by Fiona Lowe
The moment he’d finished taking the photos, Cameron had peeled the gown off her and buried his face in her breasts. The sex had been unexpectedly intense and afterwards, as they’d both lain on their backs catching their breath, he’d said, ‘I think I’m going to enjoy this project after all.’
The memory made her smile. ‘You mean the red taffeta with all the ruffles?’
‘Yeah. It sold half an hour after I uploaded the details.’
‘No way!’
‘Way.’ He sounded like a teenager and his wide smile made him look like one.
A ripple of consternation snuck in under her elation. ‘Damn. I thought I was up to speed with current prices but perhaps we should have sold it by auction.’
‘Way ahead of you, baby girl. I’ve set the rest to sell by auction. The last time I looked, the canary yellow suit and the full-length, black, crushed velvet dress were already over your suggested price.’ His grey eyes sparkled. ‘Who knew women spent ridiculous amounts of money on old clothes?’
‘Vintage designer clothes,’ she reminded him with mock sternness. ‘Women want a piece of fashion history.’ Perhaps she wasn’t the only girl who’d used Dynasty as an escape from the anxieties of a childhood spent hiding money and being the adult. ‘I guess I’ll be adding the post office to my list of Monday errands.’
‘Not so fast—this is internet shopping. Wait until I’ve confirmed the payments have gone into the account.’
Excitement skittered and buzzed, making Anita light-headed. Had she finally, after all these years, done something that would impress her mother-in-law? ‘I can’t wait to tell Margaret.’
Cameron caught her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. ‘I think it will be a much nicer surprise for Mum if we don’t say anything now but present her with the money after everything’s sold. If we give her a five-figure sum rather than the amount we got for one dress, she’ll be a lot more excited. Not to mention grateful for all our hard work.’
Considering his proposal, Anita leaned into him, tucking her head under his chin. ‘I really like the idea of Margaret being grateful.’
‘So do I.’
‘But is it possible?’
His mouth thinned. ‘I guess we’ll find out.’
Anita’s phone beeped with a text but she was warm and cosy with Cameron and lacking the inclination to move.
‘Annie? Aren’t you going to read it?’
‘It’s eight o’clock on a Saturday night. I’m tired, off duty and on an at-home date with you.’
‘You’re a business woman now.’ He tipped her off his lap. ‘It might be one of your clients from today wanting to make a booking or perhaps they left something at Mill House.’
‘Slave driver,’ she said without rancour as she walked into the kitchen and picked up her phone. ‘It’s Sarah.’
Cameron had already stretched out full length on the couch and was reaching for the TV remote. ‘If she’s inviting us for Alex’s birthday, we’re in. I happen to know he bought a bottle of 2012 Grange for it and I’m more than keen to taste a seven hundred and fifty dollar bottle of wine on his coin.’
Having swiped the screen while Cameron was talking, Anita now stared uncomprehendingly at the text.
‘Annie? Did you hear what I said?’
‘I did but … God, I hope I’m wrong. I think Sarah’s left Alex.’
‘Bloody hell.’ He sat up. ‘Did we know that was on the cards?’
‘Not at all. Then again, she hasn’t exactly been herself lately. She did say a few weeks ago that she wanted a break.’
‘A break? In the last eight months, they’ve been to France and Penang. And what about that private island on the Great Barrier Reef that was eighteen hundred dollars a night?’
Anita didn’t care that much about France or Penang but she remembered the pea-green envy that had engulfed her when Sarah told her about the private tropical island. She’d been awed by the photos of turtles laying eggs on the beach, bewitched by the bright colours of the tropical fish, which could be easily seen just by standing on the little pier, and stunned by the clarity and brilliant turquoise blue of the water.
‘The other day, Sarah told me Alex was being difficult over the Gus thing, but how is that a reason to leave?’
Cameron grunted. ‘You know what Sarah’s like. Her opinion’s the only one that counts.’
Anita usually thought Sarah very fair. Over the years, she’d often observed her sister-in-law turning herself inside out to see both sides of an argument, but the other day Sarah had been particularly unforgiving of Alex. I expect drama and tantrums from the kids but not from my husband.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Exactly what does the text say?’
‘I’ve moved into the old cheese factory for a bit. Can you come over for some wine while I whine?’
‘Bugger.’ Cameron pressed the remote and the roar of the crowd at the MCG filled the room. ‘I guess that’s put the kybosh on lunch and the Grange.’
* * *
Sarah spent Saturday lurching between a thundering fury tempting her to smash every breakable item within reach, and life-draining despair. When misery hit, it hollowed her out before pumping her full of pain that rendered her inert and barely able to rise off the couch. She wanted to hide inside the old cheese factory flat forever, but two conversations were required. One she wanted to have now—needed to have now, even. The other she wished she could put off forever.
The news she’d moved out of Riverbend twenty-four hours ago was still contained, but she was under no illusions it would stay that way for long; after all, this was Mingunyah. She’d always thought if the town could harness the energy gossip created and use it for good, the shire’s carbon footprint would be negligible. The juicy details of her marriage problems would soon be deconstructed in the café, discussed under the radiant warmth of the gas heaters in the chilly barn of Royce’s Farm Supplies, on the ramp of the servo while petrol was pumped, and in kitchens and bedrooms throughout the district.
Oh my God, did you hear that Sarah Hadfield’s left Alex?
Are you serious? Has she lost her mind? What on earth is she thinking?
And that was exactly the thought she read on Anita’s face when she opened the door to her sister-in-law. Abandonment twisted Sarah’s gut.
‘Oh, Sarah.’ Anita hugged her hard. The hint of criticism faded, immediately replaced by concern. ‘How? Why? What happened?’
Sarah poured them both a glass of sauvignon blanc and took a long, fortifying drink. Although she had no qualms telling Anita about Kelly’s play for Alex, she baulked at sharing the shame-inducing retelling of Alex’s ‘I need space from you’.
‘Alex thinks he’s in love with Kelly Bamfield.’
‘Shit.’ Anita’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. That was inappropriate.’
Sarah’s laugh held a slightly hysterical edge. Her life was falling apart but Anita was apologising for swearing? Then again, Anita was like Margaret in that old-fashioned way of not swearing in public; something Sarah tried to be better at and frequently failed. ‘I think it’s very appropriate. In fact, I used a far stronger word than that when Alex told me.’
‘Did you have any suspicions?’
‘None.’ She narrowed her gaze, studying Anita’s face carefully. ‘Why? Have you heard something? Was it already around town before I even knew?’
Anita shook her head. ‘The only chatter about you and Alex is Gus throwing his chance at the firsts. It’s just, well, lately you haven’t been quite yourself, so I thought perhaps you knew something was wrong.’
‘It was a bolt from the blue. I didn’t know anything until Friday afternoon.’
Anita grimaced and fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. ‘What I don’t understand is why you’ve left Riverbend. I mean, isn’t that just making it easy for him to be with Kelly?’
The statement gave oxygen to the unsettling thought that had dogged Sarah all day. She refilled he
r glass, trying not to let her agitation take flight. ‘I believe it will make it harder for Alex to be with Kelly.’
Anita looked dubious. ‘How?’
‘If Alex left Riverbend, he’d have carte blanche to embrace his midlife crisis. I refuse to let him do that.’
Anita pulled in her lips as if she’d sucked on a lemon. ‘The thing is, from the outside, it doesn’t look like that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve not only left your husband but you’ve abandoned your son. Women in town will judge you harshly for that. They’ll be sympathetic to Alex.’
‘Women in their forties should be congratulating me.’ Righteous indignation raised her voice. ‘By moving out, I’ve called bullshit on his “I need space” nonsense. Think of all those deluded women who’ve supported their husband’s midlife crisis, and helped them find an apartment and move out in the hope it will save their marriage. Hardly any of those husbands move back in. Most end up with another woman living in the space the wife set up for them. I refuse to enable Alex to do that to me. He can’t just up and leave. He must own his behaviour. He needs to face his familial responsibilities. Me leaving Riverbend forces him to be a full-time father to Gus.’
Anita shifted in her seat. ‘Yes, but only you know that.’
Sarah didn’t know if she should appreciate Anita’s take on the situation or feel betrayed. Anita was family and her friend, and by default she should be in her corner defending her. Then again, her sister-in-law never liked to rock the boat.
‘Are you judging me?’
A look of horror streaked across Anita’s face. ‘No. Not at all. It’s just … if I was in your shoes, I think I’d have let Alex leave.’
Yes, but you never stand up to Cameron. You let him call the shots every single time. Sarah bit down on the belligerent words. ‘I’ve done what’s right for me and my marriage. Hopefully.’
‘I guess you know Mingunyah better than I do …’
‘This has got nothing to do with Mingunyah.’
‘People will have opinions.’
‘That horse has already bolted,’ Sarah muttered.
‘Have you told Margaret?’
‘No. I don’t want to worry her.’ The truth was, Sarah didn’t want or need a lecture on the sanctity of marriage. Nor did she wish to be told yet again how her parents had never taken each other for granted. Not that Sarah thought she’d taken Alex for granted.
I’m not happy, Sarah. I haven’t been happy for a long time.
‘I really don’t want to tell anyone.’ Her voice wobbled and she gave an almighty sniff.
‘No,’ Anita said with feeling. ‘I can understand that. Telling makes it real.’
* * *
Those prophetic words hammered Sarah the following evening when Gus came for Sunday-night dinner. When she opened the door to her beautiful man-child, she didn’t glimpse any criticism, only confused sadness. Guilt sliced her long and deep like the sharp, stinging sweep of a razor blade.
‘Come in, darling.’ She smiled so brightly her face hurt. ‘I’ve cooked your favourite, spag bol.’
Every book and counsellor suggested both parents be together when they informed the children about a separation. But not only was she still in shock, she wasn’t ready to call this a separation. Nor was she close to ready to sit calmly next to Alex while he explained to their children that she made him miserable and that Kelly understood him. She sure as hell wasn’t remotely ready for any conciliation. She blamed Alex one hundred per cent—and then some—for ripping their life apart.
In her attempt to block Alex from blithely walking away and abandoning his responsibilities to their marriage, family and home, she hadn’t factored in exactly how it would affect her and Gus. On a rational level she knew that, had she stayed at Riverbend, Gus would still be very much a part of the collateral damage of Alex’s midlife crisis. But when was motherhood ever rational? Even though Gus was almost seventeen, it killed her that for the next little while she wasn’t going to be at home with him in the mornings, making sure he ate a proper breakfast, checking he had everything he needed for his school day and kissing him goodbye. She ached that she wouldn’t be around in the evenings when he did his homework just in case it was a ‘maths sucks’ night or better yet, a ‘you’ve got to watch this YouTube video, Mum’ night.
I hate you for this, Alex.
During dinner, she finally bit the bullet. ‘Apparently, your father’s been unhappy for quite a few months and disgruntled about things in his life. So, I’ve moved out for a while to eliminate one variable.’
‘Is marriage a maths problem?’
‘Sometimes.’ Her mouth tried to smile at his joke but she couldn’t manage it. ‘I think it’s too easy for someone to blame their general dissatisfaction on one person or one thing. Life’s not that simple.’
Gus toyed with his pasta. ‘So, does … does that mean Dad’ll have to eliminate me?’
‘No!’ Her heart twisted. ‘Gus, darling, no. You don’t need to move out. Your father loves you, Finn and Emma.’
‘He’s not happy with me about footy, though.’
‘He’s not happy with himself.’
Gus kept his head down and was silent for a bit. ‘How long are you staying here?’
‘I don’t know.’ She drank a glass of water, wishing it was wine, but a clear head was a must for this conversation. She injected false cheeriness into her voice. ‘But I’m only a phone call away and I can see you after school. Really, it will be just like that time I was in New Zealand last year for work and Dad stayed home.’
‘We ran out of clean clothes that time. And Dad can’t cook.’
She almost apologised but she clamped down on it. Alex was the one who should be apologising to Gus. ‘Tell Dad how that makes you feel. Oh, and remind him to do the washing.’
He shot her a look that said, Yeah, right, like I’m gonna do that. ‘Have you told Finn and Emma?’
Her head throbbed at the thought of those conversations. ‘Not yet. Finn’s got exams coming up.’ A thought struck her. ‘When people in town start talking, and they will, do you think any of Finn’s mates here might say something to him on Facebook?’
Gus shook his head. ‘Nah. No one ever talks about the ’rents.’
‘Do you message your brother much?’
‘We sometimes Snapchat.’
‘I’d like to tell Finn in person when he’s home on holidays. Is it too much to ask you not to say anything to him before then?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess. What about Emma? She’s gonna notice you’re not FaceTiming her from home or with Dad.’
Bloody hell. Nothing was straightforward. ‘I’ll talk to your father and work something out. She’s a long way from home and I don’t want to upset her if this is only short term. By the time she’s home, hopefully I will be too.’
Gus was very quiet after that, dropping his gaze and eating garlic bread as if his life depended on it. Sarah tried to draw him out on school, the band he’d recently joined, upcoming parties and footy, but it was hard going. Eventually, she acquiesced to his suggestion they watch the AFL match on TV. In the midst of the mess that was currently their family life, at least the antenna at the flat still worked. At this point, she was scratching around for something to be thankful for. Struggling to even look—it was so much easier to be vindictive.
* * *
An increasingly familiar anxiety scuttled through Margaret as she stared at the bottle her hand had so confidently plucked from the cluster on the sideboard. Vodka. Russians drank vodka. Why was she holding it?
Her gaze slid to the far more familiar Waterford decanter circled by its matching cut-crystal glasses on the gleaming silver tray. For her, the decanter was the centre of the theatre of after-dinner drinks. She’d admired it and everything it represented since her first visit to Mill House. ‘Dear George. I still miss you …’
‘Whiskey, Margaret?’ George asked, lifting the heavy crystal st
opper now that dinner was over.
‘Lovely. Thank you.’ George was very fond of smoky whiskey and, for him, it was an evening tradition that dated back generations. Right from the start, George had included her in the offer of a post-dinner snifter and she’d been appreciative and gratified. Not every man of his generation would have considered that a woman might drink whiskey, let alone enjoy it. When she, Kevin and the children had moved into Mill House, she’d joined her father-in-law in the nightly ritual.
‘Good.’ He splashed the amber fluid into the bell glass with a grunt. ‘No point asking Kevin.’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘No point at all.’
The first time she’d learned that Kevin didn’t share his father’s penchant for whiskey was just after their honeymoon. Determined to create a home that was the envy of their social set and to incorporate the Jamieson traditions in preparation for when Mill House became theirs, Margaret spent days unpacking. The final task was to set up the Parker sideboard and arrange their own silver tray holding a crystal decanter with matching glasses in pride of place.
When Kevin walked in after work, she rested her hand on the heavy stopper and said, ‘Drink, darling?’
‘Sure. But not whiskey.’ Kevin ripped opened a box and unpacked a rainbow collection of decorative liqueur bottles. Two more boxes followed until the bar was full to overflowing. The selection was far more comprehensive than the three dusty bottles on offer at the Mingunyah pub.
‘But these are—’ She struggled to find a word to describe the many reasons why these drinks were unsuitable.
‘European,’ Kevin said simply.
‘You’re Australian.’
‘And you’re the one who’s always looking to Paris and Rome for fashion.’
Margaret had no comeback to that. It was the first of a limited number of occasions when Kevin dug his heels in and staked a claim in the house. The colourful bottles stayed, taunting Margaret for years. Although he didn’t drink liqueurs when they had guests, his routine was to enjoy a different one each night. Whether it was sipping Frangelico or savouring Baileys splashed over ice, he’d always sit, sip, close his eyes, sigh, and silently disappear somewhere.