Three Wishes
Praise for Big Little Lies
‘The author of bestseller The Husband’s Secret is back with another sure-fire hit. Unputdownable’ Sun on Sunday
‘It’s easy to get stuck into this book, thanks to neat plotting that keeps you guessing. Just dive right in because this book slips down as easily as a strawberry soufflé’ Irish Independent
‘Reading one [of Liane Moriarty’s novels] is a bit like drinking a pink cosmo laced with arsenic . . . a fun, engaging and sometimes disturbing read . . . Moriarty is back on fine form’ USA Today
‘Moriarty has produced another gripping, satirical hit’ Huffington Post
‘A brilliantly plotted story with characters to care for who kept me reading, utterly gripped’ Woman and Home
‘It’s not often that a book about murder mingled with domestic and sexual violence has you howling with laughter, but Moriarty pulls it off here . . . her ironic turn of phrase infuses even poignant moments with humour. Blending romance, comedy and mystery, this is a wonderful book – full of brains, guts and heart’ Sunday Mirror
‘This fantastically written story, with its little clues casually dropped in along the way, will keep you guessing until the very end . . . another compelling, funny and thought-provoking winner from Liane Moriarty. Do whatever you can to get your hands on a copy – it’s brilliant’ Heat
‘Take this page-turner on holiday with you – you won’t be able to put it down!’ Closer
‘Another riveting thriller. Tackling different subjects with intelligence and humanity’ Hello!
‘A compelling summer read not to be missed’ OK!
‘Irresistible . . . exposing the fault lines in what looks like perfection is a specialty of Liane Moriarty. Moriarty’s sly humour and razor-sharp insights will keep you turning the pages to find out’ People
‘A fantastically nimble writer, so sure-footed that the book leaps between dark and light seamlessly’ Entertainment Weekly
Praise for The Husband’s Secret
‘The writing is beautiful: sometimes funny, sometimes sad but always compelling’ Good Housekeeping
‘The Husband’s Secret is a staggeringly brilliant novel. It is literally unputdownable’ Sophie Hannah
‘Dark and compelling, this is a must read’ Sun
‘The story is cleverly plotted, full of suspense and so well written that it pulls you in from the first page’ Sunday Mirror
‘If you like Jodi Picoult, you’ll love this addictive new book’ Essentials
‘A tense, page-turning story which gradually draws everyone together in a devastating climax. The writing is insightful on the subjects of families and friends, parents and children, husbands and wives. But what makes this a great read are the agonizing dilemmas the characters face over blame and guilt, forgiveness and retribution, love and betrayal’ Mail on Sunday – You Magazine
‘The Husband’s Secret is so good you won’t be able to keep it to yourself’ USA Today
about the author
Liane Moriarty is the bestselling author of seven novels: Three Wishes, The Last Anniversary, What Alice Forgot, The Hypnotist’s Love Story, The Husband’s Secret, Big Little Lies and Truly Madly Guilty. The Husband’s Secret is a worldwide bestseller which has sold more than two million copies and been translated into over forty languages. Big Little Lies is now an Emmy- and Golden Globe-winning HBO series, produced by and starring Nicole Kidman and Reese Witherspoon. Liane lives in Sydney with her husband, son and daughter.
PENGUIN BOOK S
PENGUIN BOOKS
UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia India | New Zealand | South Africa
Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published in Macmillan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited 2003
First published in Great Britain in Penguin Books 2016 Reissued in this edition 2018 001
Copyright © Liane Moriarty, 2003
The moral right of the author has been asserted
The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A.
The authorized representative in the EEA is Penguin Random House Ireland, Morrison Chambers, 32 Nassau Street, Dublin D02 YH68
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978–1–405–91849–7 www.greenpenguin.co.uk
Penguin Random Hous e is committed to a sustainable future for our business , our readers and our planet. is book is made from Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper
For my four little sisters and brother: Jaci, Kati, Fiona, Sean and Nicola
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Acknowledgements
I am veryg rateful to the following people:Vanessa Proctor,for the many,many hours she spent reading and commenting on drafts;Jaci Mor iar ty (my sister and my inspiration) for her clever suggestions, advice and encouragement;mybrother-in-law, Colin McAdam and fr iends,PetronellaMcGovern and Mar isa Medina,for all their invaluable comments;my mother Diane Mor iarty,forproviding expert infor mation on topics rang ing from flowers to babies. This book was wr itten as part of a MastersDegree at Macquar ie Univer sity; thank you to the teacher s, especially Dr Marcelle Freiman, and fellow students,for all theirsupport.Iwouldalso like to thank myagent Fiona Inglis, for her enthusiastic support of the book and Julia Stilesfor her meticulous copy-editing. Finally,Iwould like to thank my publisher and editor, Cate Pater son,for all her perceptive editorial suggestions and guidance.
The book Twins: Genes, environment and the mystery of identity (1997) byLawrence Wr ight was very helpful to me in understanding the special relationships between triplets.
PROLOGUE Prologue
Ithappenssometimesthatyouaccidentallystarinalittlepublic performanceofyourveryowncomedy,tragedyormelodrama.
You’rerunningforyour mor ning bus,br iefcase swing ing jauntily, when you tr ip andtumble playground-style to the footpath.You’re trapped in the heavy breathingsilence of a crowded liftwhen your lover says something infur iating (‘What didyou just say?’), or your child asks a rather delicate question, or your mother calls on your mobile to shr iek direwar nings. You’re shuffling past arow of knees in the cinema, caught in the spotlight of the previews, when you tipyour popcorn into a stranger’slap.You’rehaving oneof those days of accumulating misery when you argue violently with someone in aposition of power:a bank teller,adr y-cleaner,a three year old.
Youcaneitherignoreyoursilentlygrinningspectators, gloweratthemorshrughumorously.Ifyou’reaflamboyanttype, youmightliketogivethemalittlebow.Itdoesn’treallymatter muchwhatyoudo,becauseyouhavenocontroloveryourrole intheamusinglittleanecdotesthey’realreadybusycomposing; ifitsuitsthem,theywillrobyouofevenmoredignity.
It happened tothree women one cold June night in Sydney. (Actually, it had been happening to them all their lives,but this time their performancewas especially spectacular.)
The setting was abusy seafood restaurant endor sed as ‘full of surprises’by Sydney’s Good Food Guide and their audience excluded only those suffer ing from excessive good manner s. Everyone else witnessed the entire show with complete,bugeyed enjoyment.
Within hours this little incident was being descr ibed and reenactedfor the pleasure of babysitters, flatmates and par tners waiting at home. By early the next day at leasta dozen ver sions of the storywere doing the rounds of officecubicles and coffee shops, pubs and preschools. Some werefunny, others disapproving;manywerecensored,afewwere spiced up.
Of course, notone was the same.
LTHE BIRTHDAY BRAWL
The Birthday Brawl
ast night? Eventful.
No mate, not that sort of eventful. The blind datewas a disaster.
No,itwasn’ttoo soon after Sarah.I told you, I’mready to get back out there. The problem was her voice. It was like tr ying to hear someone on a bad line.
I’m not being picky,I couldn’thear the woman! There’sa limit to how many times you can ask someone to repeat themselves before it gets bloody awkward. Allnight Iwas leaning halfway across the table, squinting my ears, makingwild guesses as to what shewas whispering. At one point I c huc kled appreciably at what I thought was a punc hline and the poorgirl looked horr ified.
She could be really nice. She just needs someonewith better ears. Preferably bionic ones.
But forget about the date. I’m sure she has.Actually, I’m sure she hasn’tbecause, as Isay,itwas...eventful.
The restaurant was jam-pac ked and we hada table r ight next to threewomen. At first I didn’tevenregister them because Iwas busy perfecting mylip-reading skills. The first time Ieven looked overwas when one girl got her handbag strap tangled around mychair.
Yep. Nice looking. Although I did havea preference for–but I’m getting ahead of myself.
So,atfirstthesethreegirlswereobviouslyhavingagreattime,
roaringwithlaughter,gettinglouderandlouder.Eachtimethey laughed,mydateandIsmiledsadlyateachother.
About eleven o’c lock we c heered up because the end was in sight. We got the dessert menu and she used sign language to suggest we share the blueberryc heesecake. ObviouslyI didn’t completely ruin her night by mentioning my missing sweet tooth. What isitwith women and shar ing desser ts? It makesthem so happy.
But we never got to order because that’s when the action star ted. The lights in the restaurant went off and three waitresses appeared,each of them lugging these threehuge bloody...
...
BIRTHDAYCAKESifyou
don’tmind!
AndIsaidtoThomas,wellforheaven’ssakes!THREEcakes!One foreachgirl!Allablazewiththosenoisysparklers,whichIpersonally thinkareafirehazard.Sothentheysanghappybirthday–threetimes! Thomasthoughtitwasridiculous.Eachhappybirthdaygotlouderand moreboisterousandbytheendofiteveryoneintherestaurantwassinging.
Except for Thomas of course.He’d been upset about the noise from the three girls all night.Heeven complained to the waitress! They seemed like nice, high-spir ited youngpeople to me.Well, they did in the beginning anyway. The pregnant one smiledvery nicely at me when she went to the ladies.
They all hadvery generous por tions of their cake! Not dieting obviously! And they all helped themselves to spoonfuls of each other’s.That was nice,I thought.
Well,Ikepta little eye on them. They had me intr igued for some reason.I noticed that after their cake they each took a turnreading something out loud. They looked like letters to me.Well,I don’t know what in theworld those letters were about but itwas onlya few seconds later that the yelling star ted!
Goodness me! What a terrible tiff! Everyone was staring. Thomas was appalled.
One girl scraped back her chair and stood r ight up and I’ve never seen anyone so angr y! Herface was all blotchybr ight red and shewas shaking afork and screaming–yes, screaming.
Well,I don’t know ifI can say this par t. Well, all r ight. Come c lose and I’ll whisper it to you.
She was screaming,‘You have both...
...FUCKING RUINED MY LIFE!’
And I think to myself, what the fuckisgoing on here?
I’d just been tellingSam that Iwas going to scorea massive tip from table six because they were all having sucha good time and they were all pretty drunk.
Even the pregnant girl hadtwo glasses of champagne, whichis pretty bad, isn’t it? Don’t you have a disabled baby or something if you dr ink while you’re pregnant?
Isn’t it really dangerous for your baby to drink while you’re pregnant?
ThethingIcan’tbelieveishowshecoulddothattoherownsister. ImeanIgetprettymadwithmysisterbutthis–wow!Herowntriplet even!
DidI tell you they were tr iplets?
They were all out together celebrating their thirty-four th bir thdays. I’d never met tr iplets before and they were pretty fr iendly, so Iwas asking them questions about what itwas like. The twoblonde ones were identical. It freaked me out! Ikept star ing at them onceI knew. It was like spot the difference.Weird.
One of them said itwas fantastic being atr iplet. She just loved it! The otherone said itwas terrible. It made her feel like amutant or something. And thethird one said itwas just nothing, no big deal, no different from being inany other family.
And thenthey all star ted arguing about what itwas like to be a tr iplet. But inafr iendly, funnyway.
That’swhyIcouldn’tbelieveitwhenIheardthemstartfighting. Likereallyfighting,asiftheyabsolutelydespisedeachother.Itwas sortofembarrassing,youknow?Liketheyweredoingsomethingreally privateinpublic.
Samtoldmetodistractthemwiththeircoffees.SoIwastryingtokeep myfacenormal,walkinguptotheirtable,andthat’swhenithappened.
I tell you. It gave me suchashock the coffees were wobbling inmy hands.
You know thosetwo old fossils that comeevery second Thursday? You know, the fat woman always has the crème brûlée? She’s got the skinny husband with something r ight up his arse.Anyway,my hand was shaking so muc h I sent cappuccino froth flying over the guy’s shiny head!
OK, OK! Gimme a break, I’m tr ying to setthe scenefor you!
One of the girls stood up at the table and she’syelling at her sisters,r ight? And all the time she’syelling she’s sort of poking at the air with her fondue fork.
They shared the specialfondue for their entree,you see.Actually, now I think about it,itwas myfault the fondue forkwas still there on the table.
Wow.I hope they can’t sue me or anything.Ha.
So thisgirl,she’s got the fork and she’syelling like a complete maniac. And then she throws the fondue fork at her sister. Can you believe it?
And the fork getsstuckin the pregnant one’s stomac h!
She’s just sitting therelookingdown at her bigbelly and there’s this fork stic king r ight out of her. It looked just completely bizarre.
The girl who threw itisstanding there with her hand sort of held out, frozen,in midair. Like as ifshewas tr ying to stop aglassfrom falling or something and then realiseditwas too late.
And then– get this–shefaints.
No, not the pregnant one. The one who threw the fork.
She just sort of crumples and falls– reallyheavy– ontothe floor and on the way down shebangs her c hin, like bang, really hard, on the edge of the chair.
So she’slying on the floor, completely out of it.
Thepregnantone,she’sjustsittingtherelookingattheforkstickingoutofherstomachandshe’snotmakingasound.She’sjust staringatitinthissortofdreamywayandthenshetouchesher stomachwithherfingerandholdsitupandit’scoveredinblood! Totallygross!
The restaurant issilent; like, so silentit’s loud.Ever ybodyis just sitting there, looking at them.
Sothethirdsister,shesortofsighsandshakesherheadasifit’sno
big deal and leans down under the table and pic ks up her handbag and pulls out...
... her mobile and rang anambulance for the two of them. Then sherang me and I met them at the hospital.I mean, really! What a complete debacle.
They’re over thir ty now, for heaven’s sakes and they’re behaving like c hildren. Throwing things at each other in public places! It’s disgraceful. And on their bir thday of all days!
Ithinktheyallneedtoseeareallysensiblepsychiatrist.Ireally do.
Remember that restaurant in the city, whenthey were little? Remember? The managerasked us to leave after Lyn threw her glass of lemonade at Catr iona. What a fiasco! I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. Not to mention the perfectly good bottle of shiraz we left behind. Cat needed four stitc hes that day.
Iblameyou,Frank.
No. It makes perfect sense.
Well,ifyou like,you can share the blame equallywith Chr istine. Chr istine,Frank,was the name of the woman who broke up our marr iage. Now that isa perfect indication of how muchyour mind was involvedin that sordid littleincident.
I have not strayedfrom the point,Frank! Our broken marr iage c learly damaged our daughters.Today’s incident is not normal!Even for multiples!
Iwas still with the accountant when I got the call.Iwas speec hless! I could hardlysay, ‘Oh please excuse me, Nigel,my daughter just broke her jaw after fainting from the shock of throwing a fondue fork at her pregnant sister!’
You should have seenthemwhen Iarrived here at the hospital. They were giggling! Treating the whole thing as a hilar ious joke. They make me so cross.
I justdon’t understand them at all. Don’t pretend you understand them any better than me,Frank.You don’t talk to them.You flirtwith them. They all smelled unpleasantly of garlic too. They had some sort of
seafoodfondue for their entree, apparently.I mean, really, what a strange c hoice! It doesn’t soundedible.
I think they haveadr inking problem too.
Ifail to seethe humour in this,Frank. The baby could have been hurt. It could have died.
Our daughter could havemurdered our grandc hild!
DearGod,wecouldhavebeenonthefrontpageofthe Daily Telegraph .
No,I do not think I’m being the slightest bit dramatic.
Well yes, obviously, that’s what I’d like to know too. It was the very first thing I said to themwhen I got here.
‘What in theworld star ted it?’
ONE One
You could argue that it star ted thir ty-four years ago when twenty-year-oldFrank Kettle,atall,f air,hyperactive ex-altarboy, fell madly in lust with MaxineLeonard,a longlegged languid redhead just afewdays short of her nineteenth bir thday.
Hewas pumping with fresh testosterone. She knewbetter but did it anyway. In the back seat of Frank’sdad’s Holden. Twice. Thefir st timeinvolved a lot of head-bumping and gruntingandbreathlessshiftsofposition,whileJohnny O’Keefe bellowed at them from the car radio. The second time was slower and gentler and rather nice. Elvis soothingly suggested theylove him tender. In each case,however, the terrible result was the same.One of Frank’s exuberant little sperm cells slammed head-on with oneof Maxine’s rather less thr illed eggs, interr upting what should havebeen an uneventful journey to nonexistence.
Over the following days, while Maxinewas chastely dating more suitableboys and Frank was pur suing a cur vy br unette, twofreshly fertilisedeggswerebusily bumping their way along Maxine’sf allopian tubes towards the haven of her horr ified young uter us.
At the exact momentMaxine allowed the very suitable
Charlie Edwards to hold back her long red hair while she puffed out her cheeks and blew out nineteen candles, one egg fizzed with so much friction it split r ight in two. Theother single egg burrowed itsway comfor tably in between the twonew identical eggs.
Guests at Maxine’s bir thday par ty thought they’dnever seen her look so beautiful– slender, glowing, almost incandescent! Who could have guessed she’dbeen impregnated with some Catholic boy’striplets?
Frank and Maxineweremarr ied, of course. In their wedding photos they both have the blank-eyed, sedated look of recent trauma victims.
Seven months later, their tr iplet daughters came kicking and howling into the world. Maxine, whohad never even held a baby before,was presented with three; it was the most despairfilled moment of her young life.
Well,thatwouldbeGemma’spreferenceforhowitstarted. Catwouldarguethatifshewasgoingtostartwiththeirconception,thenwhynotgobackthroughtheirentirefamilytree?Why notgobacktotheapes?WhynotstartwiththeBigBang?Iguess Ididreally,Gemmawouldchortle–MumandDad’sbigbang. Ohfunn-y,Catwouldsay.Let’slookatitlogically,Lynwould interrupt.Quiteclearly,itstartedthenightofthespaghetti.
And Lyn, quite naturally,would be r ight.
It was aWednesday night six weeks before Chr istmas.A nothing sort of night. An unassumingmid-week night that should havevanished from their memor ies byFr iday. ‘What didwe do Wednesday?’ ‘I don’t know.Watch TV?’
That’s what theywere doing. Theywere eating spaghetti and dr inking red wine in frontof the television. Cat was sitting cross-legged on the floor, with her backup against the sofa, her plate on her lap. Her husband Dan was sitting on the edge of the sofa, hunched over his dinner on the coffee table. It was the way theyalways ate dinner.
Dan had cooked the spaghetti, so it was hear ty and bland. Cat was the moreaccomplished cook. Dan’sapproach to cooking was somehow too functional.He stirred his ingredients as though he was mixing concrete, one arm wrapped around the bowl, the other stirr ingthe gluggy mixso vigorouslyyou could see his biceps working. ‘So what?Gets the job done.’
That Wednesday night Cat was feeling no specific emotion; not especially happy, not especially sad. It was strange afterwards,remember ing how she sat there, shovelling Dan’s pasta into hermouth, so foolishly trusting of her life. She wanted to yell back at her self through time,‘Concentrate!’
Theywerewatching a show called Med Sc hool. It was a soapie about agroupof very beautiful young medical students with shiny white teeth and complex lovelives. Each episode featured a lot of blood and sex and anguish.
Catand Dan shared a mild addiction to Med Sc hool.Whenever the plot took anew twist, theyresponded with loud enthusiasm,yelling at the television likechildren watching a pantomime: ‘Bastard!’ ‘Dump him!’ ‘It’s the wrong medication!’
This week Ellie (blonde, cutesy,cropped T-shir ts) was in a state. She didn’t know whether to tell her boyfr iend Pete (dark, brooding, abnor mal abs) about her dr unken infidelity with a guest-starr ing troublemaker.
‘Tell him, Ellie!’ said Cat to the television.‘Pete willforgive you. He’ll under stand!’
The ad break came on and a manic man in ayellow jacket bouncedaround a depar tment store pointing an incredulous finger at the Chr istmas specials.
‘I booked that health and beauty thing today,’ said Cat, using Dan’s knee as alever to help her reach over him for the pepper. ‘The woman had oneof thosegooey spir itual voices.I felt like Iwas gettinga massage just making a booking.’
ForChr istmas she was giving her sisters (andher self)a weekend away at a health retreat in the Blue Mountains. The three ofthem would share an ‘exquisite exper ience’ of ‘indulgent pamper ing’. Theywould be wrapped in seaweed, dunked
in mud and slathered in vitamin-enr iched creams. It would be extremely amusing.
She was pleased with her self for thinking of it. ‘What a clever idea!’everyone would say onChr istmas Day.Lyn definitelyneeded the stress relief. Gemma didn’t need it but she’d be r ight into pretending that she did. Cat her self wasn’t especially stressed either,but perhaps she was,because she wasn’t pregnant and she’dbeenoff the pillnowfornearlyayear.
‘Don’t get stressed about it,’ever ybody said wisely, as if they were the fir st to pass on that hot little tip. Apparently the momentyour ovar ies noticed you wereworr ied about becoming pregnant, theyrefused to cooperate. Oh well,ifyou’re going to get all huffy about it, we’ll just c lose on down.
A health insurance ad came on the television and Dan winced. ‘I hatethis ad.’
‘It’s effective.You watch it moreclosely than any other ad ontelevision.’
Heclosed his eyes and aver ted his head. ‘OK. I’m not looking, I’m not looking. Oh God.I canstill hear that woman’s g rating voice.’
Cat picked up the remote and tur ned up the volume.
‘Aaaagh!’He opened his eyes and g rabbed the remote from her.
Hewas behaving perfectly nor mally. She remembered that afterwards and it made it worse, somehow.Everymoment he behaved nor mally was part of the betrayal.
‘Shh. It’s backon.’
Ellie’s betrayed boyfr iend Pete appeared on the screen, flexinghis freakishabs. Ellie gave the TV audience guilty looks.
‘Tell him,’ Cat told her. ‘I’dwant to know.I couldn’t stand not to know the tr uth. Better to tell him, Ellie.’
‘You think so?’ said Dan.
‘Yeah. Don’tyou?’
‘I don’t know.’
Therewere no bells jangling awar ning in Cat’s head. Not asinglechime. She hadput down her wineglass on the coffee
table and was feelinga pimple that had justthat verymoment appeared on her chin, undoubtedly a malevolentherald of her for thcoming per iod. Each month it appeared like an official stamp on her chin. There will be no baby for this woman this month. Nope. Sorry,tryagain! Cathad begun to cackle bitterly, throwing back her head witch-like, as soon as the fir st treacherous spots of blood appeared. It was such a joke, such acr ushing anticlimax, after all those years of anxiously ensur ing she didn’t havea baby, after all those months of ‘Areweready to make this momentous change in our lives? I think weare, don’tyou? Ooh,maybe we should have one more month of freedom!’
Don’t thinkabout it, she told her self. Don’t thinkabout it.
‘Cat,’ said Dan.
‘What?’
‘I need to tell you something.’
She snor ted at his ponderous tone, pleased to be distracted from her pimple. She thought he was sending up the show. ‘Oh my God!’ she said and hummed the Med Sc hool soundtrack that helpfully war ned viewers when something dramatic and awful was about to happen. ‘What? Haveyou done an Ellie? Have you been unf aithful to me?’
‘Well.Yes.’
Helookedasthoughhewasgoingtobesick,andhewasn’t thatgreatanactor.
Catput down her fork. ‘This is a joke,r ight? You’resaying you’veslept with someone else?’
‘Yes.’Nowhismouthwasdoingsomethingstrange.He lookedlikeaguiltylittleboycaughtdoingsomethingdisgusting.
She picked up the remote and tur ned off the television Her heartwas thumping with fear but also a strangely urgent desire, adesire to know. It was the sick feeling of excited resistance at the very top of the rollercoaster–I don’twant to go hur tling over that precipicebut Ido,I do!
‘When?’Shestilldidn’treallybelieveit.Shewashalf laughing.‘Yearsago,doyoumean?Whenwefirststarted goingout?Youdon’tmeanrecently?’
‘About a month ago.’
‘What?’
‘It didn’t mean anything.’He looked down at his plate and picked up amushroom with his fingers. Halfway to his lips, he dropped it and wiped the backof his hand across his mouth.
‘Would you just startfrom the beg inning please?When?’ ‘One night.’
‘What night? Wherewas I?’ She fumbled through her mind forevents over the last fewweeks.‘What night?’
ItseemedthatonaTuesdaynight,threeweeksbefore,at drinksaftersquash,hehadmetagirl.Shehadcomeonto him andhehadbeenflatteredbecauseshewas,well,quitegood looking.Hehadbeenabitdrunkandsohehadgonebackto herplaceandonethinghadledtoanother.Itdidn’tmeananything,obviously.Hedidn’tknowwhyhehaddonesucha stupid,stupidthing.Maybeallthestresslatelywithwork,and youknow,thebabything.Obviouslyitwouldneverhappen againandhewasvery,very, very sorryandhelovedherso muchand,God,itwassucharelieftohavethisoutinthe open!
It was almost as though something interesting and unusual had happened to himand he’d forgotten to tell Cat about it until now. She asked him questions and he answered them. ‘Wheredid she live?’ ‘Howdidyou get home?’
He finished his story andCat stared stupidly at him,waiting for it to hurt. All her muscleswere tensed tight in anticipation of pain. It was likegiving blood and waiting for the smiling doctor to find her vein.
‘What was her name?’ she said. His eyes slid away. ‘Angela.’
Finally. An exquisite twist of herheartbecause this g irl actually had a name and Dan knew her name. Shegazedatherdinnercongealingonherplateandshecould seeeverysnake-likestrandofspaghettiinnauseousdefinition. Thelensofatelescopehadbeenclickedandherpreviouslyblurry worldwasnowinsharp-edgedfocus.
She stared with neweyes at their living room.Casually angled cushions on the lounge,br ight wacky r ugon polished floorboards. The bookshelf, lined with photos, each one carefully selected and framed as evidence of their happy, activelives. Look! We’re so loving and cosmopolitan, so fit and humorous! Hereweare smiling and hugg ing in ourski gear! Hereweare having a laugh beforewe go scuba diving! We par ty with our fr iends! We pull ironic f aces at the camera!
She looked back at Dan.Hewas quite a good-looking man, her husband. It used to worry her in a pleasurable, not-reallyworr ied way.
He’sbeen unf aithful to me, shethought,tr ying it out. It was bizarre. Surreal.Part of her wanted to switch the television backon and pretend it had never happened.Ihave to iron my skirtfor tomorrow, shethought.I should do my Chr istmas list.
‘It was nothing,’ he said. ‘It was just a stupid one-night stand.’
‘Don’t call it that!’
‘OK.’
‘This is allso tacky.’
He looked at her beseechingly.A speck of tomato sauce quivered beneath his nose.
‘You’ve got food on your f ace,’ she said savagely. His guilt was inflating her, making her powerful with r ighteousness.He was the cr iminal and she was the cop. The bad cop. The one who g rabbed the cr iminal’s shirtfront and slammed him up against the wall.
She said, ‘Whyareyou telling me this now? Is it just to makeyoufeel better?’
‘I don’t know.Ikept chang ing my mind. And then you said you’dwant to know the tr uth.’
‘I was talking to Ellie!Iwas watching television! Iwas eating dinner!’
‘So you didn’t meanit?’
‘For God’s sake. It’s too latenow.’
They sat in silence forafew seconds and suddenly she
wanted to weep likeafiveyear old in the playground because Dan was meant to be her fr iend, her special fr iend.
‘Butwhy?’ Her voice cracked. ‘Whydidyou do it?I don’t under stand whyyou would do that.’
‘It didn’t mean anything It really didn’t mean anything.’ Had his fr iends told him to say that? ‘Tell her it didn’t mean anything, mate. That’s all theywant to hear.’
If she had been on Med Sc hool, one single tear would have beentrickling soslowly, so heart-breakinglydown her cheek. Instead, she was making strange wheezy sounds as if she’dbeen r unning.
‘Please don’t be upset. Cat. Babe.’
‘Don’t be upset!’
Dan placed his palm tentatively against her arm. She pushed it violently away. ‘Don’tyou touch me!’
They looked at eachother in horror. Dan’sf ace was pasty white. Cat was trembling with the sudden chasm-opening revelation that he must havetouched this woman she’dnever seen.Properlytouched her.Hemust have kissed her. Allthe tiny,trivialdetails of sex.
‘Didyou take her bra off?’
‘Cat!’
‘Imean,obviouslyherbracame off. Ijustwanttoknow ifshetookitoff,oryoudid?Didyoureachyourhandupher backwhileyouwerekissing,andundoit?Haveanydifficulty?Wasitatrickyone?Thosetrickyonesarebad,aren’t they?Beenawhilesinceyou’vehadtoworryaboutthat. How’dyougo?Breatheasighofreliefonceyou’dgotit undone?’
‘Please stop it.’
‘I will not stop it.’
‘I took her bra off, OK! But it was nothing.Iwas dr unk. It was nothing like with us. It didn’t–’
‘It didn’t mean anything.Yes,I know. What meaningless positiondidyou choose?’
‘Please, Cat.’
‘Did she have an orgasm?’
‘Please don’t.’
‘Ohdarling.Don’tworry.I’msureshedid.Thoselittletechniquesofyoursareso reliable.I’msureshewasveryappreciative.’
‘Cat, I’m begg ing you to stop.’ Therewas atremor in his voice.
She wiped sweat from her forehead. It was too hot.
She feltugly. In f actshe was ugly. She put her hand to her chin and felt the pimple. Make-up! She needed make-up. She needed make-up,wardrobe,a hair stylist and anairconditioned set. Then she’d feel clean, beautiful waves of gr ief like the stars of Med Sc hool.
She got to her feet and picked up both their plates.
Thebackofherthroatitchedunbearably.Hayfever. Rightnow,ofalltimes.Sheputtheplatesbackdownonthe coffeetableandsneezedfourtimes.Eachtimesheclosedher eyestosneeze,animageofaslidingbrastrapexplodedinher mind.
Dan went into the kitchen and came back with the box of tissues.
‘Don’t look at me,’ she said.
‘What?’He held out the tissues.
‘Just don’t look at me.’
That was when she picked uponeof the plates of spaghetti and threw it straight against the wall.
From: Gemma
To:Lyn; Cat
Subject: Cat
LYN! WARNING,WARNING! DANGER, DANGER! I just spoke to Cat and she is inaVERY,VERYbad mood.I would notrecommendringingheraboutmindingMaddiefor another 24 hours at leas t.
Love, Gemma.
From: Cat
To: Gemma
Subject: ME
Warning, warning, if you’re going to send emails about my bad mood at least make sure Idon’tget them.Thatcould reallyput me inabad mood.
From:Lyn
To: Gemma
Subject: Cat
G. Need to be careful abouthitting ‘reply all’ins tead of ‘reply to au thor’ on old emails. Set up address book!! No doubt Cat v.impressed. Karaminding Maddie so no problem. L.
From: Gemma
To:Lyn; Cat
Subject: Kara
Dear Lyn,
Idon’t knowhow to setupan address book but thank you for the thought.Idon’t mean to alarmyou but have you heard of SHAKINGBABY SYNDROME? Ithink leaving Maddie with Karacould be very dangerous. Once I saw her shakinga box ofcornflakes FURIOUSLY. She is a teenagerand teenagers have problems with their hormones that cause them to be justalittle insane. Can’tyou ask Cat, once she has finished herbad mood? Or elseIcould cancel my date with the luscious locksmith.I am prepared to do that to save Maddie’slife. Let me know.
Love, Gemma. Cat wondered whether her f ace looked different. It felt different, as ifit was br uised and swollen.Both her eyes felt like they’dbeenpunched. In f act, herwhole body seemed strangely frag ile. She’dbeen holding her self stiffly all day, as if she was sunbur ned.
It was surpr ising,really,howmuch this hurt and how consistently it hurt. All day at work she kept thinkingthat she ought to get a painkiller and then remember ing that she wasn’t actually in physical pain.
She hadn’tsleptmuch last night.
‘I’ll sleep on the sofa bed,’ Dan had announced, looking heroicand pale.
‘No,youwon’t,’saidCat,refusingtogivehimthesatisfaction.
But when they got into bed and she lay there looking at the ceiling and listened to Dan’sbreathing star ting to slow– he was actually going to sleep– she snapped backon the light and said, ‘Get out.’
Hewent, clutching his pillow sleepily to his stomach Cat lay in bed and imag ined her husband having sex with another woman. She was r ight there, under the covers with them, watching his hands, her hands, his mouth, her mouth.
She couldn’t stop. She didn’twant to stop. It was necessary to imag ine everyexcr uciating second-by-second detail.
In the middle of the night she woke Dan up to ask him what colour underwear the g irl had beenwear ing.
‘I don’tremember,’ he said blear ily.
‘You do! You do!’ She kept insisting until finally he said he thought it might havebeenblack, at which point she bur st into tear s.
Now Cat looked at her colleagues in the 4.30 pm operations meeting and wondered if this thing, this vile humiliating thing, had ever happened to them.
Sales Director Rob Spencer was in his favouritepositionby the whiteboard,enthusiastically scr ibbling flamboyant arrows and boxes.‘Folks! I think this makes my point very clear!’
RobSpencer.Well,thatwasajoke.Forthelastfiveyearsor soRobhadbeenhavinganaffairwithgorgeousJohannafrom Accounts.Itwasthecompany’sfavouritesecret.Tellingnew stafftheRob/JohannalegendwaspartoftheinductionprocedureatHollingdaleChocolates.Theonlypeoplewhodidn’t know,presumably,wereRob’swifeandJohanna’shusband.
Everyonestaredwithenjoyablepityatthetwounfortunate spouseswhentheymadetheirappearanceeachyearatthe annualChristmasparty.
It occurred to Cat that she now had something in common with Rob Spencer’s pathetic wife. She was the f aceless wife in Angela’s amusing story of a one-night stand with amarr ied man.‘Well I feel sorry for the wife...’ ‘The wife isn’t Angela’s responsibility...’ ‘Who cares about the wife, just give us thegorydetails, Ange!’
She swallowed hard and looked down at Rob’sanalysisfor a quick way to humiliate him.
Colourful graphs. Nifty little spreadsheet. All done by his minions of course.
Aha.
‘Rob,’ she said.
Ten heads tur ned in relieved unison to f ace her.
‘Catr iona!’ Rob spun from the whiteboard, teeth flashing against solar ium-yellowtan. ‘Always value your feedback!’
‘I just wondered where those figures came from,’ she said.
‘Ido believe the marvellous Marg ie did the number cr unching forme,’ Rob tapped his figures seductively, as if Marg ie had given him a rather marvellousblow job at the same time.
‘Yes,but what figures didyou give Marg ie to cr unch?’ asked Cat.
‘Ah, let’s see,’ Rob began shuffling vaguely through his paperwork.
She savoured the moment beforemoving in for the kill. ‘Looking at the marketing budget here, it seems you’vegiven her last financial year’sfigures. So your analysis, while f ascinating, is also, hmmm,how can I put it best...irrelevant?’
Too bitchy. Male egos were so tender, just like their balls. She would payfor that one.
‘Crash and burn, Rob, mate!’Joe from Production thumped his fist on the table.
Rob held up both hands in boyish surrender.‘Team! It
seems theCathas caught me out once again with her razorsharpeyeforerror s!’
He looked at his watch. ‘It’snearlyfive on aFr iday afternoon! People, what arewe still doing here? Who wants to join me in drowning my humiliation at Alber ts? Catr iona? Can I shout my nemesis adr ink?’
His eyes were opaque little marbles.
Cat smiled tightly. ‘I’ll hold you to it another time.’
She bundled up her files and left the room,feeling quite ill with inappropr iate-for-the-workplace hatred for Rob Spencer.
From: Gemma
To: Cat
Subject:Drink
Wouldyou like to have adrink?
Wecan talk about the bad mood you’re notin. Love, Gemma.
PS. Essential that you back me upon Karaissue! PPS. Do you owe me any money by anychance?Idon’tseem to have any.
Cat sat in adimly lit cor ner of thepub with three beers in front of her and waited for her sister s.
Shewasn’tgoingtotellthem.SheandDanneededtimeto workitoutforthemselves.Itwasn’tnecessarytoshareevery singledetailofhermarriage.Itwasweirdandtriplet-dependent. ‘Youtellthosetwo everything!’Danalwayssaidandhedidn’t knowthehalfofit.
If she told them, theywould keep interr upting the story with cr iesof outrage. Gemma would r ush off to buy supplies of ice-cream and champagne.Lyn would be on her mobile r inging fr iends forrefer rals for good marr iage counsellors. They would inundate her with advice. Theywould argue passionately with eachother over what she should and shouldn’tdo.
Theywould care too much and that would make it real.
Shetookagulpofherbeerandbaredherteethatamanwho wasmakinghopefulgesturesatthetwostoolsshehadsaved.
‘Just checking!’ he said, hands up, looking hur t.
She definitely wasn’t telling her sisters. Look whathappened when she went off the pill. Her cycle became public proper ty;every month, they’d call to cheer ily ask whether her per iodhad arrived yet.
They had both stopped calling nowbut only after she’d said to Gemma that yes, it had come and yes, she probablywas infertile and nowwas she satisfied? Gemma had cr ied, of course. Then Cathad feltsick with guilt as well as per iod pain.
‘Are these seats ...?’
‘Yes, theyare seats but no, theyare not free.’
‘What’s her problem?’
‘Ignore her. Bitch.’
Twog irls in matching Barbie-doll business suits tottered off disapprovingly on their high heels, while Cat examined her knuckles and imag ined jumping up and punching their lipsticked mouths.
She wondered whatthat g irllooked like.
Angela.
She was probably short and cur vy like those twog irls who had now stopped to g iggle and gurgle up at agroup of, no doubt marr ied, men.
Cat hated curvaceous little women.Feminine, doll-like women who tilted up their sweet f aces to Cat as though she was some sort of tower ing, lumber ing g iant.
Hersisters under stood.Tall women understood.
But she didn’twantthe humiliation of their under standing. In f act,for some reason the thought of their intensely sympathetic f aces made her fur ious. It was their f ault.
She searched her mind fora rational reason forblaming them.
Of cour se it was their f ault she’dever met Dan in the fir st place.
Melbour neCup Dayover ten years ago.Twenty-one and delightfullydr unkon champagne, backwhen you were still allowed to call cheapsparkling wine ‘champagne’. Betting spectacular amounts of money on every race.Laughinglikedrains, as their g randmother said Making a complete spectacle of themselves, as their mother said.
They accosted everyboy who walked by their table.
Gemma:‘We’retriplets! Can you tell? Can you believeit? They’re identical but I’m not. I’m asingleegg! They’re just half of the one egg. Half-eggs.Would you like to buyus adr ink? We quite like champagne.’
Lyn: ‘Got any good tips? Per sonally,Ilike Lone Ranger in Race Five.We’redr inking the $9.99 bottle of champagne if you were thinking of buying us adr ink.We’ve already got glasses, so that’s OK.’
Cat:‘You seem to have an unusually large head. It’sblockingthe television and I’mabout to wina lot of money. Could you go away? Unless you’dlike to buyus adr ink.’
The boy with the large headsat downin the booth next to Cat.Hewas verytall and they all had to squash together to give him enough room.
He had evil green eyes and stubble.
Hewas gorgeous.
‘So,’ he said.‘You’re all ex-womb-mates.’
Gemma thought this was hilar ious and dissolved into tears of laughter. Cat satback, sipping her dr ink,waiting for the gorgeous boy to f all in love with Gemma. Men generally fell in love with Gemma when she laughed. They couldn’t hide their sheepish gr ins of pr ide. It became their life mission to make her laugh again.
But this boyseemedmore interested in Cat.He puthis hand on her knee. She removed it andput it backon the table.
‘Didyou just put your hand on Cat’s knee!?’ shouted Lyn, whose voice tended to r ise several decibels when she was dr unk. ‘GEMMA! That boy just puthis hand on Cat’s knee!’
‘Do you like her?’ said Gemma. ‘Do you want to kiss her?
She’sa good kisser. She says she is anyway. After you’ve kissed her, could you buyus some more champagne please?’
‘I don’twant to kiss him!’ said Cat.‘His head is abnor mally large. And he looks likeatr uck driver.’
She wanted to kiss him quite a lot.
‘If I pick awinner in this race,willyou kiss me?’ said the boy.
They looked at him with interest. Theywere all gambler s. It was arogue gene they’d inher ited from their g randf ather.
Lyn leant forward. ‘WHAT IFIT LOSES?’
‘Bottle of champagne,’ said the boy.
‘Deal!’ Gemma knocked over Cat’s champagne as she reached across to shake his hand.
‘What areyou two,my pimps?’ asked Cat.
Hepicked a hor se called Dancing Girl.
‘NO CHANCE!’cr ied Lyn. ‘She’s fifty to one,for God’s sake.Why didn’tyoupick the favourite?’
Gemma and Lyn were screaming on their feet for the whole race.
Cat stayed sitting next to the boy. She kept her eyes fixed on the television Dancing Girl ran in the middle of the pack until the last few seconds when she brokefree and began surg ing forward. The race caller’svoicerose in rapid surpr ise. Gemma and Lyn wailed.
Catfelttheboy’shandatthebackofherhead.AsDancing Girlwasthunderingtowardsthefinishingline,theboywas pullinghertohimandCat’seyelidswereclosingasifshewas sinkingintoadeep,delicioussleep.HesmelledofDunhillcigarettesandPalmolivesoapandtastedofColgatetoothpasteand Tooheysbeerandshehadneverwantedanythingasbadlyasshe wantedthatboy.
The boy tur ned out to be Dan and Dan tur ned out to be her husband and her husband tur ned out to be a cheat.
Cat drained her beer and star tedononeof the other two.
Gemma and Lyn had adoredDan from the momentDancing Girl came in second and they tur ned around to claim their
champagne, to find him claiming the kiss he hadn’twon.He managed to extr icate his wallet from his back jeans pocket and hand it to Lyn while keeping his tongue firmly entwined with Cat’s. So cool! So sexy! So dexterous!
How could she admit the adorable Dan wasn’t so adorable after all?
She wasn’t going to tellthem.
She slammed the beerdown on the table,reached for the third and looked up to see her sisterswalking through thepub towards her.
Gemmawasdressed,asalways,likeanoddlybeautifulbag lady.Shewaswearingafadedflowerydressandpeculiarholey cardiganthatdidn’tmatchthedressandwastoobigforher.Her glintyred-goldhairwasallovertheplace,atangledmessthatfell pasthershoulders.Splitends.Catwatchedaguyatthedoor turntolookather.Alotofmendidn’tnoticeGemmabutthe onesthatdid really did.Theywerethesortofmenwhowanted tobrushherhairoutofhereyes,rolluphercardigansleevesand tellhertozipupherbagbeforeherpursegotstolen.
Lyn had come straight from teaching aerobics at the gym. Her straight blonde hair was in a smoothlycoiled knot at the backof her head. Her cheeks were pink and healthy. She was wear ing jeans and a white T-shirt that looked suspiciously like it might havebeenironed.Af air, lanky, sporty-lookingg irl. Her nosewas too pointy,in Cat’s opinion,but she was attractive enough. (Although,maybe not?) When Cat sawLyn she saw her self in three dimensions. Threeveryvigorous,Lyn-like dimensions.
Cat felt that sense of pleasure and pride she always felt when she saw her sisters inpublic. ‘Look at them!’ she wanted to say to people.‘My sisters.Aren’t theygreat? Aren’t they annoying?’ Theysaw Catand sat down on the waiting stools without saying hello.
It was oneof their r ituals,never saying hello oracknowledg ing each other.People found it strange, which they found enjoyable.
‘So I’vebeen going to this new deli formy lunch,’ said Gemma. ‘Whatever Iorder, whatever, it seems to shock the woman behind the counter.Isay, I’ll have the fr uit salad and her eyes widen and she says, the “The fruit salad!” It’s the funniest thing.’
‘I thought you hated fr uit salad,’ said Lyn. ‘I do. That’s just an example,’ said Gemma. ‘Well why not give an example of something that you actually ordered?’
Cat looked at her sisters and felt her limbs becoming weak with relief.
She ran her finger around the r im of herempty beer glass and said, ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
THE CABBAGE LEAF TRICK The Cabbage Leaf Trick
Doyou know,I can never see a cabbage without thinking of breast milk.
I wonder if they still do that? The cabbage leaf trick.I can tell you when I first saw it. It would be over thir ty years ago now. My first week as a nurse’s aide.Everyone at the hospital was inatizz because a younggirl had given bir thto tr iplets.Everyone wanted to see them. They evenhad repor ters from the papers!
I happened to be making beds in the mater nity ward when the three babies were wheeled in for their feeds. Sister Mulvaney, the cruellest woman you could ever hope to meet,was directing the whole event. My eyes popped as the nurses undid the mother’sbra and peeled off soggy green leaves! Your breasts sometimes become very hard and swollen when you start nursing,you see, and for some reason c hilled cabbage leaves soothe them.
Gosh,but that poor young mother was in pain.You could tell.Her face was all set and white.Her three littlebabies were all sound asleep but inthosedays they werestic klers for routine.You fed them every four hours on the dot. The first little baby did not want to be woken. They triedever ything. Undressing her. Moving her around.Eventually Sister Mulvaney spr inkled some water on her little face.That cer tainly woke her up. But the moment she star ted cr ying, the other two were off.All three screaming!
They got two of the babies and showed the mother how totuck them backunder her arms, one on each breast. But she couldn’t get the babies to latch on. Sister Mulvaney was barking out instructions and the mother was doing her best to follow them. By this stage, the babies had workedthemselves up into a fine rage. What arac ket! The whole wardwas watc hing.
Eventually, they gave up andgot a breast pump to try and get her milk star ted. They were dreadful,c lunky old contraptions inthosedays. You could tell that poor mother was upset,with her babies hollering, Sister Mulvaney tut-tutting and everyone pretending not to stare. All of a sudden she just burst into tears. My super vising nurse said,very know-it-all, ‘Ah, the three dayblues, all new mothers cry on thethird day.’ And I remember thinking,but my goodness, who wouldn’tcr y?
TWO Two
‘Die,you little motherfucker.’Lyn squatted down on the kitchen floor and aimed the cockroach spraylikea machine gun.
‘Language,young lady!’
Lyn looked up to see her stepdaughter Kara sucking in her cheeks inparody of a horr ified parent.
‘Ithoughtyouhadleft,’saidLyn,feelingabitsillytobe caughtoutdoingherprivateHollywoodgangsteract.She didn’tnormallysaythingslike‘motherfucker’.Infact,she generallyonlysworeinsituationsinvolvingcockroachesor hersisters.
‘It’s escaping!’ said Kara helpfully.
Lyn looked back down to see the cockroach scuttling across the tiles to a microscopic tunnel under the sink. No doubt it would nowlivea long, happy life and give bir thto many thousands of sweet little cockroach babies.
Lyn stood up and looked at her watch. It was just on nine o’clock. ‘Aren’tyou verylate?’
Karaheaved an exhausted sigh to indicate she could not be expected to cope with yet anotherimbecilic question.
‘Well,aren’tyou?’askedLyn,becauseshecouldn’thelp herself.
‘Lyn,Lyn,Lyn.’ Kara shook her head sadly. ‘What am I going to do with you?’
KarawassixwhenLynfirstmether,agirlylittlegirl,with butterflyclipsinhercurlyblackhairandskinnyarmsthatjangledwithsparklypinkbangles.Hermosttreasuredpossession wasanextra-largepencilcasethatshecalledher‘CraftyCase’; ithadspecialthingsinitlikeglitter,glueandchunkyplastic scissors.LynwasallowedCraftyCaseprivilegesandtheyspent wholeSundayafternoonstogether,makingcardboardand paddle-pop-stickcreations.WhenKaraeventuallybeganto findotherinterests,Lynkeptclingingon,makinghopeful suggestionsfornewprojects.Sheonlygaveupafterthatfateful,embarrassingdaywhenKaraceremoniallypresentedher withtheCraftyCase,saying,‘Here,nowyoucanplaywithit onyourown,wheneveryouwant.’
Now, at fifteen, Kara kept her hair dead straight and r immed her eyes in thick black eyeliner. Some days she slouched for endless hours on the lounge,yawning hugely,like someone suffer ing from terriblejet lag. Other days she was flushed and glitter y-eyed, almost maniacally happy. Her most treasured possessionwas her mobile phone, which beeped night and day with text messages from her fr iends.
LynwatchedasKaraopenedthefridgedoorandstoodwith onehipatanangle.Shestaredvaguelyintothefridge,swinging thedoor,andsuddenlysaid,‘Whendidyouloseyourvirginity?’
‘None of your business,’ answered Lyn. ‘Do you want something to eat? Haveyou had breakfast?’
Kara tur ned around with enthusiasm.‘Was it really late? Like, embar rassing late? Why? Did noone want to sleep with you? Don’t feel bad.You can tellme!’
‘The apples are good.Have an apple.’
Kara took an apple. She slammed the fr idge door and swung her self up onto the kitchen bench.
‘Who did Dad lose his virg inity to? Was it Mum, do you reckon?’
‘I don’t know.’
Kara gaveLyn a sly, slanting look over her apple. ‘I’m going to lose my virg inity by the end of next year.’
‘Areyou? Good foryou.’
Lyn wasn’t especially worr ied about Kara and sex. She was f astidious and easily revolted.Just lastnight Michael had said at the dinner table,‘Lyn,Iwant to pick your brains about something’ and Kara had exploded,cover ing her f ace, making him vow to never sayanything so disgusting as ‘pick your brains’ ever again.
Surely she wouldn’t be interested in anything as messy as a penis.
Lynopenedthedishwasherandbeganrinsingthatmorning’s breakfastdishes.Duetothedistressingandfranklyshocking newsaboutDan,lastnight’sdrinkwithCatandGemmahad gonethreehourslongerthanscheduled.Thatmeanttoday’s‘to do’listwaslongerthanusual.She’dbeenupsince5.30am.
Dan was a truly horrible c heating sleaze... She must remind Michael to call his mother for her bir thday...Why didDan even tell Cat? What did itac hieve?...IfMaddie slept for another hour or so, she could prepare for tomor row’s meeting at the bakery... Catcould get so irrational.Would their marr iage sur vive this?...Ten Christmas cards a night, star ting from tonight...
And beneath all those thoughts was a flicker of concern,a long bur ied, knotty little worry that she was refusing to br ing out and dustoff, just in case it looked really bad.
‘It’s going to be myNewYear’sresolution,’ Kara was saying, hermouth full of apple.‘To lose my virg inity next year.Areyou going to tell Dad?’
‘Do you want me to tell him?’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Fine. Shouldn’tyou be going?’
‘So,but what do you thinkabout me losing my virg inity this year?’
‘I think it’savery per sonal decision.’
‘So you think I should. WaittillI tell Dad you said I should lose my virg inity next year. He’ll go ballistic.’
‘I never said that.’
‘Out of all the men you’veslept with, wherewould you rate Dad? Is he,like,any good?’ Kara’sf ace contor ted with delighted disgust. ‘Is he in your top ten? Haveyou got a top ten? Have you even slept with more than ten men?’
‘Kara.’
‘Oh my God, don’t answer.I just thought of you and Dad having sex. I’m going tothrowup. Oh my God!I can’t get it outof mind! It’s revolting!’
A miniaturefigure in pink pyjamas toddled into the kitchen, sucking on an empty bottle likea cher ubic wino. ‘Hi!’
Lyn nearlydropped the plate she was holding. ‘Maddie!’
‘Hi!’ Maddie politely acknowledged her mother and then immediately tur ned to Kara with wor shipful eyes, offer ing her bottle likeag ift to agoddess.
Kara graciously accepted the bottle. ‘Can she get outof her cot her self now?’
‘Soitseems,’saidLyn,tryingtoreadjusttoanewworld whereMaddiecouldnolongerbesafelyincarceratedinhercot.
Thedoorbellandtheofficephonebegantoring simultaneously.
‘Could you watch her foraminute?’ asked Lyn.
‘Sorry.’ Kara swung her self off the bench and handed the bottle back to Maddie. ‘I’m really latefor school.’
Carelessly, she r uffledMaddie’s dark curly head. ‘Seeya, sweetie!’
Maddie’s bottom lip quivered. She slammed the bottle down on the floor.
Lyn picked upKara’s half-eaten apple from the kitchen bench and threw itin the bin. She scooped up Maddie and walked towards the front door.
‘Kara, Kara,’ Maddiesobbed pitifully.
‘Iknow justwhat you mean, darling,’ said Lyn, holding tight to her squir ming little body.
From:Lyn
To: Michael
Subject: Please hurry home
Shocking day. Both your daughters driving me insane. PS. Who didyou loseyourvirginity to?
PPS. Please pick up milk and cockroach baits on your way home.
From: Michael
To:Lyn
Subject: OK
Home at 6.30 at the lates t.
Fish andchips on beach to make up for my daughters?
Lost my virginity to Jane Brewer on the way home from watching Star Wars at the movies.The force was with me! HA!
PS.Why?
It was past midnightthat same day. Michael kissed her tenderly and said,‘You did come, didn’tyou?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Lyn. ‘Ages ago.’
She moved her hips. ‘Heavy.’
‘Sorry.’Herolled onto his back with a sigh and reached across to the bedside tablefora glass of water. ‘No need forme to pickupstraywomen inbars.’
‘Michael!’
‘Just letting you knowyou’re safe with me,sweetheart.’
‘Well thanks,you big chauvinist pig.’
He put down his glass of water and settled back into bed, making contented purr ing sounds as he pulled up the quilt and curled his body around Lyn’s back.
Hewas always so chipper aftersex.
‘Cat is devastated,’ said Lyn.
‘Hmmm.’
‘You’re not very sympathetic.’