by Wendy Harmer
Charlie pulled himself out of her and retied his black silk kimono.
‘No, don’t move until I tell you,’ he said sternly.
He turned Claire to face him and lifted her onto the bathroom bench. He pulled her dressing gown up to her waist and held her open thighs with two strong hands. He knelt on the tiled floor and in a moment his tongue was roaming all over her and then inside. Claire’s hands went to his head. If there was another thing Charlie Wallace knew how to do it was . . .
‘Nope. I don’t like it. I don’t like that little patch of hair there.’ Charlie stood up and looked down at her.
‘But in this case I think we can improve upon perfection.’
He reached up into an overhead cabinet. Claire could see his erection bobbing beneath the silk robe in the shaft of bright light from the ceiling. Claire wondered what the hell he was playing at.
He put his shaving gear on the bench next to her.
‘Put one leg here and the other one here,’ Charlie ordered.
He sat on a bathroom stool in between. He could see right into her. She could feel his hot breath on her.
Claire gripped the edge of the bench and leant back as he got down to business. Amazingly, the work which would have taken Shelley at the Aphrodite Salon & Spa a mere three minutes took Charlie almost ten times that long. Clearly he would never get a job as a beauty therapist.
He was dedicated to his job. A perfectionist. It was just that his mind kept wandering. He couldn’t keep his fingers out of there, or his tongue. But as soon as his squirming client started to enjoy herself too much, he would stop and resume his intimate inspections in a businesslike manner.
‘OK. Climb down and bend over,’ Charlie commanded. He turned his attention to the few wisps of hair which remained. And then he set down his tools, took off his robe and fucked Claire until she thought she would lose her mind.
After this Charlie left the room and climbed into bed. Claire unfolded herself from the bench and looked into the mirror.
What had just happened? Whatever it was, it was a long time coming. She smiled at her reflection and thought she might go into the bedroom and see if there was any more of it on offer.
Claire crawled into bed next to her husband and snuggled under his armpit, throwing her arm across his hairy chest.
‘Mmm, Charlie . . . that was very, very nice,’ she sighed. ‘But tell me one thing.’
‘Hmm?,’ he answered lazily.
‘Were you thinking about Diane Lane as you fucked me?’
‘Nup.’
‘You were, you were! You bastard. You were!’ Claire squealed with laughter.
They wrestled playfully, kissed and lay back down beside each other.
‘Charlie . . .?’ Claire asked thoughtfully.
‘Yeah. Now what?’
‘What’s the best night of sex you’ve ever had?’
He didn’t hesitate with his answer. ‘The night we conceived Maddie. Do you remember?’
‘Remind me . . .’
‘It was November. I remember because the jacaranda tree was in bloom, like now. There was a big moon shining in through the window onto the bed and I remember thinking that you looked more beautiful than I’d ever seen you.
‘And when I was inside you I felt like . . . I just remember it being the most perfect moment. The two of us were so close. I couldn’t tell where I began and you started. We touched eternity together and brought a child back with us. That was the exact night she came to life.’
‘We are so lucky aren’t we, Charlie?’ Claire could feel she was about to cry.
‘We are, we are. And do you know something, Mrs Claire Wallace? You are about to get a whole lot luckier.’
Charlie grabbed Claire’s hand and thrust it under the sheets.
‘EEEK, CHARLIE . . . I KNEW SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT! YOU’RE BALD . . . YOU’VE HAD A BRAZILIAN!’
‘Fancy going down to a carnival in Rio?’
Postscript
It was a year later and the jacaranda trees were again blooming in Sydney. Claire stood on Meg’s back deck in the afternoon sun and surveyed the wreckage of Meg’s backyard.
‘They’ve done a wonderful job with that granny flat, Tony. Should really increase the price of this property,’ said Charlie.
‘Yeah, it took them long enough,’ said Meg, dumping a stack of plates on the table. ‘They’ve still got to do some tiling in the kitchen. It’s driven me mad. Honestly, Claire, never renovate while you’re having a baby.’
‘Hello? I think I might have told you that,’ Claire protested.
Meg was now making room for the antipasto platter.
‘You know, I managed to build an entire human being in the same amount of time it took those six idiots to put in a bathroom? I’d just walk by while they were having lunch and say, “Guess what, boys? I put in a full nervous system and a pair of eyes last night and I didn’t even use any plans. Do you reckon you could manage to install a shower by the end of the week?”’
Claire laughed.
‘MEG, MEG! Teresa is woken up. I bring her out to you or do you want to feed her here?’ Grandmother Teresa called through the wide open shutters of the new family room.
‘Bring her out here!’ called Meg. ‘You know, even after five kids she still can’t handle me breastfeeding in front of people.’
‘But I’ll tell you, Charlie,’ said Tony. ‘The mother moving in with you is a good thing. We wouldn’t have been able to do the renovations without the money she put in, so we are grateful to have her here.’
‘You might be, Tony,’ Meg muttered to Claire.
‘You might like to move your mother in with you one day, Claire,’ Tony added.
‘Not bloody likely,’ Claire muttered to Meg.
‘Here she is!’ said Teresa as she deposited the squirming black-haired bundle in Meg’s arms.
‘This one named after me and is the best-looking one,’ Grandmother Teresa announced.
Meg kissed the top of the baby’s head.
Claire saw Maddie come running up the yard, breathless with excitement.
‘They’re here, they’re here,’ she called.
Claire and Charlie quickly walked to the edge of the deck and stood there with hands entwined.
Rose appeared first, with the blue bundle in her arms, and Dermott walked behind lugging the bassinette and enough gear for an army on bivouac.
‘Here he is. Here’s our boy!’ called Charlie. He ran down the stairs to help Dermott with his load.
‘Charlie, Charlie darling, baby boy. Come here, come to Grandma and Grandpa!’ Claire called impatiently. ‘Come and meet Meg and Tony.’
‘Charlie is my nephew,’ boasted Maddie to anyone who would listen.
‘You are a lucky, lucky girl,’ said Meg. ‘It will be a long time until Stephanie, Sophia and Teresa get to be aunties.’
Rose and Dermott walked onto the deck and exchanged double Italian kisses all round.
Rose handed the baby to Claire in exchange for a glass of champagne. Claire looked down at the perfect face peeping through the folds of his bunny-rug.
Charlie stood behind her and wrapped his arms around them both. ‘You know something, Tony? You never really make sense of getting older until you have a grandchild. Claire says it’s like sowing the seeds long, long ago, and then bringing in the harvest late in the summer. You feel like you’ve got enough warmth and sustenance to get you through the winter.’
‘You are a thoughtful man, Charlie, very thoughtful,’ said Tony, shaking his head in admiration.
‘What’s his full name, Dermott?’ Meg asked.
‘Well it’s Charlie, not Charles, Charlie Eamonn O’Hanrahan,’ said Dermott proudly.
‘Very Irish. Lovely.’
‘We had a bit of a fight over the middle name. I wanted Connor, but Rose put her foot down.’
Claire, Rose and Meg paused and took an even closer interest in the baby.
‘Whatever happened to him?�
� asked Meg, looking at Claire with two perfectly arched eyebrows.
‘Well, last I heard,’ said Dermott, ‘he broke off with his fiancée, met this 48-year-old woman and moved to Brazil.’
‘Hope he made it to the carnival in Rio,’ said Claire, looking at her husband with a cheeky grin.
‘Yep,’ said Charlie, smiling at his wife. ‘They reckon once you’ve been there, you’ll always go back.’
Acknowledgments
I would not have been able to write this book without the inspiring guidance of three amazing people.
Firstly Richard Walsh, who has been everything a writer could wish for as a mentor—good tempered, frighteningly erudite, witty, constructively critical, always available and up for a fabulous gossip. Thank you for asking me to write this book Richard, and the ones to follow. Thank you for your faith in me. I owe you a great debt.
Then there’s my literary agent Hilary Linstead who has always encouraged me in every creative endeavour and whose support and belief has not wavered in twenty years. I am so grateful for you Hil.
And finally my dear husband Brendan, who was expecting to have his wife come home after eleven long years of breakfast radio and instead ended up with a demented woman having a passionate affair with a computer. Thank you darling for creating the garden where Marley, Maeve and I can grow and blossom.
Love and more thanks to all my dear friends and family who shared the excitement as Toad of Toad Hall found a new fangled entertainment—Mary and John Finkelsen, Laura Waters, Helen Di Martino, Geoff Toovey, Amanda Smith, Hannie Rayson, Annie Looby, Francie and Squidda Collins, John Pinder, Anna Wallace, Sancia Robinson, Helen Thomas, Mitchell Bailey, Michael Kelly, Graham Brown and Margaret Wicks.
To all the experts at Allen & Unwin who have given me such a warm welcome into their esteemed publishing house—Annette Barlow, Christa Munns and Jo Jarrah—it has been a real pleasure working with you.