Wife for Hire

by Dianne Blacklock

  Jeff had collected the kids from school on Thursday afternoon and was keeping them until Sunday afternoon, when he would bring them home to Ermine Street. Although Sam had struggled with the notion that they should be part of the moving process as a sort of closure, she couldn’t stand Josh’s and Jess’s long faces any more. It was better if they weren’t around.

  It also gave Sam more time to pack what was left in their rooms. Come Friday morning she was up early, had stripped her bed, washed the sheets and hung them out on the line before Rosemary arrived. The removalists showed up at nine and by midday the house was empty and spotless. There was nothing left to do. The truck pulled off down the street as Sam packed the boot of their new second-hand Magna with her own overnight bag, the cleaning gear, the dry sheets off the line and other stray flotsam she’d collected around the house.

  ‘Are you going to be alright?’ Rosemary asked.

  ‘Of course!’ Sam insisted. ‘Thanks for everything, Rose. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Not at all. I wish I could do more . . .’

  ‘You’ve done more than enough today, Rose. Liz and Michael are coming tomorrow. And Max is at the new place, waiting to open up for the removalists. Everything’s covered.’

  Rosemary leaned forward to hug Sam. ‘You know, I think you’re so brave.’

  Sam pulled a face. ‘I don’t know about brave. I didn’t choose this, remember. I’m just doing what I have to do.’

  Rosemary looked at her. ‘Well, you’re an inspiration.’

  ‘Oh, Rose! What could I inspire anyone to do?’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’

  Sam waved her off down the street and turned back to look at the house. It puzzled her that she didn’t feel anything. Certainly no sadness. None of the children were born while they lived here so it didn’t have that emotional tug, thank goodness. She was trying to think of anything significant that had happened here.

  Her marriage had ended. That was about it. Max was right, the house had become a monument to a broken marriage. Sam got into the car and drove off down the street. She didn’t look back or even glance in the rear-vision mirror before she turned the corner and out of sight.

  ‘Hi Sherl!’ Max greeted her from the front door. ‘Welcome home.’

  Sam had been waiting for the place to grow on her, and she was still waiting. Seventy-three Ermine Street had started life as a simple colonial cottage, but along the way most of the period detailing had been ripped out, updated or otherwise eradicated. Timber windows had disappeared in favour of aluminium; the bullnose verandah had survived, but the posts had been replaced with mock Corinthian columns; brick walls had been rendered with concrete and, for some reason defying both explanation and good taste, painted the sickliest shade of blue Sam had ever seen, certainly on the exterior of a house. Nonetheless, other renovations meant that the house had a workable kitchen and bathroom and an internal laundry. Sam had forsaken style for practicality. Nothing to do, just move in! the ad had invited, somewhat optimistically. There was nothing to do if you didn’t mind that everything was just a little shabby. She considered it now from the front path. Her house. The first house she had bought on her own. She sighed. That blue had to go.

  Sam took a breath and skipped down the couple of steps to the verandah. She smiled at Max. ‘Got the kettle on?’

  ‘That’s a bit hard when there’s no kettle,’ said Max as they turned to see the removalist truck pulling into the street. ‘But I did bring treats!’

  Sam followed her through the empty house into the kitchen. At least it all seemed clean.

  ‘Look!’ she said, holding up styrofoam cups. ‘Real coffee! And I’ve got focaccia sandwiches and sticky cakes,’ she added, indicating a cluster of white paper bags on the bench.

  Sam took a cup from her and removed the lid. ‘You’re a lifesaver.’

  ‘There are some cool little delis up the road, Sam. You’re going to like living here.’

  She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. This would be a good time for Max’s intuition to be right.

  Sam thought she had culled their belongings sufficiently, radically even, but she had obviously overestimated the size of this house. Every room was stacked, almost to the ceiling in some cases, with cardboard boxes. They’d had to clear a path in the living room so the removalists could get through into the bedrooms. Then they had to turn around and rearrange the boxes so the living room furniture would fit. Sam gave up trying to get all the furniture in the right place. It was enough if it was in the right room.

  ‘I think it’s time to down tools, Sherl,’ said Max around seven. ‘We’re not going to make much of a dent in all this today.’

  ‘I was hoping to have everything done by the time the kids got back on Sunday,’ Sam lamented.

  ‘You didn’t really think you’d get it all packed away in two days? I know you’re a superwoman, but there are limitations.’

  Sam pulled a face. ‘Well, maybe not everything. But I wanted the place to look nice. So maybe they wouldn’t hate it so much.’

  ‘Sam,’ said Max seriously. ‘The kids will get over it, and life will go on. You look exhausted. Come on, why don’t I duck up the road and buy us a bottle of something? The fridge is cold now.’

  She was wavering. For the past hour she had started to feel so tired even the most automatic movement had involved herculean effort. She had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other just to walk across the room. But Sam remembered she hadn’t even made up her bed yet and she had the feeling that if she stopped now and, worse, started drinking, she’d be sleeping on a bare mattress tonight.

  A mobile phone started to ring.

  ‘Is that you or me?’ said Max, looking around frantically. ‘Uh oh, where the hell did I put my bag?’

  ‘It’s me,’ said Sam. She walked calmly over to a shelf in the kitchen where she’d placed her phone earlier so that it would be easy to find. ‘Samantha Holmes.’

  ‘Hey Samantha Holmes, how’re you doing?’

  ‘Hal!’ Sam knew an involuntary smile had just found its way to her face, and she knew that Max was watching her and making conclusions about that smile that were, well, if not unfounded, then exaggerated to say the least. She turned her back on her sister. ‘You’re in Sydney?’

  ‘I am,’ he confirmed. ‘I flew in this morning, but I had to go straight to the office. I just got home a few minutes ago.’

  Sam felt a peculiar kind of thrill that he’d phoned her so promptly. But she was just being foolish. All their girlie talk was getting the better of her. She had to maintain her professionalism.

  ‘So, what can I do for you, Hal? Is there something you need?’

  ‘No,’ he assured her. ‘I just wanted to find out how you are, where you are. Have you moved yet?’

  ‘As of noon today, I’m a resident of seventy-three Ermine Street, Marrickville.’

  ‘Today?’ he remarked. ‘So, let me guess, you’re surrounded by cardboard boxes, nothing fits where it’s supposed to, and you’re over the whole moving experience, big time. You were just starting to think about something to drink, maybe a pizza.’

  Sam laughed. ‘Is that an offer?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  She felt embarrassed. ‘I was only joking. Max was just about to go up the road and get us something.’

  ‘So, I’ll save her the trip. Who else have you got there?’

  ‘It’s just Max and me. The kids are with their father.’

  ‘Okay, what do you like on your pizza?’

  Sam faltered. ‘You don’t have to do this, Hal. You’ve only just got home yourself.’

  ‘Yeah, from a month of living in hotel rooms,’ he said drily. ‘Come on, I’m your client, you still owe me. And tonight I’d like some company.’

  He took their pizza orders and checked her address again, saying he’d be there within the hour. When Sam hung up the phone, she tried to avoid making eye contact with Max.

  ‘So, your bo
yfriend’s coming over?’

  ‘Max! He’s not my boyfriend, and if you’re going to start that again, you can go home right now.’

  ‘Do you want me to leave? Give you two a little time –’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere! Do you hear me?’

  Max smiled. ‘Don’t you trust yourself alone with him?’

  Sam tried to think of something else to say, something Max couldn’t misconstrue. She didn’t want to discuss this any more. Discussing it gave it credibility. Discussing it gave Max ideas. Discussing it gave Sam a headache. She wondered if Maxine had any of that Rescue Remedy with her. But Sam wasn’t about to ask. It would only add considerable fuel to the fire Max was eagerly stoking in her ridiculously fertile imagination.

  ‘I’m going to get cleaned up.’

  When she came back down the hall twenty minutes later, Max wolf whistled.

  ‘Cut it out,’ Sam said sternly. ‘I put on a clean T-shirt, so what?’

  ‘And I don’t believe you were wearing those jeans before,’ added Max. ‘Or the clip in your hair, or lip gloss and mascara,’ she said, coming closer to inspect her.

  ‘I’m just making myself respectable,’ Sam insisted. ‘I’d do it for any client.’

  ‘Why won’t you just admit you like him?’ said Max. ‘I think it’s sweet.’

  ‘I don’t like him. I mean, I do like him. But I don’t like him the way you’re inferring. And whether you think I’m contradicting myself or not as the case may be, I’m not going to get involved with a client because, well, because you don’t. It’s not the done thing. In an arrangement where someone is, in effect, paying your keep, you should keep a professional distance. Well, to some extent, I mean, I suppose the fact that he’s coming round with pizza isn’t exactly keeping a distance, but he offered. So it’s fine. Because that’s what he wanted to do tonight . . .’ Sam had forgotten the point she was going to make.

  Max raised an eyebrow. ‘You always babble when you get nervous.’

  ‘I’m not nervous,’ she insisted as a knock sounded at the door and a whole flock of butterflies exploded in her stomach. She tried to calm herself as she squeezed past a column of boxes into the hall. She wasn’t nervous, she’d been perfectly fine with Hal before Max started making it into something. She enjoyed his company, he made her laugh. That was all. She took a deep, calming breath and opened the door. Then she saw his face, and something weird happened in her stomach.

  ‘Hey Sam,’ he smiled. ‘Nice place.’

  Oh, don’t fall for him, she told herself. You don’t need this now.

  ‘Sam,’ said Hal, frowning slightly. ‘Can I come in?’

  She stirred. She’d just been standing there staring at him, like an idiot.

  ‘Sorry, I’m a bit tired. I think I may be walking in my sleep,’ she smiled weakly, standing back to let him in.

  ‘Gee, I like what you’ve done with the place,’ he said, glancing around between the cardboard towers. ‘Kind of “early department store warehouse”.’

  ‘And they say Americans don’t have a sense of humour,’ Max called from the kitchen.

  ‘And they’d be mistaken,’ he returned.

  ‘Okay, comic boy, where’s the food?’

  ‘Your sister’s quite rude, you know,’ Hal said over his shoulder to Sam. ‘I could get offended.’

  ‘If you hang around long enough it’s guaranteed.’

  He settled the pizzas on the bench where Max had made some space.

  ‘And I bought champagne. I think you’re supposed to break it on the bow of the house, something like that,’ said Hal. ‘But I’m for drinking it.’

  ‘I’m with you,’ Sam smiled.

  ‘Hey Sherl, do you remember where you packed the glasses?’ said Max, who was crouched reading the sides of boxes.

  Sam frowned. ‘I suppose one of the boxes labelled “kitchen”.’

  ‘Oh, which one of the seven thousand do you suppose?’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, Maxine.’

  Max opened a box and pulled out a coffee cup. ‘Will this do? We could be here all night if we try to find proper glasses.’

  ‘Doesn’t bother me,’ said Hal, popping the cork. Max felt for more cups as Sam held one out to Hal.

  ‘Hey look,’ said Max, unwrapping another. ‘Here’s that reunion invitation you threw out. You should ask Hal to be your date.’

  ‘You want to ask me out on a date?’ he smiled at Sam.

  ‘No, she does.’

  ‘Well, thanks all the same, Max, but I don’t know you well enough just yet,’ he said, pouring champagne into her cup.

  ‘She doesn’t want to go because partners are invited,’ Max explained to him. ‘She’s worried she’ll look pathetic all on her own.’

  ‘Max!’

  ‘And I would make a damned attractive partner,’ Hal quipped.

  ‘You’d be a lot more attractive if you only got over yourself,’ Sam muttered.

  ‘Can’t see that happening.’

  ‘Anyway you’re not dating, as I recall,’ she reminded him.

  ‘I’d make an exception for you.’

  Sam took a large gulp of her champagne, ignoring the silly grin on Max’s face.

  ‘Hey, wait up,’ said Hal. ‘We have to make a toast.’

  ‘You know,’ said Sam, ‘I’m sick of toasts. Can’t we just have a drink sometimes without having to make it into a ceremony?’

  ‘But I have a good one.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘May your home resound with laughter,’ Hal began. ‘And the sun shine on it from above, so that on each day hereafter, it will always be filled with love.’

  Sam and Max glanced at each other, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Sam. ‘You used to have that on a plaque on the wall at home when you were growing up.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said cagily. ‘Gee, everyone’s a critic.’

  ‘Well, thank you for the sentiment. Now drink up.’

  ‘I’m going to the euphemism,’ Max said, disappearing through the forest of cardboard. ‘Send out a search party if I’m not back in ten minutes.’

  Hal picked up the crumpled invitation. ‘So, you want to go?’

  Sam shook her head. ‘It’ll only be a lot of posing and one-upmanship.’

  ‘Why do you say that? I’ve always enjoyed my school reunions.’

  ‘Of course you would, you’re successful,’ she said. ‘You’ve got plenty to crow about.’

  ‘And you don’t?’

  ‘My marriage failed, I used to live in a big house in a good suburb, and now I live . . .’ she looked around, ‘. . . here. And my job is basically to pander to incompetent people.’

  ‘I thought you liked your work?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘It just doesn’t sound like a proper job.’

  Hal leaned back against the kitchen cupboards. ‘Seems to me you’re way too worried about what other people think.’

  Sam was trying to think of a pithy response. All she could come up with was, ‘This pizza will be getting cold.’

  Just then a loud crack sounded, apparently from the ceiling, and the lights flickered, dimmed, then surged again.

  ‘What was that?’ said Sam.

  ‘Not sure. At least the lights survived it.’

  As soon as the words left Hal’s mouth, everything went black. The fridge let out a dying shudder and then fell silent.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘What do you think it is?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Some kind of electrical problem.’

  ‘Well, thanks for that, Captain Obvious.’

  ‘Yoohoo!’ Max cried. ‘Are you guys still there?’

  ‘Yes, can you find your way?’ Sam called.

  They heard a thud, and then the sound of a box sliding, hitting something else, then crashing to the floor.

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Are you okay, Max?’ Sam said, suppressing an urge to laugh. The situation should have up
set her, she supposed, but she was finding it oddly amusing.

  ‘Far out, it’s dark in here. Keep talking, Sherl, so I can follow the sound of your voice.’

  ‘Well, what do you want me to say?’

  ‘That’ll do.’

  Sam couldn’t suppress her laughter any longer.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ asked Hal.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Here I am,’ Max announced, feeling around the kitchen doorway. She thrust both hands forward, jabbing Hal simultaneously in the mouth and the ear.

  ‘Ow.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, feeling around his jaw. ‘That is you, Hal?’

  ‘Well, unless you think your sister has grown a head taller and started to shave . . .’ He paused. ‘Max, you can let go of my face now.’

  ‘Nice jaw line,’ she mumbled. ‘What are you giggling about, Sherl?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she snorted.

  ‘Are you scoffing all the champagne while we can’t see you?’

  ‘Sam, listen to me,’ said Hal. ‘Have you got a flashlight, some candles?’

  ‘Candles?’ Sam burst into hysterical laughter. ‘No, I haven’t got any candles at all. Not even one,’ she breathed, barely able to get out the words. She doubled over laughing, tears streaming from her eyes.

  ‘She’s gone completely mad,’ said Max. ‘I thought this might happen one day. I’ve got a torch in my bag, if we can just find my bag.’

  Sam was still laughing as Max and Hal searched in the darkness, all the while arguing over whether the correct name was torch or flashlight. Max was insisting that flashlight was an American term and should he go into a shop in Australia and ask for a flashlight, he’d be laughed at. Hal, on the other hand, maintained that a torch was something you lit, that natives carried torches through the jungle in Tarzan movies. Sam sank down the wall to sit on the floor, chuckling deliriously.

  Eventually they located the bag and the torch. Hal tested it, shining it in Sam’s direction. She was still sitting on the floor, and when the light fell on her, she started laughing again.