Flying the Coop (23 page)

‘Of course I do!' Chris grinned. ‘Mind you, I'm going to remove his voice-box if Michael doesn't keep his fingers off the damn thing.'

‘Just tell him it'll send him blind, love. That always worked for me.' Dot settled herself back into her chair and then looked reflective. ‘That is, not me
myself
– I meant my son.'

‘You've got a son?' asked Chris with interest, focusing on the least confusing part of Dot's statement.

‘Yes. He's very successful.'

‘Is he your only child?'

‘That's right. My one and only.' Dot sighed as she removed her glasses and tucked them back into her handbag. ‘I always wanted a big brood, you know. But that's the way the cookie crumbles.'

‘Do you see him often?'

‘Not often enough.' Dot shoved her bag over to one end of the table and then picked up her champagne glass. ‘But enough about me. You don't want t'hear all my trials and tribulations.'

‘Oh, but we
do
,' Chris said earnestly. ‘You know everything about us and, really, we know next to nothing about you. Like – what happened to your husband?'

‘My
husband
?' repeated Dot, looking at Chris quizzically. ‘Why, nothing's happened t'him, love. Whatever do you mean?'

‘Actually . . . I'm not sure . . .' Chris cast Jenny a ‘help me out' look.

‘Have some more champagne, Dot.' Jenny topped up the older woman's glass. ‘There you go. Drink up.'

‘Talking of names,' said Dot suddenly, although they had been doing no such thing, ‘young Zoe was telling me how you spell your name – Christin. Is that foreign?'

‘Oh no,' Chris laughed. ‘My father was supposed to write “Christine” on the birth registration form but he forgot the “e”. So my mother insisted on calling me Christin. To make a point. My parents were
always
trying to score points off each other.'

‘They sure were,' Jenny smiled nostalgically. ‘And so polite about it, too. Somehow that made it worse.'

Chris grimaced. ‘You should have tried living with it.'

‘That doesn't sound very pleasant, love.'

‘It wasn't, really. Still isn't. They should have split up years ago. Totally incompatible.'

‘Not necessarily.' Dot dipped a cracker into the dip and looked pensive. ‘Perhaps that's just their way. They probably enjoy it.'

‘Like verbal sparring?' asked Jenny with interest. ‘You know, Chris, I think she's right. And look, they're still together, aren't they?'

‘True,' Chris shrugged. ‘Which is more than can be said for you or me.'

‘Don't remind me.'

‘You know, love –' Dot took a bite out of the cracker and then pointed the remainder at Jenny – ‘you shouldn't upset yourself about your hubby. Plenty more fish in the sea for a pretty thing like yourself. I'll take you square dancing with me next Saturday, if you like. We'll find someone who'll treat you right.'

‘I'd just settle for someone who doesn't bonk his administration staff.'

‘I think you want t'aim a little higher than that,' said Dot seriously. ‘That is, if
bonk
means what I think it means.'

‘It does.'

The three women fell silent for a few moments, each lost in her own contemplations. Chris thought briefly about Garth and then dismissed that subject as too boring. Instead, she wondered curiously about the email that Dot had just sent, and resolved to retrieve it tomorrow and check it out.

‘Jerk,' said Jenny, breaking the silence. ‘Absolute
jerk
.'

‘Yes, love, you keep telling yourself that.' Dot hoisted her bulk out of the chair. ‘And now I'm off t'the ladies room. Back in a tick.'

‘This isn't working,' Chris said as soon as Dot had left the room. ‘She's going to drink us under the table at this rate.'

‘I know,' Jenny laughed. ‘I'm feeling decidedly pissed.'

‘You'll just have to ask her outright.'

‘Me? Why me?'

‘Because if she takes offence it won't matter,' Chris said reasonably. ‘
You
don't have to live next door to her.'

‘And if you go bankrupt, then you won't have to either!'

‘I'm declaring this a non-business night.' Chris drained her glass and then stood it next to the champagne bottle for a refill. ‘Which means that, for one evening at least, I refuse to (a) discuss, (b) contemplate, or (c) worry about the business. There'll be time enough for that tomorrow. Which, incidentally, is the last day before the door sales begin and we have such a list of work to get done that you'll be wishing you'd thrown
Stuart
out instead of yourself.'

‘Firstly, I didn't
throw
myself out.' Jenny looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Is that even possible? Anyway, secondly, if you're going to have a non-business night, then I'm going to have a non-Stuart night. Figuratively as well as literally.'

‘What does that even mean?'

‘It means that, together, we're having a “no fucking worries” night,' Jenny announced grandiosely, sweeping her arms
out as she did so and sending her near-empty champagne glass flying. Fortunately Chris was neither eating nor drinking at that particular moment and was thus able to catch the glass as it tumbled off the table.

She placed it down by the champagne bottle. ‘Do you mind?'

‘And we can just call it a “no fu'rries” night for short.'

‘Whatever.' Chris got up and went over to the sink, picking up the sponge and throwing it across to Jenny. ‘Here, clean up your mess and I'll find us something more to eat.'

‘No fu'rries!'

Chris opened the freezer and stared at the contents, hoping for inspiration. While she stared, Dot came back into the room and settled herself into her chair with her usual sigh. Then she frowned across the room at Chris.

‘Lost something, love?'

‘No.' Chris removed a pizza packet and closed the freezer. ‘This'll do for supper, what do you think?'

‘No fu'rries!'

‘I've
always
wanted t'give pizza a try,' said Dot delightedly.

‘You've never tried pizza?' Chris paused in her endeavours to free it from its protective wrapping. ‘
Never
?'

‘Never.'

‘That's good. Now listen, Dot . . .' Jenny finished wiping the spillage and then threw the sponge back over towards the sink, missing by about a foot. ‘We've decided the rest of the evening is “no fu'rries” night. What that means is, Chris and I aren't allowed to talk about anything that worries us – like ex-husbands, farms, stuff like that. Which only leaves you, I'm afraid. So fess up – what's the go?'

‘
Jenny
!' Chris, who had been picking up the sponge off the floor, glared at her friend.

‘What? You
wanted
me to ask!'

‘Yes, but maybe a little more subtly!'

‘Do you know, love –' Dot picked up the champagne bottle and refilled each of the glasses – ‘this is
all
different for me. I never drink champagne, or eat pizza. And you're even using words I don't know. Like what's “fu'rries”?'

‘Oh, it just means no worries,' Chris answered before Jenny could. ‘You know, problem-free.'

‘I see.' Dot frowned. ‘Is it short for no fucking worries?'

‘Ah . . . yes.'

‘Lovely.' Dot took a sip of champagne. ‘So what is it you want t'know?'

‘About you?' asked Jenny.

‘Yes, about me.'

‘All right then.' Jenny shot Chris a look of triumph. ‘Let's start with your son. How old is he, and is he single? Oh, and is he nice looking?'

‘Jenny!'

‘What? I'm only thinking of you!'

‘Well, don't,' Chris said crossly as she turned her back and slid the pizza into the oven. ‘The last thing I want is another jerk. Oh god, sorry, Dot, I didn't mean that.'

‘No fu'rries,' said Dot happily. ‘But for your information, he's just turned forty, and he's divorced. And very handsome. Here, I'll show you a photo.' Dot reached for her bag again and took out her purse, from which she extracted a passport-sized photo. She passed it across.

‘
Very
nice,' commented Jenny approvingly.

Chris set the oven timer and came over behind Jenny to peer at the photo she was now holding. And was pleasantly surprised to see that Dot's son
was
rather good looking, which meant that she wouldn't have to pretend. His was a weathered, outdoorsy sort of face, with slim, rather chiselled features, vivid blue eyes, and dark hair that sprang out from his forehead. In
the photo he was smiling, a wide, generous smile that creased his eyes and suggested he had just shared a joke with the photographer. Altogether, he looked attractive, and nice, and strangely familiar. Chris frowned as she tried to place the resemblance.

‘Finished?' asked Jenny. When Chris nodded, she passed the photo back to Dot, who smiled at it briefly and then tucked it away in her purse.

‘He looks a lot like his father,' she said as she shoved her bag under the table again.

‘Ah-
ha
,' said Jenny triumphantly. ‘So there
is
a father?'

‘No, Jen,' sneered Chris, as she gave up trying to pin down the elusive likeness. ‘Almost forty-one years ago, Dot was out frolicking in the fields and a voice said unto her, have faith in me, young Dorothy, and come –'

‘Actually,' said Dot musingly, ‘that's about what
did
happen.'

‘Too much information.' Jenny looked askance. ‘
Much
too much.'

‘Okay, my turn.' Chris took a sip of her champagne and then regarded Dot contemplatively. ‘First – are you still married?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then where –?' Chris paused for a second as something suddenly occurred to her. ‘Oh,
I
know! He's not well!'

‘He's not?' Dot visibly paled.

‘Well, that would explain why we never see him!'

‘We don't?'

‘Well, no. I mean, he's always in your house.'

‘What!' Dot looked at her with astonishment. ‘He
is
? When?'

‘Hang on.' Jenny put up one hand. ‘We seem to be at cross-purposes here. And I think I know the problem. Dot, you think Chris already knows your husband, don't you?'

‘Of course she does.'

‘But I
don't
.' Chris looked confused. ‘I've only met you and – oh my
god
!'

‘That's
his
opinion, love,' said Dot dryly, ‘but really, he's decidedly human.'

‘You're married to Mac!
That's
who your son looks like!'

‘I
did
say he looked like his father,' said Dot self-righteously. ‘I thought you knew.'

‘And
that's
who you were emailing before! Neil Mackaway!'

‘That's right. He lives in Sydney.'

‘All becomes clear!' Jenny grinned at Chris and then turned curiously to Dot. ‘But you don't live with your husband?'

‘Heavens, no! Not for almost fifteen years.'

‘Well, what happened?' Jenny leant forward. ‘
Something
must've happened to split you two up. Can you tell us?'

‘I suppose so.' Dot made herself a bit more comfortable and then folded her hands in her lap. ‘There's nothing special about our story – as you know yourself, love.' She flashed Jenny a sympathetic glance. ‘But in my day, marriage was for life. I'm not saying that's right, mind you, but that's the way it was.'

‘He played around?' asked Jenny, her eyes still fixed on Dot.

‘Yes. Almost from the beginning. And every time I found out, there'd be promises that he'd never do it again, and flowers and so forth. I did leave, once, and took Neil with me t'my parents' place. But they sent me back.' Dot paused and examined her square-ish fingernails. ‘They said a marriage was for better or worse.'

‘How horrible!'

‘Oh, not really.' Dot shrugged philosophically. ‘There's a lot worse. He never hit me, or treated me badly.'

‘Yes, he did!' said Chris, incensed.

‘Well, apart from that. I know it sounds silly, but we
did
have a good marriage. I learnt t'turn a blind eye.'

‘But then why'd you end up leaving?' asked Jenny, fascinated.

‘Because I walked in on him. And, believe me, you
can't
forgive someone when you've seen them with their corduroys round their ankles.'

‘Poor you!' said Chris aghast.

‘Details, please,' demanded Jenny.

‘I'm not boring you?' Dot frowned at them, and they both shook their heads emphatically. ‘All right then, if you like. Well, I went up to Sydney t'spend a week with Neil – he'd only just moved up there – and I decided t'come back a day early. But I didn't let him know.'

‘You wanted to catch him,' said Jenny slowly.

‘I wanted t'
test
him,' corrected Dot. ‘So I caught a taxi from the train station and walked in – and there they were. In the office.'

‘In the
office
!' Chris involuntarily glanced over Jenny's shoulder and into the room where she had spent so much of the last week.

‘On the desk,' continued Dot.

‘Oh, dear lord!' Chris turned her head away.

‘So what did you do?' breathed Jenny.

‘Walked straight back out, picked up my suitcase again, and took the car round t'my sister's. She used t'live in Badger's Creek. Then I rang up Neil and told him t'get down here and sort out a settlement because I wasn't going back. I didn't want t'use lawyers and I knew Neil would be fair to us both. I could have made him sell the farm, you know, t'pay me off. But I didn't.'