Other People’s Diaries (12 page)

Bianca looks almost normal when she goes to school. Apparently the headmistress walks up and down amongst the girls during assembly, checking that their uniforms comply with the rules
.

She's been teaching a long time has Miss Shepard, and rumour has it that she once expelled a girl for wearing eyeliner. No warning – just gone
.

Personally, I don't believe it. If it is true, it happened a long time ago before students' rights became more important than their education
.

But it's a good rumour
.

Each morning I drop Bianca off at the school, a pimple-prone teenager with a stuffed backpack. Each afternoon she emerges from her bedroom, eyes ringed with kohl, and dressed in black drainpipe jeans, a shirt with cuffs dripping over her fingers and at least one item which includes a skull. Apparently emo wear is about developing a look of your own. If yesterday's green fingerless lace gloves are anything to go by, though, I'd say a bit of conformity wouldn't go astray
.

See, there I go again …

Apparently I have no idea whatsoever about where she is at. Actually she's right about that
.

For a long time I tried really hard to stay with what was happening in Bianca's world. I read her magazines and forced
myself to listen to emo rock on the way to work, despite the fact that the emo band label is apparently an ‘artificial and consumerist label with no value'
.

But somewhere between the Wiggles and Panic at the Disco, I lost her. I can't seem to catch her again. She treats my attempts to understand where she's coming from with a very adult type of pitying disdain. And then sometimes I can see the sixteen year old girl who is desperately hurt that her mother has not a clue what she is about
.

She alternates between breaking my heart and arousing in me a fury no one else can produce
.

‘I
t's not like I remember them or anything. Couldn't you just take along a picture?'

‘Bee … please.' Rebecca knew she should be chastising Bianca for the way she was speaking, not pleading with her. But she had neither the time nor the energy. She'd had to threaten Bianca with missing tomorrow's band practice just to get her in the car. Rebecca couldn't think of a threat big enough to make her pretend to be pleasant.

She continued, desperate to make everything right. ‘Claire hasn't seen you since you were a baby – and she's cooking you a special meal.'

Bianca rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah great. No dead animals. What a huge favour that is.'

Her tone was even more rude than normal. Rebecca threw a despairing look at Jeremy but he was concentrating on driving in the heavy rain and said nothing.

She wondered, not for the first time, whether it would have been different if Jeremy had been Bianca's father. Maybe as a united force they could have stood firm against her assaults on happy family life, instead of allowing her moods to wash over them all.

Jeremy had married Rebecca knowing that a then eleven year old Bianca was part of the package. If anything he had a better relationship now with Bianca than did Rebecca. He was
infinitely patient and would correct Bianca in a stern but calm voice which she appeared to actually heed. But when things got too heavy he always deferred to Rebecca. Tired of the sound of her own shrieking voice, Rebecca yearned for Jeremy to lose it – just once.

‘I should have stuck to my guns and said no,' she said heavily to no one in particular. ‘Or we could have gone out to dinner in a restaurant, left the kids at home …' Rebecca received no response from anyone and her voice trailed off.

She had tried to refuse the invitation, but Claire had kept coming up with different options until it was virtually impossible to do so without being blatantly rude. Claire had insisted that her house was great for kids – completely unrenovated and tough as nails, she'd said.

‘We'll see about that,' Rebecca thought grimly.

Rebecca sighed and returned her attention to the map on her lap, trying to figure out when they should turn off the major road they were on. They must be getting close. She peered at the jumble of streets, trying to match a name to something she could see. Before she could manage it, Jeremy pulled the car over. They'd long ago agreed she couldn't navigate to save herself and she handed him the street directory wordlessly.

He looked at it for a moment. ‘Nearly there.'

Jeremy closed the heavy book and handed it back to Rebecca, ensuring his hand was nowhere near hers. Since the morning over a week ago when she sneaked out of the house at dawn, Jeremy had spoken to her only when absolutely necessary.

Two syllables constituted a long conversation.

As soon as Rebecca had arrived at work on that morning, she'd known she'd made a terrible mistake. She'd gone through the motions of coordinating the interviews, but had been unable to concentrate, a feeling of panic twisting in her stomach.

Jeremy had only tried to call her mobile once, not even leaving a message.

Eventually, though, she'd had to go home.

As Jeremy waited for a break in the traffic, Rebecca looked at the side of his face, searching for some sign that he had forgiven
her. There was none, his face set in the mask she was starting to think might be permanent.

It had never been like this before. They had fights, but those were always solved quickly, often in bed. But now Jeremy turned his back toward Rebecca every night, falling asleep quickly and leaving Rebecca to her swirling thoughts.

What she'd done had been stupid – guaranteed to fail and to hurt everyone. Rebecca wondered how she could have ever thought it might be a good idea. It was a plan that only a sleep-deprived mind could have thought viable and then only in the pre-dawn hours. But Jeremy had rebuffed each of Rebecca's attempts to apologise.

Jeremy accelerated quickly and swung across the oncoming lane, into the next side street.

The rain had brought down the evening early and Rebecca frowned as she tried to make out the house numbers. This bit she could do.

‘Eighty-seven – there it is.'

The numbers were large and stuck onto an immense faded green retaining wall which blocked all view of the house from the street.

Jeremy pulled up next to the wall.

She tried one last time. ‘Okay guys. Please behave. Bianca. I promise, we'll have dinner and then go straightaway.'

Bianca just snorted in response. ‘Yes, Sam, what is it?'

Rebecca turned around to look at him, his incessant drone of ‘Mum … Mum … Mum …' having finally broken through her focus on Bianca.

‘Need to go potty.'

Sam was in the process of being toilet trained, but it was still pretty hit and miss. Anticipating this exact situation, Rebecca had slipped on a nappy when she dressed him this evening.

‘Sweetheart, can you hold on for just for a minute?'

Sam sucked his thumb and shook his head.

‘Okay, don't worry. Just do a wee into your nappy – this once won't hurt.'

Instantly a dark stain bloomed across the front of his khaki trousers.

‘What the …'

‘Oh yeah – Sam asked me to take it off before we left home, so I did.' Bianca's voice couldn't have been less concerned.

‘Oh for God's sake!'

Rebecca flung her door open and stepped out into the downpour. Before she'd even made it to the boot to get the umbrella she was drenched. Without looking, she knew that her pale green shirt was sticking to her dingy grey bra which should have been thrown in the bin months ago.

The rusted blobs on the umbrella stem jammed its action. Cursing, she jerked it hard, pinching her finger in the process. Ridiculously her eyes filled with tears. She stood for a moment in the downpour, took a deep breath and finally pushed the umbrella into position.

Rebecca opened Sam's door, trying to force a smile. ‘Don't worry, darling. No harm done.'

There was no way she could take Sam inside like this.

Balancing the umbrella, Rebecca unbuckled the car seat and quickly pulled him out. She tried not to grimace as he wrapped his wet little legs around her waist.

Taking shelter under the large tree which spread its branches over the footpath, she quickly stripped off his trousers and replaced them with some ancient shorts she'd found on the floor of the car.

Bianca stood next to Jeremy under an umbrella. Their ease with one another cut at Rebecca like it always did.

The gated entrance through the high wall was vaguely castle-like in a shabby kind of way. Rebecca pushed it open and climbed three steps to the path which led to the house's front stairs.

Finally they were all assembled, dripping wet, on the top step. Rebecca rang the bell.

The first thing Rebecca noticed when Claire opened the door was her white, perfectly ironed shirt. Rebecca knew the shirt would make her look like a waitress, but on Claire it looked great. Must be the jewellery, she thought, or the shoes. Either way, it worked.

Claire leaned forward and kissed Rebecca on the cheek. Rebecca caught a faint whiff of perfume which reminded her that she hadn't even managed deodorant.

‘Jeremy,' Claire put out her hand, smiling. ‘So lovely to meet you.'

She seemed so genuine, Rebecca thought. And so together. She didn't even mention the state of them all.

Jeremy returned the smile as he shook hands.

‘Sorry we're late,' he said. ‘My fault, I'm afraid – a work thing.'

Rebecca looked at him gratefully, but he avoided her eyes.

‘No problem at all. Peter's only just home himself. Bianca – I've heard a lot about you.'

Bianca looked at the outstretched hand and for one terrible moment Rebecca thought she was going to ignore it. But slowly she reached forward and took it briefly.

Rebecca looked at Bianca through Claire's eyes. Dyed black hair, black lips, red eye shadow, black nail polish. Short black lace skirt belted over footless tights with a heavy studded belt. Her red and black basketball shoes clashed fiercely with her tight-fitting pink top.

Claire bent down and took Sam's hand. ‘Hi Sam.'

Unused to such attention, Sam smiled shyly from underneath his fringe. She absolutely must get his hair cut this week, Rebecca thought again.

Claire stood up. ‘So, follow me … please excuse the house. It is definitely a renovator's dream …'

Rebecca noticed Claire throw an awkward look at Peter.

‘Looks pretty good to me,' Jeremy said lightly. ‘You should have seen our place before we knocked it down and started again. Rain like this would have brought the roof in.'

Rebecca saw a couple of bedrooms off to the side, a lounge area to the right. And then they were through the kitchen and dining room and out onto an enormous old covered deck.

Peter turned from the table where he'd been opening a bottle of red wine.

Claire made the introductions. ‘Peter, this is Jeremy. And Bianca and Sam.'

As Peter and Jeremy shook hands, Rebecca looked at Peter. He was almost a head taller than Jeremy and still good-looking. If anything he looked better than he had at school. At school he had been one of the sporty ones – lanky and lean. He'd filled out in the intervening years, and while he still looked fit, it was the fitness earned at a gym.

Peter and Claire looked every inch the successful physiotherapist and his wife. His chinos and loose button-up shirt had clearly not been cheap. And, as usual, Claire looked divine. Not over the top or ostentatious, just that perfectly groomed point that Rebecca reached perhaps half-a-dozen times a year when all the stars aligned and she had more than five minutes to dress.

Sam wandered off toward the steps which led off the deck. Bianca followed him, Sam being the only person in the family she cared for unequivocally.

‘Rebecca!' Expecting a polite peck on the cheek, Rebecca was surprised when Peter put his arms around her. ‘It's been a long time.'

She tried to relax into his embrace, but was too conscious of the fact that she was wet and almost certainly smelt of urine. Peter clearly felt her unease and released her after a brief moment.

Rebecca took a step backwards. ‘It must be strange being back in Brisbane after all this time.'

Peter thought about her question for a moment. ‘I guess so. I feel a bit like we left as kids and came back grown-ups. The last car I had in Brisbane was that old tan Toyota – I used to be able to see the bitumen through the rust holes. My new car is definitely a step or two up from that.'

‘I remember that car,' said Rebecca without thinking, and instantly regretted it.

There was a tiny silence before Peter spoke again.

‘We need a drink,' he announced. ‘Claire thought we should celebrate seeing each other again with champagne. But there's also beer, or wine if you'd rather.'

‘Champagne would be great, thanks,' Jeremy answered.

‘Me too,' Rebecca added.