The Favour

by Rebecca Freeborn

  Sam and Jet came running out of the school gates and threw open the car door, both speaking at the same time as they jostled to get in first. ‘Hi, boys,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, boys!’ Grace trilled.

  ‘Jet said the F-word three times at recess today,’ Sam announced.

  ‘I wonder where he learnt that from,’ Hannah said. ‘Can you shut the door, Sam?’

  ‘Did not!’ Jet yelled.

  ‘You did so, Jet. You said it to me, then you said it to Adrian, then you said it to me again. He did, Mum.’

  ‘You don’t need to catalogue every one of your brother’s mistakes, you know,’ Hannah said. ‘The more attention you give him, the more he’s going to do it. Shut the door, please.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ Jet roared. ‘He’s lying! You’re lying!’

  ‘I’M. NOT. LYING!’ Sam screamed, drawing curious looks from the other parents waiting at the school gates.

  Within seconds, the two boys were elbowing and punching each other, and the car door was still wide open. ‘Enough!’ Hannah shouted over the top of them. ‘Sam, you get in the front. And will you shut the bloody door!’

  This last comment came out right as Lorraine, one of the capital-letter School Mums and president of the school governing council, walked past her open window. She threw Hannah a disapproving glance, her eyes wide in an exaggerated startled expression before her gaze dropped to the phone in Hannah’s hands, still open to Facebook. Hannah groaned internally as Sam jumped over the console into the front seat. Lorraine hadn’t approved of her since the day their eldest children had started school. As a stay-at-home parent, Hannah was expected to give up her scant spare time to volunteer on the governing council, read to children in the classroom, or at the very least accompany the class on the odd excursion. But Grace had been a newborn when Sam started school, and she’d been too exhausted wrangling her and three-year-old Jet to even contemplate taking on more. Then there had been Sam’s autism diagnosis, and organising therapy for him. By the time Jet started school and Grace was a bit older, a solid clique of the other mothers – always mothers, of course – had formed, and Hannah was too far on the outer to feel like she could join in.

  She looked over her shoulder into the back seat. ‘You didn’t shut the door, Sam.’

  Her son threw his hands out in an apathetic gesture. ‘Whatever.’

  Hannah was about to dig in and insist he do what she’d asked, but Lorraine was standing next to the school gate talking to one of her cronies and kept glancing back at her. Hannah sighed and got out of the car. It wasn’t that she cared what Lorraine thought of her, exactly … but it was hot, she was tired, and she wasn’t in the mood for a public display of her imperfect parenting right now. She snapped the door closed and got back in the car.

  ‘How was school?’ she said as she pulled out onto the road.

  ‘Super boring,’ Jet said from the back seat.

  ‘Best day ever,’ Sam said.

  ‘What was so good about it?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘Well, why was your day so boring?’ she threw back at Jet.

  ‘Dunno, it was just boring.’

  Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘Great conversation, boys.’

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Sam complained mildly.

  ‘How about I make you guys a fruit platter when we get home?’

  Sam groaned. ‘I hate fruit!’

  ‘Oh, you do not,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Can we go to the pub for dinner tonight?’ Jet asked.

  ‘No, Dad’s working late tonight.’

  ‘He’s aaaalways working late!’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me, mate,’ Hannah said.

  When Sam had started school, Hannah had imagined Ethan cutting back his hours at work, even leaving early to do the school pick-up every now and then as a special treat. But it didn’t take long for that fantasy to be dashed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, Ethan insisted, it simply made no sense for him to walk out of work at two thirty to pick up the kids when she was there to do it every day. She knew he was right, but she was still disappointed. She always looked wistfully at the other dads waiting in their cars, at the joy on their kids’ faces when they came out of the gates. And she’d often dream of being able to go to work for the whole day without having to worry about dropping anyone off or picking them up.

  ‘Shall we go to the playground, guys?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah!’ all three of them chorused.

  Hannah had been planning to go straight home, tidy up the mess Grace had strewn all over the floor, get dinner on, but it was the last week of school for the year and the temptation to postpone responsibility for a while was too strong.

  When they were at the playground, Grace shrieking with glee as she spun around on the merry-go-round, and Sam and Jet engaged in a Minecraft role-play game with elaborate rules designed by Sam, Hannah saw she had a message from Quinn.

  Are you still pissed off at me after last night?

  Hannah considered the message. She wasn’t exactly pissed off. More resigned. Of course she knew that Quinn didn’t like Ethan, but she’d always suspected that her feelings were in part caused by jealousy. Not of Ethan, or of Hannah, really, or even of their family … Quinn resented her for wanting that life, for enjoying it. The thing that got to Hannah the most was that she knew Quinn had once wanted it herself, back when she was still pining over that sleazy turd she’d gone out with in uni. Now Quinn had rejected that path, she wanted to keep Hannah for herself, and her resentment manifested in fabricating reasons to hate Ethan.

  Hannah knew these faults of Ethan’s were real. But what Quinn didn’t understand was that there was an abundance of love there, too. Quinn wasn’t there when Ethan rubbed Hannah’s back after a long day, when he surprised her with a dinner reservation, when he played with the kids and listened to Sam’s long-winded stories for hours. Quinn had no idea what it took to maintain a successful relationship; the concessions that had to be made, the arguments that were better off not being had. And look what had come from their union: a beautiful family, a beautiful house, a comfortable lifestyle. Hannah would take that over the twin curse of freedom and loneliness any day. The sacrifices she’d made were all worth it.

  Anyway, she had never judged Quinn’s lifestyle, not once. Well, maybe once or twice, but only in her head. It was possible to simultaneously believe Quinn had a right to sleep with whomever she pleased while also feeling just a little judgey about it. In truth, she kind of felt sorry for Quinn. She might be having good sex (OK, maybe she was a bit jealous of this – Quinn’s comments last night had been rather too close to the bone), but Hannah knew for a fact that she was having a lot of bad sex too; Quinn often gave her blow-by-blow descriptions, creating images Hannah would never be able to scrub from her mind.

  Besides, Quinn was constantly judging Hannah for the choices she’d made: marrying Ethan, taking his name, having kids, not going back to work, even going through with her third, unexpected pregnancy. She made all these normal things seem wrong, and Hannah was tired of brushing off her snide comments.

  So yeah, maybe she was still annoyed with her. She slipped the phone back into her bag without answering the message and went over to push Grace on the swing.

  Hannah was making the boys’ lunches for school the next day when Ethan walked in the door. He put his arms around her from behind and she rested her head back against his chest. It had taken her even longer than usual to get the kids to bed, and she was exhausted.

  ‘How was your day?’ she murmured.

  ‘Busy.’ He rested his chin on her shoulder. ‘How were the kids?’

  ‘Nuts.’

  They had a variation of this exact conversation every night, to the point that it felt redundant. But Hannah had read an article once that said it was important to show an interest in your partner’s life outside of the home, so she persisted with the ritual even though she knew neither of them particularly cared
about the intricacies of each other’s days.

  ‘At least the school year is almost over,’ Ethan said. ‘You must be looking forward to having them home for a while.’

  Hannah laughed. It was almost charming how little Ethan understood what it was like having three children in the house with no plans for the six weeks of the summer holidays. While she scrolled through images of beaches and resorts on Facebook as seemingly every other family in the world went away on holidays, Hannah struggled to find activities for her three kids that met their vastly different interests. Add in Sam’s therapy appointments and the regular heatwaves that kept them confined to the house for days at a time, and the old anxiety began to bubble to the surface. Not that she shared much of that with Ethan. He had to deal with so much stress at work that she didn’t want to bother him with her issues. Imagine, not being able to handle looking after your own kids! The problem was hers, not his. None of the other parents she knew struggled so much with basic parenting. Quinn’s words from last night echoed in her head again: Have you thought about going back to work and letting him deal with it for a while?

  ‘I was thinking,’ she said, turning to face Ethan, ‘after school returns in the new year, maybe I could see if I could go back to work a couple of days a week.’

  He gave her a confused smile. ‘But what about Grace?’

  ‘She could go to childcare. Lots of kids do it, and she’ll be going to kindy the year after anyway.’

  ‘But why would you want to go back now? It’s not like we need the money.’

  ‘It’s not about the money.’ She put a hand on his chest. ‘I miss work. You know how you get when you’ve been on leave for a few weeks? It’s been eight years.’

  He gave her a kiss. ‘I understand how you feel. But we talked about this when Sam was born. My mum stayed home until all us kids were at school. Think of Grace. You’ll never get this time back with her.’

  Guilt sluiced through her. She did enjoy her time alone with Grace while the boys were at school; she’d never had that one-on-one time with Jet, and it showed. Sandwiched between the other two, he was a classic middle child, his behaviour more challenging even than Sam’s had been at the same age. That in turn reminded her that Jet was still on the waiting list to be assessed for autism. If he too ended up being diagnosed, how would she possibly manage two sets of appointments while working? The thought was overwhelming.

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ she said. ‘I just really feel like I need to start using my brain again.’

  ‘Maybe the following year you could find something in the mornings while she’s at kindy,’ Ethan suggested.

  Hannah didn’t point out that it was highly unlikely she’d be able to hold down a job as a lawyer with those kinds of hours. At least he was a bit more open to the concept, and one more year of waiting was better than two. ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  Her phone started ringing from the bench, and Ethan peered over her shoulder at the screen. ‘Quinn again. You two are attached at the hip.’

  His voice was light, but Hannah knew it annoyed him how much she hung out with Quinn.

  ‘I’d better answer. She messaged me earlier and I forgot to reply.’

  ‘OK, I’m going to get changed.’ He patted her on the bum and walked out as she picked up her phone.

  ‘Hey,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, hi.’ Quinn sounded relieved. ‘I thought you weren’t going to pick up.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Hannah slotted the boys’ sandwiches into their lunchboxes and closed the lids.

  ‘You are still annoyed with me.’

  ‘Remarkably observant of you.’

  ‘I know, I went too far,’ Quinn’s tone was surprisingly conciliatory, ‘but I hate seeing him take you for granted like that.’

  ‘He’s not as bad as you think he is.’

  ‘He’s not as good as you deserve,’ Quinn countered.

  ‘But he is mine. And you don’t get to insult him in my house.’

  ‘So is it OK if I insult him out of your house?’

  ‘Quinn.’

  ‘OK, I get the picture. I’m only thinking of your welfare.’

  ‘You say that, but sometimes I get the feeling you’re intentionally trying to cause trouble between us. A good friend wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry if it looked that way. I thought I was sticking up for you.’

  ‘That’s not really an apology.’

  ‘It’s a politician’s apology.’

  Hannah couldn’t help laughing, and the tension within her simmered down.

  ‘Anyway,’ Quinn went on, her usual brisk tone back in place. ‘I wanted to know what you thought about Simon.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hannah slid open the glass door off the dining room and went out into the balmy evening.

  ‘That message I sent you today … You know, Simon, my boss?’

  Hannah sat down at the outdoor table. ‘What message? The only message I got from you was the one this afternoon asking if I was still pissed off with you.’

  ‘Oh, that’s weird. Maybe I forgot to press send or something.’

  ‘So? Are you going to tell me what happened?’

  Quinn launched into a long and quite possibly exaggerated account of what her boss had said to her. Hannah sympathised with her and expressed her outrage at Simon’s gall, but in fact she’d occasionally wondered the same thing. She knew Quinn would never knowingly sleep with a client, but this was Adelaide, after all. Surely the day would come when Quinn would walk into a meeting with a potential client to pitch a concept, and sitting at the table would be Monday Night Guy, who had the previous evening asked her to tie him up and smear peanut butter over his nether regions.

  Nevertheless, hearing about Quinn’s exploits always cheered Hannah up, and when she went back inside her mood had lifted. Ethan sat at the dining table with his dinner, a beer in one hand. ‘What are you smiling about?’

  ‘Just thinking about Quinn spreading peanut butter on a client.’

  He shook his head. ‘That woman is a basket case.’

  Hannah sat down at the table with him. ‘She’s just having a bit of fun. Good on her, I say.’

  Ethan put his beer down, his expression unusually raw. ‘You don’t … you don’t wish you had a life more like hers, do you?’

  ‘No!’ Hannah laughed. ‘God, no. I love Quinn, but I love you and the kids more. This is the life I chose.’ She leant over and kissed him, as if to convince herself as much as him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  QUINN

  When Quinn hung up the phone, she leant back on her couch and switched on the television. It was a relief to have smoothed things over with Hannah. Quinn had many acquaintances, but Hannah was her only true friend, and she didn’t know what she’d do without her in her life. When she hadn’t answered that message …

  But that reminded her that Hannah said she hadn’t received it, so she picked up her phone again. Before the text she’d sent in the afternoon was the one from Tuesday morning, confirming that she’d go around to Hannah’s after work. Weird. She definitely remembered typing that message, so where had it gone? If she’d simply forgotten to send it, it would’ve still been there when she’d sent the one that afternoon. Unless—

  A thud of shock hit her in the chest. She searched her messages and there it was: her own words looked back at her, sent not to her friend but to the very person she’d been speaking about. And, now she read it over again, it sounded almost threatening.

  Quinn shuddered when she logged into her computer the following morning to see an email from Simon.

  Can you come and see me, please?

  The fact that he hadn’t written to her yesterday, right after she’d sent the message, was what worried her … Why wait until now to confront her?

  She held her head high as she went down the corridor to his office, determined not to let the concern show on her face.

  He looked up as she knocked on the open door.

  ‘Yo
u wanted to see me?’

  ‘Ah, Quinn.’ His smile grew broader, but it didn’t reach his steely grey eyes.

  He loved having this over her, she realised, loved keeping her waiting all night, loved imagining her sweating over her mistake. She thought about bringing it up, apologising before he could get in first, but then she decided pretending nothing had happened was the best policy. Besides, she’d never liked apologising. She took a seat in the chair opposite him. ‘If this is about the presentation—’

  ‘It’s not about the presentation, Quinn.’ Ever so casually, Simon reached into his desk drawer and took out his phone. After a second, he held it up so she could see her message on the screen. ‘I assume this was not meant for me?’

  Quinn felt heat creep up her chest and neck. She didn’t normally get flustered, and she didn’t like the feeling. Not at all. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. It was an accident, obviously.’

  Simon turned the phone back and pretended to study the message. ‘“I’m coming for his job.” Interesting choice of words. I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon, so what exactly did you mean by that?’

  Quinn gave a dismissive gesture, heart pulsing in her throat. ‘Oh, nothing. I was just joking around with my friend. You know I’m all bark and no bite.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Simon placed the phone face down on his desk. ‘Still, I don’t think the partners would like to see these kinds of threats bandied around. What do you think?’

  Quinn threw out a lighthearted laugh. ‘It wasn’t a threat, Simon. I was just blowing off steam, that’s all.’

  Simon stood up from his chair and came out from behind his desk. ‘I know we’re mates, Quinn, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m your boss. And I don’t like it when my staff undermine me like that.’ He walked around behind her, and she refused to let him see her discomfort by twisting in the chair to follow his progress. He’d never directly referred to her as his staff before. There’d always existed this understanding between them that even though he’d got there first, they were equals. He was pulling rank on her, and she hated him for it.