Authors: Ilsa Evans
‘I’ll wait in the bathroom. Thanks, anyway.’ Megan took the test from her aunt gingerly and stood up. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘Good luck.’ Emily smiled at her supportively, and then watched as the girl exited the bedroom, leaving the door wide open so that her aunt could see her as she walked slowly up
the passage and turned left into the toilet. She looked like she was heading down the green mile, with the electric chair all primed and waiting at the other end. After Megan disappeared, Emily cleaned up the discarded packaging from the test, and scrunched and shoved it into one of the dresser drawers with the unused test box. After all, if it was negative (please god), there was no point in advertising the close call.
When she arrived back in the lounge-room, she found it permeated with silent boredom. Matt had disappeared, hopefully only temporarily, and Cricket sat on the floor, lethargically lining up some miniature horses. Adam was sitting on the two-seater couch, drinking coffee and half-heartedly watching the coverage on the television. Next to him was perched Charlotte who, obviously having given up on the piano, had a book spread open on her lap and was reading intently. On the three-seater, James Carstairs still held pride of place and, to all intents and purposes, didn’t seem to have moved an inch since his arrival. His wife had rejoined him now and she looked up as Emily entered, giving her a rather nervous smile. Nearby in the armchair, Emily’s mother, who appeared to have missed the debacle with the window and the dog entirely, was crocheting steadily and seemed to have added a considerable amount to the multicoloured square spread over her lap. She was the only one who looked even remotely content.
Emily plastered a smile on her face and attempted to look cheerful. ‘Well, when’s the next race?’
‘Another seven minutes,’ replied Adam dolefully.
‘Uh-oh!’ Cricket looked up at nobody in particular, and suddenly dashed from the room.
‘No time for a game then.’ Emily watched her go and then folded herself neatly on the two-seater next to Adam. ‘You can tell me everything you’ve been up to instead.’
‘Everything?’ Adam raised his eyebrows and grinned.
‘Another time, perhaps,’ Emily said, glancing across at James Carstairs, who let out a rather rude snort. She decided to push a few of his buttons. ‘But you can fill us in on that new relationship of yours. You know, the one you were telling me about a while back. Great body, cute, funny . . .’
‘Finished,’ said Adam shortly.
‘Oh,
sorry
. What happened? Was there someone else?’
‘Long story. See, we were at –’
‘Look!’ James suddenly leant forward in his seat and pointed at the television. ‘They’re going up to the barriers. So shut up!’
‘Can I ring Mummy?’ asked Cricket, sticking her head around the doorway and ignoring her grandfather’s edict. ‘I really mith her.’
‘Me too,’ said Mary suddenly, pausing in her crocheting to gaze sadly at the far wall.
‘Yeah.’ Matt made an entrance in time for race three. ‘No offence, Aunt Emily, but Mum puts out a lot more food. And I’m starving.’
‘Tho can I wing her?
Pleath
?’
‘Look, guys,’ Emily held up her hands placatingly, ‘I’d like her over here too. Believe me. But I tried before and she’s not answering. Matt, just go grab the fairy-cakes and stuff from the bench and pass them around. Your mum’s obviously enjoying herself too much and ringing up isn’t going to help if she won’t pick up the phone. You’ve just got to accept that she’s going to turn up when she’s good and ready and not before. We’ll have to be patient.’
‘But I can’t!’ Cricket wailed, stepping out from the door-frame and revealing the fact that her overalls were missing entirely and her hot pink tights were marred by a large wet patch around her groin area. ‘I wetted myself!’
‘Cricket!’ said Emily, shocked.
‘How did you do that, poppet?’ Margaret asked sympathetically.
‘Megan wath in the firtht toilet so I ran up to Mummy’th one but I couldn’t get my panth down!’ Cricket started to cry. ‘I jutht couldn’t!’
‘Hey, it’s okay.’ Adam smiled at her soothingly. ‘Everything’s fine. Auntie Emily will take care of it. That’s what she’s here for.’
‘
I want Mummy
!’
Jill lifted up the telephone receiver and checked to make sure it was working. Then she readjusted the phone on her lap and sighed. Was anybody
ever
going to ring? She had eaten her pastry, flicked through the magazines, even swept out the kitchen area. And she had thought about her problems so much that now, even in theory, they were giving her a headache. Not that they were solved by any means, but right now she just wanted to go home. To see how the function was going, who had turned up, who was winning, and who wasn’t. To be there when Jack leapt up and hissed at the television in support of a horse that had the winning post in its sights, to be there when Matt confused carpet bowls with overarm cricket, to be there when Kate accidentally stuck a foot out and tripped Charlotte over onto her smug little face, to be there when Megan tried to act like the adult she patently wasn’t, to be there when Cricket filched the horses from the horserace game to take outside and simulate a herd of wild brumbies bent on attacking the dog. And to be there when . . . actually, just to be there. Full-stop.
A while ago, when she had acknowledged that what she really wanted was to go home, Jill had told herself that she
wanted this mainly because she wanted to witness Emily stuff things up. Because if all you keep in your fridge is hommus and whipped cream – in a
can
– and your lifestyle includes midnight male callers and seventeen different types of garter belts, then how on earth can you possibly cope with the demands of teenagers and toddlers? It was, Jill had decided self-righteously, quite impossible.
But as the minutes ticked by and the phone resolutely refused to ring, Jill started having doubts. Because if Emily was doing such a bad job, surely someone would have rung to enquire about her estimated time of arrival? And even if Emily was doing not
too
bad a job, surely
someone
would have still missed her enough to ring? But they hadn’t, and this must mean that no-one was particularly fussed about whether she was there or not. So now she wanted to see why.
Race Three, 11.55 am
‘That’s it.’ Adam ripped up another ticket and threw the scraps in the air. ‘I now officially declare myself the worst punter in Australia.’
‘Well,
I
picked a winner,’ Matt announced proudly, getting up to place a tick on the large sheet of paper that had been Blu-tacked to side of the television and was being used to record the first, second and third place-getters of the children’s choices. The night before, as Megan was drawing separate columns on the paper for each child, Matt had announced superciliously that, as he was now seventeen, he would no longer be taking part in this particular tradition. Emily smiled to herself as she noted the crooked column he had added, with his name clearly on top, at some point this morning.
‘Congratulations, Matt!’ said Margaret Carstairs warmly. ‘My word, you’re doing well, aren’t you?’
‘Not as good as Kate.’
‘Mug’s game,’ said James shortly.
‘Where’s Mummy?’ asked Cricket, who was now dressed in a faded pink tracksuit which, although it looked a trifle small,
would at least be easy to remove in times of crisis.
‘She’ll be here soon,’ said Emily confidently, putting her mobile back in her pocket, ‘because I’ve just messaged my friend and told him to go get her. Enough’s enough.’
‘Goody.’
‘So what’s next?’ Matt ran his finger down the schedule. ‘Hmm . . . horserace game.’
‘No!’ shouted Cricket, gathering her arms around the miniature horses spread before her. ‘They’re all mine! Bugger off!’
‘My word!’
‘Leave her with them,’ said Emily tiredly. ‘Just skip that game and go to the next. It’s not like Corinne’s here cracking a whip, we can make up our own schedule.’
‘She probably heard that,’ commented Adam.
‘Tough.’
‘Okay then. The next one’s the horse quiz thing. Have we got the quiz sheets?’
‘Yes, I saw those.’ Emily hoisted herself off the couch. ‘There was an envelope in one of the boxes she sent over.’
‘What the hell’s a horse quiz?’ James Carstairs peeled his eyes away from his favourite spot on the far wall and focused on Emily. ‘Never heard of it.’
‘You have now.’ Emily clapped her hands. ‘Okay, everybody move out into the family room and grab a chair at the table. I’ll bring over some pens and the quizzes.’
‘I’ll stay here, thanks,’ said James, crossing his legs to emphasise his point.
‘Even better!’ said Emily. ‘Space-wise, I mean.’
The family room was looking considerably cleaner than the last time she had been in it. Not a sliver of glass to be seen, the sliding door back in position, and the tapestry sofa hard against the broken window to prevent any accidents. Or any further
accidents. Emily rustled through Corinne’s boxes until she found the A4-sized envelope with the words ‘HORSE QUIZ – DO NOT OPEN UNTIL AFTER RACE FOUR’ written in bold print across the front. Ignoring the instructions, she ripped it open and pulled out a wad of sheets, each printed clearly with a set of questions. By this time the participants, willing or not, had all crowded into the room and found seats around the table. Even Emily’s mother had joined them and was sitting at the head of the table, waiting expectantly with her hands clasped before her, the pom-pom on her tam-o’-shanter still bobbing around her forehead. On her right was Adam and then Cricket, and on her left was Margaret Carstairs and then Charlotte. Opposite her, at the other end of the table, sat Matt, tapping his fingers impatiently.
‘Here we go then,’ Emily said brightly as she handed out the sheets, making sure to lay them face down before each person. ‘Don’t turn the tests over till I say go.’
‘My word, what fun!’ Margaret looked at each of her fellow contestants in search of agreement and then, not finding any, looked down at her paper and fiddled with the edges.
‘You just called it a test.’ Adam tapped his fingers on the paper and looked at his sister. ‘Make up your mind. Is it a quiz or a test? Because if it’s a quiz, I shall have to concentrate on my quizzical side, but if it’s a test, then I shall have to –’
‘It’s a
quiz
.All right, smartarse?’
‘What about me?’ came a gruff voice from the lounge-room.
‘Ha! I just got that!’ Matt slapped his hand down on the table and looked at his uncle approvingly. ‘
Testicle
! If it’s a test, you have to concentrate on your
testicles
.’
‘Is testicle a swearword?’ asked Cricket hopefully. ‘It
sounds
like one.’
‘
Enough
!’ Emily held her hand up and everyone fell silent.
Then she turned towards the lounge-room and called to James, ‘It’s out here if you want to play.’
‘Forget it then.’
‘Fine!’ Emily rolled her eyes and turned back to the table, the occupants of which were now all looking at her expectantly, ‘Okay! Ready, set – go! Turn them over!’
While Emily watched, everybody obediently turned their sheets of paper over and read through the questions. She suddenly realised that Megan had not yet emerged. Certainly she hadn’t expected the girl to take only the prescribed ten minutes – after all, given her resistance to the intricacies of the test itself, it would probably have taken her quite some time to produce the necessary ingredient – but surely she should have been out by now? When Emily glanced back at the table she found that nobody was, in fact, writing. Instead they were all looking at her again.
‘What is it?’ Emily asked desperately. ‘You’re supposed to start!’
‘We need pens,’ said Adam dryly.
‘God! Are you
useless
or something?’ Emily flew over to the island bench and grabbed a red plastic tumbler full of pens and pencils. She thumped it down on the dining-table in front of Matt. ‘There you go! Now – write!’
‘Can someone please pass
me
a pen before I forget the answers?’ asked Mary, frowning at her fellow contestants.
‘Someone pass her a pen!’ yelled Emily, looking up at the clock and trying to work out how long Megan had been gone. Maybe she needed some support – regardless of the result. Accordingly, Emily decided to desert the quiz participants, who all seemed to be happily – or at least busily – filling out their sheets of paper. All of them, that is, except for her mother, who was still querulously requesting a pen. Unfortunately, it appeared that the red tumbler was empty and none of her fellow contestants seemed to be willing to share.
‘I’ll grab you a pen, Mum,’ said Emily, ‘but hang on. I’ve got to do something first.’
She ducked out of the room and up the passage just as Megan emerged from the bathroom. Spotting her aunt, the girl held out the pregnancy test, which she had wrapped in a tissue.
‘I can’t look, you know? I just
can’t
.’
‘You want me to?’
‘Yes,’ said Megan simply as she passed it over. ‘Please.’
‘Okay, here goes.’ Emily glanced at Megan and saw that the girl had her fingers crossed and eyes closed, so she too shut her eyes as she loosened the tissue. ‘I’m going to count to three and then look. One, two –’
‘Thank
you
. And about time too.’
Emily snapped her eyes open as she felt somebody snatch the pregnancy test out of her hand. Unbelievably, it was her mother, who was now toddling back towards the family room, the test firmly clasped in her right hand and the tissue floating to the floor behind her.
‘Mum! What are you
doing
?’
‘Getting my
own
pen,’ said her mother, turning in the doorway with a swish of multicoloured crochet and glaring back at them, ‘seeing as you were never going to do it.’
‘But we
need
that!’
‘Sure you do.’ Her mother frowned and, holding up one finger, shook it at her daughter accusingly. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on. You all know that I’ll win the quiz so you try to delay me by not giving me anything to write with. Disgusting.’
‘You don’t understand!’
‘On the contrary, I understand perfectly! I’m not a fool, you know!’
‘Nannie!’ Megan wailed, her eyes now fully open and her fingers uncrossed. ‘Give it back!’
‘Megan, Megan, Megan . . .’ Mary Broadhurst shook her head, the pom-pom on the tam-o’-shanter bobbing wildly out of sync, and sighed heavily. ‘So you’re in it too. Very disappointing.’
‘Mum!’ Emily took a step towards her mother and the old woman responded by pushing her head forward and narrowing her eyes at them threateningly, the pom-pom now bouncing off her left eyebrow. Then she turned and, despite the unwieldy ugh boots, flew through the doorway into the family room with all the agility of a teenager.
‘
Fuck
it!’ muttered Emily, shaking her head in disbelief.
‘No,’ Megan moaned, ‘no, no,
no
.’
‘Come on.’ Emily grabbed Megan’s elbow to get her moving and they followed quickly. But by the time they reached the family room, Mary was already seated back at the head of the table with the pregnancy test poised over her quiz as she concentrated. Emily and Megan came to a halt behind Margaret Carstairs and watched, horrified, as Mary read the first question through and then, frowning, lifted the white plastic strip slowly up to her mouth.
‘No,’ whispered Emily, rooted to the spot.
‘Hmm,’ murmured her mother contemplatively, straightening her tam-o’-shanter and then tapping her ‘pen’ against her bottom lip. ‘A
tricky
one, hey?’
‘This isn’t happening,’ whispered Emily. She clasped her hands together in subconscious prayer as she leant slowly to one side, her head down on her shoulder, in an attempt to read the pregnancy test result. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Megan next to her doing exactly the same thing.
‘What the
hell
are you two doing?’ asked Adam, frowning across at them. ‘Looks like synchronised yoga!’
‘Tricky, tricky, tricky,’ muttered Mary, tapping her ‘pen’ one more time before suddenly popping it into her mouth and sucking the end pensively.
‘Oh, sick!’ said Megan, absolutely appalled, as she and Emily both snapped upright and stared wide-eyed at Mary. ‘Totally
gross
!’
‘What’s gross?’ Cricket paused from her drawing to glance across at her sister.
‘Yes. What?’ asked Charlotte with interest.
‘You two are seriously weird,’ commented Matt, shaking his head at Emily and Megan as he went back to filling out the answers to the questions. ‘Hope it’s not contagious.’
‘Got it!’ mumbled Mary, spitting her ‘pen’ out of her mouth and lowering it to the paper. ‘Easy-peasy japanesey.’
‘Mum,’ said Emily faintly. ‘Ah, Mum . . .’
‘This pen doesn’t work!’ exclaimed her mother, shaking it vigorously and then trying once more. ‘Damnation! Bamboozled again!’
‘My word, are you sure that’s a pen, Mary?’ asked Margaret Carstairs, peering over the top of a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. ‘It looks a bit odd.’
‘Let me get you another one.’ Emily dived forward and attempted to take it from her mother, who immediately popped it behind her back and shook her head playfully at her daughter.
‘Not falling for
that
one,’ she said happily. ‘Good try, though!’
‘Ah,’ groaned Megan weakly, sucking on the end of her plait.
‘Excuse me, Nannie,’ said Charlotte politely, ‘may I please look at your pen?’
‘It doesn’t work, dear.’
‘Here, Mum, I’ve finished so have mine.’ Adam turned and, with one fluid movement, swapped his biro for the pregnancy test. ‘There, happy now?’
‘Just don’t put it in your mouth.’ Mary made a moue of disgust. ‘It tastes foul! Have I got ink on my mouth, Adam?
Adam
! Have I got ink on my mouth?’
‘Let me see . . .’ Adam, with the pregnancy test still firmly clenched in his hand, leant forward and examined his mother. ‘No, all clear. Now you’d better get working, everyone else has nearly finished.’
‘Too true!’ Mary looked around at the others, who were all scribbling furiously. ‘Here we go!’
‘Hey, Adam . . .’ Emily, after watching her mother finally start to write, put out her hand towards her brother. ‘Give us that pen and I’ll throw it away.’
‘It’s okay, I’ll do it.’ Adam stood, stretched, then sat down again. ‘Actually, I’ll wait till everyone’s finished and then put the lot away for you. After all, I’d hate for you to think I’m
useless
.’
‘Finished!’ announced Margaret, passing Adam her pen and pushing her chair back. ‘Now what would you like me to do, dear?’
‘Nothing,’ replied Emily, a bit confused by the question. ‘It’s all under control.’
‘Ah,’ groaned Megan again.
‘I’m sure it is,’ Margaret replied, moving towards the kitchen. ‘But how about I do something about all of those dishes here? I’ll load the dishwasher.’
‘Um – sure,’ Emily glanced at the pile of dirty crockery that had materialised on the draining board. ‘Definitely! But the dishwasher’s out of order so I’m afraid you’ll have to use the sink. Thanks.’
‘All done.’ Charlotte turned her paper over meticulously and passed her pen to Adam, who bundled it with the others in his right hand. ‘Thank you for that, Aunt Emily. May I please be excused?’
‘Did you fluff?’ asked Cricket with interest.
‘No,’ replied Charlotte evenly, ‘I don’t fluff.’
‘That accounts for a lot,’ muttered Matt.
‘Now, now.’ Adam stacked the finished quiz papers on top of each other with his spare hand and then spread the pens out neatly on top of them. ‘Be nice.’
‘Yes, you may be excused.’ Emily nodded at Charlotte, who was still waiting for permission. The girl immediately slid off her chair and, after flicking a level glance at her aunt and Megan, smoothed down her velvet skirt and walked back into the lounge-room.
‘Freak,’ commented Matt equably, as he chewed the end of his pen.
‘All finithed!’ Cricket held up her quiz paper, which appeared to be covered with stick figures. ‘Thee? It’th a daddy horth and a mummy horth and a baby horth.’ She examined her handiwork for a second and then turned to Emily. ‘Where’th my mummy? You
thaid
she wath coming.’
‘And she is.’ Emily watched Adam collect Cricket’s pen and add it to the others. ‘Very soon.’