House of Sticks Page 5

  ‘Bon?’ Pete was watching her face.

  She turned away and pushed her back into him, and he lifted his knees, fitted them to the backs of hers. She pulled the covers up over her ear. ‘Sounds great,’ she said.

  Doug arrived while they were having breakfast.

  ‘Croissants,’ he warbled, tossing a bulging plastic bag into the middle of the table. ‘Been up since half-past five this morning. Went out to see me mate Phil at Flemington.’ He rubbed his hands together and stuck them in his armpits. ‘Phew. Cold as a witch’s tit out there.’

  Bonnie cringed at the saying. Was he trying to get a rise out of her? She couldn’t tell. She watched him bouncing up and down on his toes and grinning at the children. Just ignore it. Whatever he’s doing, look, he’s brought us a gift. He’s trying to be nice. ‘Thanks, Doug.’ She picked up the bag. ‘They’re still hot.’

  ‘From the Vietnamese bakery on Union Road.’ Doug winked. ‘Best croissants in the inner north-west.’

  ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ said Pete.

  She got out plates and knives and jam and put them on the table.

  ‘I got to see lots of great big beautiful horses this morning,’ Doug was saying to Louie and Edie.

  ‘Did you ride on them?’ said Edie, tearing the end off a croissant and stuffing it in her mouth.

  ‘No, no. Normal people like me aren’t allowed. But I got to pat one.’

  Bonnie sat down next to Edie. She watched Doug’s rough hands breaking apart the pastry, the way he wolfed down the bites with jerks of his head. She willed herself to look him in the eye. ‘So is your friend a trainer then, Doug?’

  ‘No, no — stablehand.’

  ‘Did he give you any tips?’ said Pete from over by the stove.

  ‘Not today, no.’

  ‘Been years since I had a bet,’ said Pete. ‘Hey, remember, Douggie?’ He brought the coffee pot over. ‘At McKean Street? We had all the money for the phone bill and we put it on that trifecta?’

  Doug flung his head back and let out a wheezing laugh. ‘And we cleaned up — made enough to pay all the bills plus that month’s rent.’ He wiped his fingers on his pants. ‘We bought a bottle of champagne on the way back from the TAB.’

  ‘And then we got stupid and put it all on another trifecta and lost it all.’ Pete shook his head. ‘God, we were idiots.’

  ‘We were young,’ said Doug. ‘We thought we were gods.’ He tossed the last bit of his croissant into his mouth and chewed. ‘We were gods.’

  Bonnie half filled her cup with coffee. ‘I can’t believe you put it all on another bet,’ she said to Pete. ‘Shouldn’t you have at least hung on to half of it?’

  ‘Like Douggie said — we were young,’ said Pete with a shrug. He swung a look at her, and his eyes were bright and for a moment she saw him, the younger him, from before her time, unencumbered, full of swagger.

  ‘We were gods!’ Doug raised his mug and grinned round at them all.

  ‘But still,’ she said. ‘You’d think …’ But then she stopped. ‘Oh, never mind. I can’t believe I’m even bothering to reason with two people who’d think it was a good idea to put all their bill money on a horse.’

  ‘Three horses,’ said Pete.

  ‘Well, even worse.’ She shot him a smile, drained her coffee and stood up. ‘Thanks for the croissants, Doug. They were delicious.’

  ‘Pleasure, Missus Bonnie.’

  ‘Come on, you kids.’ She smoothed back Louie’s hair. ‘Kinder today.’ Outside the yard was lit with thin winter sun. She could feel the caffeine, her heart picking up. Maybe after she’d dropped the twins she’d give herself a treat — go and look in some shops.

  As she hustled Louie and Edie down the hallway she could hear Pete and Doug still talking in the kitchen. ‘What came second?’ Pete was saying. ‘It was Special that won, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Special first, Snippets second, then Redelva third,’ came Doug’s voice. ‘And remember Deano didn’t want to put Snippets in, ’cause he thought it was a weak name — he wanted to have another horse instead, with some macho name like Rock Hard or something, but we said …’ Their voices faded and the back door slammed.

  They arrived at the childcare centre at the same time as Mel and Freddie. The kids brushed away their mothers’ goodbye kisses and ran out to the sandpit. She and Mel took turns at the sign-in sheet, checked for notices, skimmed the lost-property box.

  Outside they stood in the cold street, Bonnie with Jess on one hip, Mel with her heels and clean, unladdered stockings, the black oblong of her handbag tucked under one arm.

  She glanced down at her worn jeans, a stain over one knee. ‘I’ve been offered some work,’ she said.

  ‘That’s great,’ said Mel. ‘Live shows, or …?’

  ‘No, recording.’ She moved Jess to the other hip. ‘Probably only a half-day. But’ — she gave a sheepish grin — ‘it still feels like a big deal to me.’

  ‘Well, it is a big deal. You’ve got three kids, Bonnie. One only a tiny baby, really.’ Mel reached to touch Jess’s hair. ‘I can’t believe the amount of music you’ve done while your kids’ve been small. Remember you’d go off for those weekends when the twins were babies?’

  ‘Yeah. But … I don’t know. It doesn’t seem as easy this time.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No. It doesn’t. It seems really hard actually.’ Tears slid into her eyes. She swallowed. ‘I guess it’s just — well, Pete’s got a whole lot more work on these days, and …’ She wiped dribble from Jess’s chin. ‘I mean, I can’t complain really — I’ve got these two days with the twins in childcare, and Jess, you know, it’s easy to take a little baby along …’ She could feel Mel watching her. She stared at the ground. ‘I should be doing more really — I could, if …’

  ‘Bonnie.’ Mel took her arm. ‘What do you mean, doing more? You’re doing an amazing job just — well, getting through the days. If I had three kids I’d be rocking in a corner, seriously.’

  Bonnie tried to laugh then shook her head. ‘Sorry, I don’t know where all this self-pity’s coming from.’

  ‘And do you know what else? There’s no way I could manage work and Freddie without my mum. And Josh’s parents too. No way. And your mum’s … your family …’ Mel released her grip. Her voice had softened, gone tentative. ‘Well, you don’t seem to be getting the same kind of …’

  ‘My mum’s crap.’ Bonnie did laugh this time. ‘When it comes to helping me with the kids she’s just … crap.’

  Mel laughed too; her lipstick shone. There was a pause. Mel took her car keys from her bag. ‘What is it, do you think, that’s stopping her? Is it just her work?’

  ‘No, no — it’s not work. She didn’t have to keep working.’ Jess started whining, and Bonnie jigged her up and down. ‘After Dad died — I mean, she could’ve just lived on the money from the life insurance. But.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know — she wanted to work. Which is fair enough. She enjoys it. She likes being busy. And with the kids — I think she just felt like she’d done her time, with me and Luke, and …’ She sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’

  A woman came out of the centre behind them, struggling with the security gate and a pusher in which a toddler cried, red-faced, snot streaming. Mel stepped over and held the gate. The three women exchanged smiles of removed, polite commiseration.

  ‘Thanks,’ the woman said, and walked away. The child’s wailing receded.

  Bonnie watched her go. ‘My mum …’ she began. ‘I don’t think she enjoyed having young kids herself. She’s always just talked about how she put us in crèche from six weeks and went straight back to work, and how when we were older we’d come home to an empty house and look after ourselves; how we took turns to cook dinner and stuff like that. Almost like she was proud of how much she, well, wasn’t
there.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mel. ‘But couldn’t you … If you just straight-up asked her to help with your kids, don’t you think … she wouldn’t say no, would she? Couldn’t she make time?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess. I mean, yes, of course. But it’s like — she’s never offered. Her heart’s not in it. Her house is totally not kid-friendly. She’s had the kids for a sleepover once, when Jess was born. It’s just, you know, it’s just obvious that it’s something she’s not interested in, and also, because it’s always been like that — I mean, if she’d been involved from the beginning then the kids would’ve developed a relationship with her. But they haven’t. And that makes it harder as time goes on. Leaving them with her now would be almost like leaving them with a stranger.’

  ‘That sucks, Bonnie.’ Mel made a face. ‘And it’s not like you’ve got anyone else, with Pete’s parents — where do they live again?’

  ‘Perth. And they wouldn’t be much help anyway. They’re old, you know — in their seventies. And Pete’s brother’s a kind of weird itinerant ageing hippie. We might see him once every two years. And my brother … I’d be surprised if he ever came back now. He’s been in London since he finished school.’ She shrugged. ‘It really is just pretty much the two of us, me and Pete.’

  ‘That must be so hard.’ Mel flicked the blade of her car key out and then back in again.

  ‘Oh well. At least I don’t have to put up with my mum all the time. Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if she was one of those, you know, full-on grandparents — always visiting, giving unwanted advice and all that.’

  ‘It’d drive you crazy. Josh’s mum moved in with us for two weeks after Freddie was born.’ Mel rolled her eyes. ‘I was just about ready to kill her by the end. She kept saying I was tired and offering to give him bottles of formula during the night, and that it wouldn’t make any difference to the breastfeeding, blah blah blah. And of course Josh wouldn’t say anything.’

  Bonnie smiled.

  Mel pressed the stubby black key, and her car made a demure bipping noise. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘it was pretty nice having an extra adult there sharing the cooking and cleaning. Even if it was Josh’s mum. I guess it’s like the work thing: it’s a toss-up whether it’s worth it, in terms of sanity. Everything seems to require some sort of compromise.’ She lifted her head. ‘Hey, did you see that thing in the paper — I think it was in one of those Sunday magazines a couple of weeks ago — about that kind of inner-suburban community?’

  Bonnie shook her head.

  ‘It’s in Northcote, or Thornbury maybe, and there’s, I think, about five houses, and the people’ve taken down the fences between them, and they sort of — it’s not a commune, they don’t share everything — but they do share the care of their children to some extent, and they all have this group meal together once a week, and they have a shared vegie garden, stuff like that.’

  ‘Really?’ Jess was notching up her whingeing. Bonnie pulled out her own keys and dangled them in front of her. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if I could do something like that.’ She watched Jess grab at the keys. ‘I think I like my privacy too much. I mean, what if you just really didn’t get along with one of the other people?’

  ‘Yeah. I think I’m with you on that one.’ Mel spread her hands and smiled a rueful smile. ‘What can you do? You can’t win.’

  Bonnie wandered up and down the rows of shelves in the bookshop, Jess strapped to her in the sling. She lingered by the art section, sliding out the heavy books, turning the glossy pages. There was one about twentieth-century furniture: big, hard cover, with full-colour illustrations. She looked at the price sticker and bit her lip. It was beautiful though. Pete would love it. And he had the new job coming. Maybe she could put it on lay-by, save up and pay for it before Christmas.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  She jumped, pushed the book back into the shelf.

  ‘Sorry.’ It was a man — a boy, almost — younger than her. Glasses and a cool haircut. ‘Um, are you — did I see you playing guitar in Mickey Meyers’ band? It would’ve been a while ago now. Start of last year?’ He was nervous; his eyes flicked on and off her face. ‘At the Forum?’

  Bonnie felt her ears go hot. She wished she was wearing better clothes. She felt bulky and squat in her flat boots, Jess bound to her like a clumsy extra layer. ‘Yeah,’ she said, trying to smile that modest-yet-assured smile she’d seen Mickey do so many times. ‘That sounds right.’

  ‘I just wanted to say I love your playing,’ said the boy. ‘I think you’re a really amazing guitarist.’

  ‘Oh, well, thanks.’ She shifted her weight and looked down at his narrow shoes.

  ‘So do you still play with Mickey?’

  ‘I’ve been on a bit of a break. You know, maternity leave.’ She indicated the sling.

  ‘Right. Yeah.’ The boy didn’t even glance at Jess. ‘She always seems to have a new band, every time I see her play. What’s the story? Is she, like, hard to get along with or something?’

  Bonnie pushed her hair back off her face. ‘Oh, no. She’s very easy to get along with. I think that’s just the way she works. She likes to change things around — you know, keep herself interested.’

  ‘You’re a bit of a regular though.’

  She shrugged. ‘Yeah … she does get other guitarists though, sometimes.’

  ‘Right.’ There was a pause. He kept looking down at his hands and then back up again. ‘So. You playing any music at all?’

  ‘Not really, no. But I think Mickey’s working on a new album. So, who knows?’

  ‘New album? Great.’ He adjusted the bag on his shoulder. ‘Well, I hope you’ll be on it.’ He dipped his head and swivelled on his toes, ducking away. ‘See you.’

  ‘Bye.’ Bonnie went back to the books, bumping her fingers over the spines, angling her head to read the titles, but she wasn’t concentrating. She waited an appropriate amount of time and then, trying not to be obvious, scanned the shop. There was no sign of him.

  Acting casual, but feeling like a clunking robot, she went over to the music section. Hovered along to the ‘M’s. Flipped through and pulled out a CD. The photo on the back showed the inside of a tour van. Soft, warm colours. Maybe they put some sort of effect on it: it looked like an old photo, those faded, seventies tones. Mickey leaning back in the middle of the seat, arms around Bonnie and that drummer — what was his name? She squinted down at his face. She couldn’t remember. The photographer, whoever it was, must have used a special lens because Mickey’s legs looked incredibly long, stretching from the centre-point at her crotch out to either side of the camera, where each blue-jeaned knee provided a frame. Guitar cases sticking up in the background. The schedule in thick black texta on three A4 pieces of paper gaffer-taped above the window on the non-door side. Krefeld, Berlin, Dresden.

  She smiled. It didn’t matter that she knew it was probably exhaustion and a hangover, the lighting and the luck of the moment that lent her face in this photograph — her hair falling in her eyes, her smile bright white and just a tiny bit blurred — that easy, dreamy quality you saw in those classic rock photos, like in old copies of Rolling Stone. The illusion worked even for her. A current of something like homesickness ran through her, tugged insistently. She replaced the CD.

  She didn’t put Pete’s book on lay-by, or search out something affordable but special for the twins whose birthday was not far off. She left the shop and went across the road. Without trying them on she bought two dresses and two tops in the size she was before getting pregnant with Jess. When she got home she’d hang them in the wardrobe and not even look at them for at least another month. And she’d reply to Mickey’s email, and say yes.

  THEY LEFT EARLY FRIDAY MORNING.

  At Sale they stopped for lunch and afterwards all the children fell asleep. It would have been a
good time to talk, but they didn’t. They sipped their bad takeaway coffees and drove in silence, not even playing music. Outside the car the landscape changed. Stretches of paddocks and stretches of bush. Towns at regular intervals, like stations on a train line. The sun moved over them.

  On the outskirts of one town Bonnie saw a woman emptying a bucket outside a flat-fronted white house. The entrance was set in, but there was no veranda or porch or anything, only a boxy area the same width as the door, like the narrow opening of a fort or something, unwelcoming, defensive. There were no trees in the yard. She twisted in her seat as they passed but she couldn’t catch the woman’s face.

  At the shack they unloaded into the dark room, shivering, talking just to send their voices into the undisturbed air. She set the esky on the floor by the bar fridge and something scurried away under the sink.

  ‘Are there spiders here?’ Edie stood close to Louie in the middle of the rug.

  ‘Probably,’ said Bonnie.

  ‘Oh, oh — but I’m scared.’ Edie pulled her arms in against her chest and hopped up and down.

  ‘Me too.’ Louie hopped as well.

  ‘Don’t worry. They don’t like people. They’ll keep away from us — we make too much noise.’ Bonnie squatted and peered down the side of the fridge, looking for the switch to turn it on.

  ‘God, it’s cold.’ Pete slung the last of the bags onto the low couch. ‘Let’s get the fire going.’ He went to the wood-burning stove and clanged its door open, wiped his hands on his jeans. ‘Who wants to help me find some kindling?’

  But the twins went to perch on the edge of the couch.

  ‘Is this Uncle Jim’s house?’ said Louie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bonnie.

  ‘Where is he then?’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t live here all the time. He just comes here for holidays sometimes.’