Polly's Write ol' Summer

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Polly's Write ol' Summer Page 2

by Penny Kane


  Polly could barely look at him. Her bottom lip quivered and tears ran down her face again.

  “What happened? Where’s Dad?” Brendan poked his head into the living room, and saw the cake splattered on the fireplace and the plate smashed on the floor. “Mum, what’s going on?”

  Polly couldn’t even speak, let alone tell him what had happened. She knew no matter how she told him, his dad would not come out smelling of roses. She also didn’t want Brendan to hate his dad, but how could he not feel negatively towards him once he knew the truth?

  Polly picked up the mugs of tea and led Brendan into the dining room. She sat down and drank a little. It gave her time to find enough courage to tell their son what she’d caught his father doing.

  Brendan was the usual twenty-year-old. He was at Uni, worked hard, and played just as hard. He was six feet of muscle, had his dad’s dark blond hair and her green eyes, and Polly thought having him was the best thing she’d ever done. She was proud of him, especially now, as she poured out her heart and told him what happened when she arrived home last night. He kept a straight face until she was done speaking and then hugged her. He didn’t let her go until all her tears ran dry.

  Polly then went upstairs to shower and change. Brendan had not said a word about his father, only that he’d cook her a breakfast. But as she stepped into the bathroom, she heard him trying to contact his father on his mobile phone. The language he used was colourful and far from respectful. But did she really expect it to be?

  * * * *

  The shower made Polly feel a lot better and when she descended the stairs again, it was to the enticing smell of fried eggs and bacon.

  “I thought I’d make you my Uni staple, Mum.” He grinned at her. “Do you want your bacon crispier than this?”

  She looked into the pan and kissed his shoulder. She couldn’t reach any higher. “No, that’s perfect.” She took her seat at the little, round breakfast table and Brendan handed her a plate overloaded with eggs, bacon, toast, and beans. “Do I look like I’ve lost weight or something?”

  He laughed. “No, but you do look like you need a bloody good breakfast inside you.”

  Polly didn’t know what to say, so she picked up her knife and fork and tucked in. She knew if she said anything, the tears would begin again. It was safer to stay quiet.

  Brendan told her about Uni. He was taking medicine and told her how difficult it was. She frowned as he spoke. He’d always been a very bright student – sailed through his exams at school and won a scholarship at the University of Auckland. She was amazed at how smart he was. And yet here he was telling her how tough he found it. Was this her son? What happened since she left New Zealand? She didn’t have the energy to quiz him, so she simply encouraged him to do his best.

  They finished up their breakfast and Brendan put the plates in the dishwasher. “And what if I can’t?”

  “Then at least you tried.” She smiled at him. It was a lame thing to say, but she couldn’t expect the lad to pull a rabbit out of a hat. If he wasn’t succeeding at his studies, the only thing she could ask was that he try his best.

  “If I fail my exams, I’m thinking of switching to physics. If that’s ok with you and Dad, that is.”

  “Don’t talk like that. You don’t know how well you’ve done in the exams. I was terrible at exams, but never failed once.”

  “Ok.” He smiled weakly at her.

  “When’s your next exam?”

  “This afternoon at two.”

  “Shouldn’t you be studying?”

  He grinned. “If I don’t know it by now, no amount of cramming will help.” He turned and left the room. “Now I’m off to the dunny, then back to Uni.”

  Polly laughed at him. Should a medical student still refer to the toilet as a dunny?

  Brendan’s phone on the table started to ring. Polly watched it as it spun with the vibrations.

  “Get that, will you?” he called from the downstairs bathroom.

  Polly picked up the phone and saw the name next to the flashing call symbol. It was Steve. Polly stared at it. She couldn’t bring herself to answer it. She put it back down on the table and it finally fell silent.

  Brendan returned, grabbed the phone and opened it. “Who was it?” He pressed a few buttons. “Oh.” Brendan made to put the phone into his pocket when it rang a second time. He opened it and took the call, keeping his piercing green eyes on his mother the whole time. “Yeah?” He listened. “At home with Mum. Where are you?” Brendan’s tone was sharp and Steve must have realised his son knew what happened. “Why?”

  Polly didn’t know what Steve was saying, but she could hear him shouting.

  Brendan held the phone out to Polly. “Apparently he wants to speak to you.”

  Polly frowned and reluctantly took the phone. “Yes?”

  “Poll, it’s me, Steve.”

  “I know who it is.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Do we?” Steve had crossed the line as far as she was concerned and there was nothing more she wanted to say to him.

  “I want to come and get my stuff.”

  “Bren can do that for you.”

  Brendan mouthed, “Do what?”

  “I can come and get it. I know what I need,” Steve protested.

  “No. Brendan will bring your stuff to you. I don’t want you back here, Steve.”

  Brendan waved his hands emphatically while mouthing, “No!”

  “Don’t bring Brendan into this!”

  “Then I’ll have it sent over in a taxi. Just give me the address.”

  “Poll, that’s what we need to talk about.”

  “We don’t need to talk about it, just give me the damn address.”

  Steve sighed and gave her the address.

  Polly began to scribble it down on her shopping list and stopped in mid-flow. That was her best friend Kate’s address. “W…why are you staying at Kate’s?” she asked, fearing she already knew the truth.

  “That’s what we need to talk about.”

  “Go on.”

  “Over the phone?”

  “Are you sleeping with Kate, too?”

  Steve was silent. “We’re going to have a baby.”

  Polly nearly gagged on his confession. “What? You and Kate?” Polly couldn’t believe her ears. Her entire world was falling apart around her. “Does she know about your little maid fetish?”

  “Now, Poll, don’t you dare bring that into it. Kate doesn’t need to know!”

  She didn’t know why, but she started to laugh. And she couldn’t stop. “So you’re starting a new life with my best friend? She’s having your baby, and she doesn’t know that you’ve been screwing the maid at the same time. Is that right? Did I miss anything? Is there anyone else we should add to this growing list?” Polly knew she was getting hysterical. “Stephen Michael Lloyd, I am well shot of you! You lying, lowlife scum-bag!” Polly tossed the phone to Brendan, who snapped it shut.

  “Tell me that’s not true. Tell me Dad isn’t having an affair with Auntie Kate!”

  Polly stared at her son, no longer laughing. Steve was messing with Brendan’s life now. They were both hurting because of him. She burst into tears again.

  Brendan stepped forward and held onto her tightly. “Oh God, Mum,” he cried.

  Chapter Three

  Brendan reluctantly left her that afternoon but promised to come back after his exam with a roll of bin liners to clear out Steve’s stuff. Polly wanted it all gone as quickly as possible. She knew they’d have to sell the house and was glad her book contracts were protected. It meant that her royalties and advance payments were safe. However, she was worried. She knew there was no way she could live in such a big house on her own. She made a good living as a novelist, but she was no millionaire. She needed to think long and hard. She needed to talk to Jackie.

  Her agent wasn’t the easiest person to track down. She usually called Polly when she needed something, or when a book was due and sh
e had to kick Polly up the backside to get it finished. Polly did what she usually did – called, left a message, and waited for Jackie to get back to her. She knew Jackie would call by the end of the following week.

  After cleaning the cake off the fireplace and sweeping up the shards of plate, Polly changed into sweatpants and a hoodie. She then dug in the freezer for her secret stash of Deep South ice cream. She returned to the living room, closed all the curtains, and settled on the couch with the TV remote. It had been a long time since she watched her favourite shows and she knew the set top box would be full of all the ones she’d missed while on her tour. What better way to drown my sorrows? At least this way the only downside is that I’ll gain a few kilos. She sighed bitterly. But who cares about that? I’m about to get divorced! She stabbed the ice cream with the spoon and savoured its taste as she flicked through the hard drive to get to the first episode of Shortland Street.

  * * * *

  Polly was shocked to realise that after four episodes of her favourite soap, she’d eaten the entire carton of ice cream. Her stomach didn’t seem too pleased. She made some tea, then grabbed a fleece blanket and plonked herself back down on the couch. She had no one to cook for any more, no one to look like a Barbie for, and so who cared if she lounged about all day? She’d worked her behind off doing the book tour, but that seemed all but forgotten in the drama she came home to. Had she really just travelled the world promoting her bestselling book? Was that really her? If only my readers could see me now! She sighed. Still, she thought as she clicked Play on the remote, I might get another book out of this fiasco at least.

  Polly never did finish watching all of the recorded programmes. Jet lag finally caught up with her and she fell asleep on the couch. When she woke up, it was getting dark and the TV was playing to itself.

  Her back was stiff from lying on the couch for so long. She got up, turned everything off, and washed up her mug. Then it hit her. “Where’s Mr Tiggles?” she asked aloud.

  Polly went into the kitchen and saw that his food was untouched. It looked a few days old. “Shit!” She ran frantically around the house calling his name, but he was nowhere to be found. She then searched the backyard, but could not find him. Finally she went out the front where she saw Mr and Mrs Sullivan from next door.

  “Hello there, Mrs Lloyd! Good to see you back!”

  Polly waved at them distractedly.

  “Are you all right?”

  “This is going to sound odd, but I can’t find my cat.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  Polly pulled a face at them. “I haven’t seen him in months.”

  “Oh yes,” Mr Sullivan said.

  “Well, put out some food. I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Mrs Sullivan advised as they smiled kindly at her and went inside.

  Polly sighed. Some people just weren’t animal lovers. She checked under the bushes. Sometimes if he couldn’t get in, he’d sleep under the azalea bush. He wasn’t there.

  Polly looked around in despair and called him a couple more times. Then she saw it. Mr Tiggles’ black and white body lying as flat a pancake against the kerb, stiff as a board. She stifled the urge to vomit, sat down next to him, and cried. Poor Mr Tiggles had been run over. She looked at him. He’d obviously tried to get home but hadn’t made it. Why now, of all times? She wept.

  When she’d finished crying for the poor creature, Polly got up and fetched an old towel from the laundry room. She had to wrap him in something in order to pick him up. She couldn’t very well leave him against the kerb. I suppose I’ll have to bury him, too. She sighed.

  It took three attempts to pick him up. Polly hadn’t realised she was so squeamish. She hurriedly carried his body through the house and into the backyard. She decided to bury him under the Eucalyptus trees where he usually rested in the shade during the summer months. Polly sobbed miserably while digging the hole. She had no idea how deep it needed to be. In the end, she made the hole a couple of feet deep and laid Mr Tiggles in the hole with the towel.

  Polly covered him back over with the soil and made to leave. She felt guilty. Surely she needed to say a few words. She looked around. There was no one there, but she still felt stupid. She quickly muttered a good-bye and said a little prayer she remembered from Sunday School. Slowly she put the spade away and made her way back into the house. What a crappy day.

  She’d had enough and wanted to go to bed. She washed the dirt off her hands and then climbed the stairs, still weeping over her cat. She stopped at the doorway of her room. The bed was still a mess from Steve’s activities with the maid. Polly couldn’t bear to sleep there again. She grabbed her things off the nightstand and went into the spare room. She decided it was better to sleep there until the house was sold.

  She put her mobile phone on charge, and changed into her favourite cotton jersey pyjamas. She thought of Jackie as she brushed her teeth. Part of her wanted to speak to her, and yet she wanted to sleep and forget this whole mess. Maybe if I sleep long enough, this whole thing will sort itself out.

  Before she got into bed, she sent Brendan an SMS hoping his exam went well. If it so, he’d be out celebrating. If not, he’d probably be out drowning his sorrows. Either way, he was probably in a pub and couldn’t hear the phone.

  Oh God, what am I going to do? She laid down. I can’t go on living like this. I’m going to have to pull myself together in the morning. The very thought made her groan. However, before long she was fast asleep and her nightmare of a life was forgotten.

  * * * *

  Polly sat bolt upright in bed. “Oh my God!” Her heart pounded. “Say it was just a nightmare!” She turned and looked at the clock. It said three a.m. “No.” She gasped. “No, no, no, no, no!”

  Polly shot out of bed, adjusting her pyjamas as she left the room. Why does the right leg always try and climb up my bum? she wondered absently as she made her way frantically into her study.

  “Calm down. It was just a dream. There is no possible way on this earth it could be true.”

  On a shelf above her computer it sat – the complimentary copy of her book, Happily Ever After? She grabbed it from the shelf, clicked on the lamp, and sat down in her chair. She flicked through the book chapter by chapter and her fears were confirmed. “Oh bloody hell, no! You’ve got to be kidding!” She burst out laughing hysterically. She quickly put her hand over her mouth as she realised it was three a.m. and she didn’t want to wake the neighbours. “What the hell am I going to do?” The first thing she thought of was to put the kettle on and make a cup of tea. So, stopping first to get her dressing gown and slippers, she headed for the kitchen.

  Polly clicked on the light above the cooker hood instead of the main one and filled the kettle with fresh water. A cup of tea always made her think better. It was nearly a year since she finished the book and a lot of the details were blurred in her mind. Apart from the passages she continually had to read out at book signings, quite a bit had escaped her memory.

  Polly made her tea, grabbed a packet of chocolate chippies, and headed to the lounge. Once there, she put on the reading lamp and settled down to go through her book with a fine-toothed comb. “It can’t be true, can it?” she mumbled as she turned to the first page.

  * * * *

  By the time the sun came up, Polly had read halfway through her book, eaten the whole packet of biscuits, and finished her tea long ago. She couldn’t believe what her eyes were reading. Of course she knew what was in the book – she wrote it! – but what she couldn’t believe were the similarities to her own life right now.

  She threw the book down on the couch. “I’ve got to be out of my tiny little mind!” She got up, turned the lamp off, and opened the fawn moleskin curtains. “What kind of nut-job am I?”

  Polly hurriedly picked up the empty packet of chippies and her mug and took them to the kitchen. “I mean, my book isn’t real! It isn’t happening to me at all. I’m just… I’m having a nervous breakdown, that’s what!”


  She ran up the stairs two at a time, took off her pyjamas, and showered. “It’s not real! That’s impossible,” she told herself over and over again, certain she’d just had a dream about her book and nothing more.

  While she towel-dried her shoulder-length mousey hair, her resolve weakened. “But it’s uncanny. Really uncanny.” She dressed hurriedly into jeans and a t-shirt, not caring that her socks didn’t match or that her knickers were on inside out, and rushed back downstairs to read the book again, this time calmly and rationally – she hoped.

  She flicked quickly to the part where she believed her life was at that moment. Sally, the heroine, had just found her husband in bed with the maid in Chapter Three. Polly flicked more pages. Sally’s husband, Pete, told her he was having an affair with her best friend, Claire, in Chapter Four.

  “Ok,” Polly assured herself, “that kind of thing happens all the time. It’s just a coincidence.”

  Polly flicked forward to Chapter Five – Sally’s cat was run over and her son, Bradley, flunked his university exams. Polly laid her head back and closed her eyes. “This cannot be happening. Brendan is not going to fail his exams. My book is not playing out in my life!”

  She got up out of the chair, ran up the stairs, and grabbed her mobile phone. “This is stupid.” There were no messages from Brendan. She looked at the clock. It was too early to call him. If he’d been out the night before, he’d still be sleeping off the effects.

  Polly didn’t know what to do with herself. She was truly scared that her life was beginning to emulate her book and her son was about to fail medical school. She didn’t dare think about what was in the rest of the book. She had to do something to occupy her time until she could call Brendan and check on his exam. Only then would her nerves calm and she could be at peace.

 

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