Food, Sex & Money

by Liz Byrski

  Bonnie was in the kitchen making tea. ‘Impressive!’

  ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Sylvia said, dropping the mail on the benchtop. ‘Did you know the kiosk is closed? The boatshed has a sold sign on it. I wonder what’ll happen to it. It’ll be a shame if it gets bulldozed.’

  ‘I know,’ Bonnie said, sifting through the mail. ‘It was sold a couple of weeks ago. Great location.’ She looked up. ‘Remember after school, trying to talk to those guys by the boats? We thought they were so cool, and they’re probably just boring old farts now. This one’s for you.’ She slid a bulky padded envelope across the counter.

  The writing on the envelope was Colin’s and Sylvia’s stomach lurched with anxiety. There had been no real nastiness between them, but something in her kept expecting it to develop, kept anticipating a grenade to be tossed dramatically into the slow process of winding up their marriage. She slit open the bulky envelope and discovered two sets of car keys in bubblewrap, and a note wrapped around another envelope.

  Dearest Sylvia

  What can I say? Nothing makes this right, nothing can make up for the things I’ve done.

  It sounds stupid to say I never meant to hurt you, but it’s true. I know it all started to go wrong a long time ago and that we have passed the point of no return. I wish you happiness and peace of mind and hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

  I’m enclosing the car keys. I’m moving out on Friday so perhaps you could arrange to collect the car before then. Let me know when you’re coming and I’ll get out of the way.

  The envelope contains a gift. I know you’re concerned about money and this is not something you would buy for yourself at this time, but I hope you’ll use it and that it will help with the new start.

  With my love

  Colin

  Sylvia stared at the letter, moved by the simple emotion and aware of how difficult it would have been for him to write it.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Bonnie asked. She nodded, pushing the letter towards her.

  Bonnie read the letter rapidly and looked up. ‘What’s in the envelope?’

  Sylvia tore open the flap. ‘It’s a return air ticket to London,’ she said, looking up at Bonnie in amazement, ‘so … so I can go and see Kim.’ She struggled to swallow a sob. ‘For the last three years I’ve been begging him to go, but he kept saying we couldn’t afford it.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. When’s it for?’

  ‘Three weeks time.’ She stared at the ticket and then dropped her head into her hands. ‘God, men! They’re so weird, aren’t they? Why does he wait until I’ve left him to start being thoughtful?’

  ‘Not there, further back,’ Lila called from the front path. ‘I want them at the back, then in spring I can put purple pansies at the front.’

  David, holding two pale mauve lantanas, took a step backwards. ‘About here?’

  ‘That’ll be fine, dear,’ Lila said. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m going in to put the kettle on – nearly bloodsucker time.’

  ‘Bloodsucker?’

  ‘Yes, young er … er … Judy, that’s it, Judy’s coming to take my blood. Always comes on the second and fourth Wednesdays, regular as clockwork.’

  David glanced up at the sky as a couple of large raindrops landed on his head. He’d have to be quick to get the plants in before it began to pour. He started digging, working fast, and was just backfilling around the plants when down came the rain. Spade in hand, he bolted for Lila’s back door. Kicking off his boots in the tiny laundry, he grabbed the hand towel from the side of the trough and wandered into the kitchen drying his hair.

  ‘You only just made it,’ said a young woman sitting at the table. ‘Another couple of minutes and you’d have been drowned. I’m Jodie, by the way – we’ve met before.’ She was setting out a series of tubes and a blood pressure monitor alongside a syringe in a sealed pack. David ran his hands through his wet hair and stared at her.

  ‘Hi, I’m David. I’m not sure where … ?’

  ‘I took your blood at the clinic the other day.’

  David blushed. At the clinic and the hospital it was easy to pretend he was in a world unconnected to the rest of his life. He remembered her now, remembered the bright blue eyes and mouth-wateringly clear skin, and his two worlds smashed together.

  ‘Sorry, of course you did. Where’s Gran?’

  ‘Looking for something in her bedroom. She said to make the tea, so maybe you …’

  ‘Yes,’ David said. ‘Sure, sure, how do you like it?’

  ‘Milk, no sugar, please.’

  He dropped tea bags into three mugs and got out the milk, feeling the back of his neck burning with embarrassment, cursing his scruffy wet clothes and hair, hating the fact that she knew him through his sickness.

  ‘Ah, good,’ Lila said, coming back into the kitchen clutching a handful of coathangers with purple and white knitted covers. ‘You’ve made the tea.’ She put the hangers down on the table in front of Jodie. ‘There you are, dear, I know you liked the hangers I did for myself so I covered some for you.’

  David put the cups on the table, trying not to stare at Jodie as she examined the hangers and thanked Lila with a hug. It was difficult because everything about her demanded his attention; the corn gold hair piled up on top of her head, the curves of her body accentuated by the clinic uniform. He swallowed hard, looking down into his cup, stirring his tea as she strapped the blood pressure cuff onto Lila’s arm.

  ‘Caro was in yesterday,’ Jodie said. ‘She seems to be doing well. Nervous, but everyone’s like that with a first baby.’

  Lila grinned. ‘She’ll be fine. She’s a good girl, Caro – bit mouthy sometimes but she’s got a good heart.’

  ‘You know Caro?’ David asked, leaning forward.

  ‘We were at school together,’ Jodie said. ‘Same class. Caro and I were in year nine, far too lowly for you to notice. And now I seem to be making a habit of collecting your family’s blood!’ She slipped the stethoscope on and started pumping. ‘Bet you don’t remember me.’

  David opened his mouth and shut it again, waiting until she took off the stethoscope.

  ‘I don’t think you looked like this back then,’ he said, ‘or I’d certainly have remembered.’

  Jodie grinned and winked at Lila. ‘He’s got the right answers.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Lila, ‘that’s our David. He’s a teacher, you know … very good, been in the desert somewhere, teaching the Arabs to speak English. Where was it, darling?’

  ‘Qatar,’ David said, fidgeting awkwardly. ‘But Jodie doesn’t want to know all that.’

  ‘She might,’ Lila flashed back. ‘It’s interesting working somewhere like that. He’s not very well so he’s working here now.’

  ‘Gran!’ David groaned and put his head in his hands.

  ‘What? Nothing wrong with that. Jodie knows about these things, don’t you, dear?’ She leaned forward to Jodie. ‘He’s embarrassed, that’s all. He was always a rather shy boy.’

  Jodie grinned at David. ‘Really? That’s not how I remember him!’

  David prayed for his grandmother to shut up but Lila rolled down her sleeve and stood up.

  ‘I haven’t finished with you yet, Mrs Whittaker,’ Jodie said.

  ‘I know, I know … got to do the bloodsucking but I want to get something to show you. A photograph, David’s uni graduation. He looks so lovely in that black robe with the pale blue, just you wait there …’

  ‘Oh, Gran, please no – ’ David began.

  ‘Don’t “Oh Gran” me,’ Lila cut in. ‘I’m proud of you, and you should be too.’ And she disappeared out of the kitchen.

  ‘Sorry,’ David said with a shrug, trying not to look as mortified as he felt. ‘She’s a bit unmanageable these days. Sensitivity is not top of the list. I suppose you know about the purple passion.’

  Jodie nodded. ‘Oh yes, I’ve seen her once a month for the last couple of years so I’ve lived through quite a few stages
of it. Don’t be embarrassed, it’s lovely that she’s so proud of you. She talks about you all the time.’

  ‘How tedious.’

  ‘Not at all. You’ve acquired hero status.’ She stood up to pour some boiled water from the kettle into a plastic medicine glass, and as she stretched forward over the sink he studied the tender flesh at the back of her knees.

  ‘So, d’you live around here?’ he asked, his throat uncomfortably dry.

  ‘Collingwood,’ Jodie said, sitting down at the table again. ‘I share a house just off Hotham Street.’

  David leaned forward, forgetting his discomfort. ‘I just moved to Collingwood,’ he said, ‘round the corner from Gino’s coffee shop.’

  ‘Really? I haven’t seen you; I go there most mornings for a coffee before work – ’

  ‘Here we are,’ Lila interrupted, coming back into the kitchen with a photograph album open in her hand. ‘I couldn’t find the graduation one – shame, because he looks so handsome in that – but have a look at these. This is so sweet.’ And she opened the pages to a large colour picture of a two-year-old David, stark naked in the paddling pool in the garden at Richmond.

  Jodie raised her eyebrows and grinned at David. ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘I’d never have taken you for a nudist. I’ll have to keep my eyes open around Collingwood in future.’

  Irene lay in the dark gazing out of the bedroom window at the indigo sky scattered with stars, and wondered how she had got herself into this situation. Had she intended it or had it simply happened to her? The night was still and warm without a breath of a breeze, the only sound the occasional drone of the cicadas. She ran her hands cautiously down her body: soft, loose skin wrinkled at her touch and the brief burst of confidence she had felt half an hour earlier suddenly evaporated. She was an old woman with a worn and wrinkled old body – whatever did she think she was doing?

  The bathroom door opened softly and Hamish hesitated in the doorway, outlined briefly against the light before he flicked the switch, plunging the room back into darkness. Irene took a deep breath, trying to calm the anxious throbbing in her head. He was wearing a pair of boxer shorts, and as he bent to sit on the edge of the bed she shifted to make room for him and he took her hand in both of his and held it.

  ‘It’s been a long time, Irene,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve probably lost the knack …’

  ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘Maybe we’re just too old for this. I feel quite ridiculous lying here.’ She could sense his smile rather than see it.

  ‘You’re not ridiculous,’ he said, tenderly stroking her hand. ‘That’s not a word that could ever be used about you. You’re a wise and beautiful woman, Irene, always have been, always will be. And the theory is that we’re never too old.’

  He leaned forward and kissed her very lightly on the lips and Irene, the pressure of tears throbbing behind her eyes, reached up and touched his face.

  ‘Come on then,’ she whispered.

  Hamish climbed into bed and lay on his side facing her, his head propped on his arm.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know I started all this but I should warn you – I’m a bit lacking in the er … er … what I mean is that … I’m afraid erections are a thing of the past.’

  ‘That’s good,’ she said with a smile. ‘I couldn’t be doing with all that grunting and heaving, anyway. I always thought that penetration was a bit overrated.’

  ‘Really?’ There was relief in his voice. ‘Well, then, that’s good, isn’t it? Funny, really, this feels like … like the first time ever.’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘Hamish … ?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m really nervous.’

  ‘So am I,’ he said, moving closer. ‘Silly old things, aren’t we?’ He reached out to stroke her neck, and Irene sighed as the tenderness of his touch revived a part of her that had been long dormant.

  She put her hand over his. ‘Perhaps if you could just hold me,’ she said, her voice tremulous in the darkness, and gently Hamish slipped one arm under her shoulders, wrapping the other over her, drawing her towards him.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he whispered, his cheek close to hers. ‘How beautiful to hold you close like this.’

  She sighed, relaxing against him as his hand stroked her back, realising that he too was trembling. ‘I’d forgotten how it feels to be touched,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think anything like this would ever happen again.’ Anxiety about her age, her body and its limitations threatened to assail her but she pushed it away, grasping instead for the other, confident self within. Silently they clung together, remembering other nights, other lovers in other lives, savouring the memories of long forgotten pleasures, which slowly drew them into the present confident stirrings of desire.

  Irene woke as the first light of dawn edged through the half-open shutters and a few birds began to scuffle in the bougainvillea. It was strange after all these years to wake beside someone and at first she lay perfectly still, as though any movement might change everything, make it evaporate like a dream. She listened to his breathing, turned gently onto her side to look at him. Hamish was sleeping soundly on his back, one arm thrown carelessly above his head, the sheet pushed down to his waist. It was the posture of a young man, a lover in a movie lying sated among crumpled sheets. He was in reasonable shape for a man of his age, but his skin had the thinning, crumpled softness of age, covering slackened muscles – comforting, she thought. She smiled, wondering how he would have looked in this pose as a young man. She’d known him for so many years and his face was entirely familiar, but his body, this physical closeness and vulnerability, was new territory.

  Tentatively she reached out and laid her palm flat on the centre of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the firm line of his sternum under her touch. Without opening his eyes Hamish put his hand over hers, holding it to him, and turned on his side away from her, drawing her arm around him. She closed her eyes, wondering briefly if she should send him back to his room. But surely they were beyond all that? Her pride rebelled at the thought of Hamish scurrying through darkened corridors to avoid discovery. They were among friends; it was a sad state of affairs if they couldn’t do what they wanted without fear of disapproval. Irene rested her cheek against Hamish’s shoulder.

  ‘Thank God you don’t snore,’ she whispered against his skin.

  ‘You do … a bit,’ he said very softly, squeezing her hand, ‘but I promise not to tell Marjorie.’

  They must both have fallen asleep again, for brilliant sunlight was streaming through the window when they woke with a start to a sudden banging on the door. Irene’s heart thumped in shock and Hamish sat bolt upright.

  ‘Irene!’ Marjorie called. ‘Irene, wake up, it’s half-past nine and we’ve got an emergency.’

  She rattled the doorknob. ‘Irene, for heaven’s sake open the door. You’re not dead, are you? Irene? We’ve lost Hamish! George said he never came back from his walk last night, his bed hasn’t been slept in, and he hasn’t shown up for breakfast. Irene … ?’ There was a sudden pause and Irene and Hamish exchanged glances. Marjorie’s voice dropped a few decibels. ‘Oh my god! He’s not – you’re not … ?’

  Hamish grinned and reached for Irene’s hand. ‘Yes, Marjorie,’ he called, ‘we are, but don’t worry, Irene’s quite safe and we’ll meet you on the terrace in half an hour.’

  ‘Oh my god,’ Marjorie muttered, ‘dear me.’ She raised her voice. ‘Okay, everyone, you can call off the search, Hamish is fine.’ And they heard the steady thump of her footfalls as she walked away down the steps to the terrace.

  ‘Whoops,’ said Irene. ‘I think we’re in trouble.’

  ‘Probably,’ Hamish said. ‘Disapproval? Embarrassment? What do you reckon?’

  Irene shrugged. ‘Probably both. Marjorie will interrogate me, but the others may behave as though nothing’s happened.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘Shall I tell Marjorie that you’re a great fuck?’

  Hamish bellowed with laughter. ‘Oh, please do, and
make sure she tells George and Frank – in fact, tells everyone!’ They leaned against each other shaking with laughter. ‘Irene,’ Hamish said eventually, turning towards her. ‘This is very special. I care for you deeply and I’m too old for one-night stands.’

  Irene smiled, looking down at their clasped hands, speckled with age. ‘Me too. But, Hamish, I’m also too old to want to share my bed every night, or to want to change my life to accommodate someone else.’

  ‘Understood entirely,’ Hamish said. ‘Not a domestic relationship … an affair?’

  She laughed. ‘At our age?’

  ‘Why not? What else would you like to call it?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘Loving friendship,’ she said slowly, and then, ‘No! An affair – it sounds much more fun, positively raunchy, and after all, it’s the last affair either of us will ever have.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Hamish said. ‘I’m only eighty-one!’

  She punched him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll get Marjorie to counsel you if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Oh no, anything but that,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Speaking of which we should probably get up.’ He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘Come along, my darling, time to face the music.’

  Caro sat at the kitchen table in her dressing gown staring at a glass of orange juice, wondering if she wanted to drink it.

  ‘You could give up work now if you want,’ Mike said. ‘You feel so rotten and keep having to have days off – why not just give it away?’

  ‘It might stuff up the maternity leave arrangement,’ she said, lifting up one leg and resting it across his lap. Mike continued to eat his cornflakes with one hand while stroking her foot with the other.

  ‘Talk to Des about it,’ he suggested, ‘you don’t know till you ask. They all think a lot of you and they’ve said they want you back when the baby’s born. He might rejig it all for you.’

  Caro pushed half a slice of dry toast around her plate. ‘It’s the nausea that’s the worst thing,’ she said. ‘It makes me feel so weak and sort of light-headed. I thought you said it would be a textbook pregnancy.’