The Not So Perfect Life of Mo Lawrence

by Catherine Robertson

  Michelle was watching Gulliver teach Harry how to put together a figure-of-eight wooden train track. Harry had mastered the circle a few months back and was now at the frustrating stage of being bored with it, but unable to work out how to construct anything more interesting. Michelle had sat down with him a couple of times with the best intentions, but Harry’s measured, careful approach and lack of ability to tell left from right quickly drove Michelle so bats with impatience that she would snatch up the pieces and build the track herself. The last time this had happened she had seen Harry give her a worried look, as if wondering if he’d failed her, but his natural desire to please had taken over and he’d beamed and thanked her.

  She shouldn’t have done that, Michelle thought. She should have let him work it out for himself, like Gulliver’s doing now. She watched Harry’s forehead crease in concentration, as he tipped a piece of curved track slowly one way and then the other to see which way it would lie when on the floor. When he placed it and saw it went in the right direction, his smile up at Gulliver was pure joy. Gulliver smiled back, genuinely pleased. Michelle suddenly felt right out of her depth.

  ‘How did you do it?’ she said to Aishe.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Bring up such a great kid. Was it you or was it luck? No offence.’

  ‘What if I said it was all me?’

  ‘Then I might have to suggest to Harry that he runs away,’ said Michelle glumly. ‘Rosie will be fine — she’s a complete bitch like me. But Harry — I’m not sure an upbringing at my hands will do him any favours.’

  ‘Doesn’t his father have any influence?’

  ‘No! He’s exactly like Harry,’ replied Michelle. ‘The two of them are dangerously under my full control. I’m like one of those snakes that hypnotise small furry mammals — a hiss and a glare and they’re compliant lunch. At least,’ she amended, ‘Chad used to be like that.’

  Aishe knew that the Lawrence marriage had been tested by the move across the country. Michelle had made no secret of it. In fact, up until now, Aishe had thought Michelle one of the most candid women she’d ever met. Michelle said stuff that even Aishe would have given at least a second’s prior consideration. Aishe knew that her own baldness was a deliberate strategy to gain control, like those dogs in the shelter that could reduce a rival to a belly-crawl with one sharp, fierce snarl. Michelle didn’t do it to shock, Aishe thought. She did it because she felt life was short. Too short even to say euphemism and circumlocution, let alone adopt them. Too short to stew on grudges or store up secrets. Why fill up your brain with dust and crap like an old vacuum cleaner bag? Clean it out. It’ll work so much better.

  No, until now Aishe had had no doubt that whatever Michelle said was the unvarnished truth and that whatever was in her head would invariably make its way out her mouth. But the idea of Benedict and Michelle had wormed its way into her mind like a song you loathe but nonetheless find yourself humming (and which inevitably turns out to be Sugar Sugar by The Archies).

  As a result, Aishe had taken to visiting Michelle almost every day, usually around lunchtime. Benedict tutored Gulliver two mornings and three afternoons, and spent the other part of each day as Michelle’s nanny. Around noon, he was either coming to or coming from Aishe’s house, so for Aishe, visiting Michelle at that time had two great benefits: one, it ensured she was almost never alone with Benedict, and two, she could watch the pair of them together, for a short while at least.

  So far, Aishe had seen absolutely nothing that even vaguely hinted they were getting it on, and her rational brain was threatening to sign a committal order on her behalf. Today she’d brought Gulliver with her because she was worried it was obvious she was only there to spy. This had caused her rational brain to start unstrapping the straitjacket and holding it up for size. But she couldn’t help it; she had to know, and this confession of Michelle’s that her husband was no longer under her thumb was a perfect opening.

  Still, it would pay to be subtle about it.

  ‘Why do you think Chad’s suddenly grown some balls?’

  ‘He’s always had them,’ Michelle replied with a shrug. ‘For all I go on like a termagant, I could never have married a man who didn’t know his own mind. But I’m starting to realise that perhaps he has more balls than I gave him credit for.’

  She drew both hands roughly through her hair, as if she could dislodge any annoying thoughts that might be clinging there.

  ‘It used to irritate me that he bent over backwards to please his parents,’ Michelle continued. ‘Occasionally, it even used to irritate me that he bent over backwards to please me. But I see now that the one thing that Chad rated above all else was to see people happy. And if he could be the source of that happiness, even better. So the times where I thought he was giving in, complying, he wasn’t at all. He was actively making a choice. To make us happy.’

  ‘So now he’s choosing to put his own happiness first,’ Aishe said. ‘I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. People who never do that pretty quickly lose sight of who they are. You can’t live your own life if you’re dependent on other people’s approval.’

  Aishe’s comment prompted Michelle to glance across at Harry, who was sitting back on his haunches watching Gulliver rummage through the big plastic container of train-track pieces. Gulliver pulled out two bridges, a straight wooden span and a curved viaduct that doubled as a tunnel.

  ‘Which one?’ he said to Harry.

  Michelle knew full well that Harry adored the curved bridge, but she could see the internal battle on his face. What if he picked the one he liked best only to find out his hero, Gulliver, would have chosen the other? To please or be pleased, thought Michelle. That is the question. It’s hard to suddenly become a pleaser when your whole life has been geared to making damn sure you were the pleasee. But then, maybe the same was true when it was the other way around?

  Aishe was losing patience. She didn’t give a damn about Michelle’s husband; the only reason he was even in the conversation was so she could find out if Michelle was shagging someone else. Time to stop skirting around the issue.

  ‘How’s your plan for being a good wife working out?’ said Aishe. ‘Thinking an affair with His Nibs would be easier after all?’

  Michelle looked blank. ‘His Nibs?’

  OK, so she’s either being very crafty, thought Aishe, or she truly hasn’t a clue. I’ll go with crafty for now.

  ‘The bloodless water-wader,’ said Aishe. ‘The plum-vowelled streak of pee.’

  ‘Benedict?’ Michelle laughed. ‘What on earth has the poor boy done to you to deserve that truckload of opprobrium?’

  ‘Don’t you find him irritating beyond all reason?’

  ‘The nobby accent’s a bit of a liability, true. But on the whole, I like him a lot.’

  Michelle’s obvious amusement made Aishe bristle so much she lost all caution.

  ‘Enough to sleep with him?’

  ‘Mommy, look!’

  Harry ran up and grabbed hold of Michelle’s arm. ‘We did it! We made a bridge and a tunnel and everything.’

  For a second, Aishe thought the distraction had covered her slip. But as Michelle let her son drag her by the hand out of her chair, she shot Aishe a look charged with meaning.

  Shit, thought Aishe. Shit, shit, shit. She’s not sleeping with him and she knows I am. Now, how is this going to play out? Will she take digs at me, drop hints from now on? Gulliver knows nothing about Benedict and me, and if Michelle is responsible for changing that, I will have no choice but to slice her open and watch her intestines spill out onto the ground.

  The sound of a quick rap on the front door and a key in the lock stopped everyone in the room. Aishe, every sense on high alert, swiftly scanned everyone’s expressions. Michelle’s was smiling but neutral; she made not one glance in Aishe’s direction. But the small relief that provided was quickly overridden when she saw that both Harry and Gulliver were poised, ready, eager as fans awaiting the arrival of their favourit
e band on stage.

  Goddamn him, Aishe thought. How has he tricked them all into believing he’s something special?

  Benedict entered the room and bent to scoop up Harry, who had immediately rushed to greet him.

  ‘What ho, old chap!’ Benedict said, to Harry’s delight.

  ‘What ho!’ Harry gave a fair imitation of Benedict’s rounded vowels, then collapsed into giggles.

  Benedict beamed at Michelle, who shook her head in mock despair.

  ‘You know I think posh people are freaks, don’t you?’ she told him.

  ‘That’s all right then,’ Benedict replied, setting Harry back on the ground. ‘I only sound posh.’ He glanced around. ‘Where’s my screamer?’

  ‘Asleep. Goddamn her. She decided to wake up five times last night. I tell you, if any terrorist organisation gets wind of Rosie’s methods, the world will never be safe for innocent people again.’

  Harry tugged on Benedict’s hand. ‘We made a track. Gulliver and I did.’

  Aishe, who had been watching all this like a hawk, saw Benedict’s head turn to Gulliver, hovering in the background. To Aishe’s disgust, the pair acknowledged each other with a nod — like some secret handshake, she thought. For an exclusive little cabal of two.

  But then Benedict turned towards her, and the fleeting and to all appearances casual eye contact sent a lightning strike of desire straight down to her mid-section. For a moment, she so strongly craved his touch on her skin that she had to bite her lip to avert a whimper.

  Her head began to swirl with pounding, raging invective. Goddamnit! How dare he!

  Fortunately, the loud peal of the phone provided the circuit breaker she needed to rein in her self-control.

  ‘Christ, who’s that?’ said Michelle. ‘Better not be Chad’s freaking mother again. That’s three times this week.’

  As she stomped off towards the kitchen, Harry ran after her. To Aishe’s horror, Gulliver took the opportunity to slope off down the hall to the bathroom.

  Shit, she thought, I’m trapped. She steeled herself, sure that any second Benedict would come over and lay his hands on her, to snatch a quick, secret caress.

  But he didn’t. Aishe found she’d been holding her breath. She let it out and scowled at him. He stared back at her. He had stopped smiling.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ she said.

  ‘Can we talk?’ His voice was quiet.

  Aishe felt a bubble of panic, which made her scowl even more furiously. ‘Why? What do we need to talk about?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Us?’

  Slowly, deliberately, Aishe folded her arms. ‘Us? What “us” is this?’

  Benedict dropped his head and ran his hand over his cropped hair. When he looked back up, he was smiling again. But it was small and wry and sad. It caused Aishe’s gut to lurch in alarm.

  ‘I’d say that answers my question,’ he said. ‘So don’t worry, I won’t bother asking it again. And I won’t bother you again, either.’

  No! Fuck! Aishe was close to complete panic. This was not how it was supposed to work out. He was supposed to be so desperate he’d do anything for it. She was supposed to be the one in control.

  Her mind churned frantically to find a plan to salvage the situation. I’ll have to make him believe I like him, she resolved. I may still think evil thoughts about him, but I’ll have to make it much less obvious. I’ll have to appear less defensive, more vulnerable — suck him in with emotional bait as well as sexual. And I’ll have to do it quickly.

  Hang on a moment, a small voice said to her. Do you not think he deserves to be treated better? He’s been honest — brave, even — about how he feels about you. Shouldn’t you be honest in return?

  Shut up, Frank, said the rest of the mind that was Aishe. This is about survival. And I intend to be the fittest, come hell or high water.

  Aishe could hear Michelle making her goodbyes to whomever was on the phone.

  ‘OK,’ she said to Benedict. ‘OK, we’ll talk.’

  His initial look of surprise swiftly transformed into one of sheer, open delight.

  Christ, he’s in love with me, realised Aishe with astonishment. He’s completely besotted.

  This is going to be way easier than I thought.

  15

  It hadn’t been Chad’s mother on the phone.

  ‘I’m meeting up with Phil’s wife Connie tomorrow,’ Michelle told Chad. ‘We’re having a girls’ lunch in the city.’

  Chad looked up quickly from his dinner. ‘Who’s going to mind the kids?’

  Michelle gave him a pointed stare. ‘I have a nanny. Remember?’

  ‘Yes, but—’ Chad hesitated.

  ‘Chad,’ said Michelle. ‘That’s what nannies do. They look after your children.’

  His voice rose an octave. ‘You mean you’ve already left him alone with them?’

  ‘Of course I have.’

  ‘And everything was OK?’

  ‘No,’ said his wife. ‘The baby died, but I went down to the baby shop and managed to find another one that looked just like her.’

  ‘It’s not funny, Mitch.’ Chad tossed his fork so that it clattered onto his plate. ‘Don’t joke about it.’

  ‘Then don’t be ridiculous.’ Michelle waved her own fork in the air. ‘Look, if you’re really concerned, I’ll invite him over in the weekend and you can meet.’ Trying not to smile, she added, ‘Or come to my mothers’ group and ask what they think of him.’

  ‘He goes to your mothers’ group?’ Chad was sceptical. ‘With you?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Michelle. ‘I thought I’d have to stop going because Rosie is such a demanding little hussy that I used to have to spend all my time pandering to her. Which meant poor Harry had to fend for himself. And some of those kids are—’ She paused.

  ‘Are what?’ Chad said anxiously.

  ‘Perfect corporate CEOs in the making, I’d say,’ replied Michelle. ‘In other words, narcissistic, sadistic little shit-heels.’

  ‘They don’t — hurt Harry, do they?’

  His obvious distress made Michelle relent. ‘With me on the case?’ She shook her head. ‘One of them stole Harry’s Little Tikes car. I cornered him and told him all about what happens in jail. He was out of there so fast, the seat of his OshKosh corduroys had scorch marks.’

  Chad was still uneasy. ‘So — do the other mothers bring their nannies, too?’

  ‘Some of the nannies bring themselves. In fact—’ Michelle did a quick calculation. ‘Out of twelve of us, only eight are real mothers. If you know what I mean.’ She shrugged. ‘Most of the mothers use it as an excuse to absolve themselves of parental responsibility. The odd one is a hyper-vigilant control freak, but in the main, the kids would have to be on fire before their mothers paid them any attention. That’s why it’s so good to have Benedict there.’

  ‘How does that follow?’

  Michelle counted on her fingers. ‘One, he keeps the little shits in line. Even the most die-hard date-rapist-in-training would happily follow the Pied Benedict into any old crack in a rock. Two, he’s the highlight of these women’s day. They can go home warm in the knowledge that they’ve now got something decent to fantasise about while their ego-maniac paunchy husbands are atop them, heaving away with their tiny dicks—’

  ‘Mitch,’ Chad winced.

  ‘Men who like power trips cannot fuck!’ said Michelle. ‘I know. I dated some before I met you.’ She gave a small shudder. ‘Mind you,’ she added, ‘men who want to talk about their feelings are just as useless. Forget the lingering foreplay, you damp squib! I want hard pumping cock action!’

  Michelle realised that Chad was looking squeamish. ‘Sorry. Aishe came over for lunch today. When it comes to straight talking, she makes me look like a raw novice. Her speech can flay your skin right off the bone. I have to watch myself, though — it’s catching.’

  An odd expression came over Chad’s face. ‘And where do I fit on your spectrum?’ he said. ‘What
kind of man am I?’

  Michelle’s training as a lawyer had trained her to suspect every question was a trick one. Especially questions like this that seemed to lead to an obvious answer. Questions like this shouted out for extreme caution.

  ‘What kind of man do you want to be?’

  Chad was silent for so long, Michelle was convinced she’d blown it. So much for your good wife act, she reprimanded herself. Why didn’t you just say he was a wonderful man, who’s terrific in bed? It’s not like that would even be a lie — would it? Eventually, Chad spoke. ‘I want to be my own man.’

  Michelle waited, but when nothing else seemed forthcoming, said, ‘What does that mean, exactly?’

  ‘I want to know who I am.’

  Being none the wiser filled Michelle with impatience, made more acute by an underlying but intense note of fear.

  ‘You know who you are,’ she said. ‘You’ve been you for thirty-five years. How can you possibly not know?’

  Chad’s odd expression was back, this time accompanied by a small smile that Michelle found highly unnerving.

  ‘Mitch,’ he said, ‘you cut through this life like a laser. You’re crystal clear about everything: what you like, what you want, what you’ll do and won’t do. You’ve defined yourself as distinctly as — well, as this table here. There’s no doubt about where it ends, no soft edges, no grey areas. That’s what you’re like. Distinct. Clear. No ambiguity.’

  Michelle’s breathing had begun to quicken. ‘Is that bad?’

  ‘No!’ Chad’s smile was wide this time. ‘It can be — challenging. Coming up against you feels a bit like when I was a rookie quarterback in college. I got blindsided so often, I felt like I should start games lying down on the ground to save time.’ He saw her face and shook his head. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. I admire you for being strong-minded. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But I’ve come to realise that I could do with some of that strength myself.’

  Michelle felt compelled to leap in. She wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, but she had a feeling it was nowhere good.