‘Then why have you not agreed on one of these five quotes and built the fence?’
‘Because, Your Honour,’ Frankie interjects, ‘the fence cannot be built.’ She smiles at the man. This is her trump card.
Again that frown. ‘You have five quotes here saying otherwise, Mrs Desmarchelliers. What do you mean it can’t be built?’
Frankie drops the smile. ‘The previous fencing order stipulates that the fence cannot exceed 1.8 metres at its highest point. Given the slope of the land that’s impossible. Building the fence to specification at 1.8 metres on our side makes it more than two metres high on the Hills’ side and thus is non-compliant.’
‘Did you attempt to have this conversation with your neighbours, Mrs Desmarchelliers?’ The adjudicator flicks through the pages of evidence, searching for proof.
Frankie tilts her chin. ‘The relationship with our neighbours precludes such a discussion.’
He stops flicking. ‘What? You can’t knock on their door and explain that the fence won’t meet specifications. Why don’t you build the fence so that it doesn’t exceed 1.8 metres on their side then?’
The last thing Frankie wants is the fence to be even lower on her side. She says the first thing she thinks of, ‘The difficulty is the slope of the land.’
He shuffles through the paperwork again. ‘I can’t see a survey in here.’
Frankie glances at Brandon. She is sure the survey is in there. She’ll kill Brandon if he’s forgotten to include it. ‘There’s a copy of the survey that came with the property in the materials,’ Frankie says, hoping she’s right.
He holds up a copy of the property alignment. ‘This only shows the boundaries.’
Eric Hill nods at this.
Frankie presses on. ‘The fence height needs to be 1.8 metres on our side because we have small children. Without it, they can access the road via the neighbour’s property.’
‘How old are the children?’ he asks.
‘The twins are four, Marigold is two and a half and there’s the baby.’ She draws his attention to the pram. Bijoux chooses that moment to shriek. The adjudicator glares down from his eyrie. ‘Do you require a break, Mrs Desmarchelliers?’
‘No, no, she’s due for a feed.’ Frankie picks up Bijoux whilst Brandon leaps from his chair and retrieves a wrap from the basket. Frankie drapes it over her shoulder and nestles Bijoux underneath.
‘I’m sorry, we couldn’t find a sitter to mind her at such short notice.’
‘May I remind you, Mrs Desmarchelliers, it was you who asked for this hearing.’ He holds up a thick report. ‘And what’s this for?’
In a moment of inspiration, Frankie had at last found something useful from the council. She stares right back at him and says, ‘It’s Kuring-gai council’s most recent traffic accident survey. As you will see, we’ve highlighted the relevant pages. There were 12,633 incidents involving vehicles in the council area in the preceding three years. We live on a very dangerous road with cars speeding up and down all the time. It is imperative that this fence is built to protect our children from wandering onto the street and being run over.’
‘May I say something, sir?’ Gwen Hill raises her hand as if she is a child in a classroom.
‘Yes?’ he barks.
‘Green Valley Avenue is a cul-de-sac. The only traffic in the area is residential. Some locals use the park at the end of the street but they mostly ride their bikes down.’
He leans forward, his cheeks take on a worrying purple hue. ‘That both parties are here today is a waste of your time and mine. It is within my powers to order you to complete a survey which will cost you in the vicinity of four thousand dollars and we can meet back here in a month’s time where I will modify the orders accordingly.’ He stands. ‘I am calling a ten-minute recess for both parties to digest this information and decide whether you are going to agree on how this fence is to be built or persist in pursuing what is rapidly becoming a vexatious claim.’
He glares at Frankie and Brandon before leaving the room, as if they are the source of the problem. Frankie is incensed. He should be telling the Hills to toe the line. She turns on Gwen, ‘You people are outrageous. You’re prepared to stop at nothing to prevent this fence.’
Mrs Hill reacts angrily. ‘That’s untrue! We’re here to agree on building your blasted fence, although I can’t for the life of me see why you want one. What’s the point of all those photos and that stupid traffic report?’
Frankie enunciates each and every word. ‘The fence needs to be built, Mrs Hill, to stop you snooping around our garden.’
‘I am not!’ Mrs Hill looks like she is about to cry. ‘When have I ever done that?’
Frankie mimes sprinkling blood and bone on the lemon.
‘It’s trespassing!’ Brandon sneers over Frankie’s shoulder.
‘It’s only trespassing if you have a sign up or you tell the person so,’ says Mr Hill, placing his wooden block on the table.
‘And you need to be told you’re not welcome?’ Frankie sighs.
‘Why are you like this?’ Mrs Hill cries. ‘We’ve never done anything to you.’
Enough is enough. Frankie cannot bear these people. They are ruining her life. ‘You are an old busybody, Mrs Hill. We don’t like you knowing our business.’
‘He doesn’t especially.’ Mr Hill chuckles to himself.
‘I beg your pardon.’ Frankie rounds on him.
‘Shush, Eric, not now,’ Gwen Hill whispers, patting his knee.
Frankie looks to Brandon who is suddenly engrossed in flicking through copies of the photos. Mrs Hill is writing something in her notebook. Frankie is getting that same prickling sensation she gets when she catches Amber out in a lie. ‘I asked you what you meant?’
‘He doesn’t mean anything,’ Mrs Hill says, refusing to make eye contact. She changes the topic. ‘We need to talk about this survey before the head of the tribunal comes back. It makes no sense to me to pay out good money for a survey. I have no idea why you say the fence can’t be built. I thought Luke’s quote was quite reasonable.’
‘Your mate, you mean,’ Brandon throws in.
Mrs Hill frowns. ‘He’s Val’s son and a qualified fencer. What’s wrong with getting someone you know to do the job?’
Brandon smirks at her. ‘Yeah, at some dodgy price.’
‘It’s not dodgy. He knows we haven’t got much cash to spare.’
She looks annoyed at admitting that. Frankie’s eyes narrow. It is tempting to demand they get a survey but after the four grand they’ve already wasted on the fence, and the fact she will have to take maternity leave next year, she can ill afford to be forking out more money just to prove a point.
The old lady closes her notebook. ‘Build your fence. I know you won’t stop harassing us until you get your way. Build it, as long as it is no more than two metres high on our side.’
Frankie throws Brandon a smile before turning to Mrs Hill. ‘And your trees?’
Gwen shoots her a filthy look. ‘Oh, you started killing our trees off long ago, didn’t you, dear?’ she says, looking straight at Brandon who looks away.
Frankie has no idea what’s going on. That prickling feeling worsens. Maybe it’s morning sickness.
The old woman goes on. ‘But I promise you one thing, young lady. Building a fence is not going to keep the world out and won’t keep your children in. Life’s not that simple.’
Frankie hates her, hates her smugness, her oldness, her determination to thwart them at every turn. The Hills know something she doesn’t know, can’t know since she is rarely home. Brandon is hiding something and they know what it is. It makes her so angry she could cry. As the tribunal man re-enters the room, Frankie glowers at Mrs Hill, hissing, ‘You people are despicable.’
*
Frankie ignores Brandon all the way home.
They had told the head of the tribunal they had agreed a survey was not necessary. Mrs Hill had said that as long as the fence was no more than two metres high on their side they would not argue. Sitting there in her crisp blouse and slacks, her white hair and her old lady glasses, persuading that man they were the innocent party without saying a word. He concluded that Brandon and Frankie were the root of the problem. He must have done, why else had he specified the fence to be built the way he had?
They have lost. An unspeakable injustice has occurred and they are powerless to change it without resorting to lawyers and throwing good money after bad. Bijoux is happy at least, squealing to herself in her car seat, batting at her mobile. That gummy smile gets Frankie every time. This is what she is fighting for. To protect her children. Why has it turned into such a nightmare?
Frankie leans her head against the cool glass. She must tell Brandon she’s pregnant. He’s probably guessed by now but it has to be said out loud. They have to have the conversation about what it means bringing a fifth child into the world. A fifth! Western women everywhere are mortgaging their lives for the sake of producing one child, obsessing over the meaning of life without motherhood, and here she is, churning them out like a factory.
Frankie yawns as they pull into the driveway, saying to Brandon, ‘I’m exhausted. I’m going to take Bijoux in with me for a nap.’
Brandon shoots her a look that is fuelled with resentment and anger. He put in a lot of effort preparing for today’s meeting. He’d followed Frankie’s instructions to the letter. And she’s still not happy. When he thinks how close the Hills came to telling Frankie about Camilla. How much do they know?
Brandon doesn’t answer but she doesn’t care. She is over caring what Brandon thinks about anything.
*
In the following weeks, Frankie manages to enter and exit her home without once seeing Mrs Hill. It is bliss. Giving the Hills a dose of the truth has worked a treat. They are despicable people, snooping around, accusing them of poisoning their mulberry tree, calling the police! Never before had she appreciated how liberating it is to be able to go about her daily business without being watched and judged.
Frankie arrives home after detouring via the nail salon – a pedicure had done wonders to restore her spirits. She loves this time of year, the longer days. The poor bedraggled garden looks as if it has been hit by a tornado. After selling whatever plants people were willing to pay for, Brandon has sprayed the rest with weedkiller, which she personally thinks is a bit drastic but he said he wanted bare earth on which to build their edible garden. Pity that it will remain a disaster zone until Christmas when the fence will be finished.
‘Excuse me,’ a voice startles her. Mrs Hill hovers at the bottom of the driveway waving an envelope.
‘Yes?’ Frankie feels her good mood dampen.
‘This was delivered to us by accident. Do you want me to put it in your letterbox?’
The old lady is taking them at their word that she is not to step foot on their property. Good. It’s about time someone put her in her place.
As tempting as it is to avoid her now, Frankie says, ‘No, I may as well take it,’ walking back down the driveway.
‘It’s from the telephone company,’ adds the old lady.
Not ours, Frankie thinks, on seeing the logo. Probably marketing material. She slips the envelope into her handbag and waits for Mrs Hill to go but the old lady continues standing there. Frankie can see she is struggling to say something, her lips move around the shape of the words without allowing any of them out. ‘Yes?’ she prompts. She will not leave this spot until the old lady clears off.
Mrs Hill points at her, or more precisely, she points at Frankie’s stomach. ‘You’ve another on the way then?’
Frankie is shocked. She isn’t even eight weeks yet, she’s been trying to hide it. ‘How can you tell?’
Mrs Hill laughs. ‘Oh you girls always think you’re so clever. It shows in the way you carry yourself. It’s quite a brood you’re building here. Is this the last one for the set or are you going for the half-dozen?’
Set? Like children were dinner plates. Already Frankie is thinking of a new car. One of those people movers. Brandon will hate it but this is half his fault. The Mercedes will have to be replaced by something more practical, like a Kia.
Frankie goes to rest her hand on her stomach but realises in time and drops it. ‘I have to go.’
‘When are you due, dear?’ persists the old woman.
‘Early May,’ Frankie says, walking away. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Hill,’ she adds, reinforcing the message.
But the old biddy is still there when Frankie shuts the front door. There is something wrong with her, Frankie thinks. She needs to find people her own age.
Brandon is wiping down the kitchen bench. She’s surprised to see it is clear of clutter. In fact, the whole lounge room is tidy. This has been happening a lot lately. Her rant about Brandon pulling his weight has at last had an impact. Like the old Brandon. Perhaps telling him her news won’t be so hard after all.
‘Hey, babe,’ he says, passing her a glass of wine, though it is only afternoon.
‘Thanks, Brandy. Do you mind adding some soda? I skipped lunch.’ She sips at the wine spritzer, to be sociable. ‘Where are the kids?’
‘The twins are having an early bath. Marigold has had hers. I think she’s in her room drawing.’ Bijoux, fluffy in a clean jumpsuit, plays on her mat.
Frankie pushes the wine away.
‘I have something to tell you,’ they both say at the same time.
‘Oh, you go first.’
‘No, you go.’
They laugh. Frankie waves her hand, dismissing her news in deference to his. ‘Go on, what have you got to tell me?’
Brandon takes a deep pull on his beer. ‘You know I had that meeting with Diane Slaughter from Gumnut yesterday.’
‘Was that yesterday? I thought it was next week.’
‘I put it in your calendar.’
‘Did you?’ Frankie fishes in her handbag for her phone, sees the envelope Gwen Hill gave her and notices it is addressed to Brandon. That’s odd, she thinks. All the bills are either in her name or both their names. She swipes her phone and opens the calendar. ‘Oh yeah, about the twins. What did she have to say?’
Brandon places a cutting board on the bench and takes a knife from the block. ‘Not great news, babe. She said they’re not ready for school, not academically so much, but their social skills.’
‘What’s wrong with their social skills?’ Talk about the apple not falling far from the tree. That Diane Slaughter is as interfering as her mother.
Brandon cuts chicken breast and threads the pieces onto skewers. He can think of plenty of things wrong with the twins’ social skills. Amber is bossy and lies about everything. Silver is quiet and sly. He’s had both sorts in his classes. Diane Slaughter has a point but he knows Frankie is set on the twins starting school next year. And not because he will have so much more freedom, free time Frankie plans to fill. It’s best to let Frankie reach her own conclusions, so he says, ‘I wish you’d been there, you’re much better at asking the right questions than I am.’
Frankie ignores the compliment. ‘There was no way I could miss the quarterly sales and production meeting.’ Why do they have to have this conversation again and again? Klaussman & Sons is so intractable about flexibility. She’s not the only parent at work but why does she always feel guilty about taking time off to attend to family matters? When a female co-worker, who doesn’t have the luxury of a stay-at-home parent, has to take time off to care for a sick child, she can see the twisted feelings when they ask for leave. As a boss, she tries to set a good example, but then she too is stuck with 8 am sales meetings because the men seemed so entrenched in this machismo game of one-upmanship, ignoring the very real issue many parents face: the daily struggle of getting th
emselves and children ready, out the door and to childcare or before-school care before the working day has even begun. She should, they all should, be able to manage their own hours, not be treated as if they are children. Brandon knows this and she can’t help directing her frustration at him, saying, ‘Anyway, you’re perfectly capable of meeting with their teacher.’
Brandon’s sure she places emphasis on the word teacher. He hates the way Frankie acts as if her ability to earn more money than him ‘allows’ him the luxury of staying at home. He can see the look in her eye when she comes in the front door at night, questioning ‘what did you do all day?’. As if managing four small children is a breeze or that his contribution to their children’s upbringing, the skills he brings as a trained teacher, are less important than her ability to earn money.
‘Well their teacher,’ he too emphasises the word, ‘says she recommends they spend another year at Gumnut. Allow them to mature, develop better negotiation and conflict resolution skills. She also feels Silver is overshadowed by Amber.’
‘She is the eldest.’
‘She does tend to dominate Silver. Other teachers have reported that he behaves perfectly fine when they are separated but when he is with Amber, he becomes either withdrawn and disengages or becomes aggressive.’
Frankie scoffs. ‘Silver prefers to play second fiddle. Amber is a confident, outgoing child who likes to get her own way. There’s nothing abnormal about that.’
She can’t understand why Brandon is taking Diane Slaughter’s view as gospel. As if there is something wrong with Amber, or Silver for that matter. Surely he can see that what Diane Slaughter wants is another twelve months of fees? Starting school is an important milestone in the twins’ lives, another year at preschool and they’ll be bored out of their brains.
Brandon pours honey and soy sauce into a bowl and rolls the chicken skewers in it. He will not be railroaded. He doubts Frankie would ever admit it to herself, but as the one who spends all day with the children, he knows them better than she ever will. He says, ‘I think the point is that if Amber is bossing other children around, she will struggle to make meaningful friendships. It can lead to bullying, Frankie. Also, she’s behind in other areas, like her reading, and she still can’t write her name.’ He reaches for another beer, though he’d promised himself he’d match Frankie drink for drink. Trouble is, she’s barely touched hers.
The Fence Page 15