Head Over Heels

by Felicity Price

  ‘I suppose so.’ Simon grinned. ‘I suspect Zac would be with him on that, too.’ He looked around and spotted my friends from the Philosophical Society clustered around the outdoor table, shaded from the still-warm sun by the large, striped, canvas umbrella. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be in good company.’ I left him heading in their direction, conducted a quick search downstairs then shot upstairs to Adam’s room, knocking on the door.

  ‘What is it?’ Adam called.

  I opened the door and poked my head around. Amazingly, he was studying. There was no sign of books being substituted for some other activity; besides, his computer was now safely stowed in the back shed.

  ‘There’s no need to check on me, Mum,’ he sighed. ‘I really am studying, you know. I could do with Google, of course, but apart from that, I’m doing just fine. It’s quite interesting, this stuff. Did you know that the cosine of an angle is the ratio of the length of the adjacent side to the length of the hypotenuse …’

  ‘I’d kind of forgotten. Triangles were never my thing. I was much better at tangents.’ I grinned at him and took another sip of wine. ‘But you carry right on. It sounds like you’re having fun.’

  ‘It’s better than having all those old ladies telling me I’m tall for my age and look just like my father. I mean, hello?’

  ‘I suppose you do look like your father …’

  ‘Mu-um. Please.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m going. Keep up the good work.’

  I closed the door quietly and returned to the fray, refilling my glass as I neared the kitchen and complimenting Tamsin as she flew by with one of Great-Grandma’s gold-edged Royal Doulton plates which had been carrying a load of cupcakes.

  ‘Everyone has something to drink and something to eat. And that’s the way it should be,’ she said, smiling perfunctorily before stacking the plate with more tiny cakes, each one bearing a different dainty design, from stylised flowers and leaves to mice, cats and birds. They must have taken hours of painstaking labour, I thought, only to be wolfed down in a moment by old ladies too busy talking to notice, or by thieving spaniels too greedy to care.

  I passed the door to the hall just in time to greet Josh and — ta-da, I expected as much — the lovely Amelia Chatfield: five foot three at the most in her heels, long, shiny, dark brown hair and wearing a loose-fitting little black dress that still managed to accentuate an enviable figure. It turned out that she had taken her grandmother home after the funeral but had promised to come on to the wake to represent the family.

  ‘Josh seemed vey keen for me to come, too,’ she said, giving him a lovely warm smile that made her look like one of those gorgeous creatures on America’s Next Top Model.

  Woah, watch it, Joshie, I thought. You could get quite smitten there. I glanced at him. Too late, I realised by the goofy look on his face. He was smitten already.

  ‘Take Amelia on in and find her something to drink,’ I said warmly. ‘And keep an eye on your grandfather. I think he’s getting a bit carried away with the Glenfiddich.’

  ‘I’m onto it, Mum. No worries.’

  I took another sip of wine, snatched a passing mini salmon roulade and returned to the terrace. I was intending to make my way back to the Philly girls, but my path was blocked by a pregnant tummy.

  There was only one person a tummy that large could belong to.

  ‘Ah, Jacinta, glad you could make it,’ I lied, forcing a smile.

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled surprisingly warmly, as if we had something in common for heaven’s sake. ‘I’m grateful to you for having me here,’ she gushed. ‘I know it must be hard for you.’

  ‘You’re right, it is,’ I said bluntly, taking a very large swig to bolster my Dutch courage.

  She looked around then, reassured nobody was listening or approaching, ploughed on: ‘I’d like to be able to talk to you more often, Penny. I really value your opinion.’

  ‘Really?’ I was too flabbergasted to protest.

  ‘Yes. I mean, you’ve been through all this,’ she said, indicating her big bump, ‘and you know what to do. That advice about the beans was invaluable.’

  I felt like laughing out loud.

  Not all that long ago, I was bawling my eyes out at the mere thought of Jacinta’s pregnancy. But here she was, flaunting it, asking my advice even, and I realised I simply didn’t care anymore.

  Maybe it was Mum’s death or, more possibly, maybe it was because of what had happened to Charlotte. But whatever the reason, Jacinta’s impending baby was no longer the big bugbear I’d made it out to be. I was over it. I’d gone through hell and found it had an exit.

  ‘Glad I could be of some help.’ I looked away to hide a faint flush of guilt at my role in the beans saga.

  ‘Look, I don’t blame you for hating me, Penny. But I want you to know that you’re the one that has it all. You’re the one that Steve admires. It’s you he holds up as the epitome of motherhood and apple pie. I’ll never be able to hold a candle to you as far as being a mother or a wife.’

  ‘Really?’ I could hear myself squeaking in astonishment. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘You’d think after he left you for me …’ She stopped short, looked at me apologetically then continued, ‘… that he’d diss you and run you down. But it was quite the opposite. “Penny wouldn’t do that”, “Penny would do it this way”. I used to say, “Steve, for crying out loud, if Penny was so perfect, what are you doing here with me?” But he couldn’t help himself. Even when you were fighting over that ridiculous yellow car he was busy telling me how wonderful you are.’

  ‘He was?’ I was astonished. This was getting better by the second.

  ‘Yes, he thinks the sun shines out of you, Penny. Or, at least, that’s what he’d have me believe.’ She looked around again to make sure he still wasn’t nearby, then added conspiratorially, ‘He keeps telling me how great you look now and how much weight I’ve put on. I mean, really — I’m having a baby, what does he expect? He says I’ll have trouble getting it off again and he’s planning a weight-loss regime for me already.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. He can get quite sanctimonious about exercise and body fat.’

  That was news to me. Steve had never criticised my extra kilos.

  Mind you, he’d made his criticism obvious in the end by running off with a woman three dress sizes smaller than me … Or at least she was before she got pregnant.

  I kept sipping at my wine, which continued to woo me with its mellow fruitfulness, and realised my glass was empty again. I was beginning to think I’d spent long enough talking to the enemy.

  ‘Speaking of kilos, I think I’ll treat myself to another wine. Would you like me to get you something?’

  ‘No thanks, Penny. I’ll sit on my soda for a while longer.’

  ‘Won’t be long,’ I said and went in search of a bottle.

  I’d just reached the kitchen when the most appalling drone assailed my ears — and the ears of everyone else nearby. The far corner of the lounge quickly emptied of people, leaving a small group of culprits standing in a clear space: my father and his bowling cronies, clustered around one of their number, who was in the throes of furiously clamping his elbows up and down on the sack of a fine set of bagpipes. The next instant, a loud wail was emitted from the pipes and the familiar tune of ‘Scotland the Brave’ sallied forth. People were covering their ears and looking pained, the din ear-splitting in the small confines of my lounge. Seconds later, one of Dad’s friends started singing along, well out of key. People looked even more pained.

  ‘Dad!’ I cried, sprinting over to him. ‘Dad!’

  Unsurprisingly, he didn’t hear me. I pulled at his elbow. ‘Dad! Please stop. You can’t do that in here.’

  He looked at me with a lopsided grin. The Glenfiddich had done its job: he was as pissed as a Scotsman on Hogmanay. But he made no attempt to deter his friend from making the party-stopping racket.
r />   ‘You’ll have to go outside,’ I shouted, gesticulating towards the door.

  He continued to grin, his right foot marking time to the music. Then it seemed to dawn on him, as if on time delay, what I was trying to say.

  ‘Och aye, lassie,’ he said, his accent, barely noticeable when sober, becoming broader by the minute. ‘A wee bit loud for ye?’

  ‘Yes. Please take him outside.’

  With great ceremony, Dad ushered his friend out the door, doing a tipsy version of a Scottish reel as he went. The sound of the pipes was barely diminished out on the deck but at least the room had ceased emptying of people.

  I followed them out.

  ‘Just a bit further away, please Dad?’ I gesticulated towards the garden, where I hoped the wailing would be absorbed by the privet hedge.

  He was far too inebriated to be offended, thankfully, and led his mates a further merry dance. The piper and his retinue gathered just beyond the deck but Dad stayed behind with me, catching me by the arm.

  ‘I ken ye hae yer suspicions about me and Colleen and how she went,’ he said quietly, though with enough emphasis to be heard above the bagpipes. He looked around to make sure we were alone, and continued, ‘Your mother died an easeful death, Penny. She wanted it that way and I would nay deny her wishes.’

  I was too stunned to say anything. Dad tightened his grip on my arm and put his other arm around me.

  ‘She wanted it that way,’ he said again, let go of my arm and went off to join the wassailing.

  That was when I noticed the hedge heaving unexpectedly in the middle, with the nearby lavender fronds waving in time to the music. Then, underneath the hedge, I caught a glimpse of two familiar pairs of feet: one pair bare, brown, with hot pink painted toenails and encased in skimpy Havaianas, the other clad in painfully expensive black alligator shoes. I was intrigued to observe that the alligator shoes were underneath the jandals, pointing skywards, while the jandals were digging into the ground. Both were moving in perfect synergy. In my mildly tipsy state, it reminded me a bit of synchronised swimming.

  Then it dawned on me what was going on. Stephanie and her husband had clearly made up big-time and were making out — even more big-time — under my hedge. And Dad and his Highland flingers were heading straight for it.

  ‘Ah, just a minute,’ I called to Dad, holding up my hand to stop his progress hedge-wards. ‘This is too far from the party. Bring them back to the front path.’

  Dad shrugged, but whether because they couldn’t hear me over the din or because they dismissed me as a fickle, indecisive woman, they followed me happily enough away from the pulsating hedge back to the front garden, where Dad continued to cavort in a very wobbly fashion and his friends continued to sing at the top of their lungs. I left them to it.

  The decibel level on the deck was still pretty high, but when I retreated back inside it was almost bearable. People were able to converse without shouting, which was the main thing.

  Adam was approaching. ‘Mum, what’s that terrible racket?’

  ‘Dad’s friend brought his bagpipes with him,’ I said, shrugging. ‘I took them out into the garden.’

  ‘This place is turning into a madhouse,’ he said. ‘Charlotte and her friends are upstairs in the bathroom giggling uncontrollably and Josh is pashing some girl in his bedroom hard-out. Have you put something in the water?’

  I laughed. ‘No, but I suspect Seraya has introduced Charlotte and Becks to some very strong southern weed. And Josh has hitched up with Amelia Chatfield from school. As for your grandfather’s behaviour — well, you can blame it on the Glenfiddich. I don’t think he put anything much in it at all, so it can’t be the water!’

  Of course, I didn’t mention his Aunt Stephanie was doing the horizontal tango beside the lavender bushes, making up for lost time with her husband, or Adam would have been convinced we were all going nuts.

  ‘And what happened to Mr and Mrs Serial Mourner? Have they stolen the Grahame Sydney yet?’

  I clamped my hand to my mouth. ‘My God, I forgot all about them.’

  ‘I’ll go and have a look.’ Adam shot into the dining room, returning moments later. ‘No, it’s still there.’ He looked around the lounge. ‘There they are.’ He pointed to Dad’s drinks cabinet, where the couple was busy helping themselves to the scant remains of the Glenfiddich. Adam sauntered over to them and engaged them in a conversation which I was quite pleased I couldn’t hear.

  I stood by the kitchen counter sipping my wine, which was getting low again, watching Adam and the elderly couple with amusement. He chatted away, clearly putting them at ease, then pointed to the woman’s big shoulder bag, poking out of which I could see the folded ends of some paper napkins. Moments later, they put down their glasses and scurried out the door, never to be seen again.

  ‘That was funny,’ Adam said as he came towards me. ‘They actually knew somebody at the funeral and had hooked up with them to come here. The whole time they’ve been pretending they’re distant relations from the Hawke’s Bay or something. But in the end I put the hard word on them and they finally admitted they had no idea who Nana was.’

  ‘So you were right all along.’

  ‘They said the catering was good, though. I spotted the paper napkin in her handbag and figured she’d been gathering up a few things. But I didn’t push her. I’d given her enough of a grilling.’

  ‘I suppose they’ve got to know all the good caterers. I must tell Tamsin she passed the Serial Mourners test!’

  Suddenly my nostrils were assailed with a strong whiff of lavender. Sure enough, behind me Stephanie and Marcus were standing at the kitchen bench, pouring themselves a glass of wine.

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ I said, smiling knowingly and pulling Stephanie to one side. ‘I was wondering when you were going to abandon your little bolthole beside the lavender bushes,’ I whispered.

  A momentary look of guilt and embarrassment passed across Stephanie’s face before she pulled herself up straight, squared her shoulders, looked me in the eye and said quietly, ‘Whatever it takes, dear sister.’

  ‘Well, you should have brushed yourself down before you came back in. You’re covered in crushed lavender flowers. You smell like a Crabtree and Evelyn shop.’

  She tried to look over her shoulder at her back and started to brush off bits of lavender. ‘I was getting Marcus to do it before we came in. But we were interrupted by one of Dad’s old geezers leaping out of the bushes. He seemed to be doing some sort of a dance, except he was so plastered he could hardly stand up.’ She looked at me more closely. ‘How did you know what we were up to, anyway?’

  ‘I saw you when I was taking the pipe band out into the garden. You’re lucky they didn’t discover you while you were still at it.’

  ‘Well, it was worth it.’ She looked like the cat with the cream again. ‘I’d say our marriage is well and truly back on track now.’

  ‘Excuse me, Penny. Have you seen Seraya?’ Marcus said interrupting our sotto voce conversation. ‘I’m sure she’s here somewhere but I haven’t seen her for ages.’

  ‘No, I haven’t seen her. I think she was upstairs with Charlotte before. Would you like me to check?’

  ‘Yes …’

  At that moment, as if she’d heard her name, Seraya burst into the lounge, accompanied by Charlotte and Becks.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ Charlotte said as soon as she saw me. ‘Is there any food left? I’m starving.’

  ‘Are you okay, Seraya?’ Marcus asked.

  ‘Of course, Daddy. I’m just fine.’ Seraya wafted into the kitchen behind Charlotte and followed by Becks. ‘I’d love something to eat too, though,’ she added.

  They raided the tray Tamsin had left on the bench, wolfing its contents faster than Tigger could ever have done.

  Behind them, Mikey’s wife Jenn was calmly washing dishes, watching the girls with tolerant amusement. I sent up a prayer of thanks. Of all our extended family, Jenn seemed the most normal — the sort of woman y
ou’d pay good money to have as a project manager in the business world. I flashed her a grateful smile.

  ‘I think they’ve got the munchies,’ I said to Stephanie when Marcus had moved out of earshot.

  ‘What? Have they been smoking the wacky baccy?’ Stephanie asked.

  ‘Yes. Upstairs, this past hour.’

  ‘I bet Seraya brought it. She’s got this new boyfriend and I swear he’s a dope dealer. Mind you, he has some pretty good stuff.’ Stephanie grinned.

  ‘You’re not still into it, are you?’ She nodded. ‘I might have known you’d be a superannuated hippie. I remember you swallowing anything that was going at that student party I went to.’

  ‘God knows how you got in. You were only a first year. It was a capping party, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘I know. I felt I was ever so sophisticated. Especially when this guy passed me a joint. I pretty much wet myself with excitement. My first reefer. I nearly choked on it, though. I was trying to be cool and I was coughing fit to bust. And I didn’t even get high.’

  ‘I hardly touch the stuff now. Only occasionally. Like when Seraya’s boyfriend offered me this West Coast gold. It was amazing.’

  ‘Well, mother of the year, I suspect your daughter has created a gold rush all of her own upstairs. And now we’re seeing the results in terms of major munchies downstairs.’

  ‘She might have offered it around!’ Stephanie giggled. ‘We could all have had a toke or two for old times’ sake.’

  ‘Count me out. I can’t stand the stuff anymore.’

  ‘There’s no need to get sanctimonious on me. Besides, you’ve been getting stuck into the wine, I can tell. You’re as pissed as a newt.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘So your eyes cross normally, do they?’

  That took me aback. ‘No.’

  ‘Only joking. They’re not crossed — yet. And don’t worry about it. Funerals are legendary for people getting sloshed.’

  ‘Who’s getting sloshed?’ a familiar voice said behind me. I turned to see Steve, standing there staring at me with a strange expression on his face. If I hadn’t been a bit tiddly I would have sworn he was ogling me. But I quickly put that thought out of my head. Lord, he hadn’t ogled me for ages — probably not since the last time I’d been six months pregnant, before I’d lost sight of my toes.