Tom Houghton (38 page)

Maggie nodded slowly so Emily smoothed over her sodden Action Man and walked away satisfied.

David chuckled. ‘Thanks, Maggie, she was gonna dob on me and Mum would'a lost it.'

Maggie watched as he went back into the house, deciding to leave the comment hanging. Disciplining other people's children wasn't something she did. Maggie wasn't very comfortable with children and had treated her own like adults. She couldn't fathom how their little minds worked and preferred not to risk getting close. She kept herself at a safe distance because she couldn't bear the thought of getting too attached to such fragile beings. She made her way into the kitchen where Kathy was buttering the top slice of a toast stack.

‘Hi,' Kathy said. ‘You're looking nice.'

Maggie always tried to make an effort on lunch days. The blue dress she wore was quite a snug fit but the colour highlighted her eyes and made the most of her grey hair. ‘Thank you,' she blushed, unable to accept compliments easily. ‘I think I'm putting on a bit of weight. It's a size sixteen and it seems to be getting tighter each time I wear it.'

‘Maybe it's shrinking,' Brett, Kathy's oldest, charmed her.

‘Oh, I don't think I can blame it on my washing machine,' Maggie blushed again. Blushing in front of a fourteen year old, for goodness' sake.

‘Well, size sixteen is hardly enormous, Maggie,' Kathy said.

‘I know, but I remember when I was a size twelve, would you believe?' In fact, she had been a size eight when she had first met Marcus.

‘Size twelve! Ha! Imagine being a fourteen through adolescence and ending up a size twenty,' Kathy said, clutching a corner of her oversized dress. Kathy wore her weight in a motherly kind of way. Maggie could see that the children loved cuddling into their mother's bulk; it was one sure way of calming them down.

Maggie's mobile rang in her handbag. Brett chuckled to himself, sniggering at an oldie with a mod con. Marcus had given it to her just last Christmas for emergencies, but it only ever rang when he called to ask her something related to the office systems she'd put in place. She hurried into the living room, which was littered with toys and children's clothing.

‘Hello, Maggie speaking,' she said loudly into the small device.

‘Of course it's you speaking, it's your phone.'

‘Hello, Marcus, what's the matter?'

‘Nothing,' he sighed. ‘I was wondering if you were okay. You seemed a bit distant this morning. Everything all right?'

Maggie looked at the caller ID display. Was this her husband? He
never
asked her how she was, what she was thinking, why she was sometimes quiet.

‘Marcus, I, I . . .' She was simply lost for words.

‘Something's wrong, isn't it?'

‘No, no!' She felt embarrassed, hoping he wouldn't ask her any more questions. ‘I'm surprised by your call, that's all. I was fine this morning, just thinking about lunch, you know how I get. You shouldn't worry about me.'

‘I know, but sometimes I can't help it.'

‘Well, no need to. I'm fine, but thank you for calling.'

‘I was just thinking about you, that's all. I wanted to tell you I hope you have a beautiful lunch today. I . . . I . . . lo–'

‘Goodbye,' she said quickly, uncomfortable with this level of emotion. ‘I'll see you tonight.'

He hung up.

Maggie was tempted to call him back to make sure there was nothing he was meant to be telling her. Did he really just say those things? For the life of her she couldn't remember the last time he'd ever showed any interest in her life. Maggie frowned and shook her head. Foolish woman! To think that he may have said the L word! She realised hearing three simple words could have had a profound effect on her. I love you. She could have said them to him, she supposed, but it had been so long since she had said them to anyone. Instead, she would surprise him with a nice meal tonight, then she would say, ‘I just wanted you to know I appreciate you.'

‘Good news, Maggie?' Brett asked as she re-entered the kitchen.

The colour rose again in Maggie's cheeks. Why did children have to be so perceptive? ‘No, it was nothing.'

‘I bet,' Kathy said. ‘You look like a schoolgirl.'

Maggie shook her head again. ‘That was my husband – just calling to wish me a beautiful day.'

‘Oooh!' the children all chimed at once.

Maggie smiled inwardly, surprised that she should be so affected by Marcus' call. When was the last time she felt needed by anyone? She had wanted to feel it for longer than she could remember.

Maggie started making the kids' lunches while the family sat down to eat breakfast. In all these years she had never sat down to eat a meal with them. Maggie preferred to keep herself busy with the task at hand, any task really. She took their orders for lunch and made sandwiches according to their individual specifications. Thin cheese slices for Emily, three slices of devon for Brett.

Before too long, they had finished their breakfasts and were rushing about getting their bags packed. Maggie liked it least when it was time to say goodbye because Kathy insisted all three of them kiss and hug her. Affection was a confrontation and, in the face of it, she visibly tensed. Brett was first with his teenaged restraint and she could handle that because he disliked the routine almost as much as she did. A taut peck near her ear and a nice pat on the back – easy. David was next, he was more into cuddling than kissing so she could easily plant one on the top of his head as he threw his arms around her. Last, and most dreaded, was Emily, who planted three or four wet kisses on Maggie's lips, hugged her with tiny hands which travelled all over her back and then returned for one or two more kisses. She went through this charade purely for Kathy, as a thank you for the friendship she'd provided all these years.

•  •  •

As Kathy showered, Maggie washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen. When that was done, she busied herself with tidying the lounge room and was even able to make all of the children's beds before Kathy was ready. Maggie knew Kathy wouldn't notice her tidying until later that night.

Maggie usually won their traditional game of Scrabble but Kathy could be lucky with her letters on rare occasions. Today was one of those days. The secret, of course, was using all letters at once. Fifty bonus points could make all the difference.

They'd been playing for around an hour, sipping tea and passing time until they left for the train. Kathy was two points in front of Maggie and had just placed a word worth twelve, ‘human'. Maggie looked at her letters for three minutes until out of the blue, the word came to her. IERMOSE. She could intersect with Kathy's ‘M' to create ‘memories', thereby using all her letters. It was nearing the end of the game, there was no way Kathy could catch her now.

‘Memories,' Kathy said, getting up from the table to stretch her legs. ‘And fifty points! Quite a fitting word, though. I was just thinking about how our lunches began. How, when I first met you, I knew I'd get along with you. Remember? Emily had just been born; leaving her with my Mum once a month and doing something for myself was heaven for me.'

‘Yes, I'm sure it must have been,' Maggie said, not sure of where this was going.

‘You know, my mother wasn't much of a grandma to the boys when she was alive. I think she was afraid of kids, worried that she'd come to rely on them for something. When she died, I knew I'd never get over the grief of losing her, knew that I'd always feel like picking up the phone just to have a chat. I also thought that I'd never have anyone anywhere near as special as her. I just want you to know that I'm so glad you're in my life. You've made these past few years so much easier on me – and the kids adore you!'

‘Thank you, Kathy,' Maggie said bashfully. ‘I'm glad to be with you too.'

‘Just so long as you know how special you are to us all,' Kathy said, smiling. ‘Even Brett, though he'd never say it.'

‘Is there something in the air today?' Maggie said jokingly. ‘Everyone I know is telling me how special I am.'

‘Well, I hate you for beating me at Scrabble, but aside from that you're okay,' Kathy said, followed by a sly laugh.

They finished their game (Maggie won by thirty-two), and drove to the train. They were met at the station by the other ladies and there was something conspiratorial about the way they were huddled, and the fact that all four of them were there before Maggie and Kathy.

‘Well, hello, Mrs Apperton,' Cheryl announced. ‘The ladies and I have worked it out. Today marks our fifth anniversary of lunching and we owe it all to you, dear. From all of us, a big thank you for creating the club that brought us all together!' She produced a bottle of sparkling wine from a cooler bag and a beautifully wrapped gift for Maggie. Val started handing out plastic cups.

‘I, I . . . I'm totally stunned,' Maggie began, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Today has been the most marvellous day. I feel very special and this just takes the cake. Five years is hard to believe! I count all five of you as my closest friends and I thank you for this. Who would have thought after our first awkward lunch we would be here celebrating our fifth anniversary?'

‘The even better news,' said Cheryl, her voice raspy after a lifetime of smoking cigarettes, ‘is that Val and I pulled off a bit of a jackpot last night. Today's on us, ladies – no questions or arguments. Enjoy yourselves!'

By now they each had a cup of wine and were toasting toward the middle of the group.

Maggie led the cheer, ‘To us.'

Before the train arrived, Maggie opened the gift, relishing the moment. She was delighted to find a book signed by one of her favourite authors, some tools for her garden and a small bottle of perfume.

•  •  •

The six of them got quite silly on the journey to Sydney as the train rocked along the track and the bubbly started to take effect. The warm rays of the sun through the window and the alcohol had Maggie feeling particularly giddy.

Val had made a booking for them at a seafood restaurant right on the harbour's doorstep. It was set back from the boardwalk but still provided a lovely view of the Opera House and the coming and going ferries. Although several school excursions walked noisily past their table, Maggie couldn't have been happier with this restaurant. She usually found something appealing on the menu, the service was great and she always got a silent thrill knowing that the place purchased things from Marcus' company. She felt so happy, so lifted by the unexpected events of the morning. Love was something she didn't think about often, something she no longer knew how to express, yet here she was, on a day like any other, but for some reason she felt more loved, more alive, than since she was a young woman.

Lunchtime conversations began around what dish each one of them was thinking of choosing. They all read their menus aloud and discussed what took their fancy. Maggie was a fish lover – light and tasty, she found it perfect for lunch. She felt that red meat only went well with red wine and three or four glasses of red at lunch would have had her under the table. No, white wine was a lunch drink and fish was the perfect accompaniment.

Today she chose grilled barramundi for her main and a potato and fennel soup to begin with. The waiter took their orders and as he left they all began to giggle like schoolgirls. He was handsome in a manufactured way and they suspected he was gay. Of the five of them, Maggie had told only Kathy about Patrick, and that she disapproved of the path he had chosen for his life.

‘God, I love this city,' Brigette said.

‘You know, I've never really been to another one.' Maggie frowned as she took a bite of her bread roll.

‘What?' Cheryl said in astonishment.

‘Well, outside Australia, I mean. I was brought up in Melbourne, but that doesn't count.'

‘You ought to get Marcus to take you to visit Isabel,' Kathy said.

‘No, he'd never take a holiday . . . only business trips and then he's always gone alone. He once went to France for business and he said it was a complete waste of time, that the French are far too rude. He doesn't believe in expensive trips for leisure.'

‘How is Isabel going, Maggie? Have you heard from her?' Cheryl asked.

‘Oh yes, she writes these very long letters that come straight from her diary. It's strange, they read like a run-down of her daily itinerary and she shares some very odd situations. I think she writes them for Marcus more than me. They seem to share a special bond . . .'

‘Well . . .' Cheryl chuckled, ‘do tell.'

Maggie noticed that the other conversations around the table had stopped and each of the ladies was focused on her.

‘She wrote about an exhibition she saw at the Pompidou.' Goodness, I hope I don't sound pompous, she thought. ‘It was called “Masculine and Feminine”. In her letter, she wrote there were so many graphic depictions of genitals, or to use Isabel's words, “d's and c's and open a'holes” that she felt like a voyeur and had to run outside for fresh air for fear of throwing up.' It embarrassed Maggie to even intimate the words that Isabel had written deliberately to shock her.

‘She uses words like that to her
mother
?' Val questioned.

‘I think it's great that she does,' Cheryl said. ‘My kids are that open with me.'

‘Unfortunately, that's the irony,' Maggie sighed. ‘Isabel isn't at all open with me. In her letters she never asks about what's happening here – it's just “Dear Maggie and Dad”, and then she launches into a travelogue of events without saying how she really is, and whether she's seeing anyone . . . all those things a mother likes to know.'

‘Well, at least she writes,' Norma said into her glass of wine. She was referring to her own son, a merchant banker living in London.