Isabelle didn’t know if any of this was registering with Essie. Her jaw was set—which may mean she was refusing to listen, or possibly, that something had struck a chord.
“Essie,” she said as the door opened. It was Barbara.
“Oh! Hello, Isabelle. Sorry, am I interrupting?”
Barbara held a pile of magazines and an overnight bag, and she smiled warmly at them. After a moment, her smile faded. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” Essie said, “though I am a bit tired. You probably should go, Isabelle. And I think it’s best if you don’t come back while I’m in here. I need to focus on getting better.”
There was a moment’s silence. Barbara glanced at Isabelle, a question in her eyes.
“I’d really like to come back in a few days,” Isabelle said. “You might be feeling a bit better and we can talk further.”
“No,” Essie said, avoiding her gaze. “Mum, can you tell the nurses, please? No more visitors. I need to rest.”
“All right,” Barbara said, disconcerted. She sent Isabelle an apologetic look. Isabelle slid her gaze to the floor.
“Thanks for coming, Isabelle,” Essie said.
“I’ll call you,” Isabelle replied, but Essie’s expression made it clear that she wouldn’t be answering.
42
FRAN
Fran was in purgatory. Or limbo. Or perhaps it was hell? It was certainly hot enough. After a few days of slightly cooler temperatures, the heat had surged again and today the winds were set to pick up, so the fire authority was on high alert for bushfires.
Fran was on high alert too, for a verdict on the future of her marriage.
She and Nigel sat on the floor of the lounge room while Rosie crouched inside the little puppet theater that Santa had brought last Christmas. Ava sat in Fran’s lap, gurgling happily. Fran had been pleased when Rosie suggested putting on a show, partly because it was far more common for her to conduct a science experiment or read an atlas, and partly because it would be a few minutes where she and Nigel wouldn’t have to find other things to do to avoid speaking to each other.
For the past few days she and Nigel had gone about their lives as if nothing had happened, save for a few small changes. Now Nigel shut the bathroom door when he showered, and he dressed in pajama pants and a T-shirt for bed, rather than just boxer shorts. In the morning, when Fran woke, he was already out of bed and making breakfast, and as they ate, they both talked only to Rosie. He needed time to think, he’d said. It was so typical of Nigel. He was methodical and fair, even when it came to matters of the heart.
Fran wished she had someone to talk to, but everyone seemed to be caught in their own personal drama. Essie, it seemed, was in the hospital. Ben hadn’t given details, but Fran gathered it was more postpartum issues. She couldn’t help feeling guilty about that. She’d noticed Essie wasn’t doing well. She was just across the road. But she’d been too wound up in her own life to do anything. What kind of a person did that make her?
Rosie’s hands were stuffed into a pair of frog puppets, which were wrestling or dancing or doing something that was illegal in public on the stage of Rosie’s little theater. Fran flicked a smile at Nigel. His gaze, she noticed, was on Ava.
He’d been looking at her a lot, these past few days. Checking her out from different angles, in different lights. She didn’t blame him, of course, she’d been doing the same thing if the situation were reversed. Problem was, it wouldn’t tell him much. Ava changed constantly. She was starting to lose that newborn look now. Her face was filling out and her little hands had gained a nice layer of fat, making them look like they were screwed onto her arms. She looked entirely different from Rosie as a baby. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
“We should get a paternity test done,” she said.
Nigel stiffened, but he kept his gaze right ahead at the puppet show. Rosie was singing a song about a frog on a log. “If you like.”
“I mean … isn’t that what you want?”
He turned to her, slack-jawed. “No. I do not want to get a paternity test on a child that I thought was mine. That is definitely not what I want.”
Fran looked back at the show.
“Daddy! You’re not listening.”
“I am,” he said, not missing a beat. “Frogs don’t make that noise.”
The frogs disappeared from the stage, and Rosie’s head appeared. “What noise do they make?”
“It depends on the species. But it often sounds like a chirp, like this.” Nigel made a noise that Fran had never heard before, but she didn’t doubt that he was right. Neither did Rosie. Nigel was the encyclopedia Rosie went to whenever she needed facts. Nigel was the one she went to for everything. He was, for that matter, the one Fran went to for everything. Nigel was the heart and soul of their family. It was why, when he was struggling, the whole family struggled with him.
Rosie imitated the frog’s call perfectly, then disappeared again. The show resumed.
“I’m sorry,” Fran whispered. “It’s just … you’ve had a few days to think about things. What do you want?”
He didn’t say anything for a while. Rosie kept making that frog noise, that irritating but accurate frog noise.
“I want to believe we’ll find our way through this, Fran.”
Her body went limp in relief. “Oh. Nigel. Thank goodness, so do—”
“—I want to believe it,” he repeated over the top of her, “but I’m not sure I do.”
43
ANGE
This is what it will be like, Ange thought as she watched the boys play Xbox. This is what single parenthood will be like. It was early afternoon and the boys were just home from school. She’d made them a snack—nachos, which they’d demolished like a pair of wild dogs, leaving scatterings of cheese and corn chips all over the coffee table—and then she’d sat on the arm of Ollie’s chair begging for snippets about their day. The other arm of Ollie’s chair was empty. Because Lucas was gone.
Ange didn’t know if he’d left forever, or just for a few days. He’d taken only an overnight bag, so presumably he’d be back sometime. The shameful truth was that she was desperate to call him up and ask when that would be. She could pretend it was for the kids’ sake, even though they’d barely batted an eyelid when she told them he’d gone away for work. But she had just enough pride to stop herself, instead choosing to suffer in silence, hanging on to the few shreds of dignity she had left.
The most shameful thing was that she hadn’t even asked him to leave. She hadn’t had to.
“I should probably leave,” he’d said the night before.
“Moving in with Erin?” she’d said offhandedly, as if talking about it casually made the idea less unspeakably awful.
“No.” He’d frowned. “No. Erin and I aren’t together anymore. We haven’t been for a long time.”
That had been a surprise. Ange had thought Erin was Josie no. 2—that it was true love. Fleetingly she wondered what would have happened had she not stepped in with her bogus pregnancy and allowed Lucas to have his moment in the sun with Josie all those years ago. Maybe he would have come back after realizing his mistake, and been a different man from then on.
Maybe not.
“We stay in touch for Charlie’s sake,” he said. “But that’s it.”
“How did this happen, Lucas?” She’d leaned forward as if she really wanted to know. In fact, what she wanted to do was turn back the clocks to when this whole thing had been merely a suspicion. The whole conversation felt so odd it was as though she was watching it on TV, rather than taking part in it.
“Remember a few years back—Ollie’s first year of school?”
Of course she remembered. Ollie’s first year of school had been a great year. With the boys both at school, she’d finally gotten her life back. She’d decided to branch out on her own, starting her own real estate office. She’d expected it to take years to turn a profit, but by the end of that first year, she’d b
een making good money. Ollie, of course, had adjusted to school life instantly and Will was settled in the second grade. Lucas worked flexible hours and spent more time with the boys. Surely that couldn’t have been the year that Lucas strayed? The year she’d been so happy?
“You were working so hard and I’d taken over the lion’s share of the parenting, doing school drop-offs and pickups. It was a real transition time…”
Ange’s spine straightened. Was that a trace of martyrdom in his voice? It was true, he had taken over as lead parent that year and it had been a relief for Ange. Unlike her, Lucas relished those mind-numbing aspects of parenthood—the idle conversations with other parents, the school notices, the Book-Week costumes. But she had taken over most of the financial responsibilities! With her new business, she was earning enough that he could work flexible hours doing his photography and be available to the boys. It catered to both of their strengths. She remembered Lucas saying so at the time.
Now it was a real transition time?
“You worked late a lot—”
“No, I didn’t,” she snapped. “I was always home by seven P.M. Eight P.M. at the latest. And Saturday mornings. No more than you’d expect any dad to work!” Strangely, making this a gender issue was easier than making it about her failings as a wife. She understood gender issues—as a businesswoman, she dealt with them every day. She made it her business to mentor younger women in the office on claiming their place at the boardroom table. As she squared off against Lucas, she almost heard Beyoncé singing in the background. “I worked hard to support my family. To allow you to work part-time doing what you loved and staying home with our children. It was the arrangement you wanted! If I were a man, I’d be applauded. Because I’m a woman, I’m a neglectful wife and mother!”
“I never said that. And I never would.” Lucas’s eyes fell away from hers. “It’s just that … I found myself alone a lot.”
And that’s when Ange realized. It didn’t matter that she was justified working the hours she did, that she was doing her best for her family. It didn’t matter if she was right and he was wrong. Nothing they talked about or fought over made the blindest bit of difference. Charlie existed. The damage had been done.
“Erin used to jog in the park next to my studio. We became friends.”
“I don’t need to know details.” Ange pressed her fingers into her temples. “God, at least spare me that.”
“Okay. Well … our relationship only lasted about six months. We’d already ended things when she found out she was pregnant. All she wanted was for me to be a part of the child’s life. And I agreed, as long as it didn’t affect my relationship with you.”
In a grotesque way, Ange was impressed. All these women prepared to hide Lucas’s secrets, just to keep some part of him. All these women protecting him from facing the truth.
“Were you at Charlie’s birth?”
“No,” he said.
“Regular visitation?”
“We work it out on an informal basis.”
“Do you pay her money for … child support?”
All at once, the logistics seemed vitally important. There must have been illicit visitation, hushed phone calls, birthday presents purchased and squirreled away. Years of deception on a daily basis.
“I pay her out of my own money from the studio. I have never used a cent of your money to support Charlie.”
The martyrdom was back. It incensed Ange. “You understand that your money is our money, don’t you? That everything you didn’t bring home to me and the boys was coming out of our pockets? Unless you think that the money I earned was mine and mine alone?”
“I guess. I just … I felt better that way.”
“Well. As long as you felt better.” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Does she call you Daddy?”
“She calls me Lucas. She thinks I’m a friend of the family.”
“Do Erin’s friends and family know you’re her dad?”
“Her mum and her sister do. No one else.”
“What was the plan for when she got older? When Charlie asked who her dad was? When she wanted her dad to come to ballet concerts and graduation ceremonies?”
Lucas sat on the coffee table, his face pressed to his palms. With each question, he sank a little lower. He was ashamed, obviously. Or maybe he was just annoyed? Annoyed that he was found out and that he had to have this conversation. “Erin said she’d make something up.”
“How very accommodating of Erin,” Ange said cattily, aware that she’d been just as accommodating when, for all these years, she’d closed her eyes and ears and focused on what she had instead of what she didn’t.
When she was younger, Ange had always been so clear about what she would and wouldn’t put up with in a relationship. At the top of the list was the Holy Grail—if he cheats, kick him to the curb. Back then everything had been so clear, so simple. Now, despite everything Lucas had done, nothing was clear.
He was a good father, that was the problem. Women were prepared to overlook just about anything for a man who was a good father. The opposite was equally true. There was no amount of love in the world that would have made her stay with Lucas if he wasn’t good to her kids. Erin obviously felt the same. The irony was, she and Erin had a lot in common.
“Right,” she said now, standing up decisively. “We’re going on an adventure.”
Both Will and Ollie looked up at her skeptically.
“Where’s Dad?” Ollie said.
“Not here. This is an adventure for just the three of us. A Mum adventure.”
They looked back at the Xbox.
“Come on, boys,” she said. “It’ll be great.”
Will at least had the decency not to turn away. “What were you thinking?”
She had no idea. A meal in town, probably. Not the most adventurous adventure in the world, but it was all in the attitude. Wasn’t that what Lucas always said?
“It’s a surprise.”
“Is Dad meeting us there?”
It was Will who asked, but Ollie turned around at this. They hadn’t mentioned Lucas’s absence last night but now Ange wondered if it had been on their minds. She looked at their gorgeous expectant faces. They were nearly young men. And they were babies.
“No,” she admitted.
They both turned back to the Xbox.
“But we can have an adventure without him! It will be even better than one of Dad’s adventures. And, there will most likely be pizza.”
Ollie’s body stilled, and Ange found herself holding her breath. He was thinking it over. Pizza was a big draw card. Even Lucas didn’t often let them have pizza—he was too busy being sanctimonious, saying things like “Our bodies are our temples.” Often, they’d all come home from an adventure sucking down green smoothies. Cop that, Lucas, she thought. Mum’s playing the pizza card. Just try and compete with that!
“Can we order in?” Ollie said after a moment. “Then we can keep playing Xbox.”
Will glanced over his shoulder, gauging Ange’s reaction. He liked Ollie’s idea, no doubt, but if she dug her heels in, Will would go along with her adventure. He might even pretend to have a good time. Sweet boy.
“Maybe when Dad gets back, we can go on the pizza adventure?” Will suggested, ever the diplomat. “That will be even more fun, don’t you think?”
He smiled at Ange and she realized he was trying to spare her feelings. Was this how it would be when he came home from a weekend with his father? (“It was okay, but not that great,” he’d say, while Ollie would unapologetically proclaim it “the BEST weekend EVER!!!!”) She had a sudden urge to hug Will, cry, then hug him some more.
“What the heck,” she said. “Let’s order in. And let’s get ice cream too.”
The boys whooped, and Ange chose not to take it personally. They wanted their father, she understood that. Of course she understood.
She wanted him too.
44
ESSIE
Essie watche
d her mum in the corner of her hospital room, thumbing through a magazine. A cup of tea sat on the table beside her, her third in an hour. Only Essie’s mother could drink tea in this heat. She’d arrived a little while ago with an armful of books, a lemon tart from Essie’s favorite café, and a photo of Mia in a frame. (Essie hadn’t printed or framed any photos of Polly yet. More proof she was a terrible mother and she had had another postpartum episode.)
Essie glanced at the photo of Mia on her bedside table. It was a preschool picture, and she was doing that peculiar wince she always did when she knew she was having her picture taken. (Ben did the exact same wince in photos—her mum had said it had all but ruined their wedding pictures, but Essie thought it was adorable—on Ben and Mia.) Mia’s nose was wrinkled (she had Essie’s nose—small and ever-so-slightly turned up at the end) and her large forehead (lots of brains, everyone always said) was furrowed. Essie looked at her mother, who carried on reading, oblivious. Her mum had a strong, straight Roman nose. She had a smallish forehead and unremarkable chin. There wasn’t much of a resemblance, Essie noticed, perhaps for the first time. No resemblance at all, actually.
Her mum must have felt her gaze, because at that moment, she looked up from her magazine. “Are you all right, honey? Do you need anything? A cup of tea?”
“Actually I wondered if you could tell me about my birth.”
Her mum blinked, then flicked her magazine closed. “Well,” she said. “This is out of the blue.”
Essie rolled onto her side, propping her chin in her hand. She was, for reasons that weren’t quite clear to her, trying to act nonchalant. “There’s not much else to do around here, is there?”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” Barbara uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “Okay, let’s see. I think I’ve told you it all. It was long. And painful.” She smiled. “But all worth it, in the end.”
“And … the moment they handed me to you?” Essie concentrated on speaking in a slow, offhand manner. “What was that moment like?”
The Family Next Door Page 18