The Younger Wife, page 14
Sonny had always been an exceptionally good dad. Determined not to be like his own unreliable, largely-absent father, he made sure to spend time with the boys every day, and hung his parenting hat on the fact that if he said he was going to do something, he did it. (Tully, on the other hand, regularly promised the kids all sorts of things she had no intention of delivering. Her children, she’d figured out, were incredibly focused and intense, but also very forgetful, so this technique worked well for her.) Unfortunately, while he was spending a lot of time with the boys, he hadn’t been spending time with Tully, not since she’d told him her secret. The other night, when she got home from Rachel’s, he hadn’t even turned around when she came to his office door to say hello. Eventually she’d taken herself to bed, stuffing the cash-filled plastic bag in her bedside table, where her stolen goods had once been kept.
Rachel, by contrast, had taken the news that her sister was a kleptomaniac surprisingly well. She’d been shocked, naturally, and had stared at Tully for several seconds. ‘You’re a . . .’
‘Kleptomaniac,’ Tully repeated. ‘It means I steal stuff. I’ve been doing it my whole life. Well, since I was eleven.’
Rachel had lots of questions, naturally, and Tully had been happy to answer them. It had been cathartic, in a way, and Tully found herself wishing that Sonny had asked those sorts of questions instead of just cutting her off emotionally. There was something about the way Rachel spoke to her, as though she was curious rather than judgemental, that was incredibly reassuring. As a result, Tully felt closer to her sister now than she’d felt in months. Years. She may never have felt this close to Rachel.
Then there was the fact that Rachel had given her that money. She got out the bag of money now and looked it.
‘Where did you get this, Mum?’ she whispered.
The boys were on the grass now, sprinting away from Sonny, who was pretending to be a hungry grizzly bear. Tully opened the window.
‘Sonny! Have you got a sec?’
For a moment, he kept on with the game, and Tully thought he was going to ignore her. But after a few seconds, he said something to the boys and, abandoning the chase, headed indoors.
‘What is it?’ he said, when he arrived in the bedroom.
She gave him the bag of money. He looked at it and then immediately thrust it back at her, aghast. ‘Tully,’ he said. ‘Please don’t tell me you stole this.’
‘Oh no . . . I didn’t,’ she said. She very nearly laughed at his assumption, even though, she realised, it was in fact the most logical one. ‘Although I guess Mum might have. Rachel found it with Mum’s things, stuffed inside a hot-water bottle.’
‘Seriously?’ He looked down at the bag again. ‘You swear you didn’t take it?’
‘I swear. You can ask Rachel.’
That seemed to be enough for Sonny. He looked inside the bag. ‘How much is there?’
‘Nearly a hundred thousand.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘A hundred grand? How did Pam come by that kind of money?’
‘We don’t know. All we know is that it was inside the hot-water bottle along with a note that had my name on it and the name Fiona Arthur. We don’t know who she is, but according to Mum, Dad hurt her in some way.’
Sonny was shaking his head. ‘This is madness.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But Dad told Rachel she could keep the money, and when I told Rachel about our financial worries, she said I could keep it. I don’t feel comfortable accepting it all, but I thought maybe half?’ She shrugged. ‘I know that wouldn’t solve all our problems, but every little bit helps, right?’
It took a minute, but finally he started to nod. ‘Yes, every little bit helps. Though I’m not sure what the bank will think when I show up with cash in a plastic bag.’
‘We might need to launder it,’ Tully said earnestly, and was delighted when Sonny laughed.
‘You think Pam has given us dirty money?’
Now Tully laughed. ‘I don’t know what that means, but I’m going to say no.’
Sonny smiled. ‘Good old Pam.’
‘Good old Mum.’
They were standing close together, staring down at the money. Their sides were skimming each other, and Tully could feel Sonny’s body move with his breath. It was the closest they’d been in over a week. Tully felt an urge to throw her arms around him, but she held back.
‘Sonny,’ she said, ‘I know you’re upset with me, and I understand. But I promise I’m going to stop stealing. I’m going to make this right.’
‘You need to have counselling, Tully,’ he said. ‘You’ve been doing this most of your life and, as you said yourself, you can’t stop.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘And I agree – I’ll have counselling. I’ll do anything. Whatever it takes.’
‘Good,’ Sonny said. It was hard to read his expression. For a moment Tully thought he was going to say something more, but instead he just handed her the bag of cash and walked away.
25
RACHEL
Rachel was going on a date – for real this time. She’d spent the day on the edge of nausea, her urge to cancel her date with Darcy warring with her desire to fulfil the commitment she’d made. The whole thing just felt so damn strange. After all, she had never been on a proper date. As a teen, she’d talked to boys at school, and occasionally they hung out on the weekends at the train station or bowling alley, but they’d never gone out for dinner. Never had to sit across from each other at a table and talk. This was an entirely different, terrifying beast.
When Rachel arrived at the restaurant, five minutes early, Darcy wasn’t there yet. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. She took a seat at the bar. Her shoulders felt tense, tight. In fact, her entire body did. There were some laminated menus already laid out, and she picked one up and surveyed it to distract herself. Darcy had asked her to choose the venue and she had selected a popular, mid-priced Mexican restaurant, reasoning that Darcy was unlikely to be able to afford anywhere fancier on what she was paying him (though she fully intended to pay her own way). She wondered, not for the first time, how he supported himself. According to the agency she’d used to find him, he’d been unemployed for a couple of years. And though he was now working for her, he was only doing the occasional job; he wasn’t earning anything like a living wage. Rachel had never cared that much about money, but one did need a certain amount to live. Maybe Darcy had another source of income? As a drug dealer, perhaps? It was yet another thing she needed to find out about him.
There was a mirror opposite her and she used it to check her appearance. She wasn’t horrified by what she saw. She was wearing a black dress and a denim jacket and sandals. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail, as usual. Rachel knew she was attractive, and carrying a few extra kilos did nothing to change this fact. And yet, she felt an intense hatred for . . . not the kilos, but what they represented. Who they connected her to.
‘Hello, hello,’ Darcy said, appearing behind her. ‘You beat me!’
‘I was starting to think you were a no-show,’ she said with a calm she didn’t feel.
‘As if.’ Darcy sat on the stool beside her. ‘Muffin compares to you.’
Rachel couldn’t help it; she snorted.
‘Good one, right?’ he said, grinning.
‘Do you have a special interest in baking jokes,’ Rachel asked, ‘or do you simply have a perfect joke for every specialty industry?’
‘I brushed up on my cake jokes recently,’ he said. ‘Like any good employee.’
‘For the customers?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But I wasted them all on the boss.’
Rachel laughed. She felt her shoulders loosen a little.
‘Can I get you a couple of margaritas?’ the waiter asked, appearing at the end of the bar. He wore a sombrero and a stuck-on handlebar moustache and he had a broad Australian accent.
‘Sure,’ Rachel said. ‘And we’d also like to order food.’
She looked at Darcy, perhaps daring him to object. But he was nodding.
‘Good call,’ he said. ‘Let’s get that out of the way so we can relax.’
And with that, Rachel found that she did relax. She ordered nachos with the lot, followed by fajitas, guacamole and shredded beef empanadas. Then, on a whim, she added a few more mains, a few more sides. As the waiter prepared to leave, she grabbed his forearm. ‘Sorry. Can we add the Mexican corn?’
They didn’t need the corn. The table would be groaning under what she’d already ordered. But there was something about ordering food, being surrounded by it, that calmed her.
After the waiter left, she waited for the inevitable commentary from Darcy. Wow, that was a big order, or, I like a girl with a big appetite. But Darcy didn’t say either of those things. Instead, he lifted his hand in one half of a high five. ‘Good call on the corn,’ he said.
You’re too good to be true, Rachel thought. But she must have said it out loud because Darcy replied, ‘I know.’
She burst out laughing. ‘Seriously! What is wrong with you?’
‘Well,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I do have five kids.’
‘Really?’
‘No! But I am married.’
‘You are?’
He laughed. ‘Of course not!’
Rachel rolled her eyes.
‘Okay, listen – I live in a granny flat at the back of my mum’s place.’
Rachel watched him, waiting for the punchline.
‘That one is true,’ he admitted.
‘Oh,’ Rachel said. ‘Well . . . there’s no shame in that.’
‘Come on. There’s a little shame.’ He grinned. ‘The thing is, it’s been a funny couple of years. I’ve been unemployed, as you know, but I used to run a cafe in the city called Everything’s Better Toasted.’
‘Good name,’ Rachel said.
He looked pleased. ‘It is, isn’t it? I came up with it. We had a terrific spot, right near Flinders Street Station and we did a great trade. Two years after the first cafe, I opened a second one a few streets away. I had plans for two more stores but then . . . COVID happened. The city emptied out overnight, and so did my clientele. We made it through the first lockdown, just. But when Melbourne had to lock down again and again, the businesses went under. I lost everything.’
‘That’s tough. I’m so sorry.’
‘It ruined me for a while.’ He shrugged. ‘I became pretty depressed. I found it hard to even get out of bed in the morning.’
‘Is that why you were on the long-term unemployed program?’
He nodded. ‘I probably could have found a job, if I really wanted one. But I was angry that I’d worked so hard for something and it was taken away for reasons completely beyond my control. I moved back to Mum’s, and for a while I didn’t do anything. Eventually, Mum said I had to do something or she’d kick me out. She probably wouldn’t have, but I didn’t want to take that chance. So now I work for you.’
‘But you always seem so upbeat,’ Rachel said. ‘I never would have known.’
‘The downside of being as charming and charismatic as I am,’ he said with a rueful grin, ‘is that people don’t tend to know when I’m suffering.’
Rachel smiled. ‘So how are you doing now?’
‘Better,’ he said. ‘Definitely better. Mum was right; it turned out I just needed to do something to get out of my head and back into the world. But I’m sorry to tell you that I’m not the catch you thought I was.’
‘Who says I thought you were a catch?’
Darcy laughed raucously, and Rachel couldn’t help but join in. They were just starting to get on top of their laughter when the waiter arrived and began unloading an absurdly large amount of food onto the table. Rachel felt the giggles start to bubble up again, even before he returned to the kitchen to get the rest.
‘Can I get you anything else?’ the waiter asked, when the entire bar area was covered in plates, and people were glancing over from their tables to see what was going on.
‘This will do to start,’ Darcy said, straight-faced. ‘We’ll let you know when we’re ready for the main course.’
After that, Rachel couldn’t hold it in any longer. She laughed until tears ran down her face. She laughed until she forgot that the man on the beach existed, until she was just a normal woman, out on a date at a Mexican restaurant, with a very cute man.
26
HEATHER
Heather wore the pantsuit to dinner. It was, now that she thought about it, a good choice. No need to worry about bending over, lots of room to fit in dessert.
Mary and Michael’s house was like something out of a fairy tale. As Stephen drove into a circular brick driveaway surrounded by climbing roses, Heather gripped the bouquet of flowers that Stephen said was unnecessary. She was grateful she’d insisted, though, because it gave her something to do with her trembling hands. Yes, this was the life she wanted – civilised dinners in beautiful homes, thoughtful conversation with intelligent people. But there was also something terrifying about getting what you’d always wanted. She could’ve used a drink, just to take the edge off her nerves.
They were greeted at the door by both Mary and Michael, which Heather found quite charming. Was that the done thing when people had dinner parties – answering the door as a team? Heather didn’t know, but she made a mental note to try it if she and Stephen had anyone over for dinner.
‘Hello!’ Mary exclaimed. If she had any mixed feelings about meeting her old friend’s replacement, she hid it well. ‘You must be Heather. We’re so happy to meet you.’
Mary was in her late fifties, at a guess. There was no visible sign that she’d had any cosmetic work done, and she seemed to embody the idea of beauty at any age, with her shiny grey-blonde hair, tailored pants and shirt, and flat shoes. She wore minimal make-up, plain gold studs and a matching necklace. Understated. Heather felt quietly grateful that she hadn’t gone for the dress. Once again, Stephen had steered her right.
Michael greeted Heather just as kindly as Mary had, and ushered them into a beautiful dining room, complete with old-fashioned fireplace, thick embossed curtains and ornate ceiling details. The table was set with flowers and beautiful linen napery. Another couple rose to their feet as Stephen and Heather entered.
‘This is Elsa and David,’ Mary said. ‘Elsa, David, this is Heather.’
Elsa and David murmured politely, but unlike Mary and Michael, their manner was aloof. Their smiles were fleeting and they didn’t quite meet Heather’s eye when they greeted her.
‘Why don’t you sit down this end, Heather,’ Mary said. ‘Michael, can you get Heather a champagne?’
Heather had practised declining a drink all day. She’d actually googled polite ways to do it. Google, as usual, had been quite helpful and provided her with many suggestions, including saying she was on medication, that it ‘didn’t agree with her’ or that she was recovering from an illness. Heather’s favourite, which she’d decided to use tonight, was, ‘Just sparkling water for me,’ in a polite but firm voice. In none of the googled scenarios had the host just placed a drink directly in her hand, as Michael did now.
‘So, Heather,’ Mary said, sitting at the head of the table, ‘Stephen tells me you’re an interior designer. I’ll have to get you to come and look around this place. God knows it could use some modernising!’
‘If the rest is anything like what I’ve seen so far, I wouldn’t change a thing,’ Heather said.
‘That’s what she said to me,’ Stephen said, ‘right before she tore the place down to the studs.’
Everyone laughed.
For the next few minutes, conversation moved in a circular fashion with ease, everyone seeming to notice when someone hadn’t contributed and somehow looping them into the discussion without making them stand out or feel put on the spot. It was astonishing, being around such skilled conversationalists. The champagne went down very nicely and before Heather knew it, her glass had been refilled. Mary darted back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, a tea towel draped charmingly over her shoulder.
‘So,’ Elsa said, ‘how is Pam doing?’
‘She’s doing well,’ Stephen said. ‘We visited her this week, and she seemed in good spirits.’
‘You . . . both visited her?’ Elsa said.
Mary arrived with bowls of soup. ‘I should have checked: do you have any dietary restrictions, Heather?’ she called, setting a bowl in front of Stephen.
‘No,’ Heather said. ‘None at all.’
Elsa was still looking at Stephen.
‘Yes,’ Stephen said. ‘Heather and I visited her together. Pam and Heather spent quite a bit of time together this past year, when Heather was overseeing the renovations. And she’s been a great support as we moved Pam into the home.’
Michael was making his way around the table with a bottle of wine, filling the glasses. Elsa opened her mouth to say something else, but Mary got in first.
‘Dig in, everyone!’ Mary said. She held out a basket of crusty rolls. ‘And tell us about the house, Stephen. Is it sublime?’
‘Sublime is a good description for it,’ Stephen said thoughtfully. ‘Most mornings I feel like I’ve awoken in a hotel. It was definitely worth the wait.’
‘I remember sitting in the kitchen with Pam years ago,’ Elsa said, ‘while she drew up plans on a serviette. She was so excited.’
‘I saw her serviette plans,’ Heather said. ‘She also had a whole shoebox full of fabric, swatches, paint colours. She was a dream client in that way. She knew her style – warm, textured, ornate. Never met a throw cushion she didn’t like.’
This drew a laugh from the room, even from Elsa.
‘I bet she’d be thrilled that her dream came to fruition, even if she wasn’t able to see it,’ Mary said. ‘Are there throw cushions everywhere?’
Heather hesitated. She assumed Stephen had told them about the change in direction. She glanced at him for guidance, but he had a mouthful of bread.
‘Well, in the end, we decided to go for a different style. More . . . minimalist. Clean lines.’ She took a quick swig of her wine. ‘I mean, it made sense that if Pam wasn’t going to be living there, we should adapt the plans to suit Stephen’s own style. I wanted him to be happy with the results.’
