The Last Anniversary (24 page)

Grace looks at her sharply, almost angrily. ‘You didn’t tell me that!’

‘Didn’t I? I know I told Callum. You mustn’t have been there.’

She waits for Grace to do the obligatory flutter of female excitement but she just looks irritated. ‘Are you interested in either of them?’

‘It’s too early to tell.’

‘Well, that’s just great.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Sophie stares in bewilderment at Grace, who has begun massaging her forehead with her fingertips. ‘What’s just great?’

Grace looks up. ‘Sorry. I keep getting these horrendous headaches and I can feel another one coming on. Do you mind if we finish this another day?’

‘Of course not. You poor thing. You must get home and lie down.’

As they are locking up the house, Grace says urgently, ‘I’ll talk to you soon, OK?’

Sophie watches Grace walk off down the hill, her hands jammed in the pockets of her fleece, her shoulders slumped.

It must be a very bad headache.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that Sophie has two men after her?’

Callum glances briefly up at Grace from his newspaper with unfocused eyes, all his attention still on whatever he’s been reading. ‘I don’t know. I guess I thought you already knew.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Well, now you do.’

He’s reading again. Grace feels a surge of teeth-grinding irritation. The stupid man is going to let her slip through his fingers!

‘I don’t think either of them is very well suited to her,’ she says. ‘Actually, I think
you’d
be a better match.’

Callum chuckles and turns the page of his paper. ‘Pity for her I’m taken.’

Grace digs her nails into the palms of her hands. This isn’t working. He doesn’t even sound that interested! She’s going to have to plant the idea in his mind. ‘Actually, I think she really likes you.’

‘As a friend.’

‘No, she
like
-likes you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.’

Callum looks up properly now. ‘What is this? You’re not seriously worried about Sophie, are you?’

Retreat, retreat! He’s so bloody principled, if she acts jealous he won’t have anything more to do with Sophie. She just needs him to feel flattered. ‘Of course not. I’m just saying that if you were single I think she’d be after you.’

‘Well, I’m not single and I don’t want to be single ever again, thanks. I hated being single.’ The expression on his face is so guileless and genuine that Grace has to look away, embarrassed by his naked, sooky niceness.

He says, ‘Are you OK, honey? Is everything OK? You don’t seem yourself.’

‘No, you just don’t
want
this to be myself.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘This
is
myself. You’ve always had some idea of me that doesn’t exist.’ As she says this she feels that it is, in fact, true. He has refused to see her true ugliness. It’s exhausting and not very fair having to pretend all the time.

Callum carefully folds the newspaper and runs his thumb along the crease. ‘What do you mean, Grace?’

‘You just see what you want to see.’ She lets her cheeks and her mouth be dragged downwards into the face of a sad clown. Let him see.

‘I don’t know what you’re accusing me of. I don’t even know what we’re talking about.’ There is just the slightest tremor in his voice.

‘You don’t know me.’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake, Grace, you’re my wife. You’re the mother of my child!’

‘No need to get dramatic. You said I don’t seem myself, and I’m telling you,
this is myself.
Take it or leave it.’

He flinches as if she’s slapped him. His eyes are watery and frightened.

Grace leaves the room, her legs trembling.

Join us for a night of intrigue and illumination! The Anniversary of the Mysterious Disappearance of Alice and Jack Munro in 1932 is one of the most exciting events on the Scribbly Gum Island calendar. It’s the one night of the year when non-island residents are allowed to stay on the island after sunset. The main street of the island is lined with food stalls, lit by hundreds of glittering fairy lights and warmed by giant heaters. (But please do rug up, as it can be chilly!) The theme of the night is MYSTERY! There will be MYSTERY LUCKY DIPS, MYSTERY PRIZES and MYSTERIOUS ENTERTAINMENT, such as magicians, dancers, fire breathers and tarot-card readers! Meet some of the people involved in the Alice and Jack Mystery–like ROSE DOUGHTY, one of the two sisters who first discovered the abandoned home, and ENIGMA McNABB, the baby (now a Grandma!) who was found in such mysterious circumstances! FREE FACE PAINTING FOR EVERY GUEST!

HURRY! LIMITED TICKETS AVAILABLE! Only $75 (including GST) a head. SPECIAL NOTE: THE ISLAND GETS
VERY COLD
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‘What do you mean, you can’t make it? What sort of talk is that?’

‘I just can’t make it this year.’

‘I feel jolly well offended you’d even suggest such a thing!’

‘Oh, Mum, please, there’s no need to be!’

‘Some sort of Weight Watchers
party
, did you say?’

‘Not exactly. It’s more of a function, I guess you’d call it.’

‘Wouldn’t be much of a party, would it? Everyone standing around chomping on celery sticks, looking miserable and skinny. I know where I’d rather be!’

‘It’s not really anything to do with Weight Watchers. It’s just somebody from Weight Watchers has asked me to go to this thing.’

‘And you said yes! To this
thing
! You actually said yes! You can’t just not be here! You’ve always been here for the Anniversary. Every year of your entire life!’

Enigma is utterly baffled. She can’t believe that Margie is being so uncharacteristically
wilful.
Laura was the naughty one. Margie was a good, pliable girl, which seemed only fair, what with all the problems that Laura caused. And now here Margie is at the age of fifty-five saying she ‘can’t make it’ to the Anniversary and pressing her lips together as if that’s all there is to say on the matter. People can’t just go changing their personalities willy-nilly when they’re middle-aged.

Suddenly Enigma snaps her fingers triumphantly. ‘Aha! I know what this is all about. It’s
The Change
!’

‘Oh Lord, Mum. I’m not menopausal.’

Enigma surveys her daughter through narrowed eyes. She looks different.
Skinnier!
She leans forward and points with an accusing finger. ‘Margaret Anne! You’ve lost weight!’

Margie sighs. ‘Well, yes, Mum. I’ve lost two stone. I’m nearly at my goal weight. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed before.’

‘Well, I don’t look at you when I see you every day, do I? No need to get offended. I expect you do have the menopause. Your face is quite pink.’

‘That’s because I’m feeling frustrated. I still think we should cancel the Anniversary this year as a mark of respect to Connie.’

Enigma cries, ‘Connie would
never
want the Anniversary cancelled.’

‘I guess that’s true.’ Margie smiles slightly. Her face is thinner, notices Enigma. It makes everything about her seem more definite. ‘Well, I’ve organised everything for the night, Mum. The staff are really very competent, you know. It will all run like clockwork. And the whole family will be there. Rose, Thomas and Debbie, Veronika, Grace and Callum, Sophie–you won’t even notice I’m not there!’

Enigma decides to hold off bursting into tears. ‘Of course I’ll notice. Both my daughters deserting me! What will people think? My parents deserted me seventy-three years ago and now my daughters do the same thing.’ It’s true! Enigma is pleased to feel a genuine tickling sensation in her nose as she considers how poorly she has been treated.

‘It sounds like you’re starting to believe your own publicity, Mum.’

‘I beg your pardon? I don’t know what that means. Are you trying to sound sophisticated or something? All I know is that the Anniversary is very important to me.’

‘Is it?’ Margie looks at her mother curiously. ‘But why?’

‘What do you mean, why? It’s a special family event. We have fun! And it’s about my life, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, Mum, let’s be honest. The Anniversary is about business. It’s about cash flow.’

Enigma carefully pulls out her hanky from her handbag and takes a deep shuddery breath. It’s time for tears.

Veronika puts down her pen and blows her nose. She is at the tail end of her flu and still feels a little weak and light-headed. She ended up having to stay at Aunt Connie’s house with Sophie for two days. She could barely walk! Sophie had made her chicken soup and even rubbed Vicks on her back, which Veronika found soothing, as well as…disturbing.

‘Hello!’

Veronika looks up suspiciously. A girl with shiny black hair stands in front of her, holding a coffee mug and a plate with a large Florentine biscuit. She says, ‘I know you from the gym! Boxercise for the Broken Hearted!’

It’s that annoying Asian girl who always kicks with the wrong leg or punches with the wrong arm. Veronika says, ‘Oh yes, I recognise you.’

‘I’m so uncoordinated in that class!’

‘Well, yes, you are,’ says Veronika.

‘I’m not sure if I’m broken-hearted any more, but the class is still fun, isn’t it? Shall I join you?’

Before Veronika has a chance to say anything the girl is sitting at her table, putting her coffee and biscuit down, flicking back her hair. ‘What’s that you’re working on?’

‘It’s an ad I’m putting in the paper.’

‘A personal ad?’ The girl dimples at her.

‘Well, no. I’m trying to solve a mystery.’

‘Aren’t we all! Want some of my biscuit?’

‘All right.’

Veronika takes a bite of the biscuit. It’s delicious: sweet and crunchy. The girl raises her eyebrows at Veronika over the rim of her coffee mug. Her almond-shaped eyes are so dark they’re almost black. Her fingers on the handle of her mug are long and fragile, like an artist’s. She bites her nails. She’s wearing a ring with a tiny green stone.

Veronika has the funniest, most exhilarating feeling that a far more interesting mystery than Alice and Jack is about to be solved.

Sophie is in her dressing gown, getting ready for her first date with Ian the Sweet Solicitor, when Grace turns up unexpectedly. The baby is in a sling against her chest, a dimpled tiny hand clutching Grace’s shirt.

‘Hello, Jake! Look at you!’ Sophie, besotted as always, runs a finger along the curve of his creamy flushed cheek. His brown eyes rest inquisitively on Sophie and then dart away, intrigued by something over her shoulder.

‘Are you going out?’ asks Grace abruptly. There are purplish shadows under her eyes, which would make anyone else look haggard. They make Grace look ethereal.

‘It’s my first date with Aunt Connie’s lawyer tonight,’ says Sophie, feeling both juvenile and ancient. Here is Grace, at least five years younger than her, a mother and a wife, while Sophie is still going out on first dates.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Grace. ‘I won’t stay then. I just wanted to talk to you about something.’

‘Oh, well, come in. I’ve got time for a quick cup of tea. I’m getting ready hours too early of course.’ Why must she always
babble
in Grace’s presence? ‘Did your headache get better yesterday?’

Grace lifts Jake from his sling. ‘Would you like to hold him? I can make the tea.’

‘Oh, of course.’

So Sophie is in the middle of trying to make the baby laugh by blowing raspberries against his tummy, messing up her carefully blow-dried hair, when Grace makes her announcement.

‘I’m thinking of leaving Callum.’

‘Grace!’ Sophie feels a thud of fear, guilt, and beneath it all a tiny, quickly suppressed twinge of excitement.

‘Don’t say anything to him please. Will you promise not to say anything?’

‘Of course.’ Wonderful. More promises to keep secrets that probably shouldn’t be kept. ‘But you’ve got to talk about this to him. He adores you, Grace.’

‘No he doesn’t. Not really.’

‘I expect it’s just both of you adjusting to the new baby. Everybody says it’s such a difficult time.’

‘We’ve been having problems for ages.’

‘Oh.’

Sophie doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t have the same sort of relationship with Grace as she does with her other girlfriends. With them she’d be firing questions and getting every detail. But Grace is so forbidding.

‘What about the baby?’ she says finally, thinking of how much Callum adores his son. He’d be devastated if Grace took Jake away.

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Ggggggg!’ comments Jake cheerfully, trying hard to put his big toe in his mouth.

Sophie can see his whole future in an instant: being shuttled back and forth between two homes, overhearing Mum and Dad snarling at each other about child support, hating Mummy’s new boyfriend (although perhaps rather liking Daddy’s lovely new girlfriend?). Oh stop it, this isn’t a game, this is a marriage!

‘What about counselling?’ she asks Grace. ‘I’ve got two lots of friends seeing the same counsellor at the moment. Apparently he’s very good and he gives you receipts that say “professional development” so you can claim it as a tax deduction. I’ll get you his number. Actually, I can get you his number right now, if you want?’

Grace looks horrified by the offer. ‘No, no, I don’t want to talk about it with anyone. I just thought I’d tell you. Actually, I won’t stay. I’ll just, well, I’ll just…go. Have a good night.’

She lifts the baby from Sophie’s arms and is gone before the kettle begins to boil.

Grace walks back up the hill, Jake’s warm body swinging against her chest, her heart thudding.

Well, she sure does like your dad, Jake. She’ll treat him differently now she knows I’m thinking of leaving. I’ve given her permission to touch his arm, to hold eye-contact. I’ve opened the door just a fraction, just enough to get them underway. You’ll all three be very happy together. You’ll have a lovely mummy and daddy. I’ll give them two more weeks. I can manage two more weeks. Up until the Anniversary. I’ll get the tax returns done, so Callum doesn’t have to worry about it. Paperwork gives him eczema. I hope Sophie is good with paperwork. Have all the washing up-to-date. I’ll leave lots of food in the freezer. Sophie only seems to make cakes–and they’re not very good–but I guess Margie will help cook for them. There’ll be that life-insurance payout, so that will be handy. It will look like an accident.

She takes a deep breath of the cold air. Yes. She feels better than she has in weeks.

Ian the Sweet Solicitor doesn’t put a first-date foot wrong. He is charming and intelligent, not sickeningly smooth but attentive and sweet. He clears his throat when they are given a table next to the kitchen’s constantly swinging door and courteously but firmly asks if they can be moved. Sophie likes both the nervy clearing of the throat and the firmness.

She asks him about the scar under his eye.

‘I wish I’d got it fighting a duel,’ he says. ‘Or at least playing some sort of rugged, masculine sport. But it’s actually a chickenpox scar from when I was eleven.’

‘Chickenpox!’ cries Sophie. ‘It’s not even a nice disease!’

‘Would it help if I nearly died from it?’

‘Nope. It’s too itchy to ever be romantic.’

He has no problem with Sophie choosing the wine. He asks questions about her life but doesn’t demand to know who she votes for, or why she’s still single, or whether she likes oral sex. He is interested in her work without being patronising. He doesn’t show off. He is nice to their waitress. He has nice hands. He doesn’t grip his knife and fork or stick his elbows out.

He drives an expensive car but doesn’t appear to be in love with it.

He is divorced, but doesn’t seem bitter and weird about it.

He kisses her goodnight and it’s lovely and he smells divine. His tongue doesn’t slither in and out of her mouth like an eager lizard. His teeth don’t smash against hers.

‘I’ll call,’ he says, and she knows that he will.

Ian the Sweet Solicitor is an absolute catch.

As she drifts off to sleep she thinks of Callum and Grace. Their relationship probably began with a perfect first date like this. And now look.

That night she dreams she’s in bed with Ian. He’s lying on one elbow, smiling down at her, and Sophie is trying to hide her revulsion because he’s covered in horrible chickenpox spots. ‘He’s just a poxy lawyer,’ says Callum, sitting on the end of her bed, holding Jake. Sophie laughs and laughs.