by Isla Evans
Kate clapped twice, slowly. ‘Well done.’
Sam stared at her thin-lipped, the leaf catcher pole still grasped within his hands like a weapon. After a few moments he turned and javelined it into the garden bed where it impaled the earth at an angle, the broken end quivering gently. Sam watched it for a moment and then turned back. ‘I spent three months building that bungalow in my spare time. Three bloody months! Every weekend, every spare minute! And do I get any thanks? No, of course not. Instead, you just go and give it away!’
Kate jerked back, affronted. ‘Hang on a damn minute! You act like I just handed it over on a whim. For god’s sake, Shelley was –’
‘Without even discussing it –’
‘Pregnant! And didn’t have –’
‘With me! Or trying to –’
‘What the hell!’
Kate whirled around to face the sliding door, which was where this last rejoinder had come from. Standing there was Caleb, looking from one parent to the other with amazement. Kate opened her mouth to explain but Sam spoke first.
‘Sorry mate. We’re just having a bit of a chat.’
‘Some chat. I’m surprised the neighbours haven’t rung to complain.’
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ said Kate defensively.
‘And we’re finished anyway.’ Sam picked up the leaf catcher head and tossed it into the pool, where it floated into the middle, the net dangling deeper in the water.
‘Whatever.’ Caleb cocked an eyebrow at his mother and then went back into the house, leaving the sliding door half open. He was followed relatively quickly by his father, who slammed the pool gate shut and passed Kate on the steps without even a glance.
She watched as he slid the door closed and disappeared from view. Then she turned to face the pool and took in a huge lungful of air, which she let out again in a rush. Hector, perhaps sensing that she was in need of comfort, edged his way closer again and laid his head down in her lap, looking up at her mournfully.
The half-drowned bee had now disappeared from sight. Kate wanted to believe that it had made a successful bid for freedom, but thought it more likely that it had finished its life on the bottom of Sam’s runners as he strode angrily away from the pool. The moral being that you only have a brief period of time to break free, otherwise you’ll be flattened.
She sighed and tried to muster up the energy to follow Sam inside and try to explain, again. But instead she leant backwards against the pillar supporting the steps and stretched her legs out, forcing Hector to rearrange himself. Maybe she could write things down? That way she wouldn’t be distracted by incidentals and could state her case clearly and concisely. This thought cheered her, so she occupied herself by mentally constructing a dot point series of excellent reasons for her plan to take place.
Kate had just reached dot point number seven (it’ll be an excellent opportunity for enhanced bonding with your offspring), when the sliding door opened and Sam came through, carrying two glasses of red wine. Without speaking, he placed them gently on the outdoor table and then sat down on one of the chairs, facing her.
‘Is one of those for me?’
‘Obviously.’ Sam stretched a leg out and gave the opposite chair a push with his foot. ‘Come on, let’s talk. Without yelling.’
Kate was washed by a wave of relief, which gave her the momentum to push Hector off her lap and get up. She crossed over to the chair while the dog followed, settling himself underneath the table. Kate sat down, watching Sam. ‘I thought you weren’t speaking to me.’
‘I wasn’t. Then I thought we can’t just leave it like that.’ He looked at her expressionlessly for a moment. ‘You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So let me get it straight. You want to rent Angie’s room and move in for six months to write a book. Then you’ll move back and everything’ll be the way it was.’
‘Except then I’ll have done it. Or not done it. But at least I’ll know.’
‘Maybe.’ Sam stared over her shoulder for a few moments, and then sighed. ‘Look, I won’t pretend to understand why you can’t write here. If you can do your editing here, I don’t see why you can’t write as well.’
‘There’s too many . . . distractions.’ Kate stared into her glass, the red wine glimmering like liquid rubies. She tried to be honest. ‘Or maybe I’m just using them as an excuse. I don’t know.’
‘But you want to find out.’
Kate looked up, nodding. ‘Yes! That’s exactly it!’ She felt washed by a wave of relief that he might understand. ‘And about the bungalow –’
‘I know.’
‘I didn’t have a choice, did I? I mean, Shelley needed us. But I thought you knew how much I appreciated it. And I really did. Enormously.’
‘I know,’ repeated Sam, glancing towards the building in question. ‘And I also know you had to give it over to Shell. But that doesn’t help things here, does it?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Listen, I have to ask. Has this got anything to do with your father? I don’t mean the units, I mean like a . . . you know, a sort of reaction to his –’
‘No,’ replied Kate shortly. ‘Certainly not.’
Sam held her gaze. ‘Look, I’m not trying to belittle the fact you’ve always wanted to write. I know that. But it just seems to me it only started becoming . . . well, an obsession last year. Which makes me wonder if –’
‘Nothing to do with it. Totally separate.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ Sam gave a slight shrug. ‘Well then, I’m pretty well stuffed either way, aren’t I?’
‘What do you mean?’ Kate injected a questioning tone into her voice but really, she knew exactly what he meant. And she sympathised, just not enough to show it.
‘Well, I either agree and go along with all this, or I don’t – which means I force you to make a choice.’ Sam paused, looking at Kate searchingly. When she didn’t respond, he smiled grimly and nodded, as if confirming something to himself.
The silence lengthened uncomfortably as Kate searched for something reassuring to say. Something that would let him know that her feelings for him were unrelated to this. Absolutely divorced. But she couldn’t find the right words, and the only ones that came to mind rang with meaninglessness, even before they were spoken.
‘So go for it.’ Sam spoke offhand, but with an edge of bitterness that made Kate flinch. He turned back to her. ‘But I want one promise in return. If you’re still unhappy after the six months are up, whether or not you’ve written a bloody book, then I want your word you’ll go and see someone. Okay?’
Kate felt a flare of irritation but forced herself to nod. ‘It is the writing though, Sam. And I have to know. Do you see that?’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt the writing’s important. It’s just I still –’ Sam broke off abruptly as the sliding door rattled open again and Caleb came through with a can of beer. He pushed the door shut with a foot and then flopped down into a vacant chair, his long limbs arranging themselves with a sort of rag-doll effect, and held up the beer.
‘Hair of the dog.’
For a moment Kate wondered what he meant, and then her eyes widened as she realised, with a jolt, that it was still New Year’s Day. That it was only yesterday when everybody had gone out partying, and she had come up with her brainwave.
Sam cleared his throat. ‘Did you have a good time then, mate?’
‘Yeah, not bad. What about you two?’
‘Well, it was different, I’ll say that.’
‘Cool. Then what’s for dinner?’
‘Whatever.’ Sam waved a hand dismissively. ‘Listen, can you go get your brother and sister? I think I heard Shelley’s car get in just before. We need to talk to you all.’
Kate stared at him with surprise. ‘No! Not yet!’
‘This sounds interesting.’ Caleb raised an eyebrow at them both and then, leaving his beer on the table, headed back inside.
‘You could have waited u
ntil we sorted ourselves out,’ hissed Kate.
Sam shrugged. ‘We have. You’re leaving and I’m staying. That’s it, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not so simple,’ Kate glared at him. ‘Now you’re trying to punish me.’
Sam smiled at her, without humour. ‘Not me.’
Kate turned away, picking up her wine glass and taking a sip. It tasted acidic and she grimaced as it settled in the pit of her stomach, emitting sour fumes. She was just pushing the wine away as Caleb came back out onto the decking, followed by his sister, who still looked very much like an advertisement for the pitfalls of the morning after. Her heavily-made-up eyes actually emphasised her pallor rather than disguised it. She flung herself down into a spare chair and closed her eyes tiredly.
‘Where’s Jake?’ Sam asked Caleb, who had made himself comfortable again.
‘He’s coming.’
Kate looked over at Shelley. ‘And where’s Emma?’
‘I told you before, she’s with Daniel today. He’s dropping her off after tea.’ Shelley opened her eyes and stared at the table for a few moments before suddenly glancing at her mother with more interest. ‘Hey, could you do me a huge favour?’
‘What?’
‘Well, I really need some sleep because I have to work tomorrow.’ Shelley paused for a moment to roll her eyes, reminding everybody, rather needlessly, that she hated her waitressing job. ‘So could you have Em this evening and just bring her down to the bungalow later? I’d really appreciate it.’
‘Anyway, what is for dinner?’ asked Caleb, finishing his beer and crushing the can. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Where’s bloody Jake?’ asked his father irritably as, right on cue, Jacob emerged from the house. If his sister looked like an advert for the benefits of abstinence, then he seemed more like a poster boy for the homeless. Sandy hair cowlicked in several directions, while his face bore clear creases from the pillow he had evidently just been lying on. Leaving the sliding door open for a quick getaway, he leant against the side of the house and peered at the gathering suspiciously.
‘What’s up?’
Kate looked at them all brightly. ‘Why does anything have to be –’
‘Just thought we’d fill you in on a few things,’ interrupted Sam. ‘Firstly, your Uncle Oscar is going to sell his house because it’s too big.’
‘About time,’ said Caleb with little interest.
‘Where’s he going?’ asked Shelley, tucking a leg underneath herself and yawning.
‘Town. He’s going to buy an apartment there.’
Shelley nodded. ‘Cool. So was that it? Can I go to bed now?’
‘Not quite yet,’ said her father with rather theatrical grimness. ‘And maybe this next piece of news might get your attention. Your mother’s leaving too.’
This announcement had the effect he was obviously hoping for as all three recipients gazed at him in surprise and then, almost in unison, turned to stare at their mother. Shelley opened her mouth and then closed it again.
‘That’s not quite true,’ snapped Kate, glancing crossly at her husband. ‘I’m not leaving . . . well, that is, I am leaving but not . . . not –’
‘Not what?’ Shelley’s black-rimmed eyes stood out even more.
‘Not really leaving,’ finished Kate, trying desperately to remember the words her father had used that sounded so right. ‘It’s not like a separation. Not like Uncle Oscar and Auntie Angie. More a time-out, a sort of long service leave. A hiatus.’
Caleb cocked an eyebrow again. ‘A who ate what?’
‘I thought a hiatus was a type of hernia,’ said Shelley, frowning.
‘No, it’s not medical,’ explained Sam helpfully. ‘Psychological perhaps. A form of escapism. Like going AWOL.’
‘But why?’ Jacob’s evident confusion shaved years off his age and made Kate’s heart lurch. ‘Oh, frigging hell! You’re moving in with Uncle Oscar, aren’t you?’
‘Mu-um!’ wailed Shelley, sitting up straight.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Kate frowned at them all, and was even more annoyed to see the slight smile on Sam’s face. ‘It’s got nothing to do with Uncle Oscar!’
Shelley sneered. ‘So you’re saying it’s just a coincidence?’
‘Of course it is!’ Kate paused, taking a deep breath. ‘See, you know how I’ve always wanted to write?’ She waited for some acknowledgement of this, from anyone, but when none was forthcoming, closed her eyes briefly and then continued regardless. ‘Well I’ve finally realised that I can’t do it here. There are too many distractions, and I’m not saying it’s your fault because it’s mine too, but the thing is it’s not going to happen. Not here. So I’ve decided to take Mel’s old room in Auntie Angie’s unit and give myself a few months to see if I really can write. Then I’ll be back again.’
‘So you’re moving into Auntie Angie’s place?’ asked Shelley, clearly relieved.
‘Yes. And it’s not like I won’t ever be here. I’ll still be doing your father’s books and dropping in and staying over and all. It’s just that I’ll have this place where I can go and see if I can write. Like an office.’
Caleb leant back again, nodding approval. ‘That makes sense.’
‘What?’ Sam stared at him.
‘Good on you, Mum.’ Shelley stood up, stretching. ‘Now can I go to bed?’
Kate smiled at them both as a surge of relief warmed her. She turned to Jacob. ‘What about you then?’
‘Yeah, cool,’ Jacob nodded also. ‘Whatever. I mean, good idea.’
‘I’m so glad you all understand.’ Kate relaxed, beaming. ‘And I have to say it makes me feel proud of the lot of you. Really proud.’
‘Great,’ Caleb grinned. ‘Now what’s for dinner?’
‘I’m skipping dinner in favour of sleep.’ Shelley yawned again as she rose, pushing her chair in. ‘Some of us have to work tomorrow. Goodnight all.’
Kate watched her daughter head down the little path towards the bungalow, her stilettos dangling from one hand. Then she snuck a glance at Sam, and almost grinned when she saw his set expression. Checkmate, she thought with satisfaction.
‘I might go get a pizza.’ Caleb looked at his mother hopefully for a moment but, when she didn’t offer any other meal choices, sighed exaggeratedly and headed inside.
‘Can you grab me one?’ Jacob followed, shutting the door behind him for once.
With the smile still hovering around her lips, Kate sat back and watched Sam, waiting for him to speak first. He sipped his wine slowly, gazing over towards the pool.
‘So when do I get long service leave?’
Kate let her smile finally settle. ‘When I get back. First come, first served.’
‘I’ll do that,’ replied Sam firmly, still without looking at her. ‘And after a few months with this lot, I’ll probably need it.’
‘Fair enough,’ Kate spoke lightly.
Sam finally looked at her. ‘So what are you going to tell everybody?’
‘The truth. That I’m going to try my hand at writing.’ Kate contemplated this for a moment and then grinned. ‘Actually, maybe I should just tell them that we’ve separated. It’ll be less embarrassing if the book never eventuates.’
‘Tough. Or if you do tell everyone that we’ve separated, then I’ll find myself a little blonde floozy to keep in the wardrobe.’
‘It’ll have to be on my side, your side’s too messy.’
‘That’s okay. She can clean it up while she’s waiting at my beck and call.’
‘I don’t think they make floozies like that nowadays. Besides, she’d probably exhaust you inside a week.’
‘Probably,’ Sam grinned lasciviously. ‘But, oh, what a week.’
Kate smiled back, feeling so many different levels of relief that it was almost impossible to entangle them. Relief that the conversation had lightened, relief that Sam was no longer overtly annoyed, relief that the kids had taken it so well. And amazing, overwhelming relief that it looked like it w
as all going to happen, and soon.
‘This wine’s pretty foul.’ Sam examined his glass critically and then, standing up, flung its contents briskly into the garden. Hector immediately crawled out from underneath the table and loped off to give the wine a second opinion.
‘How about a cup of tea instead?’ Kate pushed her chair back.
‘Good idea.’
Sam took her glass with his and then led the way inside, kicking off his damp runners just outside the sliding door. Before she entered, Kate had a sudden thought. She bent down to flip them over and examine the underside for any signs of the bee that had disappeared earlier. Suddenly it seemed important to find out the insect’s fate. But both soles were bee-free, with not even an errant leg or wing stuck between the herringbone tread. This, of course, did not guarantee that the bee had survived, but Kate chose to take it as a good sign. And a very good omen for her.
FIVE
‘Hi, Angie, it’s me. Listen, could you give me a ring when you get –’
The phone suddenly clicked as it was picked up. Then came the sound of some rather heavy breathing before finally Angie spoke: ‘Hi, Kate. I’m home.’
‘And rather excited about it too, by the sound of you.’
‘Ha, ha. Actually I was up in Melissa’s room, cleaning and packing.’
‘How’s it all going?’ Kate spoke more seriously, trying to strip the lilt from her voice and infuse it with compassion.
‘God, Kate!’ Angie sounded surprisingly irritated. ‘I don’t have cancer, you know. My daughter’s staying in London and I’m getting a boarder in, that’s all.’
‘Hey, I was just trying to be sympathetic! I thought it might be hard, packing up all her stuff.’
There was silence for a moment and then Angie sighed. ‘You’re right. Sorry, I’m just being touchy. And yes, it is a bit hard. I thought I’d accepted her staying over there, but . . . I don’t know.’