Three’s a Crowd (3 page)

The waitress looked thrown. ‘Let me bring you the wine list.'

That would take too long. ‘Yes, bring the wine list, along with a glass of sauvignon – a Margaret River preferably, or else something from that region. Ask your sommelier.'

The girl gave her a troubled look before scuttling away. They probably didn't have a sommelier here, she probably didn't know what a sommelier was. It was an acceptable restaurant, the food was tolerable, the service adequate, but as usual around here you were mostly paying for the view and the location. It wouldn't have been Catherine's choice, which was no matter tonight, tonight was for Annie. Catherine had accepted over the years that in a group of friends you had to
compromise
, which basically meant she had to lower her standards whenever they went out. It would be nice if that was acknowledged occasionally. They worked around Annie and Lexie – mid-price, sometimes a pleasant surprise, but mostly mediocre. Every so often Rachel complained about not being able to afford a night out at all, so Catherine invariably just covered her, because if they had to stoop to Rachel's budget they'd be eating at one of those roadside kebab stands.

She took out her phone and speed-dialled home, and was eventually answered with a garbled greeting.

‘Alice, don't speak with your mouth full.'

‘Then how am I supposed to answer the phone?' she said, still munching.

‘Swallow before you pick up.'

‘What if my mouth's too full and I'd choke if I tried to swallow before the phone rang out?'

‘Then you'd have clearly bitten off more than you could chew,' Catherine returned evenly. ‘Honestly, Alice, why does everything have to turn into a debate? Try to avoid speaking with your mouth full. It's impolite. Are you having dinner?'

‘Nuh, Martin's not home yet.'

Catherine pressed her lips together. He promised he'd be home no later than seven. At times she honestly believed there was no one else in the world who cared about being on time. The waitress placed the wine list and a glass on the table in front of her, and Catherine nodded in acknowledgement before picking it up and taking a generous sip.

‘Has he called?' she asked Alice.

‘Uhuh. He was just leaving work.'

‘Then do your homework, no MSN or MySpace or Facebook or YouTube. And no more eating, Martin will cook dinner when he gets home.'

‘I don't want whatever Martin's cooking,' she whined.

‘How do you know?'

‘Because it'll be totally crap.'

‘Don't say “crap”, Alice.'

‘Okay, it'll be totally disgusting. And besides, it won't be ready till, like, nine o'clock or something, and I'm hungry now.'

‘Then eat a healthy snack to take the edge off your hunger. A carrot, for example.'

‘I'm gunna make some instant noodles.'

‘
Going to
make noodles, Alice,' Catherine corrected her. ‘But I wish you wouldn't. They are simply the worst thing, they have no nutritional value and far too much fat and salt. This is the time you have to start watching your weight –'

‘Mu-umm,' Alice groaned.

Catherine could never be accused of being insensitive, she knew not to send her daughter negative messages. ‘I'm just saying, if you don't keep an eye on it now, it will be harder to get rid of later on.'

‘Can I go now?' Alice said flatly.

Catherine sighed. ‘Yes. I'm not sure what time I'll be home, so I'll say goodnight.'

‘Night.' Alice hung up, and with still no sign of the others, Catherine scrolled through the messages on her BlackBerry as she sipped her wine. She didn't understand why Alice was so persistently obstinate. Catherine knew adolescence was a notoriously difficult time for mother-daughter relationships. She had certainly struggled to relate to her own mother at the same age;
but her mother had aspired to nothing greater than her role of housewife, and her most pressing commitments any given week were to get to the bottom of the ironing basket and to make sure her father's dinner was on the table when he walked in the door at night. Alice had never seen her mother in such a subservient role, and she never would. Catherine was a successful professional woman, she kept herself trim, attractive and stylish. She was a ‘MILF'. Catherine had been quite chuffed when she'd first learned of the acronym, as she didn't doubt for a moment that she merited that particular label. In the best way of course; she could never be accused of being mutton done up as lamb. She was even technologically savvy, for heaven's sake. Honestly, she was an excellent role model for anyone's daughter, or son for that matter. Catherine would have loved to have had someone like her as a mother. Alice didn't know how lucky she was.

Nor did she seem to understand that Catherine was only looking after her best interests, because if she didn't watch her weight now it could so easily balloon out of control, and then she would struggle with it for the rest of her life. It was in their genes; her mother had been a dumpy little ball of dough for all of Catherine's living memory. It was only sustained discipline on Catherine's part that had kept her figure trim. She must speak to Martin about serving some simple dishes, healthy and low-fat, but more compatible with an adolescent's tastebuds. Perhaps he could even include Alice in the process. It was a bit of a waste having a man who liked to cook if her daughter didn't care for what he dished up. He already complained that it was barely worth cooking for Catherine, the way she picked at her food; even resorting to veiled hints that she was bordering on an eating disorder, but that was patently ludicrous. She had explained often enough the number of breakfasts, lunches, cocktail parties and what have you that she was required to attend, so she simply had to keep a sensible eye on her intake the rest of the time. It was called self-control. Draining her glass, she had to wonder why Alice hadn't taken after her in that regard. It was all very well to be strong-willed and determined, Catherine would not have made it to where she was if she hadn't been, but you also had to have direction, set goals, practise self-discipline. Alice couldn't stick at
anything, and none of her school subjects seemed to inspire or even vaguely interest her. Catherine could handle the fact that she wasn't particularly academically inclined, if only she displayed some flair for art, or music.
Something
. Catherine had even tried to get her interested in joining the rowing team, which had a certain level of prestige, but Alice had looked at her as though she were mad.

What worried her more than anything was that she couldn't picture her daughter ever making anything of her life. She'd end up like Rachel, who'd had so much potential but had frittered it all away because she couldn't buckle down to anything. Catherine couldn't imagine not having that passion, that drive to excel, to achieve, to make a difference. She wanted Alice to experience that, to have a fulfilling life, to be happy. She had one more year to turn it around before she finished school, turned eighteen and, Catherine had the sinking feeling, was beyond her influence forever.

Annie had always dismissed her concerns, assuring her it was normal teenager behaviour. All very well for her to say. Sophie and Hannah were both high-achievers; they diligently completed homework and kept up piano practice without being nagged or threatened; Sophie had been on the rowing and debating teams throughout high school, and Hannah was class captain in her final year at primary school – all with apparently no pressure whatsoever from Annie, or Tom. They were the kind of parents who liked to give the impression they didn't push their kids like everyone else, that their achievements didn't matter to them, that they only wanted them to be happy. Catherine didn't believe it for a second. Achievement was what led to happiness, that's all she wanted for her daughter.

Finally, at twenty-two minutes past seven, Rachel and Lexie spilled into the restaurant, looking like a pair of fugitives. They indicated to the waitress that they'd spotted their table, and proceeded to make their way towards Catherine.

‘Sorry we're late,' Lexie blurted as they drew close. ‘It was my fault, though really it was Scott's fault. Though really, you can't
blame him for being a little late when he was short-staffed. He did his best. Really.'

Catherine was not even going to bother crediting that with a response. She was a partner at one of the largest legal firms in Sydney, Lexie was a housewife and Scott was a cook in a café. Heaven forbid either of them had to cope with anything genuinely demanding.

‘I ordered a bottle after fifteen minutes,' she said instead. There was no need to mention the glass she'd had first. ‘I hope that's okay with you.'

‘As long as I can have a drink right now,' said Rachel, picking up the bottle.

Catherine held up her glass for a refill. ‘Have you been in those clothes all day?' she said, looking Rachel up and down.

‘No,' she retorted. She'd been in these clothes all day yesterday, but that's not what Catherine had asked, exactly.

Lexie hesitated, her hand on the back of a chair, as she frowned at the place settings on the table. ‘Is someone else coming?'

‘Not that I'm aware of,' said Catherine, glancing at Rachel.

‘Well, then, what's that . . . it's not . . . I don't . . .' Lexie stammered.

‘I booked a table for four,' Rachel said.

Lexie snatched her hand away from the chair. ‘Why would you do that? Is one of these supposed to be her place?' she cried. ‘Where am I supposed to sit?'

‘She's not a ghost, Lexie,' Catherine sighed.

‘And if she were, she'd be a friendly ghost,' said Rachel, gently moving Lexie aside. ‘Why don't you sit over next to Catherine and I'll sit here opposite you.' That way Lexie would effectively be hemmed in, and she wouldn't have to worry about bumping up against any ghosts, friendly or otherwise.

‘I know we're here for her birthday,' Lexie said quietly, taking her seat, ‘I just didn't expect there'd actually be a place setting for her.'

Rachel bit her lip. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset anyone. Just when I rang to make the booking it didn't seem right not to acknowledge her.'

Lexie gazed wistfully at her plate, nodding. ‘Because three's a crowd.'

‘That's not right,' said Catherine.

Lexie looked at her.

‘The saying is “Two's company, three's a crowd”, it has nothing to do with four becoming three.'

‘Whatever, but the fact is three doesn't work,' Lexie insisted. ‘It's wrong. I've heard it's even unlucky.' She sighed. ‘How are we going to get by without her?'

‘Oh God, you're not going to get all maudlin, are you?' Catherine muttered.

‘I wasn't the one who booked a place for her!' Lexie declared indignantly.

‘It's okay, Lexie,' Rachel interrupted before it went any further. ‘This is the first time we've all been together like this, since . . . so maybe we're all a little . . . sensitive. And anyway, what is wrong with feeling “maudlin” after somebody dies?' She looked pointedly at Catherine. ‘Surely this is the most appropriate time to feel maudlin. Or not. If you don't, that is. Feel maudlin. I mean, you don't have to feel maudlin, you can feel whatever feels right, I mean, you will feel that regardless, but you shouldn't feel bad expressing whatever feeling you happen to be feeling. Maudlin or otherwise.'

Rachel looked at the faces of her friends trying to follow what she was saying. She wasn't surprised they were confused.

‘I guess what I'm trying to say,' she went on valiantly, ‘is that I reckon whatever anyone is feeling is okay, acceptable, appropriate, at a time like this. And we should support each other . . . in feeling however we feel.'

‘Fine,' Catherine said, but Rachel knew she was dismissing the notion in the same breath. ‘But think about it this way, what would Annie want us to do?' She paused for effect. ‘Would Annie want us to sit around moping? Would she want us to wallow in those feelings? I don't know about you, but I doubt that very much. You know how she was, she'd want us to get something positive from this experience, learn from it, even grow from it.'

Rachel glanced at Lexie, who now just looked guilty, or perhaps ashamed.

‘Fine,' Rachel said, mimicking Catherine's dismissive tone. ‘But maybe it takes time to get to that point. First you have to be allowed to grieve.' She paused for effect, and to think of what to
say next. ‘Because, the thing is, grief is like . . . it's like an anchor. If you don't bring it up to the surface, then it's going to hold you right where you are, and stop you from moving on.'

Catherine rolled her eyes. ‘Sounds like something Annie would say.'

‘Well that makes it very appropriate then, doesn't it?' Lexie blurted.

Rachel looked at her kindly. ‘Go ahead, Lexie, tell us what you're feeling. We want to know, don't we, Catherine?' She sensed Catherine's silent groan, but chose to ignore it.

Lexie sighed. ‘I just miss her,' she said plainly. ‘That's all. I mean she lived right next door. I keep thinking I see her out of the corner of my eye when I go out the front. It just feels so empty in there now.'

‘How's Tom?' asked Catherine. ‘We haven't heard from him since everything –' she was about to say ‘died down' but caught herself in time,‘–
settled
down.'

Lexie shrugged. ‘I've barely seen him, or the girls. You know they left straight after the funeral to stay with his family up north, and then a few weeks ago they came home. I let them be at first, you know, give them space to settle back in. But before I knew it they were gone again.'

‘Gone? Where?' asked Catherine.

‘Back up north again,' Lexie explained. ‘I didn't even talk to Tom, he left a note and the house key in my letterbox. You know, could I water the plants, collect the mail, that kind of thing. Anyway, he said he was sorry he missed me, that they'd probably be gone till after Christmas.'