Just Not Mine (Escape to New Zealand)

by Rosalind James

  She was tired, but satisfied, too. A patio, and one-and-a-half rooms painted? Pretty good progress. Anyway, she hadn’t wanted to come back from this weekend’s long-awaited visit to Derek and face that color.

  She rounded the corner now, paint scrubbed off and hair and clothes more acceptable for public viewing, and pushed her trolley into the next aisle. There was Hugh, standing in front of the pie rack with the kids and looking beleaguered. More fuel for mentioning right there, which was why she stopped. Well, that and neighborliness.

  “It’s not healthy,” she heard him say. None of them had noticed her, so intent were they on their discussion.

  “It’s sausage rolls,” Amelia argued. “Everyone eats sausage rolls. You said meat for dinner, and sausage is meat. Anyway, we’re growing.”

  “Growing out, that’s what you’ll be doing if you eat those,” he said.

  “Hi,” Josie broke in. “Having fun?”

  All three of them looked around. “Trying to explain nutrition,” Hugh told her, “but it’s hard going.”

  “Pizza isn’t nutrition,” Charlie said. “And we had pizza two times last week.”

  “Yeh, well, I’m trying to do better,” Hugh said. “And if it’s not on my nutrition plan, it can’t possibly be good for you.”

  “It’s like we’re prisoners,” Amelia complained, and Josie had to smile. “It’s like we’re in jail.”

  “I’ll admit my standard isn’t too high yet,” Hugh said, “but I don’t think Amnesty International is actually planning to step in. I got roast chicken. I got this stir-fry packet, too,” he told Josie, holding up a foam tray full of prepared vegetables and covered with cling wrap. “Says you just put them in the pan and add the sauce. I thought, not too hard? But how hot should the pan be, d’you know?”

  “Pretty hot,” she said. “That’s the idea, you cook them up fast. And stir the whole time,” she thought to add. He had a nutrition plan? She knew some actors with strict diet plans and personal trainers—Derek, for one, had both—but that was because their bodies were their fortune. Hugh’s body was nothing to sneeze at, but he didn’t look like a professional bodybuilder—too much hair, for one thing—anything close to vain about his looks, which she admitted Derek had a weeny tendency to become.

  “Thanks,” Hugh said. “We’ll just leave the sausage rolls behind, get some yoghurt for pudding. Chicken, vegies, yoghurt. That’s all good, and good for all of us, too.”

  “Oh, joy,” Amelia muttered. “You said you were going to make up for forgetting to collect us from ballet. I was so embarrassed. And yoghurt isn’t making up. Ice cream is making up.”

  “You start making up for things with food, that’s a slippery slope, eh, Josie,” Hugh said.

  “Too right,” she said. “Next thing you know, you have a hard day and you’re into the beer. All downhill from there.”

  “I’m not asking for beer,” Amelia said. “I’m asking for ice cream. Which is a normal thing for children to eat. All my friends have ice cream.”

  “I think if you ask Chloe, you’ll find that dancers have a pretty strict nutrition plan themselves,” Josie said. But Amelia was right, ice cream was pretty normal, though she could see that Hugh was trying his best. Maybe she should talk to him privately about it.

  Or maybe she should just stay out of it, since it was absolutely none of her business. An even better plan. “Yoghurt’s one of my own treats,” she said instead, selecting a small punnet of that very thing, topped with passionfruit. “Even better than sausage rolls, though I barely remember what they taste like.” Liar.

  “Fine,” Amelia sighed, and Hugh grabbed a larger container of the same variety.

  “Go pick out bread, you two,” he told the kids. “Brown, not white,” he added, prompting another sigh and flounce from his sister.

  “Congrats on trying,” Josie told him when the other two were gone.

  “I’m making a bit of progress on the food, I guess, but the ballet thing set me back,” he admitted. “We’ve been trying to keep a timetable, but we haven’t quite got it down yet. Their schedules keep shifting around, and there are so many different things I’m supposed to know. The activities, and papers I was meant to sign and didn’t realize, and then I get that …” He did an exaggerated stomp, flounce, and eye-roll that had Josie laughing, so incongruous did it look coming from him.

  “You don’t have to let her do it, you know,” she managed to say. “You can tell her to stop. And how did you know you were meant to sign?”

  “Apparently, Aunt Cora went through their backpacks to find that stuff,” he said, still grinning.

  “My mum never went through my backpack, I’ll tell you that,” she said. “Did yours?”

  “No. She wouldn’t have had time. She was always working.”

  “Well, there you go. And was there ever anything she was meant to sign that you forgot to give her?”

  “I’m sure there was. No, I know there was. I can remember a few times …”

  “And yet you got your diploma all the same, somehow. You probably got embarrassed into remembering to tell her about the paper next time, too, just like Amelia will.”

  Amelia and Charlie returned with the bread, and Josie had just decided it was well past time to break this up when she saw the two older women at the end of the aisle looking at them with eager interest, all but pointing and shouting, and that made her decision even clearer. She saw the moment Hugh noticed them too, saw him shifting his trolley along with hers, but it was too late.

  “Afternoon,” Hugh began, his tone resigned, but the one in the lead, a thin woman with a pugnacious air and tightly curled gray hair, ignored him and went straight for Josie.

  “Aren’t you Jocelyn Pae Ata?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Josie said, putting on her best cool, reserved greeting-the-public smile.

  “Well, that’s exciting, isn’t it? I didn’t realize you did your shopping here in Devonport. Nobody’s ever mentioned it to me.”

  She looked aggrieved, as if she were planning to have words with whoever had failed to send out the memo. Josie could have told her she lived in Devonport, but she wasn’t stupid. Instead, she retained the cool smile and said nothing.

  “I have to say, I’ve always enjoyed Courtney Place,” the woman went on, “but honestly, you’re too awful, and you’re getting worse. Couldn’t they have had you leave Eric McTavish alone? And what you’re doing now … it’s really a crime, and I can’t think why somebody doesn’t put a stop to it. Surely they would, if that actually happened. I get so upset, it’s enough to make me stop watching, it really is.”

  “Oh, when Eric killed himself,” the other woman, a softer, rounder version of her friend, put in, “I cried. I’m not ashamed to admit that when he kicked that stool over and I realized he was hanging himself, poor man, I gasped. And then that lovely wife of his, and the wee baby. It was too sad, and so heartless. So cruel, the way he gave everything up for you, ruined his career, and you laughed in his face.”

  “I wanted to reach right into the telly and slap you,” the other woman said. “I know you’re acting, but I don’t see how you can live with yourself all the same, playing somebody like that every day. He was a joy to watch, too. What a handsome fella he is. It was too bad he had to leave the show at all, especially like that.” The look she gave Josie left no doubt as to whose fault that was.

  “I don’t actually do the writing.” Josie said, doing her best to project calm relaxation and healthy distance.

  “I read that Derek Alverson got a new job in a film,” the heavier woman said. “I was so glad to see it.”

  Josie considered explaining that Derek’s—Eric’s, that is—dramatic suicide had been a result of that very film offer and his desire to move on, but she’d realized by now that there was no point in defending a character, or in explaining the workings of the entertainment world. She reminded herself that the women’s outrage was a compliment to her acting, smiled again and prepared to
move on.

  But the thin woman was talking again, so she stayed a moment longer, and then was sorry she had.

  “Well, he must have forgiven you, anyway,” the woman said. “Since you’re an item off-screen as well, aren’t you? I can’t imagine how you film people can keep track, all that chopping and changing you do, shifting partners.”

  “We manage,” Josie said, and this time, she wasn’t smiling, and it was time to go.

  “How are you, Mrs. Duncan?” Hugh put in, and he’d moved a step forward, putting himself between her and the women. “And Mrs. … I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten,” he said to the other one.

  “Fiona Garber,” she said. “You know Jocelyn, do you? Your aunt never mentioned that. How is she, by the way? How’s her butcher doing?”

  “She seems pretty happy,” Hugh said. “Having a good time, from what I can tell. She’s talked more to the kids than to me, though.”

  “Yeh,” Amelia said. “She asked how we were eating.” She sent Hugh another accusatory glance.

  “Well, I suppose you celebrities are constantly running into each other, functions and that,” Mrs. Garber said, Hugh’s aunt having clearly been shoved into the less-interesting pile. “How’s your poor hand faring, Hugh? My Tom told me about it, said you’d be out of the test matches. In Europe, isn’t it? He was sorry to hear it, I’ll tell you. He’s worried the … I think it’s the French, worried that they’ll win. I hardly listen,” she admitted with a chuckle. “He said that without you, there’d be trouble with the—can’t remember again, because I don’t really follow it, to tell you the truth, dear.”

  “The scrum?” Hugh asked

  “That was it. What should I tell him?”

  “Tell him everybody’s ready to get stuck in, that they all know we’re in for a contest and that the boys will be playing their guts out, like always,” Hugh said. “And that we’ve got some good cover at 7, too, no worries.”

  “That’s not what he thinks,” she insisted, and Josie, who had just figured out exactly what it was that Hugh did for a living, had the feeling that he was as used to awkward, prying questions as she was.

  “How do you two know each other?” It was Mrs. Duncan this time, back to the more fascinating topic, her sharp eyes darting between Hugh and Josie.

  “Josie’s a good friend of Charlie and Amelia’s,” Hugh said. “I only just met her, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, you’ll want to watch out,” Mrs. Garber said roguishly. “Not sure you’re safe. She likes the big, strong ones. Don’t we all know it.”

  “Is that right. Got to be going, sorry,” Hugh said, wheeling his trolley around so quickly that Josie had to grab hers to keep it from getting bashed. “Dinnertime. Come on, you two. See you ladies later.”

  “Got any more shopping to do?” he asked her when they had put an aisle between themselves and the inquisitive ladies, the kids trailing behind.

  “Not anymore, I don’t,” she said. “I’m done.”

  “I’m sure. D’you get that a lot?” He still looked upset, she thought. For himself or for her, she didn’t know.

  “Well, yeh. I play an unpopular character, as you saw.”

  “And you’re not just an actress,” he said. “You’re pretty famous, apparently. I thought you watched TV, Amelia,” he complained to his sister.

  “I don’t watch Courtney Place,” she said. “Aunt Cora never let me. My friend Holly does, and she said I should. She talks about it constantly. But you’re always watching The Crowd Goes Wild then anyway, so I can’t.”

  “Not always child-friendly,” Josie clarified for Hugh’s benefit, in case he hadn’t got that point.

  “Are you in a show on TV, Josie?” Charlie asked with interest, not following the rest of it. “I didn’t know that.”

  “None of us did,” Hugh told him. “And I’m feeling pretty dense about that just now.”

  “Not so dense,” Josie said. “I could hardly expect to compete with The Crowd Goes Wild, and I’m guessing you don’t have much opportunity to look at supermarket magazines, or pay too much attention to the gossip columns in any case. In other words, you’re a man. Am I right?”

  “Well, let’s hope, or I’ve been laboring under a fairly serious delusion for some time now. Are you in supermarket magazines and gossip columns?”

  “World-famous in New Zealand,” she said. “That’d be me. A lot smaller fish than you all the same, aren’t I? Because I’ve finally got it. You’re a rugby player. You’re more than that, you’re an All Black. And here I’ve thought …” She began to laugh, she couldn’t help it. “Can’t tell you what all I’ve thought. First on the dole, then builder, then I thought maybe a ship, and the latest was a toss-up between assassin and drug dealer, given the secrecy and all.”

  “What secrecy?” he asked. “A ship? An assassin? I figured you knew what I did. It’s no secret. Could hardly be that.”

  “You didn’t know that Hugh was a rugby player?” Amelia asked, because she’d been listening. “Really?”

  Josie ignored her, because the penny had dropped. Her eyes widened. “Hugh … Latimer. Hugh Latimer. That’s who you are. That’s why you looked familiar. It’s just that I don’t watch much rugby, and I never watch the Blues, because my dad—Well,” she said with a laugh. “Sorry. I grew up in Chiefs country. Anyway, the …” She gestured at his face. “The hair. The beard. I thought it was a disguise, and I was right, wasn’t I? And then Charlie.”

  “Charlie what? How is this about him?”

  “Telling me it was a secret,” she explained. “Your job.”

  “You say we aren’t meant to talk about it,” Charlie said as Hugh looked at him in astonishment. “You always say.”

  “About what?”

  “About you. And about being an All Black.”

  “I just mean, not go on about it,” Hugh said. “Or gossip about me. That’s all I meant.”

  “Gossip’s talking about it,” Amelia said. “That’s what gossip is, talking about people.”

  “All right,” Hugh said. “You can gossip. Geez. It’s not a secret, Charlie. How could it be a secret?”

  “But you said,” Charlie said. “You did.” He was looking distressed now.

  “I didn’t mean—I meant—” Hugh cut himself off. “Not to share too much with strangers.”

  Josie glanced at him, realized he was stuck. She’d have a go, then. “It can be hard, when you do something where lots of people know who you are,” she explained to Charlie. “Sometimes you don’t want to be talked about, things that might be a little bit private. People are interested, even though they shouldn’t be, because people who are famous, people like Hugh, they aren’t really any more exciting than anybody else, are they? I mean,” and she made her smile confiding, cheery, “how interesting is your brother, really?” She heard Hugh’s snort of surprise. “Why should anybody care whether he actually eats Weet-Bix for breakfast, or who he goes on a date with? But some people do all the same, and it might make him feel like his privacy’s been invaded, do you see, if all those strangers knew all about his life like that? Like somebody was watching him all the time.”

  “I guess,” Charlie said, looking a little less unhappy, but still puzzled. “But I don’t think Hugh goes on a date with anybody, so I couldn’t tell about that anyway.”

  “Yes, he does,” Amelia said. “Heaps of times. When he stays gone all night? Those are dates.”

  “Wait,” Hugh said. “How do you know those are dates? And not heaps of times. I don’t—” He stopped again, and Josie looked at him and could hardly keep from laughing, he looked so uncomfortable. He didn’t what?

  “Because Auntie Cora said so, of course,” Amelia said. “She said, ‘Oh, love, he’s on a date. He’ll be home soon, I’m sure.’ When it was Saturday and you weren’t at Charlie’s game, or something. Or when you dress up, and cut your hair, that’s how we know,” she added. “We’re not stupid.”

  “All right,” Hugh said. “I’m sorry
I missed the game. I had a girlfriend at the time, yeh. She’s not my girlfriend anymore, so you don’t have to worry.”

  “You missed two games,” Amelia corrected him. “And you missed mine too, my netball, but it doesn’t matter so much for me. Charlie needs a committed adult male in his life, though, or he’ll—”

  “I know,” Hugh groaned. “Or he’ll join a gang. I won’t miss again, how’s that? If I do ever go on a date again, by some miraculous chance, I’ll make sure I’m home. Geez. I had no idea you two were watching so closely. And I just decided the no-gossip rule was a good one. Stop talking about me.”

  “We’re just talking to Josie,” Charlie said. “Talking to Josie isn’t gossip. She’s not strangers.”

  “Well,” Hugh said, “not anymore, she’s not.”

  Role Playing

  It was Friday night, another weekend with the kids stretching ahead. No Josie-projects to make this one more entertaining, either, because she was gone.

  He’d seen her wheeling her suitcase out her front door when he’d pulled up from his doctor’s visit, had jumped out and got over there fast, but not before she’d humped the clearly heavy thing down her front steps.

  “Can I give you a hand with that?” he asked her. “And, yeh,” he added, laughing at her a little, “a hand is what it’ll be. But not for long, because this cast is coming off in two weeks.”

  “Oh, that’s good news.” She surrendered the suitcase to him, which made him unreasonably happy, then popped the boot of her little car so he could give the case a heave and a shove from his knee, lodge it safely inside before reaching up to slam the boot again.

  “Although you’re right,” she said, watching him, “you can do a lot with one hand. But I’m sure you’ll be happy to have two again.”

  “I will. Bloody nuisance, and then I can start to work on getting fit again.”

  She was smiling at him. “Because you’re so shockingly out of condition.”

  “Not fit, and definitely not rugby fit,” he said. “Not yet. But I will be, no worries.”