The Secret Ingredient (3 page)

‘Andie?'

‘Short for Andrea,' Tasha explained to the hairdresser. She had Gia today, she liked Gia, she was a good listener. Much better than . . . whatsername – Alicia? Alanna? Whoever she'd had last week. That girl couldn't stop talking about herself.

‘She's his current wife. He was married once before as well.'

‘That doesn't bother you?'

‘Why should it? The first wife is ancient history now. She was old-school, you know, stayed at home, had the babies . . .
Boring!
Ross totally outgrew her. He's so dynamic, so
young
for a forty-nine-year-old. I mean, I don't even think of him as that age, he's, like, only a couple of years younger than my dad. But he's, like, a whole other generation.'

‘Just tilt your head forward,' said Gia. ‘That's it, great . . . So he's forty-nine, did you say? That's not so old, not for a guy.'

‘Exactly. For a guy, it's like his prime,' Tasha agreed.

‘So what went wrong with the current wife?'

‘Well, Ross totally believed this “Andie” was his soulmate, but she's turned out to be worse than the first. She used to be ambitious, it was one of the things that attracted him to her, he told me. Apparently she was this amazing chef with loads of potential, but now she just works in a shop.'

‘Really? What kind of shop?'

‘It's a deli, gourmet foodie place. You know the kind of thing. Ross had to buy it for her to give her something to do.'

‘All right for some.'

‘I know, right?' said Tasha. It was so good to talk to someone who totally got it. ‘It gets worse. She absolutely vowed to Ross that she never wanted kids. That was the agreement when they got married. And now she's gone and changed her mind, just like that.'

‘No!'

‘Yes,' Tasha confirmed. ‘I mean, how could you do that to a guy? Totally sucks. He's shit-scared she's going to trick him, stop taking the pill, and it's not like he can wear a condom without her knowing.'

‘So they're still having sex?'

‘Oh, hardly ever,' she dismissed. ‘He's trying to avoid it as much as he can without her getting suspicious, you know? He tells her he's working late, or he's at the gym, when he's with me. And he's not drinking at the moment, so he's got his wits about him.'

‘Sounds totes stressful.'

‘Tell me about it. I just say to him, I say, Ross, baby, walk away. You can move in with me. But you know, it's not that easy. The first wife sucked him dry, and it's taken him ten years to get back on his feet. If he leaves the current Mrs Corcoran, well, he'll get screwed all over again.'

‘Didn't he protect himself this time around? Like, he didn't put the shop in her name, did he?'

‘He didn't have a choice,' Tasha insisted. ‘They had to put it in her name because of taxes and that, even though he bankrolled the whole business. The thing is, it's not like he planned for this to happen. He's so not like that, he's way too trusting. So she'll get the business, as well as half of everything else.'

Gia frowned, looking at Tasha's reflection in the mirror. ‘But wouldn't he get half of her assets as well? I think that's the way it works.'

‘Not according to Ross,' Tasha maintained. ‘Like with his first wife, she got way more than half of everything, yet she's this kick-arse property developer, making a fortune.'

‘The first wife?' said Gia. ‘I thought you said she was old-school, stayed at home with the kids?'

What was this now, an inquisition?

‘Well, yeah, while she had Ross to support her she stayed home and did nothing. Seriously, all he's ever done is try to look after the people he loves, and they've taken advantage of him, again and again. I say to him, it's a wonder you want to take the risk again with me.'

Gia just nodded as she combed a hank of Tasha's hair upwards. Was she even listening?

‘But then he says he's never met anyone like me,' Tasha said loudly. ‘He's never felt so alive. He said he feels like he's twenty years younger and all his life's ahead of him. Because of
me
,' she emphasised.

‘Wow . . .'

‘I know, right. Wow,' she said.

‘So do you get to spend much time together?'

‘Enough, for now,' said Tasha, inspecting her nails. ‘I'm seeing him tonight, as a matter of fact. He told his wife he's going to the gym, but he has to be home later for something or other,' she dismissed. ‘So he's coming to my place for a drink, and, you know . . . whatevs,' Tasha smiled suggestively.

‘Hm, doesn't that feel like . . .' Gia seemed to be searching for a word.

‘What?'

‘Well, you know,' she shrugged, ‘a booty call?'

Tasha was beginning to think she was better off with whatsername. Gia had a weird take on things. Envy did strange things to people.

‘Ross's situation puts limitations on him that have nothing to do with how he feels about me,' Tasha insisted, reciting the exact words Ross had said to her so many times. ‘And yes, we'll have sex when he comes over later, but that doesn't make it a booty call. I want it as much as he does, believe me. Have you ever had sex with an older man, Gia?'

‘You mean
much
older?'

Tasha didn't like her tone.

‘It's amazing,' she said. ‘Being with an older man – not that I think of Ross as
older
, like I said – but it's so different to being with a guy your own age. They're so into themselves, sex is just a way for them to get off. They don't think about your needs.'

‘Oh, I don't know —'

‘Well I do,' Tasha interrupted flatly. ‘You said you haven't slept with an older man, so you can't really make a comparison, can you? Whereas I have, so I can, you know, make a comparison.'

Gia nodded. ‘Of course. Go ahead.'

Tasha took a breath. ‘Younger guys don't know the first thing about how to treat a woman,' she said. ‘And I'm not just talking about manners and that. What Ross knows about the female anatomy would curl your toes,
literally
.'

Tasha could tell from the expression on her face that Gia was impressed.

‘But you want to know the best part?'

Gia was waiting.

‘All men lust after younger women, everyone knows that, it's fact,' said Tasha. ‘So in Ross's eyes, I'm like a fantasy come to life. I'm a decade younger than the current wife, and God, a lifetime younger than the first one. Can you imagine what it's like for him to make love to me? He just
adores
me, I can see it in his eyes. And I have to say, that's a real turn-on.'

‘Dad, it's me,' Andie called as she let herself in through the front door. There was no reply, but she could hear the TV going. He was home. Where else would he be? He never went anywhere, except to Mass and doctors' appointments.

Andie came down the hall into the lounge room, where her father was manning his regular station in front of the giant flatscreen TV. Andie didn't understand why he bought such a huge screen and still sat so close to it.

He was struggling to get up out of his recliner. ‘Andrea,' he puffed. ‘I wasn't expecting you, dear.'

She usually came Fridays, and if she wasn't going to be able to make it, she came earlier in the week instead. But her dad was forgetting what day it was lately.

‘How's my girl?' he asked, once he had got to his feet and sidled around the chair. ‘Let me look at you.'

She smiled at him as he held her by the shoulders and examined her face. This was his ritual every time. ‘Still as beautiful as ever,' he declared, before wrapping her in a big hug and planting a warm kiss on her cheek.

Andie held up the bags she was carrying. ‘I brought you some things.'

‘What are you doing bringing me stuff?' he tutted, following her out to the kitchen.

She put the bags down on the table. ‘I like to bring something when I come.'

‘You only have to bring yourself to make your old man happy,' he said, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘Now, let me give you something for it,' he added, patting his pockets for his wallet.

‘Dad, don't be silly,' Andie chided. He was always trying to give her money. ‘I brought all this from the shop.'

‘Still costs you something.'

‘It's fine, Dad,' she dismissed. ‘It's just some bread —'

‘Oh . . . what kind of bread?' he asked carefully.

‘Don't worry, it's not the same as I brought you that other time. I know you didn't like it.' She had found the entire loaf moulding in the bread box the following week.

‘Oh, it's not that I didn't like it, I just think it might have been stale.'

‘It wasn't stale, Dad, it was sourdough. It has a different texture. You might have found it a bit too chewy.'

‘Hm.'

‘Anyway, this is nice and soft in the middle. And I brought you some cheese —'

‘You know we don't eat the strong stuff.'

He still dropped in and out of the plural, without even realising. It worried Andie a little, after all this time.

‘Yes, Dad, I know you don't like strong cheese.' He preferred that awful fake stuff wrapped in plastic. ‘This is a mild cheddar, and I shaved it so it's nice and fine.'

‘I always seem to use more when it's shaved,' he remarked, shaking his head.

‘It doesn't matter how much you use, Dad, I'll bring more if you like it.'

‘Oh, you don't want to be wasting your money on me.'

Andie looked at him, bringing her hand up to touch his cheek. ‘It's not a waste if it's for you, Dad.'

He smiled at her, patting her hand.

‘And lastly,' Andie added, turning back to the bag, ‘fruit salad, fresh cut today.' She reached in and lifted out a large container.

‘Oh my, all that? It'll go off before I can eat it.'

‘Well, it was going to be thrown out anyway,' she explained. ‘We make it fresh daily, so whatever's left gets tossed if no one takes it home.'

He looked a little doubtful. ‘We're not big fruit eaters.'

‘I know you're not,' said Andie. ‘But you should be, it's good for you, Dad.'

‘You shouldn't have too much, though,' he said. ‘I saw it on the telly, it can muck up your sugars.'

If he was that worried about his sugars, he shouldn't be eating all the packaged biscuits and snacks he was so fond of. ‘Any doctor would recommend a couple of pieces of fruit a day, Dad.'

He still looked unconvinced.

‘I worry about you,' she said. ‘Do it for me?'

He took hold of her hand and gave it a kiss. ‘When you put it like that, how can I refuse?'

‘Thank you.'

Andie put the container in the fridge and looked around the kitchen, the dishes piled up on the sink, the sticky benchtops covered in crumbs. Since she had been paying for a cleaner, her father didn't seem to bother to do much for himself. ‘Dad, how long has this been out?' she asked, lifting the lid off a pot on the stove.

‘It was left over from last night,' he said. ‘I heated up some for lunch.'

‘Has it been out since last night?'

He just shrugged.

Andie crouched down to find a container in the plastics cupboard. ‘Dad, you can't leave meat out overnight, it's not safe.'

‘Oh my dear, you worry too much, we're not running a restaurant here.'

Andie didn't want to argue with him. She finally located a container and a lid that matched, and proceeded to transfer the contents of the pot. It was some kind of savoury mince; it looked okay she supposed, she hoped. He was getting worse. Andie didn't think it was dementia as such, more that a kind of atrophy had set in. He couldn't seem to be bothered doing anything, or going anywhere, he just sat mesmerised in front of that massive TV, day and night. Sometimes she worried that he was depressed, perhaps he just needed more outside activities to keep him interested, some company occasionally.

She had tried to talk to Meredith about it, but her older sister acted as though she was the only woman in the history of the world who had to work and organise a family. She couldn't possibly be expected to run around after Dad, she claimed, she had enough on her plate. ‘You have no idea what it's like, Andrea, you only have yourself to worry about.'

And a husband. And a business. But they obviously didn't count in Meredith's reckoning. Andie made the weekly trek to see her father, but from what she could make out, her sister only occasionally called in, and Philippa and Tristan rarely saw their grandfather, even though Killara was barely ten minutes from Roseville. Meredith had not ventured far from where she had grown up. Why would you live anywhere else, she maintained. The north shore had the best schools, a better class of neighbours, real estate that consistently appreciated in value. Meredith was a snob; south of the bridge might as well be another country as far as she was concerned.

‘Why don't you go watch your show, Dad?' said Andie. ‘I'll straighten up in here.'

‘No, no,' he said, shuffling over to the sink. ‘I'll help you.'

‘Dad,' she chided, ‘go and sit down.'

He hesitated, looking at her. ‘Well, okay, but I'm going to sit down right here. I'm not watching the telly when my girl's visiting.'

She smiled. ‘All right, then I'll make you a nice cup of tea.'

Andie put on the kettle, surveying the mess with a heavy heart. Her mother would be horrified. Maybe she should have someone take over a few afternoons a week at the shop; she could come over more often, cook him some decent meals, keep him company. She felt guilty, if he really was only in need of some company, surely it was up to family to provide it. But what if it was more serious – depression, dementia – how much longer could her father be left on his own? Sometimes Andie wondered if it was grief, but if so it was a very delayed reaction. At the time of her mother's death he had appeared to grieve appropriately for a man of his generation, which, granted, was rather restrained. But he still had his work then, he was only in his fifties. Andie had dropped out of uni to care for her mother, but she didn't mind, she didn't even know what she wanted to do with her life at the time. Well, she did, she wanted to cook, but her mother said that when she got married and had a family she'd have plenty of opportunity to cook, for now she should get an education. Faye Lonergan had been very big on her girls getting an education, making up for what she'd missed out on. Her own father had died young, leaving her mother to bring up the family on her own, and Faye had no choice but to leave school as soon as she was old enough to start earning money. She had brains, but she'd never had opportunity. Her daughters were not going to be permitted to squander theirs.

Little wonder that she had a blue fit when Andie announced she would leave uni to care for her. ‘Over my dead body,' she had declared, which was an unfortunate choice of words.

‘I'm only deferring, Mum,' Andie had insisted. ‘I'll go back after . . . as soon as you're better.'

‘I'm not going to get better,' she'd returned. ‘And I know you, Andrea, you won't go back without me here to push you . . .'

And on she went. Andie knew the lecture by heart, she'd heard it so many times.
A woman needs an education . . . Good looks will only get you so far . . . God knows you weren't blessed with your sister's brains.

Meredith had just joined a graduate program at a major pharmaceutical company, so she couldn't be expected to help out, her dad had to work to support them, so in the end her mother didn't have any choice but to accept the situation. She lingered on another eight months, and was put to rest beside her son, barely a year after he was buried. But she never stopped saying until her dying breath, almost, that Andie had to return to her studies.

So it was not without some guilt that Andie enrolled in TAFE instead, but she really did not want to go back to uni, the business degree had been her mother's choice, not hers. Her dad quietly encouraged her. ‘If we've learned nothing else from these last few horrible years, it's that life's too short, my darling girl. You should do what makes you happy.'

Andie placed his tea in front of him, and turned back to the sink.

‘I'm sorry about the mess,' he said. ‘I'm not real good with the housework, your mother always looked after all that.'

‘I know, Dad. It's okay.' Andie looked over her shoulder. ‘Do you miss her?'

‘Your mother? Of course,' he said matter-of-factly, stirring his tea.

She leaned back against the sink, wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘Do you ever get sad?'

He blinked, looking up at her. ‘It was a long time ago, Andrea.'

‘But still . . . losing Brendan, and then Mum, in one year. That's a lot to cope with.'

‘It was a lot for you to cope with too,' he said. ‘Your mother would have been proud of what you've made of your life.'

Andie doubted that very much. ‘I don't know, Dad. She wanted me to go to uni.'

‘Still . . .' He stirred his tea. ‘She was always worried you were too soft, that you put everyone ahead of yourself. But look at you now, you own your own business. You're successful, and you're happy, aren't you, dear?'

‘Of course.'

‘That's all she wanted, for you to be happy.'

Andie turned back to the sink. She couldn't remember her mother ever saying anything like that. That she was soft? Weak, maybe. But had she really thought Andie put everyone first? She tried to imagine how she would have put that to her father . . . She tried to imagine her mother being proud of her now.

Andie finished cleaning up the kitchen, topping up her dad's tea while he chatted away in the background. Eventually she wiped down the benches and laid the cloths over the sink.

‘I'll have to get going now, Dad.'

‘Oh . . .'

She couldn't stand the look in his eyes. She was sure he was just lonely. She wished she didn't live so far away.

‘You won't stay to have some dinner?' he said, getting to his feet.

‘Oh . . . um . . .'

But he took hold of her hand and squeezed it. ‘What am I saying? The footy's on tonight, I'll be no company anyway.'

‘What if I make you some dinner before I go?' she suggested.

‘No, no, thank you anyway, darling,' he assured her. ‘I'm not hungry yet. And you need to get on the road. S'pose himself will be expecting you?'

Her father rarely referred to Ross by name, didn't refer to him at all if he could help it. He hadn't even come to the wedding, said that while he wished her all the happiness in the world, he couldn't on principle – it not being in a church and all. He had lowered his voice, as though his dead wife might hear him. ‘Your mother never would have stood for it, you know.'

Oh, Andie knew. But they couldn't have married in the church regardless – Ross was divorced, and he wasn't even Catholic. Besides Andie had long since lapsed, as had Meredith, but nonetheless her sister decided she'd better show solidarity with her father and so declined to attend as well. Ross's kids didn't want to be a part of it, out of deference to their mother, even though she told them she didn't expect that. There were friends who had long since turned their backs on both Andie and Ross, and others who just felt uncomfortable attending their wedding. So in the end, only Jess and Toby and Donna came, and they did their best to be happy for her. Andie tried to hide her disappointment at the time. She had always wanted a proper wedding; it didn't have to be big, she didn't care about that, she wouldn't have wasted her money on anything too extravagant anyway. But the cold little ceremony – if you could call it that – at the registry office didn't feel like a wedding. Ross tried to make it special; he booked a suite for them at the Park Hyatt, had it filled with flowers and French champagne, and she loved him for that . . . but it still didn't feel the same.