Wife for Hire

by Dianne Blacklock

  Bernice ignored her. ‘And then there’s Aunty Gwen. Usually you collect her from the nursing home, Samantha. How will we get her all the way to your house?’

  ‘Mum, we used to almost pass the nursing home on our way here from Cherrybrook. Surely you’re not expecting me to drive from Marrickville up to Turramurra to pick up Aunty Gwen and then back here to Dee Why before lunch on Christmas Day?’

  ‘Well how else is Aunty Gwen supposed to get here?’ asked Bernice, unblinking.

  ‘I hadn’t thought about that,’ Sam muttered, annoyed that it had become her problem.

  ‘It appears you haven’t thought much at all,’ Bernice went on. ‘Like whether Aunty Gwen would even be comfortable in your house, Samantha.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t she be?’

  ‘Well, Sam, I mean, please,’ Bernice said as if she was stating the bleeding obvious. ‘It’s hardly palatial . . .’

  ‘You think this house is a palace?’ Max smirked, glancing around.

  ‘It breaks my heart that you lost that house, Samantha,’ Bernice continued. ‘It was your children’s inheritance. I’m surprised you let Jeff get away with it.’

  Sam frowned. ‘What do you mean, Mum?’

  ‘In my day, your father could up and leave and there was no child support agency to chase any money out of him. By the same token, he couldn’t take the house away from me either.’

  ‘Jeff didn’t take the house, Mum. I made the decision to sell on the advice of a solicitor. It was too great a debt to carry on my own and I could never have bought Jeff out.’

  ‘Especially with that housekeeping job. If you’d stayed with the MRA –’

  ‘Mother! It’s not housekeeping,’ Sam insisted. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with housekeeping, but –’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to go into that right now,’ said Bernice dismissively. ‘We’ve always had Christmas here at home, there’s no need to change things now. When I’m old and frail like Aunty Gwen, you’ll get your chance. Oh, and Sam, while we’re on the subject, I’d like those curtains finished for the front room before then.’

  Sam sat back on the stool Jess had vacated. ‘But you’ve had the same curtains for years. Why change them now?’

  Bernice glanced at her, frowning. ‘Why, dear, don’t be silly.’

  Sam felt anger welling inside her. ‘Why is it silly, Mum? Why isn’t my place good enough?’

  ‘I didn’t say it wasn’t good enough –’

  ‘Nothing is ever good enough for you, is it, Mum? I do whatever you ask of me, whenever you want it, no matter how busy I am. But it’s never enough. And now I ask this one thing . . .’ Sam’s voice was breaking. She didn’t want to lose it. She cleared her throat. ‘Well, some of us don’t have the luxury of doing things the way we’ve always done them. Some of us have had the rug pulled out from underneath us and we’ve landed on our arses. And we have to find another way of doing things.’

  Jess and Ellie appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

  ‘So I’m going to start now,’ said Sam, wiping her hands on her apron, before untying it and lifting it over her head.

  ‘What are you doing, Samantha?’ said Bernice, nonplussed.

  ‘I don’t want to spend the second weekend of November making Christmas pudding any more. Come on girls, we’re going to McDonald’s.’

  Sam walked over to the doorway where Jess and Ellie were still standing, apparently in shock. She turned them around by the shoulders and marched them out of the house.

  Max was draped across the sofa when Sam and the girls arrived home later that afternoon, laden with plastic shopping bags. There was a glass of wine and an opened packet of cheese crackers on the coffee table.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ Sam remarked, dumping the bags.

  ‘Thanks, but I did already.’ Max swung her legs off the sofa and sat up. ‘I figured you owed me for deserting the good ship Driscoll.’

  Sam collapsed wearily into the closest armchair, and Ellie promptly climbed onto her lap. ‘Oh, sweetheart, can Mummy just have the chair to herself for a while?’ Ellie looked dejected. ‘Why don’t you go and see if Joshy’s next door? Let him know we’re home.’

  Instantly her face lit up and she jumped off Sam’s lap.

  ‘I’ll go!’ Jessica blurted, dashing for the door.

  ‘No, Mummy said for me to go,’ Ellie protested loudly, chasing after her.

  ‘You can both go!’ Sam said firmly. ‘Jessica, would you please slow down and not stampede into Maria’s house like a baby elephant? And close the door behind you,’ she added as they flew through the doorway. Jess appeared again, grabbed the door and slammed it shut. Max and Sam winced as it shuddered on its hinges.

  ‘Kids, who’d have’ em?’ Sam sighed, easing her head back and closing her eyes.

  ‘So, how do you feel?’

  ‘Buggered.’

  ‘That was a big thing you did today, Sherl.’

  Sam looked at her. ‘How was Mum after I left?’

  ‘Oh, what do you think? I had to listen to the “deserted wife” lecture all the way through. And back again, I’m pretty sure.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t know, I stopped paying attention after a while.’

  Sam smiled weakly. ‘I’m sorry I left you there on your own.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m a big girl. I can choose to stay or leave, just like you did.’

  ‘How did you get away in the end?’

  ‘I told her I had a date tonight.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Not really. I’m going to see a play with Dan.’

  ‘Sounds like a date to me.’

  ‘Sam, I said it’s with Dan!’

  ‘So? What’s wrong with Dan? I like him.’ Sam had been pleasantly surprised when Max dropped round one day with Dan. He was a maths teacher training to become a high school counsellor, which made him hands down the most normal guy Max had ever allowed herself to be seen with. He was also quite athletic, another aberration for Max, and he had smiling eyes and an expansive laugh. He came across as someone who was in love with life. And, Sam suspected, her sister as well. They had teased and cajoled each other the entire time and she could almost see the electricity flying between them. All of which Max vehemently denied when Sam put it to her later.

  ‘Let me tell you about Dan, Sherl,’ Max was saying. ‘Do you know where he is right now?’

  ‘No, where is he?’

  ‘He’s playing golf. I could never date a man who plays golf.’

  Sam burst into laughter. ‘So let me get this straight? You can go out with a man who takes photographs of the carcasses hanging in butcher’s cool rooms and tries to pass them off as art, yet you can’t date a man who plays golf?’

  Max smiled wistfully. ‘David Cornish. I haven’t thought of him in a long time.’

  ‘I think of him whenever I look at a piece of raw meat. Pass me your glass, I need a drink.’

  ‘Get your own.’

  ‘That would mean I have to move.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll get you a drink,’ Max relented, walking out to the kitchen. ‘Let me explain the whole golf thing to you,’ she continued, coming back into the room with another glass and the bottle. ‘It’s men using long sticks to hit a ball into a hole. The aim is to get through as many holes in as few shots as possible,’ she went on, pouring wine into Sam’s glass.

  ‘So?’ said Sam blankly.

  ‘Come on, Sam! They “play a round”, they carry score cards with them! The game simply reeks of sexual conquest.’

  Sam regarded her curiously. ‘Are you going to donate your brain to medical research when you die? I think they’d be interested in some of your thought processes.’

  Max ignored her, returning to her spot on the sofa. ‘Anyway, I should never have mentioned anything about Dan to Mum, because when she heard he was a teacher she nearly had an aneurism. Nothing like the thought of a daughter snaring a public servant with superannuation to get the pulses racing!’ she added wryly.<
br />
  Sam chuckled, sipping on her wine.

  ‘She thinks you’re going to spoil Christmas now and not show up.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’ Sam sighed. ‘Last year was so hard. I thought everything would be much better by now, but I seem to go two steps forward and one step back all the time.’

  ‘At least you’re still going forward,’ Max maintained. ‘You’ve got a house, and a job you’re good at, and the kids are doing fine.’

  ‘No, according to Mum, I’m spoiling the kids, my job is a joke and my house is a dump.’

  ‘You can’t let her get to you, Sherl,’ said Max. ‘Mum’s not going to change at this late stage.’

  Sam groaned. ‘What if I end up a bitter, twisted, deserted wife like she is? I don’t want to live my life blaming an absent husband for all my woes, always thinking if only things had been different.’

  ‘So don’t.’

  ‘What if I don’t know how to do otherwise? I’ve only had Mum as a role model.’

  ‘Well, that’s determinism of the worst kind,’ Max retorted.

  ‘It’s just that I can see so much of myself in her, it freaks me out,’ said Sam. ‘I think she survived by keeping her life so orderly, and I realise that’s how I manage too.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘I don’t want to end up like Mum, but I don’t know if I can function any other way.’

  ‘Well, you have to give it a try.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You made a start today by putting Mum in her place, where you should have put her a long time ago.’

  Sam sighed heavily. ‘So why do I feel like a naughty kid?’

  ‘Because in the end she’s still your mother, and that’s a tough hierarchy to break.’

  ‘You did it.’

  ‘But you’ve always been different, Sherl,’ Max said. ‘Alex just rode right over her. I ignored her, but you, you always tried so hard to please her. And it’s almost impossible to please Mum, unless you’re Alex. You’re a grown-up, Sam, you shouldn’t need her approval any more. God knows she hardly gave it to you anyway.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘So let go, break away and give yourself some space.’ Max looked at the apprehension on Sam’s face. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ she persisted.

  Sam shrugged. ‘She won’t speak to me.’

  ‘And what will that mean?’

  She was thoughtful. ‘She won’t call me and ask me to do things for her, she’ll stop putting me down for my life choices, and I won’t have to run around after her.’

  ‘Sounds like a win/win situation to me.’

  December

  ‘Sam? It’s Vanessa.’

  ‘Hi, how are you?’

  She didn’t really have to ask that. Even over the phone Sam could hear the heaviness in her voice.

  ‘I need to see you . . . um, please, if possible.’

  Sam sighed. ‘I’m run off my feet at the moment, Vanessa. I probably can’t fit you in till next week.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you, but Dominic told me to call.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Sam could hear Vanessa breathing heavily. ‘He wants you to organise . . .’ Her voice faltered. ‘He wants you . . . to . . . find a good clinic, where I can get a termination.’ She broke into loud sobs.

  ‘Oh, Vanessa, I’m so sorry,’ Sam said softly. Bloody pigheaded, goal-orientated, self-absorbed Dominic. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I have to go through with it,’ she cried. ‘I don’t have a choice.’

  ‘Of course you have a choice, Vanessa!’ Sam insisted. ‘It’s your baby.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Well, you’re carrying the baby, you have rights, too. It’s not all Dominic’s decision.’

  ‘But he said he’ll leave me if I keep it.’

  Bastard. Sam wanted to tell her that was no great loss. She thought for a moment, listening to Vanessa’s sobs. ‘How will you live with yourself if you do this? They have counsellors at these clinics, Vanessa. They won’t let you go through with it if you’re hysterical.’

  ‘Will you go with me?’

  Shit. ‘Vanessa,’ Sam said gently, ‘let’s not talk about that just yet. You shouldn’t do anything while you’re so upset.’

  ‘But he said he’ll ring you if I don’t.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll tell him I’m looking into it.’ And a few more things besides. ‘Give me a couple of days, I’ll rejig my schedule and find some time to see you.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Sam.’

  ‘It’s alright. Just try to stay calm in the meantime.’

  When Sam hung up she sat down on a kitchen stool, shaken. Dominic was unbelievable. Sam had to wonder if there was more to this, but she knew him well enough by now. He was a royal dickhead. She just hadn’t realised the depth of his selfishness, how far he would go to get his own way.

  The phone started to ring again. She looked at the clock. Damn, she was late for Patricia Bowen and this was probably her calling to complain now.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Could I speak to Samantha Holmes please?’ asked an unfamiliar male voice.

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘Oh, hello Ms Holmes. You don’t know me, my name is Andrew Byron. I’m the managing director of Byron Promotional Services.’

  Was he a new client? Usually Sheila passed details on for Sam to establish contact.

  ‘How can I help you, Mr Byron?’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling you at home. A friend told me all about you, he’s been very impressed with some work you’ve been doing for him. He gave me your number . . .’

  ‘You’re really supposed to go through the agency.’

  ‘Agency?’

  ‘Yes, Wife for Hire.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Mr Byron sounded confused. ‘You’ve done some work for Ted Dempsey?’

  ‘That’s correct. He gave you my number?’

  ‘Yes, he did. My company organises conventions, conferences, product launches, anything. Ted said you’re interested in getting into this kind of work, and he gave you a glowing recommendation.’

  ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘Are you alright, Ms Holmes?’

  ‘Did I say that out loud? I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said kindly. ‘So you are interested?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. But I don’t have any experience,’ she blurted.

  ‘Ted told me you’re punctual, reliable, dedicated, highly organised, that you juggle a job and a home and three children on your own. He believes you could do anything you set your mind to. That’s good enough for me.’

  Sam had to say something. Something intelligent preferably. Something impressive would be even better.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said in a small voice. Wow. That ought to knock him dead.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘I thought the best way for us to meet you and for you to meet us was to invite you along to watch one of our teams at work. People coming into this industry don’t always have a realistic idea of what’s involved. They think it’s a lot more glamour and a lot less hard work than it actually is.’

  ‘I don’t mind hard work,’ said Sam breathlessly.

  ‘I don’t doubt that, Ms Holmes.’

  ‘Please, call me Samantha. Sam, even.’

  ‘Okay Sam, it’s usually the kids straight out of school that have the wrong idea. But I still think it would be good for you to come and have a look at what we do. Are you free on the tenth?’

  Sam wasn’t going to even bother checking. Anything else could be changed for this. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Okay. Let me give you the details.’

  Thursday

  ‘Samantha, I don’t know what to say.’ Ted was clearly overwhelmed.

  Sam had discovered that the attachment to Hugh’s email was a photograph of Ted’s grandson. She had decided that her printer wouldn’t do it j
ustice, so she’d taken the disc to have it printed digitally and had had it framed as well.

  ‘I had to thank you somehow,’ said Sam.

  Ted looked confused.

  ‘Andrew Byron contacted me the other day. I didn’t expect you to do that for me.’

  ‘But that was nothing, Samantha. A phone call.’

  ‘And a huge recommendation.’

  ‘I was only telling the truth.’

  ‘Mm. Now I’ve just got to live up to it.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem,’ Ted assured her. ‘So, is this a goodbye gift?’

  ‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily,’ Sam quipped.

  Ted looked back at the photo. ‘Well, thank you for this, Samantha,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.’

  Sam watched him, looking at his grandson. ‘He’s a handsome boy, Ted.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  She nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’ll say. He’s at that age where he’s barely still a boy. But give him another year and he’ll be almost a man, he’ll have lost that boyishness. And he won’t ever get it back, it’ll be too late,’ she added ominously.

  Ted raised an eyebrow at her. ‘I’d say that was a rather poorly disguised attempt to convince me to make the trip over to see him.’

  ‘Are you thinking of visiting England, Ted?’ Sam exclaimed, running with the ball. ‘That’s wonderful!

  I can organise all your travel arrangements, you know, I do it for clients all the time.’

  Ted looked at her dubiously.

  ‘Just so you know,’ she shrugged.

  Friday

  Sam was trying to get through a few loads of washing before she went to meet Jeff. He’d called a few days ago saying there were some things they needed to talk about. It was true, the holidays were coming up, not to mention Christmas. Sam still didn’t know what to do this year. Since the episode with her mother she was trying to push Christmas to the back of her mind. But it never worked for long, with decorations all over the place and every store playing sickly Christmas songs on a loop. Besides, her clients constantly reminded her. Everything had to be done by Christmas. Even if it was something they had left for years, it suddenly had an urgent deadline of December twenty-fifth.