I Have a Bed Made of Buttermilk Pancakes

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  She thought: two’s company, three’s a crowd.

  She thought: you will know when the time is right.

  She thought: this book will make you strong.

  And the whole thing fell into place.

  ‘It’s two hundred degrees in the shade, Dad.’

  ‘Kiddo, I think you’ll find it’s not.’

  ‘Yes, Dad, it is. I heard it on the radio just then.’

  ‘No, Captain Cassie, you did not.’

  ‘I was right about the snow. Remember when it snowed?’

  ‘You were right about the snow, but about this, Casso, you are wrong. It’s hot, I will give you that, but not so hot as you think.’

  ‘Well, anyway, I finished my erotic fiction.’

  ‘You finished your what?’

  ‘My class play. I finished it last night. You want to read it, Dad?’

  ‘Well, I can’t read it, Casso-tobacco. I’m driving.’

  ‘Yeah. How come you’re driving me to school anyway?’

  Fancy found it too hot in the kitchen, and took her breakfast to the porch, for the breeze.

  She sat on the edge of the porch, which burned her thighs, and carefully set her breakfast bowl, orange juice and coffee around her. Radcliffe had offered to drive Cassie to school on his way to work, which was unusual. But she expected him back any moment. He had forgotten his lunch: she had just seen it in the fridge.

  She was thinking vaguely of her prize-winning novel. The book she had finished reading the previous night, about the elderly loving couple, had employed a lyrical tone. The one she had finished last week was written with startling coarseness. You had to choose your tone, she realised. That was one of the rules. You chose cursing, coarsing, slapstick, pastoral, melancholy, magical, lyrical, poetic or flatulent. But, she wondered, wouldn’t you increase your chances of a prize if you combined some of these?

  She began to formulate a sentence: ‘pressing its delicate hoof into the mist-curling grass of the copse, the deer breathed the stench of gingivitis –’ But then Radcliffe’s car turned into the driveway, and he called through his open window: ‘Hey, Fance! Can you grab my tuna sandwich?’

  When she opened the front screen door again, carrying his sandwich in a brown paper bag, she had an aren’t you silly? expression ready on her face. But he was standing on the porch.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I was going to bring it to your car.’

  The shape of him was dark against the sunlight.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘But, Fancy, I’ve got to tell you something. I can’t stand this deception.’

  She felt the familiar leap of excitement – he’s having an affair! – but was so weary of that leap that she dispelled it with a breath of mocking air. ‘Ye-e-s?’ she said, almost tauntingly.

  ‘Can we sit down?’

  Obediently, she sat beside him on the edge of the porch.

  He swivelled towards her, and began, haltingly: ‘The reason I offered to drive Cassie to school this morning was that – now, you might think it was nice of me to make that offer, but the reason was that . . .’

  ‘Ye-e-es?’

  Then he told her his secret in a breathless rush. ‘The reason was that I didn’t want you to see Cath Murphy! Because you’re waiting for a call from her and maybe you would say something to her about it, but you’re never going to get a call, Fancy, I made the whole thing up. I went to the parent-teacher night in your place! When Cassie got stung by a bee, and you took her off to the hospital, well, that’s what I did. I just went. And I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help it. I just couldn’t stop thinking that the bee sting had happened for a reason. The reason being that I was meant to get to meet Cath. Me. A non Zing family member. The first of us to meet her. I wanted to talk to her, to see her, to have her see me. I wanted her to meet me! Fancy, I am so so sorry.’

  Fancy stared at her husband. She shifted away from him slightly. ‘So, I didn’t get to meet Cath first,’ she said. ‘And Cath is not going to call me. Right?’

  ‘Right,’ he agreed. ‘I am so sorry.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, ‘it’s fine, Radcliffe. But can I just check something with you. When Cassie got stung by a bee – our Cassie, our Cassie who is allergic to bees, our Cassie who could die from a bee sting – when that happened, Radcliffe, all you could think about was going to the Parent-teacher night?’

  ‘Mmm,’ he nodded mournfully.

  Marbie left her message for Vernon, hung up the phone, and breathed in sharply. The sound of the phone clicking back onto its hook had struck her with the truth. Vernon would never call her back.

  She could send as many letters as she liked, she could leave apology messages, and messages inviting him to hot air balloon festivals, she could invite him on a trip to the moon, but Vernon was never coming back.

  Then she had to stop this unfurling chain of thought because she was sneezing. Her sneezes were immense, dramatic and shivery. She thought she might just get back into bed for a while before she packed for her weekend with her parents.

  She saw herself in the bedroom mirror – ruffled hair, bleary eyes, pink nose – and gathered her bedclothes around her.

  She had used up a whole box of tissues in the night, but felt around the cardboard bottom, hoping for a single loose tissue. She found something odd and crackling.

  What was this crumpled piece of paper doing in the bottom of a tissue box?

  Cath arrived early on Friday morning and sat on a bench in the sun.

  The weather reminded her of her early meetings with Warren: the day he stood at the opposite end of the 2nd grade balcony and pulled his funny face; the day he brought her a coffee, saying, ‘white, no sugar, yes?’

  Such a soft warm breeze, such a tender blue sky. It was early summer and the weather had relented, promising gentle surprises. The warmth made her long for the touch of Warren’s hands and, for the first time in a while, she was confident of that touch. Today could easily be some day!

  Here was Cassie Zing, waving a manila folder at her.

  ‘Ms Murphy. I finished the class play in the middle of the night last night.’

  Cath smiled to herself, thinking, see, things are happening today! This is a day of new beginnings.

  ‘Ms Murphy, did you hear me? It’s me. Cassie.’

  ‘So it is,’ laughed Cath. ‘Thank you, Cassie. I can’t wait to read it.’

  She took the manila folder, and Cassie instructed her sternly: ‘Read it now.’

  Obediently, Cath opened the folder, and Cassie nodded and walked away. But before she had read the first words, a voice behind her said, ‘White, no sugar, yes?’, and a coffee appeared in the air.

  Warren Woodford straddled the bench like someone riding a horse, and now he was facing her shoulder.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, tilting her head, taking the coffee and smiling at him.

  He smiled back. There was something so generous in his smile that she almost wept with relief. ‘Cath,’ he said, ‘I need to tell you something.’

  She continued to trust in his smile.

  ‘This morning something happened,’ he explained. ‘Something amazing. Bree and I woke up really early, before it was light even, and we looked at each other, and I’m sorry, Cath, but we fell in love again.’

  ‘Ah-hah!’ she said, kindly, as if a child had shown her a magic trick.

  ‘I’m so sorry about all this, Cath, but I’ve got to say, for me, it’s a relief, I couldn’t go on this way much longer. It just happened, out of nowhere, we fell in love again.’

  ‘You’re not in love,’ Cath began her speech, carefully but firmly. ‘You’re not in love because she doesn’t know what you’ve been –’

  ‘That’s the thing,’ said Warren. ‘I told her last night. She knows the whole thing, and she’s pretty upset, but we talked and talked and we both cried and it was so great. It was like we’d never talked before. And that’s why, this morning, early, we woke up and fell in love again.’

  ‘That’
s why, is it?’ she said, suddenly outraged. ‘Lessons on how to save a marriage by Warren Woodford. Lesson one, cheat on your wife. Lesson two, tell her about it. She’ll fall head over heels! You just talked and talked and then you cried, and now, well done, you’re both in love, and I really really think you should trust that feeling, Warren, that must be so real.’

  She saw his expression, panicked, and adjusted her face. ‘Warren,’ she said, ‘come on, seriously. I see how it must feel like a relief, but she can’t love you now she knows. She must hate us both.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, now in the voice of a teacher who needs to repeat a simple lesson. ‘I’m sorry, but it happened. It’s real. I seriously thought it was gone, that our love was gone, but early this morning it came back. I am so sorry.’

  So she tried brisk: ‘It’s fine, Warren. I knew what I was doing. I never meant you to leave her unless it was really over. And I think it is over, Warren, this is just some kind of false hope. I’ll still be here. I’ll still be waiting but please God tell me that Breanna isn’t at school today. Because if she’s not blaming you, then I swear to God, she must be ready to scratch out my eyes.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘She’s in the staffroom. Probably watching us right now. She’s angry, Cath, but I don’t think she would hurt you.’ He was standing up and backing away.

  ‘What happened to the seams?’ she called.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to work.’

  She opened Cassie’s play and pretended to read.

  CASSIE’S PLAY

  CLASS PLAY

  by Cassie Zing

  THE PLAY IS CALLED A EROTIC FICTION: FUCK.

  Seen 1

  Man Teacher: Good morning boys and girls.

  Class: Good morning Mr Wort.

  Man Teacher: Melinda. You be in charg. I’m going to see my girlfreind

  for haveing sex.

  Melinda: Yes Mr Wort.

  Class: GIRLFREIND! FUCK.

  Man Teacher: Good by boys and girls.

  Class: Good by Mr Wort.

  Seen 2

  Lady Teacher: Good morning boys and girls.

  Difrant Class: Good morning Miss Mop.

  Lady Teacher: Mindy. You teach the class. I’m going to see my boyfreind for having sex.

  Mindy: Yes Miss Mop.

  Difrant Class: BOYFREIND! CUNT.

  Sceen 3

  They walk away. They get a bed and get in to bed.

  Man Teacher: I love you and I love you.

  Lady Teacher: I love you.

  Man Teacher: Here is my penus.

  Lady Teacher: What is a cunt?

  Man Teacher: What will we do?

  Lady Teacher: Run away off the seeling!

  Seen 4

  They are running off the seeling together.

  Seen 5

  New Lady Teacher walks in.

  New Lady Teacher: CHILDREN. Where is Mr Wort?

  Children: They ran off the seeling.

  They come back.

  Man Teacher: Help! It’s my wife.

  He hides.

  New Lady Teacher hits Man Teacher. They all jump up and down on the bed together.

  Class comes in.

  Class: Hooray!

  THE END

  THE CHASE

  On the edge of her wooden bench, Cath sensed the gleams of light on the staffroom windows, each window gazing fixedly at her. She had yearned to be seen and now felt the shock of exposure. Children’s shadows crossed her body. Here is the teacher who had loved another teacher, the shadows said, placidly enough, here is the teacher who planned to run away with him, but his wife arrived and she had to come back to the seeling.

  What was ‘the seeling’? Some strange sealing of her fate? Somehow, everybody knew and the whole school was watching her. The child, Cassie, had taken on the task of warning her with this play.

  Meanwhile, the Wife was moving from window to window, stalking her, judging her, despising her, and all with perfect right. The sun was not gentle and tender at all, it was a spotlight. She hunched over Cassie’s play, unable to make herself look up.

  On the 2nd grade balcony, Cassie stood outside her classroom, watching the playground. Ms Murphy was reading her play. Ms Murphy loved her play so much she was curling her shoulders around it. The bell was ringing for school to start, and Ms Murphy hadn’t even moved.

  ‘You go inside,’ Cassie told Lucinda. ‘I just have to stay here for a minute.’

  Fancy, alone on the porch again, now with a new cup of coffee, listened to the fading engine of Radcliffe’s car. He had left for work with a final beseeching request that she forgive him. Was that possible? she mused now.

  All her life she had longed to meet her baby sister – her mother had promised that she would be the first – and Radcliffe had stolen that away.

  Still, she thought, did it matter? She could meet Cath another time. She almost felt embarrassed for Radcliffe, as if he had revealed that he ate the last of Cassie’s chocolate Easter eggs, and secretly, guiltily, elaborately covered it up. It was childish and greedy, but what was the big deal?

  She thought she could forgive him. Which made her think: what else could she forgive? If Radcliffe had been having an affair, for example, would she have forgiven him? Should she have forgiven him? Wasn’t she supposed to get revenge?

  Be cruel, be strong, or sulk.

  Of course! She had forgotten. Revenge was just one of the options. The rules were more complex than that.

  All this time, waiting for confirmation of Radcliffe’s affair so she could pounce with a counter-affair, she had forgotten she might have to be strong. As a matter of fact, strength was a more appropriate response when you were a grown-up with a house, car, garden hose, and child. She sipped her coffee and felt the mug tremble in her hand.

  Then again, she thought, as the coffee fanned out in her head, if you chose the ‘strong’ option you had to shave off a piece of love as fuel for the strength. And if great strength were needed, she might have used up all her love. But would she be allowed to –

  Oh, stop it, she thought angrily, slamming the coffee mug onto the porch, and burning her hand with the splash.

  The paper crushed into the bottom of the tissue box was covered in Listen’s curly handwriting. It was entitled, ‘Things That Make Me Sad’, and the text began: ‘Donna has a table tennis table in the basement of her house, and once Sia’s mother made us all eat spaghetti squash.’ Even before she had finished the page, Marbie was reaching for the phone.

  ‘Vernon,’ she said into his answering machine. ‘Sorry to call again. I know you won’t come to the Balloon Festival, it’s okay, it’s not that, it’s about Listen. I don’t know how long ago she wrote this but there’s stuff in here that’s scaring me, maybe you know all this now, but if you don’t, you should, and she says she can’t find any friends, and she says, she says she’s going –’

  ‘Marbie?’

  Marbie jumped at the sound of Vernon’s voice.

  ‘I’m here,’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ said Marbie, ‘okay, hi, Vernon, well I just found this paper that Listen wrote, like a kind of diary, and did you know that Donna and those others from her primary school threw her out of their group?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m just reading this and it’s full of how she’s trying to make new friends and how she wants to cross highways in front of cars and she walks through long grass hoping to get bitten by a snake, and switches on the power with wet hands, and I think she’s going to hurt herself, so where is she, Vernon? I really need to speak to her.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Vernon. ‘You have to calm down. I just dropped her at school for a camp. Hang on, I’ve got a customer.’

  When she finally raised her head to confront the staring eyes, there was nobody looking at Cath. Children were running towards their classrooms, teachers were chatting in the doorway to the staffroom, even
the staffroom windows had a blank, unseeing look.

  The vulnerable, exposed feeling receded slightly, and she decided to be sensible. It was unlikely, for a start, that all the children knew. Cassie Zing must have guessed somehow, but even if she’d told others they would not have believed nor understood. Most of them did not have Cassie Zing’s grasp of the erotic.

  And maybe, now that she thought about it, even Cassie did not know. She remembered that Cassie’s mother wrote erotic fiction: maybe Cassie was just stealing from her mother’s writing, and applying this to the school yard?

  She would have to destroy this play, but there was only one real problem, if she was going to be sensible.

  The presence, in the school, of Breanna.

  At least for today, she would have to run away.

  Warren was emerging from the staffroom again, calling out something to somebody inside, and heading across to their building.

  ‘Warren,’ she called, ‘can you take care of my class for the morning?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, grim, solemn, apologetic and gentle all at once.

  ‘I just have some work to do,’ she scolded, and then, as he waved and hurried on, she saw two coaches pull in to the school driveway. In fact, the entrance to the driveway appeared to be crowded with girls and sleeping bags.

  It was the Year 7s, she realised, from St Carmel’s, heading off for their camp in the mountains. And there was that girl – Listen Taylor – the relative of Cassie Zing’s. Listen was taking something out of her bag, crouching down and pressing it under a rock in the garden which edged the driveway. Strange. Was it a book? Now she was pointing out her name to a teacher with a clipboard, and was stepping back into the crowd.

  Watching Listen, Cath felt a rush of guilt. She had asked Breanna for help with this girl – now that Breanna knew about the affair, asking her for help seemed unforgivable.