The Fence (30 page)

June

Frankie swaddles Ruby in a towel. She smells so nice after her bath, all warm and sleepy. Now Bijoux has started at Gumnut two mornings a week, the house is quiet. Just her and Ruby, the way she likes it. Brandon has a job at Kuring-gai Public School teaching three days and is also working at the leisure centre qualifying as a swimming instructor. It means he's gone from the house all day Saturday and Sunday mornings as well. To give him his due, he has accepted the reversal in their roles without complaint. She knows he was petrified about looking after Ruby on his own. And anyway, the payout from Klaussman & Sons allowed them to pay down the mortgage enough that they can manage for now. Ruby Clementine has been a gift. She has forced them to mend their marriage and all the children have been calmer for it.

Frankie had always thought, after being the surrogate mother to her five siblings, that she would hate being home full-time but she has discovered it is different. When it's your own children, you care about their welfare in a way that is different to being a sister with an overbearing mother hovering in the background.

Ruby begins to whimper.

‘Are you hungry, Ruby Clementine?' Frankie coos. ‘Shall we give you your feed?'

Walking into the lounge room, she notices a huge removal truck backing into next-door's driveway. The house sold quickly. Green Valley Avenue is a desirable location and there were many potential buyers. Frankie was pleased to hear the price the Hills got. It augured well for their place should they ever sell, although Frankie isn't sure they will now. It's time to stay put and deal with life's challenges. It's what they should have done in the first place.

After her feed, she lays Ruby down for her nap and makes herself a cup of coffee. She drinks it watching the removalists unpack the truck. There is a drum kit, which is alarming, and as she stands there, she hears before she sees a black BMW with P-plates drive onto the grass verge. Music bellows out when a boy opens the door. Another teenager emerges from the passenger side. His name is Cooper, she surmises when the driver yells at him. A boy around twelve climbs out of the rear of the car.

‘Liam, hurry up,' the eldest shouts.

The parents arrive in a Mercedes, parking across Frankie's driveway.

‘Kai, get that car off the grass and park it on the road please,' yells the father in a strong South African accent.

It takes them the day to move in. Frankie keeps coming back to the picture window to see where they are up to. It seems Mr Hill's old workshop is being turned into some kind of teenage retreat. The eldest boy, Kai, struts around, bossing his brothers. After the quiet of living next door to the Hills, three rowdy teenagers will take a lot of getting used to.

After the first week, the enormity of the difference truly dawns on Frankie. The noise never stops. The only time the house is quiet is sometime between midnight and about 8 am. For starters, there are the cars. Not just the P-plater Kai and his black BMW doof-doofing in and out of the drive at all hours, the hotted-up engine growling up and down the street, but the new neighbours turn out to be sociable people. Kai and Cooper have a constant stream of mates coming to visit, piled into cars, spilling out onto the road in spontaneous games of cricket.

The two eldest boys are in a band and the workshop is their rehearsal space. Cooper is the drummer. Mates have been co-opted into the other roles. The bass player isn't bad, but whoever plays lead guitar is atrocious.

Frankie has begun making a quilt. She was walking past Lincraft the other day and decided to go in. When she was in her teens, she'd loved craft. There was something therapeutic about cutting out shapes, gluing stuff together. She had walked out of Lincraft with bags bulging with fabric offcuts, and she had not been able to pass the scrapbooking section. She is planning to make Ruby a scrapbook and a quilt for her cot.

Frankie digs her old sewing machine out of the garage. She moves the computer off her desk and sets up the machine. It will be temporary. Last week, Carol from HR rang on Tony's behalf. They've asked her to come back as a consultant to work on a new product line for the Hush Hush range. It's only three days a week and they're flexible on the hours. She told Carol she'll think about it but working full-time is not an option so she supposes she'll play them along until they offer her a better hourly rate and then say yes.

When Ruby goes down for her nap, Frankie decides it is time to see if she remembers how to sew. She's practising on a piece of cloth when the doorbell rings. Frankie checks the kitchen clock. It is only eleven, her mother is bringing lunch and it is not like her to be this early.

At the door stands a tall woman with short auburn hair. She has an open eager face and a deep tan for this time of year.

‘Megan Venter,' she says, extending her hand, ‘your new neighbour.'

Her handshake is firm. Frankie imagines long days on the tennis court strengthening her grip.

‘I know it's supposed to be the other way around, but I brought you this,' Megan says, handing Frankie a cyclamen in a pot.

Frankie feels she has no choice but to invite her in. ‘The baby's asleep,' she warns the woman.

‘Oh yes, you have little ones. I love them when they're small. You can pick them up and cart them around and they still think you're the boss.' Megan laughs, a rich warm sound filled with joy. ‘How many do you have?'

Frankie lists the children and their ages as she makes them both a coffee. Megan settles onto a kitchen stool.

‘Have you lived here long?' she asks.

‘A year this month.' Frankie pauses and recalculates the numbers. It feels an awful lot longer than a year.

‘Is that all? It seems like a nice neighbourhood. We've been on an executive lease for the past three months in this semi-­detached in Mosman but it was too small for the boys. Boys need space to stretch out. Well, mine do anyway.'

Butter gets up from his mat and nuzzles Megan's leg. ‘Hello boy,' she says, scratching him behind the ears. ‘Our dogs should arrive soon. They've been in quarantine.'

‘What sort of dogs are they?' Frankie passes Megan her coffee.

‘Dobermans. We've had them since they were pups, totally adorable.'

‘Dobermans!' Frankie tries to find a polite way of expressing how she feels, ‘Aren't they bred to be fairly aggressive?'

Megan laughs. ‘You obviously haven't met our two then. Rex and Princess are big sooks. They'll love meeting your children.'

Frankie isn't so sure and is quite glad when Megan finishes her coffee and says she has to fly. She hopes that will be the last she sees of her but Megan turns out to be a friendly neighbour. No matter that the gates are closed, Megan is one of those, ‘I just thought I'd knock on the off-chance' types. Frankie idly contemplates electrifying the fence to keep her out.

‘Living next door to the Hills was bad enough,' she complains to Brandon, ‘but the Venters are worse.'

Brandon laughs. He's had a good day. He's teaching Year Ones and has a great bunch of kids. As soon as he brings out his guitar, he tells her, they're putty in his hands. Work seems to be easier than he thought it would be. Maybe because he's older and there's something about teaching at the same school his kids go to that makes him feel more like he's part of a community.

Frankie punches his arm lightly. ‘Don't laugh at me, Brandy. You're not the one who's home all day.' She dodges his kiss and goes to the lounge room window. She used to hate the fact that you could see over the fence from here when the Hills were neighbours. Now she suffers a perverse fascination with the goings-on next door. Right now, there is a jam session happening in the garage. There's been no noticeable improvement in their performance. She gathers they fancy themselves as the successors to AC/DC as they play several of their songs horrendously.

Amber pulls a dining chair over so she can look too. ‘What's that?' she says, pointing at the youngest boy who is dragging sheets of plywood and masonite onto the lawn. They watch as he gathers his materials – two timber batons, boxes of screws and nails, and a long piece of steel.

‘I've no idea,' says Frankie, gathering Amber into a cuddle, ‘but I suspect that whatever he's building won't be pleasant.'

Ruby wakes and Frankie feeds her, before dressing her leg and putting her on the bunny rug to play in a sunny corner. Marigold and Bijoux join her, Bijoux lying on her back and batting at the mobile to make it jingle, Marigold nursing Grow Up Daisy who now has a missing leg. ‘So Ruby won't be lonely,' Marigold explained. The whine of a circular saw starts up, the band keep rehearsing, the noise never stops.

The father Jerry is helping Liam and their project is now a triangular timber shape.

‘It's a kicker ramp,' Brandon says, handing Frankie a coffee.

‘What's that?' she asks.

‘For a skateboard. Pretty snazzy ramp too.'

‘Skateboarding?' Frankie's heart sinks.

Sure enough, in the afternoon, in the brief respite after band practice, the skateboard ramp gets its first tryout.

‘Mummy, can we go over and play?' ask Amber and Silver.

‘What about me?' Marigold whinges, ‘I want to go too.'

‘No, sweethearts, I've told you before, you are to leave the boys next door alone. They're much bigger than you.'

‘But I have a skateboard, I want to play on the ramp.'

‘You do not have a skateboard. You're too little.'

‘No, I'm not. I'll show you.'

Amber runs to her room and returns with a dusty pink skateboard with blue wheels.

‘Where did you get that?'

Amber studies her feet. ‘I found it.'

‘Where did you find it?'

‘Outside.'

‘Outside where, Amber Desmarchelliers-Boyd?'

‘On the road.'

‘You found a skateboard that just happened to be sitting on the road. Is that the truth, Amber?'

Silver looks sideways at his sister and Frankie guesses he knows all about it. Gone are the illusions that her children are immune from fibbing, making bad choices and generally being as flawed as the next person, herself included. Knowing this has made her a better parent. Not a great parent but better for not defending their every action and mistake.

‘Well, wherever it came from, you are certainly not going next door to ride the skateboard ramp. Is that clear?'

The twins nod, though Amber pouts in disappointment.

Frankie softens. Poor Amber is too young to understand that teenage boys do not want a five year old tagging along. ‘Look, why don't you practise riding in our driveway. Maybe once you're good enough, Daddy might build you a skateboard ramp of your own.' She turns to Brandon. ‘What d'you reckon, Brandy?'

Brandon looks up from his guitar and smiles. ‘Could be a plan.'

*

Despite the fact she is in and out of Gumnut all the time, Frankie is surprised to see Mrs Hill. She knew she hadn't retired from her special helper role, it's just that she doesn't seem to be undertaking that role anywhere near as often as she used to. And today, here she is. Frankie's picking up the middle two and sees the old woman heaping straw around the plants in the vegetable garden. The children are helping her, their expressions showing how much they enjoy spreading the spent hay around. Marigold has a bucket and is collecting snails.

‘When you think you've found enough, Marigold, I'll pour some hot water over them and we'll feed them to the chooks,' says Mrs Hill.

The chickens seem aware there is a treat coming. Their beady eyes are pressed to the wire of their coop.

As she turns, Mrs Hill catches Frankie's eye. She raises her hand in a salute, Frankie waves back. She's aged, Frankie thinks. Whenever she does think about Gwen Hill, which is not often, the image in her mind is of a sprightly woman, like a little sparrow jumping here and there, always on the move, its eye alight to opportunity. But the woman walking towards her has none of the vim and vigour of the old Mrs Hill. As the old lady stands in front of her and says hello, Frankie sees she is tired, but says, ‘You look well.'

*

‘So do you,' Gwen replies, though she thinks Francesca looks tired. Diane told her about what had happened to the baby and she wills herself not to look at where the little leg had once been. Francesca Desmarchelliers keeps the child swaddled, who knows what it looks like beneath the wrap.

‘You're still helping out then?' Francesca says.

Gwen looks at the children who are playing with the straw rather than protecting the young plants. She says, ‘I wouldn't give this up for quids.'

Really what she should say is, it stops me from getting lonely. Oh, since Val's moved into Paradise Gardens, she's constantly on at her to join in. Gwen's drawn the limit at bridge on a Friday. A little bit of Val is all she can take. But she is finally learning French like she told Babs all those months ago. There's a fun crowd at the U3A practising their conversation every Thursday. ‘
Voulez-vous une tasse du thé
?' she warbles feeling ever so sophisticated when offering a cuppa.

The sad news is that Eric is now in the nursing home section of Paradise Gardens. After that incident with the stove, there was no choice. Gwen had come home from Gumnut to find Eric had dismantled the stove. Bits of it were laid out on newspaper all over the kitchenette floor and he was attempting to put it back together again.

‘Eric, what on earth are you doing?' she'd said.

‘The element's buggered,' Eric replied, as he poked at some loose wires hanging out the back.

It wasn't broken, well, not before Eric attacked it. It was lucky he hadn't electrocuted himself. So it was off to the nursing home section for him. Never mind Gwen's feelings on the subject, the manager said he was a risk to himself and others. The worst of it is that since he's been in the nursing home, Eric's health has declined. Being vascular dementia, all his parts are failing him one by one – his heart, his kidneys. Gwen visits him every day but Eric's moments of lucidity are rare. He won't even pick up a piece of sandpaper. Last time she tried to engage him with one of his
Vintage Dollhouse
magazines, he turned his back on her and pretended to fall asleep. It's hard to reconcile that her Eric isn't in there anymore. His failing brain has locked her darling away. She tries not to dwell on it. It only leads to tears and she's never been one for self-pity. That's why she joined the community garden group at the village. Planting out brassicas with the other Garden Gnomes (as the group is unofficially called) is far more therapeutic than wallowing.