House of Sticks Page 9

  ‘Oh, come on, Bonnie.’

  ‘Well, anyway, that’s not the point. The thing is, he told her he’s your business partner.’

  ‘Really?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Maybe she got it wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘What did she say exactly?’

  ‘I can’t remember exactly, but, well, the way she said it — it sounded to me like Doug had actually given her that impression. Not just her getting it wrong.’

  ‘I don’t know, Bon. All this stuff — the money, and this thing with the neighbour. I mean, it’s not anything we can … It’s not anything concrete.’

  ‘Well, what are we going to do?’

  Pete rubbed his eyes. ‘Wait.’ He exhaled, puffing out his lips. ‘Wait till this Grant job’s over and then just not offer him any more work. He won’t hang around if there’s no work.’

  ‘LET’S JUST TRY TO KEEP THINGS LOW-KEY,’ BONNIE SAID TO PETE, THE MORNING OF THE PARTY. ‘These guys are exhausted already — they weren’t asleep until nine-thirty last night, and they’ve been up since six.’

  ‘Yeah, good idea.’ Pete opened a packet of corn chips and tipped them into a bowl.

  The table was spread with dips, bread, bowls of olives, cut-up fruit, and biscuits and cheese. A jug of very weak cordial sat next to a stack of plastic cups. Streamers hung from the light fitting and over the doorways.

  She went to the bench and lifted a corner of the tea towel that was draped over the cake. ‘Bugger,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ Pete came over, and Bonnie held the tea towel up so he could see. ‘Looks okay,’ he said. ‘Just a bit saggy in the middle.’

  ‘Saggy? It looks like a patch of quicksand.’

  ‘Can’t you just put more icing on it?’

  ‘It’s got about half a kilo on there already. I think it might be making it worse — weighing it down.’ He laughed. ‘Pete!’ She slapped his arm. ‘I was up till midnight making this stupid cake.’

  ‘It’ll be fine.’ He put his arm around her. ‘I’m sure it’ll taste just fine, and the kids won’t care.’

  She lowered the tea towel. ‘That’s the last time I make a cake. Next time I’m just going to bloody well buy one.’

  The doorbell rang, and there was the sound of Edie and Louie exploding out of the living room and running down the hall, some screeching and then the sound of them running back again. They burst into the kitchen.

  ‘Someone’s here — quick, hide!’ said Louie, and the two of them crammed under the table.

  ‘The first guest, how exciting,’ said Pete.

  ‘Hide, hide!’ went the twins.

  There was a silence.

  ‘Did you open the door?’ said Pete.

  Silence.

  ‘Come on,’ said Pete. ‘It’s your party, you guys — you won’t have much fun if you spend it under the table.’

  ‘Hide, hide!’

  ‘All right.’ Pete laughed and went to the doorway. ‘I’ll get it then.’

  People came, just a few at first and then all in a rush, and the party took over. Bonnie poured drinks, tried to supervise the unwrapping of gifts, made tea, picked up squashed pieces of mandarin from the floor, moved in and out of a series of fragmented conversations. The room filled with hectic noise. Children ran in and out.

  ‘Hi, Bonnie.’ A woman smiled. ‘Kylie. Greg’s wife.’

  ‘Oh, Kylie, yes, of course. Sorry.’ Bonnie did remember. A lunch once, across town. A couple of years ago. Pete kept saying they should all get together again, but it never happened. Bonnie glanced over at him standing with Greg by the door, talking, hands in pockets. He must have invited them. She felt a small pulse of that pleased surprise that came whenever she caught a glimpse of Pete as a separate social entity, making his own efforts. Bonnie smiled back at the woman. ‘You’ve cut your hair.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She lifted her hand to it.

  ‘Mum?’ A blonde girl popped up next to Kylie.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can we go now?’

  ‘Meg. No. Can you not be so rude, please? Go and see what Dad’s doing. Maybe there’ll be a game.’

  The girl groaned and flounced off.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Kylie. ‘She’s a terrible brat. Can I do anything to help?’

  ‘Um,’ said Bonnie, as Kylie slid the tray of party pies along the bench and capably transferred them to a platter. ‘Oh … thanks.’

  ‘No worries. Sauce in the fridge?’

  ‘God, sauce. I forgot. I don’t actually know if we’ve —’

  But Kylie had already opened the fridge door and found it, and a small bowl in the cupboard.

  ‘You don’t have to …’ but Bonnie trailed off. She stood behind the bench and let her arms drop, felt a wash of guilty relief go through her as Kylie neatly ferried the platter of party pies to the table and came back with a stack of dirty plates and cups.

  ‘I’ll just pile these up by the sink, shall I?’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bonnie in a murmur.

  Suzanne appeared. ‘How’s it all going over here?’

  Bonnie moved forward as Kylie passed behind her with more party pies. ‘Um,’ she said.

  ‘I thought I’d come and see if you needed any help,’ said Suzanne. ‘But it looks like you’ve got it all under control.’ She drifted away, adjusting the floaty scarf around her shoulders.

  Across the room Pete clapped his hands. ‘Piñata!’ he called. ‘Everyone outside!’

  Out they all rushed. Bonnie followed but stopped at the door.

  ‘This might just be entertaining enough for her royal highness,’ said Kylie beside her.

  Sure enough, there was Meg in the line, arms folded, a good head taller than the rest of the children.

  ‘Poor thing,’ she said. ‘It must be pretty boring for her, a little-kids’ party.’

  Kylie rolled her eyes. ‘Pretty much everything’s boring for her these days, unless it involves a screen or a console. Honestly’ — she gave Bonnie a sidelong glance — ‘I had no idea all this would happen so quickly, this tween bullshit.’ She looked back out at Edie whacking at the hanging papier-mache fish with a stick. ‘Enjoy this while it lasts.’

  Bonnie watched her daughter swing the stick, and then she watched her son do the same. She saw their faces in profile, their animal focus. She noticed aspects to them, to their features, that she never had before — for a moment it seemed they could be someone else’s children, just two children playing the game along with all the others. She saw Pete standing, his hand on the shoulder of the next child in line, the nod of his head, the child walking forward. The stick being passed on. The order of it all. ‘I guess I should …’ she said, more to herself than to Kylie, but she didn’t step out there to help or cheer, and she didn’t go to get the cake ready, or check on Jess, who was asleep in her room. She just stayed where she was, watching emptily, the way someone sitting in a cafe window watches passers-by.

  The back door stood open, letting in a stream of cold air. The remains of the cake lay in the middle of the table. The children ate standing up, stuffed last mouthfuls in and then raced outside again. The adults nibbled and talked.

  Bonnie stood at the bench in a slipstream of quiet. For a minute nobody spoke to her. Nobody cried or tugged at her clothes or demanded anything. She picked up a mug of tea she thought might be hers. She sipped from it. It was cold, but she sipped again anyway, tasted the tannin, felt it on her teeth.

  Kylie came over. ‘So Greg says you’ve got Doug hanging around.’ She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Yeah.’ Bonnie wasn’t sure how much to say.

  ‘He driving you mad yet?’

  She felt her face dissolve into a grateful smile. ‘Ye
ah.’

  Kylie laughed. ‘You know he did some work on our place when we were renovating. About four years ago. He actually lived with us.’

  ‘Oh god, how long for? How did you cope?’

  ‘About three months it ended up being. The actual reno took about six, but Doug nicked off well before the work was finished. Got his nose out of joint about something — had a disagreement with one of the builders, I think.’

  Bonnie watched Kylie, the way she held her slim body, the gleam of her smooth hair and the expensive-looking little earrings she was wearing. She had a sudden flash of memory from the lunch that time: the shining, clear surfaces of the kitchen, Kylie effortlessly trotting out dish after dish, stuffed peppers, fish baked in the oven. Prawns. All the things Bonnie had never been brave or organised enough to try cooking herself. ‘How did you cope?’ she said again.

  ‘Oh, I just tuned out.’ Kylie waved a hand. ‘I just ignored him.’

  ‘Really?’ Bonnie ran her fingers through her hair. ‘But how? I mean I can’t tune out. I’m always tuned in. I feel like he’s …’ She glanced at Kylie’s still, listening face and faltered. ‘I mean, I just find it really hard.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Well,’ said Kylie. ‘You just don’t engage too much with people like Doug. That’s the trick.’

  Bonnie looked down at her piece of cake, which was mostly icing.

  ‘So what’s he doing?’ said Kylie. ‘Jobs around the house?’

  ‘No. He’s helping Pete in the workshop.’

  ‘Oh well, at least he’s out there. Out of your way.’

  Bonnie pushed the curve of her spoon into the slab of wet icing so it bulged up around the metal. The little buoy of solidarity or hope or whatever it was that had bobbed there so briefly let out its last breath and sank back under. ‘Yeah,’ she said weakly. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘I’m exhausted.’ Pete lay down heavily and pulled up the covers.

  ‘Me too.’ She slid across and put her head on his chest. ‘It’s pretty hard work. I think they had a good time though.’

  ‘They had a great time.’ He yawned. ‘Nice that Greg and Kylie came.’

  ‘Yeah. I didn’t know you invited them.’

  ‘I always invite them. It’s just that they usually don’t come. I think they’re pretty busy.’ Pete put his hand up the sleeve of her pyjama top and stroked her arm. ‘It’s been ages since Greg and me last got together. We figured it out. Two years. Since Deano had that party at the bowls club.’ He yawned again. ‘Time just seems to pass so quickly now, with the kids and everything.’

  ‘I know.’ Her eyes were closed. At the edge of her consciousness swam the image of Kylie, her trim figure, the wave of her hand. Her words. I just tuned out. You just don’t engage too much. As if Doug was simply another thing to be managed, to be dealt with in the way you were supposed to deal with everything — with competence, without fuss. Bonnie concentrated on slowing her breathing, on slipping further into warm darkness.

  ‘I feel a bit sad about it sometimes,’ said Pete. ‘I feel like I don’t have friends any more.’

  She reached up to kiss him and then moved away, turned onto her other side. ‘You have to call people. You know, organise to see them. Do stuff. It doesn’t just happen.’

  ‘So what’s she actually like?’ said Mel the next morning as they sat outside the cafe with Jess in the pram. ‘Mickey Meyers? You must know her pretty well.’

  Bonnie tried to think. ‘It’s funny. I’ve known her for ages, but I still don’t feel like … Well, she’s sort of … she kind of holds something back.’

  ‘What do you mean, holds something back?’

  ‘She’s so nice,’ said Bonnie quickly. ‘She’s one of the most generous people I know. She’ll do stuff like send me a postcard from Mexico just completely out of the blue, saying something like: Dear Bonnie. Riding horses on the beach. You would love it. And she gives me stuff, like brings back little presents from exotic places — really thoughtful things like that. And she does that for everyone, you know — she has this way of making everyone feel special …’

  Mel nodded.

  ‘But …’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know. She just … it’s all kind of one-way. It’s like, I couldn’t make those gestures towards her. If I bought her a present, or sent her a postcard — not that I’d ever know where she actually lives — it would feel weird. Like I was intruding or something.’

  ‘I think I know what you mean.’ Mel sipped her coffee.

  ‘It’s almost like charisma’s one of her tools, you know. What she uses in her work, on stage, and all that. But it’s also like it’s a part of her, of who she is. Her identity or something. She sort of — I don’t know how to say this without it sounding like a criticism, but it’s not; I don’t think this is a negative thing about her, it’s just the way she is — it’s like she sort of, well, plays people. Not in a bad way. Just — she’s aware of herself, of the effect she has on people.’

  ‘She does have that quality, doesn’t she?’ said Mel. ‘She’s not what you’d call a classic beauty, but she kind of … glows.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s luminous.’ Bonnie pushed back her hair. ‘I don’t know though. I mean, I love Mickey, and I admire her so much. And, you know’ — she rolled her eyes — ‘I’m the same as everyone else: I respond to her; I’m like a squirming puppy whenever she pays me any attention. But …’ She looked up at the grey sky. ‘It would be hard, I reckon, knowing you have that kind of an effect on people. I wonder if it would feel a bit like — well, a burden, or a responsibility, or something.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Mel smiled. ‘The burden of talent and beauty.’

  ‘But it kind of would be, don’t you think? There must be a pressure that goes along with that drive to be special. To make a mark or whatever.’ She raised an edge of the rug that covered the hood of the pram, peeked in to check on Jess sleeping. ‘And the other thing, you know: I really feel sorry for her sometimes.’ She screwed up her face. ‘But then again, this is all pure speculation. I’m only judging her by my own definition of happiness … But I don’t think she really has relationships. There’s always men floating around — lots of them — but I’ve never known her to have a real, long-term relationship with anyone.’

  Mel turned her glass in its saucer. ‘Does she want kids, do you know?’

  ‘No idea. She’s never shown much interest in mine. And she did stuff like ask me to play a show only about three weeks after the twins were born.’ She shook her head. ‘She doesn’t have a clue what it’s like, to have kids.’

  ‘Yeah, let alone newborn twins. But, in a way, that’s kind of great, don’t you think — that she didn’t just give up on you.’

  ‘Yeah, of course. It is, it’s actually really cool. And she’s — she always has been — so encouraging of me, just in the most practical way, by, well, offering me work.’

  There was a pause. Bonnie shrugged. ‘I think she’s just — probably because she is so talented and beautiful — she’s just got really good at keeping her distance. As a way of protecting herself, because so many people want a bit of her. And maybe there are special people she chooses to let in. But I’m not one of them.’

  ‘Oh well.’ Mel raised her glass. ‘Here’s to being ordinary.’

  Bonnie stood in front of the bathroom mirror and turned from side to side. It was no good. She could get into her old jeans but she looked ridiculous. Her thighs like sausages in their casings. She went back to the bedroom and found tights and a skirt. Her old boots with the heels that she never wore any more. Returned to the mirror. Searched through the cabinet for earrings and a necklace, eyeliner, mascara.

  ‘What’re you doing, Mum?’ It was Louie.

  ‘Getting ready.’

  ‘What for?’

  She used her fingertips t
o remove a clump of mascara and stepped back. She had a last look in the mirror. She squatted down next to Louie and put her arms around him. ‘I’m going to work today.’

  ‘With Dad?’

  ‘No. With Mickey. Remember Mickey? Who I used to play music with?’

  Louie nodded but seemed uncomprehending.

  ‘Well, anyway, a long time ago — before Jess was born, and even before you were born too — I used to play my guitar with Mickey in her band. And now she’s asked me to play with her again. So today I’m going to a recording studio.’

  ‘Who’s going to look after us?’

  ‘Dad. He’s taken the day off.’ She kissed Louie’s cheek and stood up. ‘So you’ve got the whole day with Dad — what a treat.’

  Still he stood uncertainly. ‘But what about Jess?’

  ‘Dad’s going to look after her too.’

  Louie frowned. ‘Does he know how to look after babies?’

  She turned back to the mirror. ‘Yes, he does know how to look after babies. He looked after you when you were a baby. Lots of times.’

  ‘But how will he feed her?’

  ‘He’s got some milk in a bottle for her. You know how I’ve been using that special pump to get the milk out of my boobs?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been saving the milk up so Jess can have it from a bottle while I’m not here.’ She smoothed Louie’s hair. ‘We used to do the same thing for you and Edie when you were babies, sometimes.’

  ‘Can I have some of that milk?’

  Bonnie laughed. ‘If there’s some left you can. Ask Dad. But it doesn’t taste very nice.’

  ‘Oh.’ Louie took her hand. Then, in a happy voice he said, ‘I’ve got an idea. I’ll just taste a little bit. And if it’s not nice I can spit it out.’

  Bonnie parked around the corner from the studio. She sat for a moment and ran her fingers through her hair. Straightened her tights and fixed her top. She got out of the car and opened the boot. Slid out the guitar case and her gear bag. Reached in and gripped the handles of the amp, eased it down over the lip of the boot, one thigh up to take some of the weight. Then she braced her arms and, guiltily, what was left of her stomach muscles, swung it out and set it on its wheels on the ground. Stacked the guitar and gear bag on top.