re doing, the more we can be ready for it out in the world. Besides, Cath is harmless, sort of. Yes, she can reverse a Winnebago; yes, she is the one who climbs onto the roof of the thing to secure their bikes, but I’m not worried about her. It’s Keith I’m always out to impress.

  ‘Thanks for that, Cath,’ I say. ‘That’s a good point you make.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Mark says slowly, carefully, looking at me as if he’s waiting for something bad to happen. He steps back, probably unconsciously. ‘It’s good to know you think we’re doing the wrong thing. Want a beer, Dad?’

  ‘Sure, mate.’

  I’m rapt Keith is wearing the shirt I bought him for Christmas. It’s a Mambo shirt, one with Jesus on a motorbike. He looks good in it, ten years younger, and he looks nothing like an ex-policeman.

  ‘How’s your sister? Are they taking it okay? She doesn’t say much.’

  ‘They’ve stowed their rings in Peta’s sock drawer, and to say Peta came around to our divorce doesn’t quite cover it.’ But it does, because she did. End of. I hope.

  ‘She cares about you,’ Cath says. Cath wasn’t there for the horse in the lounge room and she doesn’t know Peta like I do.

  ‘And her reputation,’ Mark says.

  ‘The YouTube thing? Best thing I’ve seen in years. Cath told the girls at Bingo about your dive and it was i
Pads at fifty paces. They even got it up on the big screen.’

  ‘My wife, soon-to-be ex-wife, the star,’ Mark says.

  ‘You’ll find out where people stand,’ Cath says, ‘and they won’t always be forthright about it.’

  Cath is Judi Dench in an oversized chambray shirt with a felt owl broach pinned to the collar. She has short grey hair and twinkly green eyes that hint of experience. She also has a ginger cat, Gumball, who is hiding under a fern. He’s not big on people but he must be coming around to Mark and me since today he’s let us see him.

  ‘Not as direct as Mrs Smith, eh, Cath?’ Keith says.

  ‘She’s a piece of work. She said people would marry their dogs next and that Keith, as a policeman, should know better. Everyone went quiet. All you could hear was the air in the bingo ball machine and the sizzle of the chips in the fryer.’

  I’ve got the sizzle of steak up my nose. Keith’s good on the barbecue, watchful and casual, over half a century of practice.

  ‘Tell them what you said,’ he says.

  ‘I said, well, if dogs want to bloody marry I don’t see a bloody problem and I’d be first in line to catch the bloody bouquet.’

  ‘It was hilarious,’ Keith says. ‘Straightaway I thought of those paintings of dogs playing pool and dogs playing cards. But, instead of cards at the table, the dogs were signing the register. Anyway, everybody cheered.’

  ‘Not everybody,’ Cath says. ‘Mrs Smith walked out in a huff and that sycophant Jessie Whatever-her-name-is tottered after her.’

  I love a person who uses the word sycophant.

  ‘Son, are you going to sleep in your old room or do you want ours?’

  Keith plates up. I’d offered to make salads, but Cath said no, so I’m standing about with nothing to do.

  ‘Sit down, Ruby,’ Cath says. ‘Sit next to me. Mark, you sit over there.’ Sometimes I think Cath has let being the new mother go to her head, but I sit where I’m instructed and drape a serviette across my lap.

  ‘Listen,’ Keith says. ‘We think what you’re doing is brave, ethical, lovely, but it could be harmful to your relationship.’