Wife for Hire

by Dianne Blacklock

  ‘It doesn’t sound like freedom, it sounds scary.’ Sam twirled her toe around in a tiny pool that had formed in the rock. She was aware that Hal was watching her. ‘Well,’ she said briskly, standing up. ‘You must be getting hungry.’

  ‘What are you going to subject me to this time?’

  ‘Mm,’ she said, starting along the rocks back to the sand. ‘Ever had a Chiko roll?’ She turned to look at him. He shook his head. ‘What about a battered sav?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t do it to you,’ Sam grinned, skipping across the rocks ahead of him. She didn’t want to waste the day being sad. It might be the last day she’d have to herself for a while.

  Her mother had said she was overly sentimental, like it was a bad thing. But perhaps she was right. Sam had too much baggage, she had to learn what to leave behind, what was not worth dragging around any more. It just made her feel heavy and heartsore. Clearly she wasn’t the only person in the universe with sadness in her past. Maybe her grandparents’ house was gone, but the memory of her childhood years spent with them was still intact. And she could keep that with her forever.

  Friday

  Sam stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the eighteenth floor. Although she knew where Vanessa worked, she had never actually been to her office. She just wanted to drop off the itinerary for their ski trip while she was in the city.

  The eighteenth floor was quiet when Sam stepped out of the lift. She walked through a pair of glass doors to a dimly lit reception area and asked the woman behind the desk for Vanessa Blair, her voice not much above a whisper. She would have felt like she was shouting even if she spoke in a normal tone, the atmosphere was so muted.

  Vanessa appeared a minute later, smiling brightly as she always did, but she also spoke softly. ‘Hello Samantha. It was really good of you to come in just for this.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it, I always have a few errands to run while I’m in the city.’

  Sam followed Vanessa down a grey-carpeted corridor between rows of office cubicles. They walked into one that was barely distinguishable from the others, except for the few touches Vanessa had obviously added to make it her own. Cutesy figurines and stuffed animals peeked out from behind an in-tray and the computer monitor, another lot were grouped on top of a filing cabinet. A polka-dotted cylinder was filled with novelty pens and pencils and her screensaver was a picture of Tweety Pie.

  Sam looked across the maze of partitioned walls to the grey vertical blinds that enshrouded the entire office area. Surely there was a reasonable outlook from this building, considering its proximity to the harbour, so why would they keep all the blinds closed? Too distracting for the workers? Sam felt sad for Vanessa. She lived and worked in environments that seemed so at odds with her sunny disposition.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Vanessa offered.

  Sam sat down and drew out a packet from her handbag. ‘This is all the information about your trip, your book-in times –’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Vanessa, clearly disinterested. ‘Dominic will go through it all and call you if he has any questions.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know?’

  Vanessa shrugged. ‘Skiing is Dominic’s thing. I just go along and try to keep warm!’ she smiled.

  ‘I think a holiday at the snow would be wonderful. We used to talk about taking the kids,’ Sam mused. ‘I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to afford to take a holiday again.’

  Vanessa looked abashed. ‘I didn’t mean to appear ungrateful. It’s a lovely place we stay in . . .’

  Sam knew that was the truth, she’d authorised payment of the tariff.

  ‘How are your children anyway? How’s Ellie?’ Vanessa asked.

  ‘She’s fine, they’re all fine.’

  ‘And the house-hunting? Have you found anything yet?’

  ‘I’m closing in.’

  It turned out that the houses she’d been shown on her first sojourn out with Hal were really scraping the bottom of the barrel. Just the agents pouncing on an unsuspecting punter in the vague hope of shifting properties that had lain fallow in their books for months.

  Sam was not quite that stupid. And she had spent a lot more time and legwork getting to know the areas better and coming up with a realistic price range. She had actually been pleasantly surprised by Marrickville. It was still in the general vicinity she was targeting, but it was a little more affordable. And she had discovered more than a few wide, leafy streets off the main roads and away from the industrial area. Of course, demand was higher there too. The canny buyer had to be ready to run out and inspect something the minute an agent called, and be prepared to bid on it the same day. Ted had made inquiries, and Sam now had a couple of trustworthy realtors looking out for her interests.

  ‘I’ll be putting my house on the market shortly.’

  Vanessa winced. ‘How are the children coping with that? Leaving the family home and all?’

  Sam sighed. If Jeff had talked to Josh and Jess it was hard to tell. They were both stubbornly sullen and disconsolate.

  ‘Oh, they’ll be alright. Children are very adaptable,’ she said, trying to convince herself as well. ‘They don’t have much of a choice, I guess. It’s going to happen anyway.’

  Vanessa was thoughtful. ‘Do you think it’s easier to accept something that’s inevitable?’

  ‘Sure, I suppose. What else can you do?’ Sam wondered what she was getting at.

  ‘Did you ever do something and tell your husband about it later?’

  Sam let out an involuntary peal of laughter, before remembering where she was. The place was as solemn as a church. She cleared her throat and resumed in a low tone. ‘I don’t think it’s unusual for a wife to tell her husband something after the event. You know, haven’t you ever pretended a new dress was something you’ve had for ages, that kind of thing?’

  Vanessa looked at her blankly. ‘No, Dominic likes me to buy new clothes.’

  Lucky her. ‘Mm, well, it was just an example,’ Sam dismissed. ‘What I’m trying to say is that people who live together probably blur the edges of the truth from time to time.’ She sighed. ‘That sounds so . . . underhanded. But in practice it’s really about avoiding conflict. You get to know someone after living with them for a long time. What needs to be said, what’s better left unsaid.’

  Vanessa seemed to be very intent on Sam’s words.

  ‘I’m not sure I’m the person you should be asking about this,’ said Sam.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, I don’t exactly have a successful record.’

  ‘How long were you married?’

  ‘Sixteen years.’

  ‘That’s not bad. You survived two seven-year itches,’ Vanessa smiled.

  ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.’

  ‘And besides, he left you. Don’t you believe those stories that an affair doesn’t end a marriage. That’s the guilty party’s excuse, remember.’

  Sam had begun to wonder, though. More and more lately. When she thought about their marriage, the image that came to mind was a kind of wasteland. There was nothing there. Jeff had said once that the house and kids were all that mattered to her, and perhaps he was right. The last few years played in her mind like a home video. The kids’ birthday parties, Josh’s football games, Jess in her dancing costumes, the pool going in . . . and Jeff was never in the frame.

  ‘I’d better let you get back to work,’ said Sam all of a sudden. She picked up her handbag and got to her feet. She had no time for regrets, for moping about the past. And she was not going to start taking the blame for what had gone wrong between them. Jeff had put himself out of the frame, she hadn’t pushed him. And Sam hadn’t gone anywhere. If he had wanted to reach out she would have been there. But he hadn’t. He’d reached for someone else.

  August

  ‘Are you very busy for the next few weeks?’ barked Sheila when Sam picked up the phone.

  Sam hated being
asked questions out of the blue like that. She would rather hear what it was about before she committed herself.

  ‘Why? What are you offering?’

  ‘I’ve got a big job for you, a huge job in fact. But it will take up a lot of your time this month. Interested?’

  She felt torn. Life was frenetic at the moment, to say the least. The house had sold at a little above the asking price, the first weekend it was listed. This was a highly desirable location, Sam had been right about that much. And she was finally closing in on a couple of properties in Marrickville that were about as good as she was going to get. She had put in an offer for her first choice and was waiting to hear if it had been accepted.

  Then of course she had the prospect of packing up the contents of a house three times the size of the one she was moving to, finding schools for the children, selling the Landcruiser – too cumbersome with parking at a premium. And yes, she had begrudgingly admitted, to Hal’s smug amusement, too expensive to run. And then the endless paperwork. So what was Sheila’s question? Was she very busy?

  ‘The client is prepared to pay a higher rate. And he’s offering a bonus if he’s satisfied with the job.’

  Sam took a breath. She could use the extra money. ‘Well, what’s it about? What does he want me to do?’

  ‘I’ll go through it if you accept the job upfront. Haven’t got time otherwise, I’ll have to find someone else.’ Sheila paused. ‘I came to you first, Sam, because I know you can do it. So what do you say, are you in?’

  For a penny and a pound by the sounds of it. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Okay. The client’s name is Alan Mitchell . . .’

  Wednesday

  Sam decided it was best to start as soon as possible, and she was curious to see what she had got herself in for. Ellie was not in pre-school today, but Sam didn’t think it would be a problem bringing her along.

  Sheila had explained that the fourth Mrs Mitchell had left a few months ago. She’d handled everything in the house apparently. Nothing unusual in that, but since then Mr Mitchell had allowed things to slide to the point where he claimed the place was virtually unliveable. Sheila thought that was probably a gross exaggeration, but Sam was required to bring the house back to normal, whatever the cost. He would continue to pay at a particularly attractive rate if someone could oversee the running of the household from then on.

  Sam knew Alan Mitchell could afford it. He had made his fortune in the metropolitan freeway boom of the last twenty years. Wherever you drove around Sydney you were more than likely to be driving on Mitchell concrete.

  She pulled up in front of an imposing concrete mausoleum on the waterfront at Drummoyne. The house was an eyesore, one of those places that would have had the neighbours shaking their heads and wondering how council had allowed it. It was designed to bellow, ‘I’m bigger than all of you, and I’ve got more money, too’.

  She helped Ellie from the car and walked up to the security gate. Sam had visited Mitchell’s offices yesterday to meet him and get her instructions. He was a big man, well into his fifties, with a ruddy complexion and the bulbous nose of a drinker. He was not ageing gracefully. His hair had formed a thin web that sat precariously on top of his head, and the skin on his face was as coarse as the outside of a rockmelon.

  ‘Here’s the key, security code, everything you’ll need to get in,’ he’d said, sliding an envelope across the desk towards Sam. ‘You’ll find a pile of old mail to go through, should find who you have to contact to get everything goin’ again. Sheila’s got the authority to pay for it all. I’m goin’ away this arvo for a few weeks, so come and go as you please.’

  Sam keyed in the numbers that would disengage the alarm and then unlocked the gate. They crossed a concrete courtyard to the front door. The shrivelled remains of what was once some kind of flowering shrub filled an enormous concrete planter by the door.

  ‘Bloody wife, just pisses off one day.’ Mitchell had gone on to explain. ‘Dya believe it? Fucking disappears! Oh, sorry love, ’scuse the French. But Chrissakes, just to up and leave? Without a trace? The others hung around, even if it was just to give me hell.’

  Sam and Ellie walked into the entry and down a few stairs into the living area. Peach was the first thing that struck Sam. Peach walls, peach vertical drapes, peach leather lounge and peach carpet. The next thing that struck her was the mess.

  ‘Anyways, first thing, friggin’ Foxtel gets cut, missed the bloody heavyweight title bout. I thought she done it outta spite. Then the phone’s dead. Then one day I come home, and the friggin’ lights aren’t workin’. Power’s out! Jeez, I had to empty out the fridge by torchlight. Beer was still cold, thank Christ.’

  There was hardly a flat surface not covered with empties, overflowing ashtrays, Chinese takeaway containers and pizza boxes. As she and Ellie gingerly made their way across the room, Sam automatically stooped to pick up discarded clothing, shoes, bottles. But she didn’t know what to do with what she’d collected, so she just tossed it all onto the lounge. She opened the vertical blinds to let in some light, and was confronted by the sight of the swamp that was once a swimming pool.

  ‘Yucky, Mummy!’ Ellie exclaimed. ‘It’s all green.’

  ‘Worse thing,’ Mitchell had croaked, leaning forward across the desk, ‘the rumour is, it was with the pool man.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘I mean, what a fuckin’ cliché, fuckin’ pool man! Oh, sorry about the French, love.’

  ‘I think we’ll skip the kitchen,’ said Sam now, grimacing. ‘Are you ready to check out upstairs?’

  Ellie nodded her head warily. They crossed back to the entry and clattered up the curved, tiled staircase to a railed landing. There were three archways, the central one being the largest. They walked through into a huge bedroom, again all in peach. Walls, vertical drapes, carpet, what was not covered in discarded clothes and shoes. Sam supposed the bedcover was peach too, but it was lost in a jumble of sheets and blankets twisted up on the bed. Ellie walked over and looked up.

  ‘Mummy, why is there a mirror on the roof?’

  Good grief. ‘I suppose so they can see how they look before they get up in the mornings.’

  There were smaller archways either side of the bedhead and Sam walked through one into what she realised was Alan Mitchell’s dressing room. Again, clothes were strewn everywhere, drawers hung open, shoes littered the floor. The man was worse than a child, couldn’t he pick up anything after himself? The dressing room led through into a bathroom, another vision in peach and as filthy as the rest of the place. Sam took the round trip, out through the door of what she presumed was the estranged Mrs Mitchell’s dressing room. But here it was tidy, pristine in fact. The only thing out of place was a cardboard box that looked as though it had been tossed in here, landing on its side. Sam knelt on the floor and turned the box over. It was filled with photograph frames. She lifted one out and looked at the face of a woman around her own age, sitting at a table at some sort of formal function. Alan Mitchell was beside her, his mouth gaped open, mid-guffaw. But the woman wasn’t smiling. She was clutching a wine glass and she looked . . . empty, Sam supposed. Her eyes had this hollow, vacant cast that Sam found chilling.

  Ellie walked up behind her. ‘She looks sad, Mummy.’

  ‘Yes, she does.’

  Sam realised then that the hanging rails were full, the shoe racks too. There was a neat line-up of handbags across one shelf. She opened the drawers, one at a time. Even the underwear drawer appeared to be full. A couple of slim drawers were divided into trays to store jewellery. They were filled with gold chains and bracelets, even a wristwatch. The woman had taken nothing from this slob. She must have left with barely the clothes on her back. Though Sam suspected she had at least held on to her dignity.

  They came back down the stairs. Now she just had to decide where to start.

  ‘What are we going to do now, Mummy?’

  ‘I was wondering the same thing, sweetheart.’

  Before she’d left the office
yesterday, Mitchell had stopped her. ‘No questions, nothing else you want to know?’

  Sam shook her head. ‘I’ll work it out, Mr Mitchell. That’s my job.’

  ‘Christ, you don’t have much to say for a woman. You get the place fixed up by the time I get back and I might have to propose!’

  ‘A bonus will do,’ she’d said plainly.

  Sam took a notepad and a couple of pens out of her bag. She cleared a spot on the dining-room table, noticing the beer bottles had left a spirograph of white rings on the surface. If she was going to do this properly, she might have to see about getting a French polisher in. But first things first.

  ‘Here, Ellie,’ she said, tearing a page out of her pad, ‘why don’t you draw me a picture?’

  Ellie screwed up her nose. ‘I haven’t got any colouring-in pencils but, Mummy.’ Then her eyes lit up. ‘I could write Daddy a letter!’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Sam started a list. She wrote ‘cleaner’ first, she had no intention of lifting a finger around here. It would be enough to organise the army of people that would be needed to attack this mess. Her mobile phone started to ring and she picked it up out of her bag.

  ‘Samantha Holmes.’

  ‘I can only ever seem to catch you on the mobile these days, Samantha.’

  She sighed. ‘Hang up then, Mum. I’ll call you back.’

  ‘It’s not that. I just don’t know how you can afford to keep that phone going when you’ve got to sell your house and your car and heaven only knows what else.’

  ‘I need the mobile for my work, Mum.’

  ‘Well, if you’d stayed at the MRA –’

  ‘Mum!’ Sam stopped her. She took a breath. ‘What is it that you were ringing about?’

  ‘No need to get snappy, dear. It’s just that I noticed Lincraft was having a sale, and you know I was telling you that I wanted new curtains for the living room . . .’