House for All Seasons

by Jenn J. McLeod

  ‘Is that what I said? Of course, I meant children generally speaking. Oh dear, perhaps I am starting to tire,’ Cheryl said, although the vigorous whack on Muddy’s rump to keep the cow moving—to keep their conversation moving—suggested otherwise. ‘What I should’ve said was child. You were my child, my life. Jack wanted more from me. Being a mother wasn’t enough.’ She sighed. ‘I wasn’t enough for Jack. We fought back then, a lot. I had to do something, or else lose him again.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I didn’t want him leaving me behind like he did when we first married. I had to do something. Your father blamed my shyness for holding him back. I had to find the courage to be the life of the party. That courage came in a bottle, allowing me to fake everything. Jack was happy for a while, but he changed as you grew older. You became the number one thing in his life. You were Daddy’s princess, something beautiful to show off. He no longer needed me.’

  Cheryl’s words held no resentment, just sadness.

  How had Amber not seen her father’s duplicity? What a fool. Only later, witnessing his influence over Fiona, had she begun to see through Jack’s veneer. Fiona was Jack’s princess now and only Amber could stop history repeating itself. She would need to reassess her father’s place in their lives, put some rules in place. Then, hardest of all, she would have to start bridging the divide between Fiona and her.

  ‘Come on, slowpokes,’ Christopher called. Amber hurried him on, keen to keep the conversation with her mother flowing. ‘You go ahead, Christopher. We won’t be far behind. And be careful with those jams.’

  Mother and daughter—cow in tow—fell back into a synchronised stroll, Amber’s hand now resting in the crook of her mother’s arm, hers and her mother’s footprints side by side. They were learning to walk, taking small steps together, imprinting themselves on each other’s hearts and minds like the imprint of their feet in the dirt. Unlike the physical signs of their journey, easily wiped away by the next willy-willy or rainstorm, their emotional one would not be so simply erased. While things needed to be said, Amber had to tread lightly. What she wanted to tell her mother would either bring them closer or drive them further apart.

  Her mother spoke first. ‘I made a lot of wrong choices in my life, Amber, choices that were right for everyone else. I pretended to be happy. I drank so much and pretended so much that I forgot who the real me was without a drink. Ironically, that same courage I thought I’d found in a bottle failed to give me the strength I needed the most—the courage to say no more and the courage to leave.’

  ‘He abused you. I know that now. But, Mum, he abused me too.’ Amber regretted her choice of words when she saw the horror in her mother’s face. ‘Oh no, no, not like that. I mean, I trusted him. I took everything he said as true, even agreeing to forget you and Calingarry Crossing for the sake of my marriage and family. Even lying to Phillip about … about you being dead.’ Shame flamed Amber’s cheeks. ‘How does a person take something like that back? Tell me and I will.’

  Cheryl said nothing, tightening her arm around her daughter.

  ‘You told Christopher the other day that you hoped I was wiser. I am. I have been for a while, and I was wise to my father a long time ago. Only I didn’t know what was real in my life. I still don’t, and I didn’t trust that my marriage was strong enough to withstand the truth: that I had been lying to Phillip about not having a mother. I was so stupid.’

  ‘Amber, look at me.’ Cheryl whipped Amber around to face her. ‘Come on now, no crying.’ Her mother smiled and wiped Amber’s cheeks with her fingers. ‘We live the best we know how. My choices weren’t wise. We can know what’s right, but still experiment with the wrong side. What’s important is that we emerge better, stronger people. The thing is to stop and recognise the little achievements so we can celebrate. You don’t need perfect.’

  ‘Why did it take me so long to do this? To come home. Look at you. I can’t get over how different you are, Mum.’

  ‘I’m comfortable with who I am, happy to be a flawed person striving to be good. That’s what’s most important. Now stop crying or you’ll start me off.’ Cheryl smiled, a big, beautiful smile that completely overwhelmed her face. ‘And that, Amber, would make two crying women coated in dust and smelling like cow.’

  *

  The last half kilometre to the punt was completed in a secure silence; mother and daughter arm-in-arm, Christopher riding ahead and back again, Muddy the cow keeping an easy pace beside Amber.

  ‘Thank you for everything, Mum,’ she said. ‘I guess it was bad luck about the orchids.’

  ‘Things don’t always go to plan.’

  ‘Oh no, you sure can say that again,’ Amber muttered, seeing the familiar frame leaning against the car parked on the deck of the punt.

  What on earth?

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Phillip called, waving and setting off in long, impatient strides up the hill from the punt. Waiting was not something Phillip did well. ‘I was hoping someone would come along and show me how to make this damn thing move. I tried calling my wife, but her mobile is switched off and …’

  Despite Phillip shielding his face, Amber still saw his expression change—surprise, then amusement, and finally confusion as a red-haired, blue-eyed Christopher rode towards him.

  ‘G’day there,’ Chris called, his bike skidding to a stop in front of a flabbergasted Phillip.

  ‘And hello to you too.’

  ‘What are you doing here, Phillip?’ Amber asked.

  ‘Ah, I’m looking for my wife. Perhaps you’ve seen her. Immaculately dressed, straight red hair, the world’s tallest stilettos, and usually toting a Gucci leather handbag, not the whole cow.’

  Sarcasm—another of Phillip’s very few failings.

  ‘This is Muddy,’ Amber said, as if introducing him to one of the luncheon crowd ladies. ‘That’s Christopher on the bike and this is … this is my mum, Cheryl. Cheryl, Phillip is my husband.’

  Cheryl broke her hold on Amber’s arm, her demeanour suddenly different, wary.

  ‘I thought I recognised the face,’ she said, standing her ground, hesitating before accepting the hand Phillip extended.

  ‘I didn’t think I would ever meet you, Cheryl.’

  ‘So I believe.’

  Conversation completed, the pair turned to Amber.

  ‘Okay then.’ She forced a smile. ‘This is a bit awkward. Shall we all go to the house?’

  36

  After loading the husband, the husband’s car, the cow, the kid and the mother onto the punt, Amber pushed the button, looked skyward as though praying to God and mumbled, ‘Beam me up, Scotty.’

  Tackling alien invaders had to be preferable to this.

  Christopher remained oblivious to the adult angst, the boy’s tales of cow whispering and their blue ribbon success at the fair amusing them all. Phillip even shook the animal’s big, floppy ear when Christopher formally introduced the prize-winning cow. Amber had laughed, while sadness pulled at her heart as she watched their rapport. Phillip would have loved a boy.

  The punt crossing had been the longest trip. By the time they reached the top of the driveway, they’d exhausted all small talk about the day, the weather and the house.

  ‘I hope you don’t think me rude,’ Cheryl said. ‘You’ll understand if Chris and I jump straight in the car and go back to town. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘That’s fine, Mum.’

  Amber kissed her mother on the cheek, an action that until now had felt unnatural. She wished the day didn’t have to end on such a strained note. She could understand Cheryl’s caution. Seeing Phillip, knowing he had a relationship with her ex-husband, had to be difficult. Somehow Amber had to let Cheryl see her husband was not another Jack Bailey.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Phillip,’ Cheryl said.

  ‘And you.’

  ‘Mum,’ Amber jumped in. ‘How about we catch up for lunch?’

  ‘My feet will do well with a day or two to recover
. Perhaps after that,’ she added quickly, as if sensing Amber’s disappointment. ‘Are you sure you’re okay with Muddy on your own?’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Cheryl,’ Phillip chipped in. ‘You go. I can help Amber from here.’

  ‘Oh really?’ Amber’s words sat on the edge of a laugh. ‘And what do you know about helping with a cow?’

  ‘How hard can it be?’

  Christopher hesitated at the car and Amber guessed it was about leaving his bike. ‘I’ll bring the bike by tomorrow.’

  The boy barrelled into Amber, almost winding her as he wrapped both arms around her. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Today was awesome.’

  For a few surreal seconds Amber tangled her fingers in the thick red mop of curls on the boy’s head, breathing back the choking sob swelling in her chest. Then she reluctantly peeled the child away and scooted him back to Cheryl’s waiting arms.

  ‘Good, now off you go.’ She yanked Muddy’s nose halter and dragged the oblivious beast around the corner of the house. ‘I won’t be long, Phillip.’

  ‘You sure I can’t help?’

  ‘I’m fine. Make yourself at home,’ she called back as she turned the corner and burst into tears.

  Phillip was waiting when she kicked off her shoes at the front door, being careful to keep her face turned away to avoid his scrutiny.

  ‘You had that cow eating out of your hand.’

  ‘Bet I smell like a cow’s been eating out of my hand. I have to shower, then I’ll need a drink.’

  *

  A plate with cheese and crackers sat on the coffee table beside two glasses of champagne. Her husband had repositioned two rocking chairs in front of the big picture window so they had a view over the property. He stood as she entered the living room.

  ‘Can we say hello properly now you don’t smell like a cow?’ Phillip leaned down to kiss her and Amber offered him a cheek, taking the glass from him and putting some distance between them.

  ‘Well then, I had no idea when I bought champagne I’d be toasting you and a blue ribbon cow.’

  Amber sipped—twice—before placing the glass on the table. Too edgy to sit, she leaned the small of her back against the old sideboard sitting next to the window and folded both arms over her chest. With the euphoria of the day washed away, along with the scent of cow, Amber prepared herself for her reality, knowing their next conversation would be another gash in the life raft on which their marriage felt like it had drifted lately.

  ‘What are you really doing here, Phillip?’

  ‘What can I say? I can’t sleep without you beside me. I missed you and you weren’t returning my calls.’

  ‘My phone is flat. No charger. I left it behind.’

  ‘I know. I brought it with me. Your phone’s on the kitchen table charging.’ Phillip sat back in the chair, crossing his legs as he did in his consulting rooms, the same conciliatory smile on his face. Amber felt resentment wending its way to the surface.

  ‘Please don’t, Phillip.’

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Do that thing … That take control thing you do. I’m more than capable of plugging in my own phone.’

  Phillip raised a hand in surrender. ‘Okay. Point taken.’

  Amber grumbled an apology into her champagne. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult couple of days.’

  ‘I didn’t think it would be a walk in the park. If it helps, your father is furious. He even hung up on me the other night when I told him.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure about the rules of this thing you’re doing, but I figured you wouldn’t kick me out. I know you said something about having no contact. I hoped that didn’t include me. I also didn’t think spending a couple of days with my wife would be breaking any rules.’

  ‘You know I never did care too much for rules,’ she said with a wry smile.

  Phillip Blair stared out the window at the strange new world he’d stumbled into.

  The country.

  ‘You know I was leaving you.’

  There. She’d confessed aloud, if you can call mumbling into your champagne aloud. Now for the flutter inside her stomach. What if he said, ‘Fine, go right ahead, the sooner the better’?

  What then?

  When she summoned the courage to look up, Phillip was looking back, one eyebrow arched.

  ‘I did wonder about that the day you left,’ he said, sitting back, arms folded. ‘May I ask why?’

  The question irked her, as did his body language and supercilious smirk. Amber closed her eyes to banish the image of him sitting in front of a patient who was wanting nothing more than her nose buttoned, her breasts boosted, her buttocks Botoxed.

  ‘If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I could have told you.’

  ‘And now?’

  She shrugged. ‘Now I don’t know how to answer.’

  He stared at her without saying anything, studying her. Then he put his glass down, unfolded his legs and leaned forwards, the doctor gone. ‘Do you know what that would do to me?’ he finally said in a soft, sad way.

  Amber couldn’t look at him, too afraid to speak in case she chose the wrong words.

  ‘Has something happened? More importantly, Amber, have you changed your mind about leaving?’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘No!’ she snapped. ‘What do you want, Phillip?’

  ‘Stop being so childish, Amber.’ He slammed the brakes on the chair’s rocking motion, the sharp slap of hands on his armrests a rare display of exasperation. ‘I’m trying to understand this house thing, your not-so-dead mother, your walking away from Fiona, your obsession all these years with losing our baby.’

  Amber blinked, her voice softening. ‘Christopher,’ she breathed. ‘We called him Christopher, remember? Why can’t you say his name?’

  ‘Of course I remember,’ Phillip said, uncharacteristic anger seeping into his voice. ‘I remember everything. What I don’t recall, at any stage, is my wife telling me she’s unhappy. Instead, she simply packs her bags one day and leaves. You’ve come all the way out here for what? To claim an inheritance you don’t want or need? Or is this about reliving your youth? We don’t get to go back, Amber. Life is not a playground. You’re all grown up. You have responsibilities.’

  ‘Do I?’ she challenged. ‘And what are they? To look perfect? To throw the perfect dinner party? Well, I’m not perfect and I don’t cook dinner. I don’t even know to put onion in a tomato pasta.’ Phillip’s brow knotted. ‘Do you know I can’t even make scones?’ she said. My mother can make scones. My mother makes award-winning scones.’

  ‘Scones? What are you on about?’

  Poor Phillip. He looked so confused.

  ‘Don’t you get it? I have no real responsibilities and no purpose other than to look good, and you of all people should know the physical pain that goes with every procedure, every cut.’ Amber breathed back to slow the rush of words. ‘Cheryl told me today she wasn’t perfect, that she was a flawed person trying to be good. Well, I’m not perfect either, but instead I’m a flawed person living a damn lie.’

  ‘What lie?’

  ‘I’m a fraud. I don’t do anything on my own, Phillip.’

  ‘Rubbish. You plan amazing parties and coordinate fundraisers and—’

  ‘I don’t do any of that on my own. I do everything as Phillip Blair’s wife, Jack Bailey’s daughter, or Fiona’s mother. It’s all we. I need to find me. Who am I? What purpose do I play? I’m not a good mother or a good wife, and as Jack is about to find out, I can be a hell of a bad daughter, too. I can’t even give you a son and I’m running out of time.’

  Anticipating her husband’s move to hold her and tell her everything would be all right in the morning, Amber shifted out of reach, her hand stopping Phillip.

  ‘Amber.’ The name slipped like honey off his tongue as he relaxed into the rocker, the physician’s everything will be fine pose reinstated. ‘If we run out of t
ime, as you are suggesting, then we’ll find another way.’

  Amber drew a breath and held it, trying to calm herself.

  ‘Of course that’s what a doctor would say. There’s always an alternative. You’re missing the point. Adding another child only makes me someone else’s mother. Who am I, Phillip? What I don’t want is to go back to a life without meaning. Nor do I want to lose you. I’ve had time to think here. This house, Christopher, my mother. They’ve made me see a better version of myself. I’ve been so lost. I want to be found.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I think I saw that in you earlier. I have to say, seeing you today I’ve realised something too.’ He paused, leaned forward, his face suddenly serious, his eyes staring hard. ‘I don’t want my wife back.’

  Amber’s mouth parted to speak. Instead of words, a sharp intake of cold night air brushed over her lips. Dread prickled her skin, fear-filled blood surging through her veins.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t want my wife,’ he continued. ‘Because I want the woman I saw an hour ago, the one with the cow and the curly hair and the tomato sauce–stained shirt.’

  ‘Do not make fun of me.’

  ‘I’m not.’ He walked over but did not attempt to touch her, simply positioning himself against the same sideboard to stare at the same bit of sky. ‘I’m saying, I think I agree. I want you to come back home with me, but come back and be you, not the person your father expects, or the person you think I want. And certainly not the person you’re terrified of becoming.’

  ‘You mean my mother?’

  ‘Isn’t that what has driven you all these years—not becoming your mother? Isn’t that what Jack has held over you?’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Amber, my love, you should know me better. I hate the way Jack lords it over you. But far be it from me to say a bad word against your father.’

  ‘He controlled Mum the same way. Did you see her? My mother is so … She’s so different, so strong, so capable—’

  ‘So alive!’

  She whipped around, prepared to attack, but Phillip’s smile caught her off guard, calming her. She even managed to return the smile.