Authors: Ilsa Evans
Fortunately, Charlotte only threw a one in her turn, which left her far enough behind her aunt to dissuade her from continuing her macabre conversation, which in turn left Emily free simply to observe the other contestants. And they all seemed considerably brighter now that the end was in sight. There was more chatting, more laughter, more general merriment. And if
it weren’t for everything else going on, Emily had to admit, the game itself would probably have been a lot more fun than usual. Certainly Matt and Kate had put a great deal of work into it, and some of the instructions written on the squares were nothing short of ingenious. Obviously, they had taken Corinne’s guidelines and added a healthy dose of imagination.
‘I’ve been shot!’ Sybil pointed down to the square she had just stepped onto and laughed. ‘See? It says, “You broke your leg in a steeplechase and were shot on the spot. You are now out of the game”. Well, that looks like it for me. Thanks, guys. I’ll head back inside now.’
Not looking in the least disturbed by her misfortune, Sybil strolled across the lawn in the direction of the house with her heels sinking deeply into the lawn at each step. Emily glanced across at Jill and noted that she, on the other hand, did seem a trifle put out, if the thunderous expression on her face was anything to go by. The game progressed steadily without Sybil, although it was beginning to look like the winner was a forgone conclusion. Tim and Kate were only just past the curve, with Margaret Carstairs slightly ahead and Jill a square in front of her. Adam, while three squares ahead of Jill, was still a good way behind the outright leader, a very smug-looking James Carstairs. And within a few minutes it was all over. Emily had just one more turn, succeeding only in twisting a fetlock to add to her castration woes, before James threw the dice triumphantly and galloped past the winning post.
‘Well done, Jimmy!’ Margaret beamed at her husband.
‘Congratulations, Grandpa!’ Matt collected the dice and grinned at his grandfather. ‘What prize are you going to pick?’
‘Bugger me dead,’ James said, looking around at the losers proudly.
‘Don’t look at me,’ muttered Adam.
After congratulations had been offered all around, and
accepted fairly graciously, everybody started to wander away from the playing-board. Matt went back to throwing the foam dice through the basketball hoop, and Tim and Kate stood and watched, deep in discussion. Adam walked stiffly back inside, one hand massaging his lower spine as he went. He was followed by James and Margaret, albeit slightly more steadily, and Jill and Emily brought up the rear.
‘Did you tell Jack?’
‘Tell him what?’ Emily asked innocently.
‘About me being unhappy, thinking of leaving and that. Come on, be honest.’
‘Why would I tell him that?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jill chewed her lip worriedly. ‘I just thought it might explain the way he’s acting. I mean, he’s barely said a word to me since I got back, and then that thing with the rose bush. I don’t know what’s going on.’
‘Maybe he’s guessed. Maybe you going away like that yesterday confirmed what he’s already suspected. Maybe he thought . . . all right – I told him! Are you happy now?’
‘You
told
him!’ Jill stopped stock-still and stared at her sister. ‘Why would you tell him? Why would you
do
that?’
‘It was an accident,’ Emily wailed, stopping also. ‘I was trying to do the right thing, give him some pointers and everything, and it just slipped out! I’m so sorry!’
‘You’re sorry? You’re
sorry
?’ Jill’s voice rose several decibels. ‘I tell you something in
confidence
and before the day’s out you blab it to the
very
person that I
least
want to know – and you say you’re sorry!’
‘Hang on –’ Emily frowned and pointed a finger at Jill righteously – ‘you’re a fine one to talk! You find out I’m pregnant and announce it to all and sundry, and you’re picking on me? At least
I
only told one person. You blabbed to the entire world!’
‘But I . . . yes, you’re right.’ Jill’s annoyance deflated with a sigh. ‘We’re as bad as each other. So I suppose that makes us even.’
Jill closed Megan’s bedroom door and frowned worriedly. Megan had never been one to exaggerate illness, and for her to put herself to bed voluntarily on Melbourne Cup Day signified she really must have been feeling very unwell indeed. Emily accompanied Jill when she checked on Megan, and had volunteered to sit with her for a while, so Jill decided to give her till the next race before she dragged out thermometers and medication and went in for the attack.
Jill walked through to the kitchen, collecting a few glasses along the way and placing them beside the sink for later. She leant against the kitchen window, looked out at her little courtyard and sighed. She was still no closer to working out what she wanted to do. If anything, she felt more confused than ever. Last night, sitting in Emily’s apartment and eating KFC, it had all seemed so easy. She had decided that that was exactly what she needed – peace, quiet, solitude. But there was no doubting the fact that all that peace, quiet and solitude had started to wear thin by the time Tim arrived, and she had really been looking forward to getting back home.
Maybe she just needed a weekend off once a month or so. If not at Emily’s apartment, then maybe a mountain getaway, or a rural retreat. As soon as this idea filtered through, Jill shook her head forcefully – because escaping for one night every thirty would just be treating the symptoms, and that was exactly what she’d been doing for the past three years or so. No, what she needed was to address the cause – assuming she could find it.
Jill picked up the dishcloth and absentmindedly wiped the windowsill down as she thought. Then she tossed it back into the sink and leant with her arms folded and her back to the window. From this vantage point she could see the family portrait hanging on the opposite wall. She regarded it silently for a few moments. Was she willing to give all that up? And, if she was willing, why was she so annoyed with that woman in there who was making her predilection for Jack perfectly obvious? After all, if he gave in to her attentions it would make Jill’s path a hell of a lot easier. And less guilt-ridden. And Jill couldn’t think of anything that Ms Cruella De Legs deserved more than every second weekend with Cricket.
But that was presupposing Jill ended up with the kids. And did she
want
that? How would her life be any different if she was exactly where she was now, but minus Jack? Her stomach did a little free-fall at this thought so, to punish it even further, she deliberately pictured Jack with that woman in a compromising situation. She had just got to the part where Jack had backed the woman against the island bench with her skirt bunched around her anorexic waist, and was lifting her up – when Adam wandered in with an empty glass.
‘Hey, are you okay? You look really pale.’
‘Oh, I’m fine. Just fine,’ replied Jill dolefully.
‘Good.’ Adam pulled a stool out from the island bench and sat down gingerly, placing his empty glass in front of him. ‘Because I’ve got a problem.’
‘That’s obvious.’ Jill watched him flinch as he got comfortable. ‘Too much partying, hey?’
‘No, that was your husband. I think he’s bruised my coccyx bone.’ Adam finally got settled and let out a sigh. ‘This is going to cramp my style for quite a while, I’m guessing. And I may sue. But that’s not the problem I’m talking about. See . . .’
Adam suddenly looked straight at his sister and then hesitated for a minute. ‘Ah, you
do
know about me, don’t you?’
‘What about you?’
‘You know – my, ah, preferences, so to speak?’
‘
What
preferences?’ Jill started getting irritated. ‘What on earth are you talking about? Food? Wine? Styles of outdoor furniture? Just spit it out, Adam.’
‘My
sexual
preferences, of course!’
‘
What
?’ Jill spluttered. ‘For god’s sake, Adam, I don’t want to know your sexual preferences! Do I tell you mine?’
‘Not those, you fool! I mean, my
preferences
– whether I like men or women.’
‘You mean do I know that you’re gay?’ Jill shook her head in disbelief. ‘Of course I know, I’ve known for years!’
‘It’s not like I ever came out and told you,’ Adam said defensively, ‘I just suddenly thought maybe you didn’t realise. Not one hundred percent, anyway.’
‘Adam,’ Jill looked at him fondly, ‘I sort of guessed the Christmas you hung mistletoe over your Mel Gibson poster. And then there’s the fact that you became an interior decorator. Are there
any
straight interior decorators?’
‘Of course there are!’ said Adam indignantly. ‘You need to get out of the suburbs more.’
‘True,’ agreed Jill readily, ‘very true.’
‘Okay then. I mean, I knew that Emily knew and, see, I
thought
you knew – I’ve always
assumed
you knew but I didn’t want you to get a shock when I tell you my problem. Although it’ll be a shock, anyway. It sure was for me!’
‘Adam, just tell me already.’
‘Okay. Well, it’s about my last boyfriend. See, we were going out for a long time – just over a year, and everything was fine. At least
I
thought it was fine. Then he screwed the Easter Bunny. And that was that.’
‘
What
!’
‘It was Easter, of course,’ explained Adam, as if that made more sense, ‘we were at an Easter egg hunt at Albert Park Lake. It was organised by this gay group we used to belong to. The eggs all have codes and stuff in them for – anyway, that doesn’t matter. The point is, this bloke was dressed up as the Easter Bunny and was hopping around and flinging chocolates about. Next thing I know, I can’t find my boyfriend anywhere so I give up hunting for eggs and start hunting for him. And I found him behind a bush with the bloody bunny.’
‘Hang on,’ Jill tried desperately to get things straight, ‘he was with the . . .
Easter
Bunny?’
‘Yep, sure was,’ said Adam grimly. ‘He tried to say that I’d blown it out of all proportion, but in fact that’s exactly what he’d been doing when I sprung him. Blowing it out –’
‘I get it!’
‘So we had a huge argument and broke up. Haven’t seen him since.’
‘Look, Adam . . .’ Jill tried to look sympathetic, while also trying to rid herself of the rather disturbing mental picture his story had conjured up. ‘I’m really sorry and all, but I don’t quite see why you’re telling me now. What’s the problem?’
‘This guy – not the Easter Bunny, my boyfriend –’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Tim.’
‘
Tim
!’
‘Yep.’
‘Not Emily’s Tim?’
‘Yep.’
‘It can’t be.’ Jill shook her head decisively as the image of a stark-naked Tim sitting cross-legged on Emily’s bed promptly superimposed itself on the Easter Bunny behind the bush. ‘No, you’ve got it wrong. He’s not gay.’
‘Honey,’ drawled Adam with a smile, ‘he couldn’t be
more
gay. Believe me, I know.’
‘Well,’ Jill started grasping at straws, ‘maybe he’s bisexual?’
‘Nup.’
‘This doesn’t make sense.’
‘That’s what I thought at first, when he walked in here with Em,’ Adam sighed, ‘but then I started thinking. See, he always used to say that straight guys had it easier. Much easier. So I reckon he’s decided to go straight.’
‘Oh. Is that, well, possible?’
‘No. Not for someone like Tim. Because I happen to know that he’s not attracted to women at all. And you can’t bury that for long.’
‘Not at
all
?’ asked Jill plaintively although it was all beginning to make sense. No wonder Tim hadn’t been able to tell the difference between functional breasts and those that just flitted around the countryside fancy-free.
‘Nup. Not at all.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Jill folded her arms across her chest crossly as she thought through the ramifications. ‘So what you’re saying is that you had a long-term relationship with the guy Emily is now seeing. And that, sooner or later, he’s going to dump her for another man. I suppose that’s – oh my god!’
‘Exactly.’
‘She’s pregnant!’
‘Exactly.’
‘But he must have – that is, they . . .’ Jill looked at Adam in horror. ‘I thought you said he wasn’t attracted to women! How did he, I mean . . .’
‘He always was a determined blighter,’ said Adam, almost admiringly.
‘I don’t believe this.’ Jill started massaging her forehead lightly. ‘My sister is pregnant with the child of the Easter
Bunny’s lover, who also happens to be the ex-boyfriend of my brother, who will be the baby’s uncle. Is that about right?’
‘That’s about right.’
‘Okay, yes, that’s a problem, all right.’ Jill closed her eyes but mental images of naked men and randy rabbits swarmed in so she snapped them open again. ‘Adam, just answer me one thing – this Tim, he was the one who caused the break-up, so . . . do you still have feelings for him?’
‘That’s got nothing to do with anything,’ Adam said defensively.
‘I think it does.’
‘I don’t.’ Adam crossed to the fridge and removed his bottle of champagne. ‘How about a drink? Might clear the head.’
‘I think that’s an excellent idea, but champagne’s not going to do the trick.’ Jill reached up to a high cupboard and removed a bottle of Bundaberg rum. ‘This might, though. Make mine a double.’
Race Six, 2.10 pm
Emily left Megan in her bedroom and stood in the passage, staring at the architraves. She was no closer to knowing what the girl planned to do, and when she planned to do it. Instead, Megan had spent the past fifteen minutes sobbing about the unfairness of the situation. And that was the problem with the youth of today, Emily decided, they all seemed to think that life was supposed to be fair.
The sixth race had just finished when she got back to the lounge-room and the dividends were being flashed onto the screen. Emily took a mental note of the winners, pulled her fold of TAB tickets out of her pocket and checked the appropriate one. And she had a winner! Delighted, Emily turned to the occupants of the lounge-room to share her news – and then paused. Because, judging by the miserable looks on all the faces, she was obviously in a minority of one. And a sensitive, compassionate person would quietly enjoy that winning feeling without rubbing everyone else’s noses in it.
‘I won! I won!’ Emily waved her ticket in the air. ‘I’m the best!’
‘Congratulations!’Tim grinned at her from the two-seater, where he was next to Kate.
‘Yeah,’ sighed Jack. ‘Congratulations.’
‘You’re just jealous.’ Emily draped herself on the armrest next to Tim and smirked at the assorted company. ‘Can I pick them or what?’
‘Interesting question,’ replied Adam sagely, glancing quickly at Jill with an enigmatic look that immediately raised Emily’s suspicions. She frowned at him thoughtfully and then, without taking her eyes off him, draped an arm behind Tim and started playing with his right ear. Adam paled and looked away.
‘What’s that smell?’ Emily’s mother raised her head from her crocheting and sniffed the air, immediately screwing up her nose. ‘Yech.’
‘Stinks,’ commented James Carstairs shortly, fiddling with a Rubik’s cube, which was obviously his prize from the outside horserace game.
‘You’re right. I
thought
I smelt something.’ Jill stood up, sniffed and then looked around. ‘Everybody check your shoes.’
‘Not me,’ announced Jack smugly. He had left his gumboots outside the sliding door and was now wearing just a pair of mustard-coloured socks.
There was much shuffling and low-impact aerobics as everyone else bent to check the underside of their shoes. From her position on Tim’s armrest, Emily narrowly avoided being kneed in the head as she bowed down and he raised a brown loafer simultaneously. She flinched away, then finished checking and opened her mouth to announce that she was not the culprit.
‘Crap!’
Emily closed her mouth and turned to Sybil, who, having stated the obvious, was now staring down at the heel of one elegant black sandal with revulsion. And she had managed a party trick that Emily had never seen before. The offending
item had not adhered to the bottom of the stylish shoe, but was speared by the stiletto heel itself, and thus was fixed like a pliable circular appendage halfway up the spike.
‘My god!’ spluttered Jill happily.
‘How did you do that?’ Matt looked admiringly at the faecal pancake. ‘Cool!’
‘Well,’ Emily looked at Sybil sympathetically, ‘at least it matches your outfit.’
‘Crap!’ repeated Sybil, bending forward to slip the sandal off and hold it out by the strap. Then she stood up and, with a somewhat lopsided gait, left the room.
‘Serves her right,’ announced Kate sanctimoniously. ‘Cruella De Crap.’
‘Kate!’ reproved her mother half-heartedly, glancing quickly across at Charlotte to see how she had taken that. But the girl was her usual expressionless self, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table playing with the slinky that Sybil had won earlier.
‘What about the next game?’ asked Matt, leaping to his feet energetically.
‘Not for me,’ said his mother quickly. ‘I’ll have a break, thanks.’
‘Me too.’ Adam leant back in his seat and sighed. ‘I’m still recovering from the equine growth hormones I overdosed on in the last game.’
‘Tell you what –’ Jack, who was reclining in a beanbag with his liberally Band-Aided hands resting in his lap, looked across at his son – ‘why don’t you lot go play that motorised horse-race game in the family room and let us have a rest.’
‘Can’t,’ Matt replied glumly. ‘Cricket lost the horses.’
‘Flapjack then. Anything. And shut the bi-folds behind you so we can’t hear the racket. Help yourselves to prizes when you’re done.’
‘Yes,’ added Jill, ‘you can have a prize for first, second and third this time. How’s that?’
‘Cool.’ Matt nodded as he collected a pile of games from the corner and headed into the family room, passing Sybil, who was on her way back in, her footwear now unadorned with malodorous appendages. Kate half rose from her position on the two-seater next to Tim, glanced at Sybil, who was hovering with the obvious intention of taking that seat, then sat again. She was clearly torn between giving up the seat next to Tim and playing some of the games being set up next door. Within a few seconds her decision was made and, casting a last glance at Tim, she rose again and strode from the room, shutting the glass-paned bi-folds between the two rooms. Sybil immediately sat in Kate’s relinquished spot and crossed her legs.
‘I think someone’s got a little crush on you,’ she said playfully to Tim.
‘Sorry,’ he replied, without missing a beat, ‘but you’re not my type.’
‘Very amusing,’ Sybil said equably, while everyone else sniggered, ‘but I was well aware that I wasn’t your type. Not even close.’
‘Don’t run yourself down.’ Emily stood, stretched gracefully and then sat back down on the armrest. ‘How did you go with your sandals? Get it off?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘I’m going to play with the kids,’ announced Emily’s mother, heaving herself out of the armchair, ‘as long as they don’t play anything dangerous.’
‘Me too.’ Charlotte placed the slinky down neatly on the coffee table and followed her grandmother from the room, shutting the doors again behind them. Adam and Jill both made a race for the spare armchair and Adam won, throwing himself
bodily into the chair at an angle and having to straighten out while still holding Jill’s butt at bay as she attempted to sit on top of her brother. He groaned as he rearranged himself and gingerly repositioned his rear end on the seat.
‘Cheat!’ Jill gave up and returned to her old seat, squished at the end of the three-seater next to James and Margaret Carstairs. An awkward quietness fell after she settled herself in, with everybody glancing at each other and waiting for someone else to speak. After a few minutes of this, Emily decided to break the silence.
‘So, Adam, we haven’t caught up for ages. What have you been up to?’
‘Not much.’
‘Oh. Well, seen any good movies?’
‘Not really.’
‘C’mon! Help me out!’ Emily looked at him with irritation. ‘You must have done
something
.’
‘Of course I’ve done something!’ Adam frowned at her. ‘
Lots
of things. I just can’t think of them off the top of my head.’
‘I saw a good movie on the weekend,’ said Tim conversationally, ‘with A Friend. We had a great time. It was a Jane Austen adaptation. You know, a period piece.’
‘Oh!’ Megan, who had just appeared in the doorway, put her hand to her mouth and rushed back up the passage. Everyone looked at each other with concern and Jill jumped off the couch and followed her.
‘She’s not well,’ said Emily, by way of explanation.
‘Wasn’t our sandwiches.’ James angled his Rubik’s cube and held it up to the light with a frown.
‘My word,’ said Margaret sympathetically, ‘poor thing.’
‘I need a drink.’ Adam reclined in the armchair and glanced across at Jack. ‘Your turn, mate.’
‘Not me,’ replied Jack glumly. ‘I can’t get out of this beanbag.’
‘I’m not leaving my chair or your wife’ll grab it.’
‘
I’ll
get them.’ Emily stood and looked at them with irritation while she smoothed her cargo pants down. ‘But I’m just bringing in bottles and glasses. Everyone can pour their own.’
A game of flapjack was in progress at the table in the family room with Cricket, who seemed to make a habit of reappearing as soon as the coast was clear, shaking the dice forcefully. The punchbowl, its colourful contents seemingly untouched, had been moved to the island bench. Emily laid a tray next to it and started to assemble an assortment of bottles and glasses.
‘We need to talk.’
‘Oh,’ Emily turned to her sister and grimaced. ‘So you know then?’
‘You mean
you
know?’
‘Of course. Didn’t you know that I knew?’
‘No! I only know because Adam knew, but I didn’t know that you knew.’
‘But how did Adam know? I thought only I knew.’
‘Well, Adam didn’t know that you knew, he said –’
‘This is all new! You’re telling me you know because Adam knew, but you didn’t know that I knew?’
‘Um, I think so.’ Jill scratched her head. ‘Say it again.’
‘Hang on.’ Emily put down the bottle that she was holding and tried to backtrack over the conversation. ‘First things first. How
is
Megan?’
‘She’s fine . . . I mean, not feeling well, of course, but –’ Jill frowned at her sister. ‘What’s she got to do with anything?’
‘What’s she got to do . . .’ Emily repeated slowly. ‘Listen, Jill, what exactly is it that you know?’
‘What is it that
you
know? And what’s it got to do with Megan?’
‘You first.’
‘I was talking with Adam and –’ Jill suddenly swivelled
around and met the interested gazes of everyone at the dining-table. They were all waiting to discover what was what. And who knew about it.
‘Whisper,’ suggested Emily.
‘Okay.’ Jill leant over the island bench and hissed hoarsely into her sister’s ear. ‘He said that Tim’s gay.’
‘Yes, I was beginning to suspect that.’
‘Oh!’ said Jill with surprise. ‘But did you know that they used to go out together?’
‘No,’ admitted Emily, giving this some thought. ‘I didn’t know that. Not for sure. But it certainly explains Adam’s odd behaviour. What a small world.’
‘I must say.’ Jill sat down on a stool and stared at Emily. ‘You don’t seem very upset.’
‘Easy come, easy go,’ said Emily philosophically. ‘There’s more fish in the sea.’
‘Yes, but you won’t be swimming very well if you’re pregnant!’
‘There is that,’ mused Emily, fetching some tumblers out of the top cupboard.
‘I don’t believe you.’ Jill took a tumbler and splashed some scotch into it.
‘Now,
that’s
your problem,’ Emily said earnestly, stacking the rest of the tumblers into each other and putting them on the tray. ‘You get too stressed about things. You let them get to you too much.’
‘What?’ Jill stopped with her glass halfway to her mouth and stared across at her sister, then she lowered the glass back to the bench. ‘You’re going out with a guy who used to go out with your brother until they broke up at Easter. Oh, and minor point, almost forgot – you’re carrying his child! Are you
listening
to this?’
‘Yep,’ said Emily equably, staring over Jill’s shoulder, ‘and so is everybody else.’
‘Mummy, what does gay mean?’ asked Cricket curiously.
‘Tim’s gay?’ asked Kate, the paleness of her face contrasting vividly with the black, spiky hair. ‘No, he can’t be!’
‘Interesting,’ commented Charlotte, ‘very interesting.’
‘Whose turn?’ asked Emily’s mother irritably. ‘Come on. Is it my turn?’
‘Nah, it’s Cricket’s,’ said Matt, ‘but she’s playing with the roulette balls. Give them here, Cricket! Now!’
‘No!’
‘Where are the drinks?’ Adam stuck his head through from the lounge-room and looked enquiringly across at his two sisters. ‘I’m dying of thirst here!’
‘I’ll leave it to you to explain things.’ Emily picked up the tray and looked cheerfully at her sister. ‘I know I said I’d take your place today, but there are limits.’
‘No there aren’t.’ Jill stared over at the occupants of the table. ‘That’s the point.’
With a last, not terribly sympathetic look at her sister, Emily carried the tray carefully over to the bi-folds, which Adam had thoughtfully left open for her. She passed through, closing them behind her skilfully with her rear end, before placing the tray down on the coffee table.
‘Okay, there’s champagne, there’s scotch, there’s rum, there’s a bottle of VB, and there’s some Coke. Help yourselves.’
‘Beer sounds good.’ Jack hoisted himself out of the beanbag and opened the bottle. ‘Dad? Any for you?’
‘Thanks, son.’
‘I’ll have a champagne.’ Sybil leant forward. ‘Anyone else?’
Emily poured herself a weak scotch and Coke, avoiding Margaret’s concerned gaze, and then settled herself back on the armrest next to Tim. On the television, a vastly overdressed female with a hooked nose was commentating on fashions on the field. Judging by her own outfit, which was covered with iridescent feathers and frills and assorted fluffy fripperies, the
woman shouldn’t even have been allowed to provide advice for a children’s fancy dress party, let alone pass judgement on other people’s fashion sense. She looked like a spray-painted bird of prey.
‘
Christ
!’ Jack, who had just plopped himself back into the beanbag, shot upright again with admirable dexterity. With his face clenched in pain, he delved into a side pocket and pulled out the small red-handled hedge-clippers he had used earlier to trim his wife’s rose bush.
‘Ouch,’ said Emily sympathetically.
‘Did they pierce the skin?’ Sybil stood and moved over towards him. ‘Here, let’s have a look.’
‘Let’s not.’ Jill closed the bi-folds behind her and glared across at Sybil, who smiled winsomely and returned to her seat. Jack rubbed his thigh tenderly for a few seconds and then limped from the room in the direction of the bathroom. Jill promptly took his seat.
‘God got him,’ she said darkly, ‘for destroying my roses.’
‘My word, dear,’ Margaret Carstairs looked over at her daughter-in-law worriedly, ‘is there something wrong with you two? I mean, is there a problem?’
‘Mind your own business, woman,’ grunted her husband, still bent over his Rubik’s cube.