Wife for Hire

by Dianne Blacklock

  ‘Again, no. Are you starting to understand why I’m lost?’

  ‘What’s the last place you recognised?’

  ‘Pymble.’

  ‘So, you’re on the north shore?’

  ‘No, not any more.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I live in Pymble. I left an hour ago for Parramatta.’

  That narrowed it down. Hardly.

  ‘Well, madam, let’s see if we can’t figure this out. Could you describe any landmarks you passed on the way?’

  ‘I didn’t see any landmarks.’

  ‘Even the moon has landmarks!’

  ‘Well I’m not on the moon! I can tell you that much.’

  ‘More’s the pity.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, are you anywhere near the city?’

  ‘Of course not, I’d know that!’

  For a fleeting moment Sam considered disconnecting. When the woman called back, she was likely to get someone else. But she reached for the directory instead. ‘Can you tell me where you were headed, exactly?’

  That evening

  ‘Mum, I’m sleeping over at Emma’s tonight,’ Jessica said breezily as she climbed into the car. She had dancing class on Friday afternoons and Sam usually picked her up after she collected Ellie from pre-school. Joshua made his own way home.

  ‘Last time I checked, Jessica, I was still the parent,’ Sam informed her. ‘And the way that works is that the child asks the parent if they’re allowed to stay at a friend’s place. And then the parent considers it and gives the child an answer.’

  She knew Jess’s eyes would be spinning in her head, but Sam kept her attention on the road.

  ‘You’re not seriously going to stop me from going to Emma’s? What am I, a prisoner of war?’

  No, drama queen maybe. ‘I’d just like a little consideration, Jess.’

  She sighed. ‘It’s just that I knew I wouldn’t be able to cope with Dad gone tonight.’

  For crying out loud.

  ‘It’ll help me take my mind off it.’

  ‘Jess, he was rarely home before nine, especially on a Friday night,’ Sam reminded her, realising that a lot of that overtime was probably something else entirely. ‘You seemed to cope fine before this.’

  ‘It’s different now, Mum!’ Jess insisted. ‘And Emma’s been through it, she understands.’

  Half the kids at school had ‘been through it’ and, as Sam recalled, Emma’s parents had split when she was a baby. Still, far be it from Sam to spoil Jess’s fifteen minutes in the limelight.

  ‘I don’t see why Dad can’t just stay. We have an extra room.’

  Sam sighed. ‘It wouldn’t work, Jess.’

  ‘It’s not fair that we have to do without a father just because you don’t want him to live with us any more.’

  ‘What?’ Sam pulled up at a red light and looked squarely at her daughter. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Dad would stay if you let him,’ Jessica said airily.

  Sam was gobsmacked. ‘Where did you get that idea?’

  ‘He said so, last night.’

  ‘What?’ Sam almost shrieked. Fuck him! What sort of a game was he playing?

  ‘Don’t have a cow, Mum!’ Jessica admonished. ‘He was only being honest.’

  Sam glared at her, but then a car horn sounded from behind. The lights had turned green. Sam pulled off, changing gears roughly.

  ‘Jessica,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘your father is going to live with another woman. That’s why he’s leaving. Is that clear?’

  ‘If you say so,’ she shrugged.

  Sam turned up the radio and Jessica promptly changed the channel. Sam didn’t care. She couldn’t speak she was so furious. How dare he say that to Jess? Where did he get off?

  When they arrived home, Sam unbuckled Ellie’s seatbelt and lifted her out of her booster seat. She marched determinedly inside. The girls followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Okay Jess, I’m presuming you want a lift over to Emma’s, so go get changed and get your things together. Oh, and check that your brother’s home while you’re upstairs.’ She turned to Ellie. ‘Why don’t you see if there’s something on the telly, sweetheart?’

  ‘But I’m hungry, Mummy,’ she said plaintively.

  ‘Okay, Mummy just has to make one phone call and then,’ her voice dropped to a whisper, ‘I’ll take you to McDonald’s after we drop Jessie off!’

  Ellie clapped her hands and skipped out of the room. Sam picked up the phone and dialled Jeff’s number at work. His assistant answered.

  ‘Oh, hello Mrs Holmes. I’m afraid he’s already left for the day.’ Sam sensed the awkwardness in her voice. There was every chance she had known what was going on, long before Sam had.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ll try his mobile.’

  But it was turned off. Jeff never turned off his mobile. He acted as though the world might spin off its orbit if he couldn’t be contacted twenty-four/seven. The option came on to leave a message. Oh, she was going to leave a message alright.

  ‘Jeff, it’s me, you fucking coward! Just where do you get off telling Jess that I’m the one kicking you out? She’s just given me a lecture about how I should let you stay in the spare room. This is so far below the belt it isn’t funny. All your bullshit about doing the right thing by the kids – you just want to save your own arse! Call me, you spineless shithead!’

  She slammed down the phone and turned around. Ellie stood wide-eyed, staring at her mother.

  ‘There was nothing on the telly, Mummy.’

  ‘Adults sometimes get really mad with each other and they say things that aren’t very nice,’ Sam was explaining to Ellie. She had brought her to McDonald’s as promised. Sam wasn’t eating, she just ordered a coffee. She didn’t think she could stomach more than that.

  She felt awful. The kids had never heard her use that kind of language. She never used that kind of language! Not in front of them, and only occasionally otherwise. Maybe after a few drinks with the girls. Sam was having visions of her life spiralling downwards until she became a foul-mouthed, cigarette-smoking, beer-drinking bag lady playing poker machines all day and leaving the kids locked in the car outside the casino.

  ‘Want a chip, Mummy?’ Ellie offered brightly.

  ‘No thank you, darling.’ She smiled down at her. Ellie seemed more interested in the toy that came with her Happy Meal than in listening to Sam purge. Maybe she shouldn’t be so hard on herself. Ellie probably hadn’t picked up on most of what she’d said on the phone anyway.

  ‘Mummy?’

  ‘Yes darling?’

  ‘Why is Daddy a spiny shithead?’

  Maxine arrived at seven just as Joshua was walking out the door.

  ‘Josh! How are you going?’

  ‘Hi Max.’

  She refused to allow the kids to call her ‘Aunty’, claiming it made her sound old.

  ‘That’s my lift,’ he said as a car horn sounded.

  ‘Oh well, hi and bye.’

  He smiled at her. He liked Max. He even let her kiss him on the cheek before he ran out to the waiting car.

  ‘Where’s Josh off to?’ asked Max as she came into the kitchen.

  Sam was bent over with her head in the fridge. ‘Pizza with the football team,’ she said, her voice muffled.

  ‘What did you say?’

  She straightened up. ‘Sorry, I was just looking for olives. I’m sure I had some big green ones stuffed with anchovies.’

  ‘Ugh!’ Max pulled a face. ‘Don’t find them on my account! I bought chocolate!’ she said, tossing two family-size blocks of Cadbury’s on the bench.

  Sam smiled at her sister. It was good to see her.

  Max held her arms out. ‘How are you, Sherlock?’

  They hugged each other. Although three years younger than Sam, Max was a good six inches taller. Alex and Sam had always complained that Max got all the height. They had both stopped growing at
five foot three when puberty hit. Maxine was tall, willowy, leggy. It wasn’t fair. If some of her height had been distributed equally between the sisters, they all could have been average.

  Though in reality, none of the three Driscoll girls could ever be described as average. With their dark hair, olive skin and coal-black eyes, they were often asked about their ancestry. Greek? Italian perhaps, from the south? Middle Eastern? Maybe even Polynesian? Sam never knew what to say. They had no idea of their father’s background, and their mother was no help. Bernice refused even to have his name mentioned. The only thing he’d left behind was an Anglo-Saxon surname.

  ‘I need a drink,’ Sam announced.

  ‘You don’t want to wait for the others?’

  ‘I could barely wait till I got home today and I’m not about to hold off a moment longer.’ She took a bottle of champagne out of the fridge.

  Max winced. ‘Did something happen at work, or is it all just getting too much for you?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘I was, shall we say, less than patient with a caller. If it was monitored, I’ll be summoned to Stewart’s office next week and hauled over the coals.’

  ‘Ugh, Sleazy Stew,’ Max shuddered. She reached up to the top shelf for a couple of wine glasses. ‘Hey, you’re going to have to move these now that Jeff won’t be living here. You’ll never be able to reach them.’

  Sam lifted an eyebrow. ‘Thanks Max.’

  ‘Just showing some empathy,’ she grinned. ‘Seeing how it is from your shoes, or your height. How is it from down there anyway?’

  Sam popped the cork out of the bottle and poured them both a glass.

  ‘What shall we drink to?’ she said, trying not to sound pathetic.

  ‘We will drink,’ Max began, raising her glass, ‘to your health, Sherlock. What doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger.’

  Sam took a few gulps of her wine. She’d need strength alright, to stomach all the well-meaning platitudes she would be hearing from now on.

  ‘Now, as for Sleazy Stew,’ Max continued, ‘throw yourself at his mercy. Tell him what’s happened, cry, pretend you’re broken-hearted.’

  She was broken-hearted. ‘I don’t know, Max.’

  ‘Sam, you’re going to have to learn how to use this to your own advantage. Get a little savvy. You might even score a bit of compassionate leave if you play it right.’

  ‘Mudcrab!’ Ellie cried, running into the kitchen.

  Max scooped her up in her arms. ‘Hi Jelly Belly!’

  Max had a nickname for everyone, and expected the same in return, at least from the kids. The older two were over it, but Ellie thought it was a hoot.

  ‘Guess what!’

  ‘What?’ said Max, settling her down on the kitchen bench.

  ‘Daddy’s gone to live with another lady.’

  ‘Has he?’ Max glanced over at Sam. She just shrugged, watching them. ‘What do you think about that?’

  Ellie screwed her nose up thoughtfully. ‘Mmm, it’s okay. Daddy said we’ll still see him lots.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  Ellie nodded, before leaning closer to Max. ‘Mummy’s mad at him but,’ she whispered conspiratorially.

  ‘Oh?’

  She nodded her head seriously. ‘She says he’s a spiny shit –’

  ‘Ellie!’ Sam interrupted. ‘Remember, you’re not supposed to repeat what Mummy said when she was angry? I think it’s time for bed, young lady.’ There was no way she was going to let big ears hang around once the crew arrived. She’d learned enough bad language for one day.

  ‘Oh!’ Ellie looked crestfallen.

  ‘What if I read you a story?’ offered Max, turning around. ‘Piggyback up the stairs.’

  ‘So, Jeff’s a spiny shit?’ Max remarked when she returned to the kitchen twenty minutes later. ‘Interesting metaphor.’

  ‘I believe “spineless shithead” was the actual term I used on the phone this afternoon.’

  ‘Never mind, she’ll get it right in time for news at kindy next week.’

  The doorbell sounded. Sam took a deep breath. ‘That’ll be the cavalry.’

  Sam had met Fiona and Liz at the local baby health clinic after Joshua was born. They had all been first-time mothers and sheer terror had bonded them instantly. Rosemary had lived next door when they moved to Epping. She was not the sharpest tool in the shed, but she was very sweet, and she had the most overbearing husband Sam had ever come across. They had two boys older than Josh, who took the lead from their father. Rosemary was at the bottom rung of the family ladder and Sam had felt sorry for her. She had talked her into coming out with them one night, and though it had caused a major stir at home, Rose had gone anyway. Sam always invited Rosemary after that. She rarely came, but she appreciated being asked.

  ‘Sammy!’ Fiona cried. ‘How are you?’ she continued breathlessly, throwing her arms around Sam’s neck and almost crushing her. Fiona was a strong woman, in every sense of the word. She had a tendency to boss the others around a little and she had an opinion about everything. She didn’t realise that none of them took her as seriously as she took herself. ‘He’s a bastard, no other word for him.’

  ‘Are you okay, Sam?’ said Rosemary, frowning and clasping her hands. ‘I can’t believe he’s done this to you. It’s . . . he’s . . .’

  ‘An arsehole,’ Liz finished for her. Max’s nickname for Liz was Drizabone, for obvious reasons. She bent to kiss Sam on the cheek. ‘How are you, darling?’ she said in her smoky, Lauren Bacall voice.

  They all crowded into the kitchen brandishing bottles of wine and greeting Max noisily. She lined up more glasses out of the cupboard.

  ‘I brought chocolate,’ Liz announced, digging in her bag.

  ‘So did I,’ said Max.

  ‘Me too,’ Fiona added.

  Sam looked at Rosemary. She shrugged, opening a container to reveal a batch of chocolate spiders. Rose worked as a cook at a childcare centre and they had become accustomed to her turning up with kiddies’ treats. Not that any of them complained if there was chocolate involved.

  ‘Lucky someone had a little foresight,’ said Sam, lifting a platter out of the fridge and placing it on the bench in front of them. It looked like something from a magazine. Marinated olives and char-grilled vegetables contrasted against glistening semidried tomatoes, dollops of homemade taramasalata and thick wedges of creamy cheese. Sam was good at platters. The women all murmured appreciatively.

  ‘Does the man realise what he’s giving up?’ said Fiona, shaking her head and reaching for an olive.

  ‘What? Savoury platters?’ Liz frowned, slicing a hunk of cheese.

  ‘No, I mean everything she does. She’s so good around the house. What’s his problem?’

  ‘It’s true,’ Rosemary nodded. ‘Who on earth could replace you, Sam? I mean, you did everything for him! And always so beautifully.’

  ‘She’s better off without him, I reckon,’ said Max. ‘I don’t think he’s ever appreciated her.’

  They were all nodding knowingly. Sam felt exposed. Had they thought this all along? Why hadn’t they said anything before?

  ‘Of course, we never liked to say anything before,’ said Fiona. ‘I mean, while you were together. But we always thought your marriage was a little old-fashioned.’

  ‘Not letting you work?’ Liz shook her head. ‘It was like something out of the Dark Ages!’

  ‘Even Col lets me work,’ added Rosemary. ‘He couldn’t afford to run his boat otherwise.’

  ‘But I did work, I do work.’ And it wasn’t Jeff stopping her anyway.

  ‘One day a week hardly counts,’ Fiona dismissed. ‘Now you’ll be able to work properly, really carve out a career for yourself.’

  She didn’t want a career. She wanted to be a wife, that was her career. And what was wrong with that? When was the referendum that decided there was no worth in being a wife and mother?

  Sam didn’t expect Fiona to understand. She ruled the roost in her household, bringing in
a salary twice what her husband could ever hope to make. Consequently, it was she who went back to work a few months after their first baby was born, while Gavin stayed home. Another year passed, a second daughter arrived and Fiona showed no signs of allowing parenthood to interfere with her career. Gavin was firmly entrenched as the house-husband/primary caregiver/chief cook and bottle washer. The girls included him in lunch a couple of times, but they found him a bit weird. Liz said it was like his balls had been cut off. But Sam didn’t think it was that. He was just weird.

  Of course they always told Fiona what a wonderful man he was, staying home with the babies, supporting her career. Now Sam wondered how often they had sat around airing their opinions about her marriage when she wasn’t around. Feeling sorry for her. And she thought people had envied her.

  ‘It’s always the pretty ones,’ Fiona declared.

  Sam frowned. ‘Who? Me? Come off it.’

  They all clucked, shaking their heads.

  ‘Of course you’re unselfconsciously pretty, that’s your appeal,’ explained Fiona.

  ‘We’d hate you if you were up yourself,’ added Liz.

  ‘Thanks,’ Sam smiled weakly. ‘I know you’re all trying to cheer me up, but I’ve been feeling so fat and frumpy lately, and the mirror isn’t exactly putting up an argument.’

  ‘Everyone puts on a few pounds after they’ve had kids!’ said Rosemary. Rosemary had put on a few pounds with both of her children, and a few more for good measure. Her ‘kids’ were now young men and she never had managed to shift the weight. She had a backside she imagined was the size of Western Australia, which was a constant source of despair for her. ‘It’s normal, isn’t it?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Liz nodded. They all turned to stare at her, busily stuffing cheese and biscuits down her throat. After she had her baby, Liz had worn size ten jeans home from the hospital. With a belt.

  ‘What?’ she said, her mouth full. She swallowed. ‘Okay, okay! So I have a fast metabolism! It’s really hard being a thin woman in this generation, you know. Everyone hates you.’

  ‘At least you can buy clothes that are fashionable,’ Sam grumbled.