by Meg Mason
Noel’s hunch was correct. Later in the afternoon, Abi witnessed Polly packing the Volvo. Phil appeared outside in a white shirt dress, holding the hand of each boy. Abi watched them get in, one by one, Polly in the driver’s seat. A moment later, the car backed out and the house relaxed into stillness. Now, in her mind, Abi could wander through the empty rooms, recalling every detail. Freely she’d walk by the window seat, study the clustered paintings, every framed photo and vase on a sill, the plumped cusions of the velvet sofa.
Abi checked the time. Nearly an hour before Jude would be brought back. With nothing else to do, she thought about how nice it would be to slip in the side gate and pass the time in Phil’s garden. Or, with a book from Phil’s shelves, take the carpeted stairs up to Brigitta’s room and read it between the starched sheets. But no, she thought, that’s mad. She’d never do that, even as into her mind came the picture of the key in the planter so clear and exact, it made her hands tingle with the sensation of feeling around for it.
* * *
The Volvo was passing through Avalon when Toby realised that the one-eared Garfield he needed for sleeping was next to the basin in Granny’s upstairs bathroom. Polly tightened her hands around the steering wheel. ‘Well we can’t turn around for it now, Toby. We’re nearly there. You’ll have to be brave and go to bed without it.’
‘I can’t!’ Toby pleaded. ‘Mum, I can’t! I’m not brave!’
Max snickered, sending his brother into floods and causing Phil to whip around from the passenger seat. ‘I heard that, Max. Don’t be cruel.’ Turning back to Polly, she said, ‘Pidge, really, why don’t you dump us at the house and whiz back for it? The boys and I will have a lovely time and you’ll have a moment to decompress, darling. Call Mark, have a bath, you’ll still be back by teatime.’
And so it was that very late in the afternoon, Polly returned to Milson Road.
74.
Up and down the highway like a yo-yo
‘I’ve been wondering if it isn’t time to sell the unit,’ Elaine said, receiving a cup of tea from Roger. She had just managed to get Jude down in the travel cot, after a successful morning tea at St Luke’s, during which she’d managed to deflect three pointed inquiries about the imminence of wedding bells, per Stuart and Abi.
‘What? You mean Milson Road?’
Elaine pursed her lips, by way of confirmation. ‘It’s the drive. It will be the end of me, Roger. I’m up and down the highway like a yo-yo. And then the handovers themselves are so draining. Jude gets very unsettled and of course it falls to me to soothe him.’
‘I don’t mind doing the run up and back with the little man. I thought you said you preferred to though. And we’ve never talked about selling the unit before.’
Elaine took a careful sip of tea and returned her cup noiselessly to the saucer. ‘We’d get a fortune for it. I know that much. We could buy a wonderful investment property nearer here, and rent it to a nice family. We’d get four or five bedrooms for the same money.’
Roger felt as though he was being presented with a riddle. ‘But what about Abi, in the meantime?’
‘I haven’t thought about that yet,’ Elaine said. ‘Well, I have. But not for hours and hours. I just don’t think we’re duty-bound to house her for all eternity now that she’s finished with Stuart. I think three months’ notice would be perfectly reasonable, given everything.’
Roger loved his wife. He loved her very much. But sometimes he felt that he must be misunderstanding her because surely she’d never suggest they put Abi out of the flat?
But more and more of late, she was saying things that could actually be taken as quite unkind.
He’d been so sure that by now she would have come around to Abi. He loved having a daughter in his life all of a sudden and Elaine had so often said ‘I never got my girl, Roger, I never got my girl,’ he’d assumed she’d be the same. Ever since Stuart had gone off to kindy and they’d officially decided to stop ‘trying’ and just be happy, it had been her reason for never actually being happy. Roger had accepted it, but now here Abi was, alive and kicking, and everything had stopped making sense.
75.
You don’t look Korean
Automatically, Polly reached into the planter for the door key. When her hand didn’t find it, she used the one on the Volvo key ring. There was a pair of worn-out ballet flats by the back door, which looked far too small for her mother’s famously broad feet, Polly thought as she worked the lock and stepped inside. It was dark and quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the tick, tick of a dripping tap. She picked up the cordless and dialled Mark’s hotel.
While she waited for an answer, Polly made a loop of the front room in case Garfield wasn’t where Toby had said. Her mother’s deep velvet sofa stretched out invitingly. Although it was so large, Polly was reminded of what a nice house it was to be in alone, wandering through the rooms as you liked, popping upstairs to nose through a cupboard or two. Polly turned up a few cushions. No Garfield.
‘Hello, Poll,’ said Mark’s faraway voice. ‘Really good timing. I’ve been on all night with a guy at the High Commission and we could have all the docs together by next week. Then as soon as we get sign-off from the orthopod, he’ll be clear to fly out. It’ll have to be first class because of the knee, but that’s no surprise somehow.’
‘Put it on the tab,’ they said in unison.
‘You sound tired, Polly. How is Phil?’
‘She’s all right,’ Polly said, mounting the stairs.
Mark started to explain a new detail of the settlement he was arranging with the father of the injured girl, but as Polly reached the landing, she heard a muffled thud from the far end of the hall. Like something knocking against glass, or a drawer closing.
‘Hang on, Mark, I think a bird might have got inside.’
She held the phone away from her ear and took quiet steps down the hall. The sun was low in the sky, and through the dormer window, a shaft of yellow light caught the motes of dust.
As Polly opened the door to Brigitta’s room, the sound came again. Clearer this time. Polly realised it was coming from further along the hall.
‘Mark,’ she whispered, ‘There’s someone here. Stay on, would you?’
She heard him say something about leaving right away and ringing the police, but Polly’s hand was already wrapped around the handle of her mother’s door. It opened with a faint click. Polly put one eye to the gap, then threw it open so sharply the handle on the other side slammed against the wall with a crack.
‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘Darling? Darling?’ said Mark’s distant voice from the phone.
She’d never laid eyes on the girl who was standing barefoot in the middle of the carpet, with a strand of amber beads in her hands. But now Polly realised she knew exactly who the girl was, from a description Brigitta had once given. The sparrow shoulders, the unusually luminous skin. Thin legs that, just then, seemed to be knocking together.
As Polly strode into the room, the girl backed away towards Phil’s tall dresser, where she dropped the beads into an open drawer.
Polly’s voice came out as a snarl. ‘What are you doing up here?’
‘I’m the cleaner,’ the girl stammered. ‘I’m just the cleaner.’
‘My mother’s cleaner is a Korean man. You don’t look Korean to me. Would you like to try again?’ Then into the phone, she said, ‘Mark, are you hearing this? Are you getting this, Mark?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ the girl cried. ‘I thought your mum might have gone away and I wanted to make sure someone was coming over to feed Domenica. And then I heard the door and . . . I’m sorry.’
‘Who the fuck is Domenica?’
‘Phil’s dog?’
‘My mother’s dog is called Sophie,’ Polly said very slowly. ‘And I would love to know why you know so much about Phil when she has never, ever mentioned you.’ That part wasn’t true, but Polly felt herself on a roll.
‘Yes, no, she just calls
her Domenica Regina because she has a regal bearing and . . .’ The girl looked wretched and abandoned her attempt to clarify.
‘You will leave now. And I will make absolutely sure, I will make it my job to ensure that you never see or speak to my mother again. This family is in crisis and the last thing we need is the involvement of outsiders. You are not welcome here, whatever you’ve been led to believe, and if you are ever caught in here again, I will take the matter to the police.’
Polly stood to one side. Obediently, the girl passed by her towards the stairs. Polly marched behind her and could not resist making a few legal-sounding comments to Mark in the girl’s hearing.
At the back door, Polly grabbed her by the wrist. ‘Hang on a minute. How did you even get inside?’
The girl looked ready to bolt, but when Polly let her go she reached into her pocket and took out the key that would no longer, Polly decided then and there, be kept in the planter.
* * *
Abi ran straight to the kiosk, realising all of a sudden that Elaine was due back with Jude any moment. As she stumbled down the ramp, face streaked with tears, she saw the crew standing up to leave as the man behind the counter rolled down the grill and padlocked it.
Valentina saw her first. ‘Abigail, what happen to you? You look like the ghost.’
‘You do, Abi. You’re as white as a sheet,’ Barb said. ‘Isn’t she Sandy?’
Noel motioned for her to sit down, but adrenalin was still coursing through her veins. ‘Actually I’m not staying. I’ve actually decided to go home. Back to England, and I’ve just come to say goodbye.’
‘You’re really going home just like that?’ Barb asked.
‘You no lucky in love?’ Valentina was forlorn.
‘We’ll miss you both, love,’ Noel said. ‘When are you off?’
‘I’m not quite sure yet.’
‘You’ve been a real cheer germ, Abi. All the very best to you.’
When he reached out to pat her shoulder, Abi threw herself into his arms.
‘Oh that’s nice,’ Noel said, sounding unsure of the protocol in a situation such as this. As Abi remained with her face buried in his golf shirt, she realised she would not tell anyone else she was leaving. This would be her only farewell and she tightened her grip around Noel’s waist. ‘Just mind the hernia, love.’
It was only when Abi heard the distinctive whir of the Daihatsu that she let go and turned to see Elaine nosing into a parking space for small cars only.
76.
We’re not exactly badly off
Phil felt that Polly was overreacting. As soon as her daughter had arrived back at the beach house and found them all sitting at the outdoor table eating an eggy tea, she’d sent the boys inside and began pouring out the entire story of finding Abi upstairs in the big house. She refused to sit down as she went over and over her shock at discovering that Abi knew where the spare key was kept, that she had the gall to let herself in and seemed to know her way around the house so well. That she’d clearly been riffling through Phil’s drawers and had the audacity to pretend she was the cleaner.
‘Well,’ said Phil, trying to wave it off, although truthfully, the drawer aspect was on the nose. ‘She’s had a rough trot, Poll. I wouldn’t put too much store by the whole thing. She’s perfectly benign, only somewhat needy. And anyway, I’m sure you will have put the mockers on any future comings and goings. You’ll have scared her witless.’ The boys’ abandoned dinner plates were starting to attract insects, and Phil tossed a napkin over them.
‘You never should have let her come and go at all. You’re a widow living alone. You must be sensible.’
‘Oh Polly, please darling. You make it sound like I’m ready for a shower chair. Anyhow, she wasn’t living with me. I merely let her stay for a time. And she was really quite helpful after Freddie. I actually feel rather guilty for turfing her out.’ Phil slapped at a mosquito that was trying to needle through the fabric of her sleeve.
‘Oh my God, mother!’ Polly said, stunned. ‘You didn’t tell me she was living with you! I thought she just visited! Oh my God! What else do I need to know? Tell me right now! What else?’
Phil was beginning to resent the inquisition. ‘You’re overstepping the line, Polly. It’s really none of your business.’
‘What else?’
Phil’s nostrils flared as she turned away from her daughter. ‘I did give her a little leg up with her university fees. Just to get her started. And there might have been a one-off sum to get her through after things went truly pear-shaped. I really can’t recall.’
Polly was duly outraged.
‘Oh settle down Polly, please, we’re not exactly badly off.’ Phil waved towards the expanse of darkness stretching beyond the veranda, the moonlit curve of sand leading towards a lighthouse. Its light blinked in the distance. ‘And don’t forget darling, that it’s my money, to do with as I choose.’
Polly sighed and finally flopped into a chair. ‘What you don’t understand is that every time you choose to mother a stray, someone still has to mother your actual children. And guess who that turns out to be. Guess! Do you know Mark and I are sixty thousand in on Freddie’s accident so far? Not counting the first class flight he’s about to take here, and rehab or whatever he’s going to need.’
Phil looked away again, embarrassed. She’d not thought as far ahead as bills, consumed as she was by Freddie’s recovery and legal issues. Historically, Frederick would have attended to that side of things and it was unfortunate that her mind hadn’t yet run in that direction. She regretted bringing the question of money into it in the first place and opened her mouth to apologise, but Polly was still going.
‘And of course Brigitta enjoyed three months’ free room and board –’
‘I don’t think enjoyed is the right word, darling.’
‘Either way! I should be in London working to pay for all this and probably trying to save my career at the same time, but guess where I am? That’s right! Here!’ Polly’s voice splintered, and for the first time in Phil’s recent memory, angry tears began coursing down her cheeks.
‘And in the meantime,’ her daughter went on, ‘you’re buying treats for all the neighbourhood ring-ins and getting to feel brilliant for being so lovely and generous. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!’ She rested her forehead on the table and her shoulders started to heave. ‘Nobody ever thanks me!’ Oh dear, Phil thought, Polly never was a pretty crier.
Still, she felt she ought to comfort her daughter in some way, even though Polly was such a notorious hater of touching. ‘Is it possible you really are quite tired, darling?’ Phil asked, giving her back the merest suggestion of a pat.
77.
Love-rat director given boot by radio star wife!
That Mark had not been able to book her on the same flight out as him came as an immense relief to Brigitta. There was so much for him to tie off before leaving India, and Freddie was yet to announce when he would return to Sydney, but he had been deemed fit to fly alone, which freed Brigitta to make her own plans.
The day of her departure, goodbyes were said in the hotel lobby and Brigitta tried to mask her elation at the prospect of being finally alone, with the hospital, the miserable hotel, and all India behind her.
At the airport newsagent, she bought chocolate, an air-freight Vogue, two British newspapers and at the last minute a week-old Heat. After boarding, she collapsed into her window seat, buzzed the stewardess for two bottles of red, and used them to wash down a sleeping pill. Minutes later, she let the magazines slide off her lap as she relaxed into a heavy sleep.
After a brief stopover, the second leg from Mumbai passed slowly but eventually Brigitta felt the beginning of their descent. She pressed her forehead against the window and watched as Sydney appeared beneath her. The blue fingers of the harbour, the orange rooftops, and the backyard swimming pools scattered like little blue jewels. As the plane banked sharply to one side, she made out the Cremorne Peninsula bathed in e
arly sun.
In no time at all, family would all converge on the big house and remain there for some yet-unspecified period. A plan needed to be made for Freddie, Phil had said. Polly felt Brigitta needed to regroup. Freddie thought Phil could do with some company. Mark said he planned to put his thinking cap on and come up with a new career path for Brigitta. He was wondering about PR.
Although Polly had offered to come down from Palm Beach to meet Brigitta at the airport on Sunday morning, she’d declined, wanting to savour her last precious hours by herself. Warm air, salt and jet-fuel enveloped her as she stepped out of the terminal. The sky was ablaze with cloud, streaked pink and orange and family groups milled around outside with a distinct lack of the freneticism that she never got used to in India.
Brigitta found a taxi and slid into the back seat.
‘Where are you heading?’ the driver asked without turning around.
‘Cremorne – actually, no. Bronte, the pool there. Do you know it?’
Growing up, Brigitta’s family never really did the eastern beaches – not counting Shark Beach, because as Phil liked to point out, Vaucluse was technically nearer to Mosman than anywhere and really, someone ought to put a bridge between the two. In high school, Brigitta and her friends had started bussing themselves to Bronte, so they could smoke and sunbathe with their bikini tops almost off without fear of being spotted by anyone’s mother.
When the taxi deposited her near the stairs down to the ocean pool, Brigitta stood for a moment to take in the enormous waves pounding the beach and turning the entire bay white and fizzy. One solitary figure was walking a dog along the sand. She managed her suitcase down the stairs and sat down on a painted bench, weary and dirty and almost home.
Early-morning swimmers made even laps of the turquoise water and Brigitta watched for a minute, before drawing the Heat magazine out of her bag. Leafing backwards through its pages, she came to a picture of Guy, smiling brazenly at the camera.