by Lily Malone
‘Can you believe Jack didn’t tell his mother he cheated? She thought I’d just up and taken Seb on some whim.’
‘I can believe it,’ Emmy snorts. ‘He wouldn’t have had the guts to own up.’
Brayden looks at me. ‘She knows now though?’
‘Yep.’
Emmy whistles. ‘What did she say?’
‘She didn’t believe me at first, then when it hit her I wasn’t lying, she kind of… shrunk.’
‘The powerbase just changed,’ Emmy states.
‘The what?’
‘You have what she wants, Jenn. She thought she could bully you — when she thought the split was your fault. Now she knows that if she wants to see her grandson, she needs to keep it sweet with you.’
‘Maybe.’ I’m not sure it’s possible to have any kind of powerbase around Amber.
‘Definitely,’ Emmy says. ‘She’s a businesswoman. It’s her job to intimidate people.’
‘She always scared the hell out of me.’
Emmy and Brayden chuckle.
‘You can use that too, Jenn,’ Emmy says. ‘Appeal to the businesswoman in her. Submit your ideas about a settlement to her professionally. Lay out a case. Use terms like capital, investment and return on investment. I don’t suppose you kept receipts for the money you’ve spent on the house?’
I think about that for a minute. ‘I’ve got some. I’ve got all my bank statements in a file at Jack’s.’
We’re all quiet for a while, except for my son on Emmy’s lap, now squelching his way through dinner. He wants to hold the spoon himself so he keeps reaching for my hand as I bring the gloop to his mouth. He’s wearing more of his meal than he’s eaten.
‘I told Amber she and Jack could take Seb out tomorrow, you know, for an icecream or something.’
‘Is that smart, Jenn?’ Emmy asks, with a glance at her brother. ‘Jack was pretty upset.’
My shrug tells all of them, I don’t know. ‘What else can I do? He’s Seb’s father.’
We all nod at that.
***
Emmy’s in the kitchen talking on her phone when I exit the bathroom just after six, Seb pink and damp and cleaned of all things orange.
Brayden is in the lounge.
Their luggage is piled near the front bedroom door, like something the airline baggage handlers lost.
‘So where’s everyone sleeping?’ I ask Brayden, laying Seb on the floor.
Brayden taps the couch. ‘This folds into a sofa bed. I’ll sleep here and Em can have the bedroom.’
Emmy appears in the doorway. ‘Our evening, good people, is planned. Pope’s little sister is coming to babysit, and we,’ she pirouettes, ‘are going out.’
I catch Brayden’s eye. Clearly, he’s as baffled as I am.
‘Oh come on,’ Emmy waves her phone at me. ‘Brayden’s had the week from hell, and you’ve hardly had a picnic. We’re all allowed to have some R&R.’
Her words make me kick myself. With my head buried in my own dramas, I haven’t given a thought to what’s going on for Brayden. Still, that doesn’t mean I can just up and go disco dancing.
‘How old is Pope’s sister, Em?’
‘Sixteen. Her name’s Leisl. Pope says she got the last two Twilight movies for Christmas and she’s planning a movie marathon.’ Emmy swings to point at the old television squatting in the corner. ‘That thing has a DVD player doesn’t it, Brayden?’
‘Yeah, from the Dark Ages. You’d better check if it works.’
‘Just go back a bit, Em.’ Lifting Seb’s hips, I smooth the Velcro tabs across his abdomen. ‘Start again.’
‘Pope is down here too, and he’s keen to catch up, and when I said I didn’t know if we could go out because you have Sebby, he offered us Leisl.’
‘I’ve never left Seb with anyone before, except for you, Em.’ I tug Seb’s Pooh Bear pyjama pants up his legs.
Emmy shifts feet in the doorway. ‘It’s only for a couple of hours. She can call us in an emergency. Pope says she’s very mature for her age, and we’ll all chip in for the babysitter.’
I blow a raspberry on the softest spot of Seb’s neck, making him giggle.
‘If we go after I put Seb to bed… once I know he’s asleep, I think it’ll be okay.’
‘Excellent!’ Emmy whoops. Then she casts a critical eye at me. ‘What are you going to wear?’
***
Leisl Jamieson, it turns out, is a cross between every girl next door and a young Bridget Jones. Big-boned, with a knack for saying ‘sweet’, she reminds me of Pope the moment she walks through the door.
These days Pope is a professor in mathematics at the biggest university in Perth, as well as being an amateur surfer. Career-wise it’s an unlikely match, but then Pope is the most unlikely maths’ professor I’ve ever met. He’s over six feet tall, tanned with surf-bleached hair. He’s nicely ripped and frankly, gorgeous. If my maths teacher looked anything like Pope, I reckon I’d still be at school.
He always had a smile that lit up a room, and as he follows his little sister inside I see nothing’s changed. He gives me a warm hug. So exuberant, in fact, it rocks me off my feet.
‘I hear you’re a mum now, Jenn? A baby boy.’
‘Sebastian. And he’s not such a baby anymore. He’s walking now. I’m sorry you’re going to miss him — he’s already in bed.’
‘Another time. I’m sorry to hear you split with his father. Jack wasn’t it? I met him at Emmy’s twenty-fifth. He wasn’t a bad bloke.’
Sometimes I think all roads in my life lead to Emmy’s twenty-fifth birthday. It’s like Rome.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I think it will all work out for the best — us splitting. I hope so, anyway.’
Emmy heads for the porch door and waits for me, clogging the door frame.
I press a piece of paper into Leisl’s hands. ‘Seb’s asleep and he shouldn’t wake up — but I don’t want to say that too loud in case I jinx you. Here’s my number if you need me. And you’ve got Pope’s number right?’
‘Yes,’ Leisl says.
‘Nappies are in that bag there, and wipes. There’s milk in the fridge and the bottles are in the drawer under the microwave.’ All this pointing, I’m starting to feel like the weather girl. ‘If he wakes up, give him a bottle and he should go straight back to sleep. There’s the TV remote, and there’s coffee or tea bags in the pantry. Help yourself.’
‘Come on, Jenn,’ Emmy says.
‘Thanks heaps, Leisl. We’ll only be a few hours. Call me if you need anything.’
‘Sweet. See you in a few.’
Last thing I see as Emmy pulls me out the door is Leisl tumbling DVDs from her bag. The covers show wolves, Twilight stars, and snow.
***
Brayden drives.
Pope sits in the front. Emmy and I share the back.
The Pajero is rich with the scent of good friends on a night out: perfume, cologne, aftershave.
I’m behind Pope, which means I can see Brayden’s profile through the gap in the seats, the fuzz of his whiskers — he has his hair pulled back and secured by an elastic band.
He’s snuck Bob Dylan on the CD player, played so low it’s a struggle to hear. Love Minus Zero, No Limits. If I have a favourite Bob Dylan song, that’s the one.
Emmy is wearing a black dress, red leggings, and long black boots. If she had a sword and a hat she’d look like a very sexy pirate.
I’m in jeans — the kind of stretched denim that Jack always liked. Emmy’s leant me a fitted blue shirt with a tiny white bow between the boobs and a loose-knitted, short, cream wool cardigan that she pins in place with a big glittery brooch, just under the bow.
All this, I’m sure, creates way too much attention in the cleavage area, but there’s no stopping Emmy when she’s on a roll.
There’s a tapas bar off the main street. It’s Pope’s suggestion — the owners are family friends. At eight o’clock, the restaurant bustles with Friday night fun.
Brayd
en buys a bottle of white wine to start. The boys have a glass each, Emmy and I get the rest.
Brayden sits next to me, Emmy near Pope.
Sometimes his shoe or his knee brushes mine under the table, or we reach for something on the tapas plate at the same time and our fingers touch. When that happens he smiles at me, or I smile at him, and both of us have more than a wine buzz to think about.
I can’t stop thinking about what we said: him and me, and that line we’re about to cross. Maybe we crossed it the moment we said it out loud. Gave the thought a voice.
He’s wearing blue jeans and a deep-green shirt with short sleeves and a collar. The material has a sheen to it that makes me want to roll my fingers over it so I’ll know if it’s as soft as it seems. Under that is a tight white T-shirt. Rings of white extend beyond the hem of green at each bicep, and there’s a curve of white fabric where his collar splits in a vee. The white plays up his tan.
It’s fun. It’s relaxed. It makes me realise how much I’ve missed spending time with these guys. Even when I’ve visited Emmy in Perth over the last few years, I’ve always felt rushed. I didn’t want to give Jack any reason to start sending me texts, wanting to know when I’d be home. Then, if I was later than I said I’d be, he’d launch into one of his sulks about how I prioritised spending time with Emmy before spending time with him.
Pope buys the second bottle, a Pinot Noir that tastes of dark cherries and smoke. Again the boys siphon no more than a glass each, I’m slowing, and Emmy finishes most.
Brayden’s knee nudges mine under the table, and stays there.
Emmy’s gaze flits between Brayden and me. I know she’s feeling happy with herself. It’s written all over her face.
Ten o’clock comes way too fast.
Brayden and Pope split the bill — neither will accept any contribution from me — and when they return from the cashier, Emmy pleads for one more drink.
We walk along Queen Street then west along the highway, cross at the traffic lights, and inject ourselves into the hum of the front bar of the oldest pub in town. Some of the faces I recognise. They were sitting on the same stools eight years ago, wrinkled even then, forty going on sixty.
‘What are you drinking, Jenn?’ Pope asks.
‘Better make mine lemon, lime, bitters.’
Emmy opts for whatever white wine is special of the month. Brayden and Pope go with beers. While they wait, I excuse myself and head for the ladies’ toilet. It takes me a few false starts — pubs never make their damn signage clear.
I spot Brayden and Pope in seconds when I re-enter the front bar. Brayden is head and shoulders taller than the average bloke, and there’s something about Pope that makes him stand out. Plus, women have this way of orienting themselves in their direction. I could follow the tossing hair as clear as a flashing neon sign.
Brayden has his back to me. Pope sees me coming and shuffles nearer to Emmy to make room.
‘She’s hasn’t been playing any golf,’ Brayden is saying to Pope as I brush past his shoulder, slotting into the space Pope has made for me.
Emmy catches Brayden’s eye, and the conversation stops.
Pope looks from one Culhane to the other. Then he looks at me. ‘Not playing? I thought you pretty much slept with a golf club in your hand?’
‘I’m a mother these days, remember?’ I deflect him, accepting the drink Brayden’s been holding for me.
‘My mother never let that stop her. She and Dad built their retirement home on a golf estate at Dunsborough so they could play all the time.’
‘Jenn’s ex sold her clubs,’ Emmy puts in.
Brayden turns to me. ‘Pope wants to play a round of golf while we’re here. The four of us.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t. I’ve got Seb.’
‘You said Amber and Jack want to take him out tomorrow afternoon,’ Emmy says.
I love my friends to bits, but I’m not ready for golf. Not even for them. ‘You guys go for it. I’ll do something else.’
‘You can’t let what Jack did with — ’ Emmy starts before she realises she’s on dangerous ground. Next thing I know, she’s faking intense interest in a Fox TV broadcast of a tennis match on the widescreen.
‘What Jack did with…’ Brayden presses me.
‘What Jack did with selling my golf clubs.’ I hate lying, but I want Brayden to drop the subject.
He does, but I can sense his attention on me, and the question stays in his eyes.
Not long after, I tell them I need to head home. I don’t want to cut their night short, so I offer to catch a taxi.
‘I’ll drive you,’ Brayden says simply.
‘Sweet. We’ll come too.’ Pope drains the last of his beer.
***
Twilight Breaking Dawn Part II is in full swing when we walk in the door.
Leisl says she’s not leaving until the bad guys are gouged with a stake — or whatever it is that happens to the bad vamps at the end — and she assures me, without taking her eyes off the screen, that Seb hasn’t made a sound since we left.
The four of us cram around the beach house kitchen table and do our best to speak quietly.
Not that I don’t trust Leisl, but I still have to check on Seb. He’s curled in the cot, bottom in the air, head on the side; all polka-dotted, precious, and peaceful.
‘Coffee? Tea?’ I offer the others when I return from the bedroom.
‘Anyone into a walk on the beach?’ Emmy asks.
‘I’m in,’ Pope says.
‘Not me,’ I say. I mean it this time. It’s not fair to Leisl for me to head out again and besides, there’s a wine headache staking a claim on the crown of my head.
‘I’ll stay,’ Brayden says.
Emmy and Pope head for the door.
I fill the kettle. I have to wash some dishes first — the beach house is clean out of cups.
Brayden opts for coffee. I make camomile tea. The scent of the two drinks fills the kitchen. From the lounge comes a serenade of werewolf growls and a hard rock score. It’s a while before the scene moves on, and something quiet happens.
When it does, Brayden puts his coffee down. ‘So, Jenn.’
He’s mimicking my approach of the weekend before, and my lips twitch in a smile. ‘So, Brayden?’
‘About Jack.’
My smile vanishes. ‘What about him?’
‘He didn’t look like a guy who thinks it’s over with you. Not the way I saw it.’
‘Then he should have thought of that before — ’ Shut up, Jenn.
‘Before he cheated on you?’ Brayden supplies the words softly, eyes on my face.
The air slips from my lungs. I don’t know how much to tell him. How much does he need to know?
‘Why won’t you talk to me about it?’ he says.
I wrap my hand around my cup. It’s so hot, it almost burns.
After a beat, Brayden says, ‘He’s an idiot for cheating on you, but some relationships recover from it, maybe there’s still a chance…’
‘There’s not.’
My eyes start to sting. I don’t think it’s because of what we’re saying — it’s because of how he’s saying it. He’s so gentle. To my horror, the tear spills. I swipe it away.
He asks, ‘Did you know the woman? Is it a long-term thing?’
‘What I saw him doing didn’t look deep and meaningful. If that’s what you mean.’
‘What you saw him doing?’ His eyes narrow.
‘Saw. Heard. Same difference.’ I can’t be bothered trying to hide it anymore. ‘I caught him bonking one of his golf students in the bunker at Sea Breeze.’
‘That sounds sandy.’
It’s so not what I expected to hear him say, I laugh. He’s always been able to make me laugh.
He reaches toward me, bringing the hot cup and my hands to the table. ‘Some guys never know where they’re on a good thing, Jenn.’
Before I can respond, I hear footsteps on the porch and the front door squeaks.
‘That was quick,’ Leisl calls out in greeting.
Emmy skips into the kitchen. Her eyes are super-bright, hair dishevelled. At first I think it’s because she’s still drunk, but as I look from Emmy to Pope, there’s a tell-tale smudge of lipstick on his jaw.
Two little jigsaw pieces click in my head.
‘We’re baaa-ck,’ Emmy trills. She pulls out a green chair and spins it. Her red legs and black boots whir like a roulette wheel.
‘You two didn’t get far,’ Brayden says.
‘I didn’t want to wreck my boots in the dark.’
‘Nooo!’ Leisl squeals from the lounge-room. ‘That never happened at the end of the book.’
Her call brings the four of us into the front room to see what’s going on and when the movie finishes, Leisl declares we’ve just witnessed the best five minutes of the entire flick.
Chapter 19
The beach house wakes slowly on Saturday. Somebody moves about the kitchen, trying to clank china cups and spoons softly, without a whole heap of success.
Seb has been awake for a while, chatting to himself in his cot. Emmy told me I should tape his little chats before he starts talking properly. She said they’ll be priceless to me one day.
Picking him up, I cuddle him close. They’re already priceless.
I drank a big glass of water before bed last night, and dissolved two soluble Panadol tablets in another tumbler of water when Seb woke for his night feed. All in all, I feel a bit bleary about the eye-balls this morning, tired, but otherwise okay.
Unzipping Seb’s sleeping bag, I pat his bottom, slide the door, and give him a little push outside. Then, while I get dressed and pull a brush through my hair, I get the fun of hearing Brayden in the kitchen pretending Seb’s just given him the fright of his life.
Emmy struggles up soon after me. ‘Coffee,’ she grunts, in her best zombie impression. ‘Please.’
Brayden makes tea for me and coffee for Emmy. I heat a bottle of milk for Seb and join the others out on the porch.
It’s a perfect summer morning. Already it must be twenty-three, twenty-four degrees, and it’s just gone seven. Two women walk past, wearing caps, crop tops and stretch pants. One carries a set of silver weights in each hand, and she waves at us as she and her partner pace past.