Replacement Wife

by Rowena Wiseman

  And I knew exactly who he’d sent that to.

  I shoved his phone back into the console, my heart pounding. Max was sitting quietly in the back of the car, looking out the window, tired after a long day, oblivious to the drama that was playing out in his mother’s head. I didn’t know what to feel. A week ago, I’d been looking for evidence that my plan had succeeded and been sad when I hadn’t found any. But now that I’d seen that it had, I felt my world crumbling.

  Luke came back to the car, carrying three Golden Gaytime ice-creams. Max accepted his happily, tearing open the paper wrapper quickly.

  ‘I don’t want it,’ I said.

  ‘But I bought one for you,’ Luke said.

  ‘I don’t feel like it.’

  ‘What am I going to do with it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I slumped back in the seat, looking out the window.

  ‘What’s up? You like these.’

  ‘I don’t want it.’ My voice was slowly slipping into the deranged range.

  ‘I’ll eat both of them,’ Luke finally decided, placing my Gaytime next to his phone in the console. He drove down the highway, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding the stick of his ice-cream. His mouth cracked on the chocolate, bits of cookie crumb fell onto his shorts and blobs of ice-cream dribbled into his beard and I seethed with hatred for him. I thought how far away I was just then from having a ‘gay time’, how this was so absurd, that I was so angry right now I could have leaned over and struck him with one of those lead pipes from Cluedo — if only we didn’t have such a precious passenger in the back seat of the car.

  It was our final night in Hobart and we were supposed to have dinner in Salamanca Place, but I was in the foulest mood. I almost told Luke to take me back to the warehouse. But for Max’s sake, I came along, quietly, moodily, a black pit in my stomach. We ate fresh seafood, and during the meal, I remember it so clearly, Max said, ‘Mum, Dad, I love you so much’, unprompted, like he used to say to us when he was three. It almost broke my heart, the three of us there, a family in body, but our spirit ruined. I grabbed Max, my fingers slimy from the prawns, tears in my eyes, and planted a big kiss on his cheek, wanting to freeze that moment in amber.

  I didn’t say anything to Luke. I was solemn that night, but I needed time to think about what I was going to do and when I was going to confront him. I turned my back to him in bed. The holiday was over, in more ways than one.

  30

  After a film at the Nova, Hattie and I had coffee at Brunetti’s. I didn’t like their new premises. It was too oversized, impersonal and brightly lit. I knew the owners were trying to capitalise on its popularity, but they had destroyed everything that was good about it in the first place. I couldn’t decide between having a coffee or a hot chocolate, so I ordered a mocha and then regretted my fence-sitting decision immediately.

  ‘How was your holiday?’ Hattie asked.

  ‘It was great. MONA is amazing. You have to get over there. And there are some great beaches around Hobart. It was so nice spending some proper family time together,’ I said, but I felt a lump in my throat. I think my eyes must have welled up with tears. I was still fragile.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘On the last day, we went to Port Arthur, and afterwards, while Luke was paying for some petrol, I happened to check his phone and there was a message there that he’d sent to Suzi, saying he was thinking of her as always.’

  ‘Oh, crap. So your plan worked?’

  Some tears started to drift down my cheeks. Hattie shifted her chair closer to mine, took my hand and softened her tone.

  ‘But this is what you wanted, yeah?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What are you going to do, sweetie? Have you confronted him?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m sitting on it. I’m trying to work out what the best next step is.’

  ‘What about Jarvis?’

  I took a great heaving sigh. ‘He’s gone a bit strange on me. When I got to Hobart, I sent him a short message saying that I would be out of contact for a few days while I was on holiday, that I wanted to spend some time with the family and clear my head a bit. I said that I still loved him. I mean, I was very reassuring and all. I just needed a few days to myself, you know? Anyway, since I’ve gotten back, he’s been so distant. Maybe only a message every two days, and they’ve been so matter-of-fact, so impersonal. I think I really upset him. And it’s such a shit that we only have this way of communicating with each other. I can never really get to the bottom of anything with him. I have to wait hours, even a day sometimes between messages, and then maybe the mood’s changed or he’s just tired, or he’s pissed off about something else . . . I never know what’s going on.’

  ‘Why don’t you just pick up the phone and call him?’

  ‘I don’t know why. Yeah, maybe I should. Maybe I should even visit him. Shit, who knows what Luke has been doing? I mean, is the text I saw enough? Or should I wait to discover him in something more incriminating?’

  Hattie shifted her eyes around uncertainly. ‘I don’t know. What, like the two of them in bed together or something?’

  ‘I don’t know either.’ By now I was so confused about everything. ‘I’m so scared now. Max is going to be devastated; I can’t bear to imagine how he’s going to react, the look on his face when we tell him we’re splitting up. This sounds stupid, but I’m starting to panic about all the admin of divorce, all the paperwork, working out who gets what, separating our bank accounts. I can’t be bothered moving out of the house. It all seems so fucking hard.’

  ‘It is all hard. It takes months to sort out. I felt unsettled for so long after I split up with Brad. But maybe it will be worth it in the long run.’

  ‘You’re happier now, yeah? After going through all that?’

  ‘Of course I’m happy. I’d do it all again, if I had to.’

  ‘I like to hear that. Can you keep reminding me of that? I feel like I’m about to unravel. Can you please remind me again?’

  ‘Absolutely, I’ll be here to remind you.’

  ‘You know what? In a way I’m jealous of you. You’re on the other side of your dilemma. You’ve faced your demons and overcome them. I mean, it must have been a huge thing coming out of the closet like that at your age. Maybe I didn’t appreciate what you’ve been through enough. I’m so scared of having to tell people about Luke and I breaking up and getting judged by others. That’s my coming out. Although, I guess, all along, I’ve been wanting to hide behind Luke having a scandal. I’m weaker than you. You’re far braver.’

  It was true. I had so much respect for Hattie, she’d handled herself so well through all of her troubles. She’d made it appear uncomplicated, when really — I realised now — it must have been terribly complicated.

  ‘I wasn’t brave, I just felt like I had no other option. And it was hell. But I think the worst part of it was the fear of disaster, the fear of hurting other people. Once I’d said those words to Brad, and to my family, once they all knew, it got easier. I’ve realised that fear can trap us, but honesty can free us.’

  I squeezed Hattie’s hand, appreciating her words of wisdom in this wrecking yard of life.

  ‘Luisa, why don’t you just come clean to Luke?’

  ‘I can’t. It’s almost gone beyond that for me. I’m sorry . . . I’m piss weak, I know that. I wish I could be more like you. Please don’t lose respect for me for what I’m doing.’

  ‘I could never lose respect for you. I’ve been thinking about all of this. I understand that you’re trying to look after everyone’s interests here and cause the least damage. I’m your best friend; I’m here to support you. I just worry about you.’

  ‘Enough about me already,’ I almost couldn’t bear to talk about it a moment longer. ‘How are things with Tess?’

  ‘It’s all a dream still. I can’t believe it. It just keeps getting better and better.’ And with that, Hattie whet my appetite for the excitement of a new relationship.

&n
bsp; 31

  Luke seemed so happy. I hadn’t seen his guitar for about three years, but he started playing it again. He gave Max lessons some nights after dinner. They started off slowly. He taught Max some chords, like how to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’, but then they moved on to other things like ‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door’ and ‘With or Without You’. After their little session, Luke would show off to us with renditions of ‘Hey Jude’ or ‘Blower’s Daughter’ or ‘Friday I’m in Love’. He even played that Paul Kelly song ‘So Much Water So Close to Home’ and it was as close as we ever got to sharing a love of Raymond Carver together.

  This was the Luke I remembered, the one who used to take his guitar away with him on camping trips with friends of ours when we first met. We were young and full of optimism, and we’d sit around the campsite in Erica, by the running river. He was my man, our musician. We’d all sing along, but the star attraction was all mine. He had hair down to his shoulders, thick and wavy, and he played the guitar as radiantly as the wood in the fire burned. He’d wanted to be in a band once, and I’d wanted to be a writer, and at that time we both thought we would achieve those things, but life had taken us down different paths and somehow we’d forgotten to look back.

  So the guitar was out again, leaning against the living-room wall, symbolising a new joy in his life that made him remember old joys. I noticed that he clipped his fingernails more frequently, he went to the barbers more often, he was avoiding getting those ratty tails around his neckline that he used to put up with for weeks. He started running some nights after work, bursting endorphins into his bloodstream that calmed him down and made him more pleasant to be around.

  The grey tracksuit pants were languishing in his bottom drawer, and he wore jeans or shorts all the time now. He no longer lived in his around-the-house gear, not even when he was doing the garden. It was like he was expecting someone to drop over at any given time and he wanted to always look his best. He bought a new speaker system and hooked it up outside, so that he could listen to his music while he worked outdoors. From the kitchen window I spied him privately air pumping and singing out to some tunes as though he was on stage. I even saw those shoulders of his move, his head nod and his hips shake.

  My emotional affair had made me angsty, withdrawn and guilty; his had made him a better man. I was jealous of his carefree attitude towards it, the way he was flying along with his emotions, feet off the ground. I’d dragged my feet since I’d fallen for Jarvis. I’d resisted everything and been a pain to everyone around me. Luke, on the other hand, had become a joy.

  He wanted to talk again. We would hang out in the kitchen making dinner together and he’d tell me about his day with enthusiasm and ask me my opinion on new plans for the Patch. He was even interested in my editing projects.

  I hadn’t made up my mind yet about what to do about the message I’d seen. Doing anything felt too scary, so I did nothing. I just wanted to enjoy the new Luke for a while.

  One night, Luke organised his sister to come over to look after Max, so we could go out to dinner and a film. He hadn’t done anything like this since Max was born. This spontaneous meal with him was so simple, yet so effective in drawing me back into his aura. We had dinner at Mario’s and we didn’t talk about Max. We talked about beekeeping, sustainable farming and how private schools are the destruction of an egalitarian society. He even let me discourse on the Hermann Hesse book I was currently reading, and showed a glimmer of interest. When we went to see the film, he kissed me in the dark, like a young lover, and put his arm through mine and rested his head on my shoulder. We stayed like that through the whole film.

  We went home, and after his sister had gone he lit the fire and we made love on the rug with carefree abandon. He’d thrown caution to the wind and I was coming along for the ride. It was like we were in a yellow sports-car, with the roof down, the wind blowing through our hair, he was driving too fast, and I didn’t know what the destination was, but I didn’t care anymore.

  32

  Jarvis had become distant. He was signing off his messages with a lazy xxx rather than love always, or yours always, or mad love, as always, or capital XXX (which I knew meant hardcore kisses). I felt like I should pick up the phone and tell him about the message I’d seen on Luke’s phone, assure him that we were on track and everything was working out as I’d planned, but something held me back. Perhaps I was waiting to see what he would do. Maybe I felt as though he had to prove himself before I made that one final step away from Luke and into Jarvis’s world.

  I thought that maybe Jarvis was busy and distracted. He was working on a new series of mini-zombies that he wanted to submit in the Deakin University Small Sculpture Award. After his success with the McClelland survey, he was filled with hope, and I admired his dedication, how he could work at the abattoir some days, yet still stay up until three in the morning working on his zombie figures in the studio, listening to Mahler on the stereo. I didn’t want to ruin this period of intense creativity, so I took a backwards step and left the ball in his court. I knew he was still there, his messages said that he still wanted me, that we would only be truly happy once we were together. It was just those lowercase xxx’s that bothered me and planted some doubt in my mind.

  I began to wonder what exactly Luke was doing with Suzi. Were they just sending each other nice messages? Or had they consummated their passion? I checked his phone every night while he was in the shower, but I couldn’t find another thing; he must have been careful about deleting everything.

  I started making impromptu visits to the Patch. I’d casually ask a staff member what everyone had been up to earlier, seeing if I could find out whether Luke had been there all day. He always seemed to have been there. When I dropped by, Luke would take time out from whatever he was doing and we’d get a coffee together. He seemed less distracted, as though he enjoyed my company. Sometimes he would walk me around the Patch and with pride show me the new areas he was developing.

  One day, while we were walking hand-in-hand up the back of the Patch, the sun reflecting off the skyscraper windows around us, I said, ‘This is how it’s always supposed to have been.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You and me . . . like this. Don’t you feel like we’ve reconnected or something lately?’

  He looked at me, his eyebrows dipping in the middle. For a moment I felt as though I may have annoyed him again, that I shouldn’t say stuff like this. But then he said, ‘I feel that, too. Like we’ve come out of some big, dark stretch, into the light again. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, too.’

  ‘Really? So you admit it.’

  ‘Of course. Life got hard. Maybe we’re coming out the other end of it.’ And he gave me a big pash at the back of the Patch, not caring if his staff or clients saw it. We were like teenagers, our hands all over each other, slobber around our mouths. It was tacky and passionate, and was the magic that had been missing for years in our relationship. I thought perhaps the fire hadn’t gone out in his belly after all, it had just needed a gust of wind to fan those flames of passion inside him.

  33

  I was working on the very final corrections to Suzi’s book. She rang me on the phone and spoke tentatively to me.

  ‘I was hoping to see the pages one final time,’ she said.

  I stalled for a moment. ‘You should call Dave. I thought he was going to talk to you about this.’

  ‘He did. But I just spoke to him. He said I could give you a call and ask.’

  ‘Did he now? Well the answer is no. I’ve got to courier this to the printers this afternoon or it’s going to miss the deadline.’

  ‘I’ll come round. I just need to check one thing. I couldn’t sleep last night. It’s just one thing, I promise you. It’s important. I won’t look at it all. Please?’ She sounded so desperate, so needy, that I took pity on the woman. I’ve never been good at saying no.

  ‘All right. But you can only check that one thing. And I’ve got to
keep working on it myself.’

  Suzi came over half an hour later, wearing skinny blue jeans, a black singlet and white Havaianas. She’d been worried about a photograph in the book. She thought perhaps it had been inserted in the wrong chapter and was a different killer than the one where it had been placed. But she checked the page, the caption, the victim, and it all seemed to be in order. ‘Thank goodness. I don’t know why, but I’d convinced myself that I’d put it in the wrong chapter.’

  We were sitting in my study. I was on my swivel chair at the desk and she was sitting on the green Fleur armchair that was so low that people had to use all of their strength just to pull themselves up out of it. She handed me the page back happily. I was so close to the person I believed was my husband’s mistress, I could smell her perfume: Issey Miyake. I had worn it myself three years earlier. She must have showered late; her hair was still drying, she had a natural, sun-kissed look about her, a real girl-next-door.

  ‘Are you sleeping with my husband?’ I said all of a sudden. I hadn’t even planned it.

  The skin on her face burst out red, and she twisted her mouth, trying to make some kind of sound.

  ‘You are, aren’t you? Have you fucked, like really?’

  ‘You said you were hoping he would meet somebody.’

  ‘Shit, you are. What have you done?’

  She looked around, as though she was searching for Luke’s support.

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘I don’t care what I said — you have to tell me what you’ve been doing.’

  ‘We see each other, sometimes, in the mornings. He comes over.’