as casually as I can.
‘Oh. Forget about it. Mum. Panicking about nothing. You know her, drama queen.’
She smiles. It’s a natural, easy smile. And her confusion before seemed absolutely genuine. She grabs Joe’s school bag off the floor and hangs it on the bottom of the banister.
‘I thought you were gonna get naked,’ she says, but the grin has gone now.
I go to the phone, pick it up, watching her the whole time. I dial last number recall. And her mother’s number comes up. I was so sure I was about to catch her out, but, no, I’m wrong, totally wrong. I’m an arsehole. I see the look of disappointment on her face and then she turns her back on me, marches into the kitchen.
I follow her, saying nothing. She goes to the sink, dumps too much detergent into the bowl then starts bashing the saucepans clean.
‘Carrie.’
No reply.
‘I don’t know why I did that. I’m sorry.’
She nods, but doesn’t turn. Still, the plates crash a little more lightly in the bubbles.
‘I think it’s, maybe, it’s cos I’m not sleeping properly. These dreams, Jesus.’
‘You’re booked in to see the doctor,’ is her head-down reply.
‘Yeah, Doctor McKay. Next week.’
A glass is placed on the rack. Her hand instinctively pulls hair behind her left ear. I don’t know what to do. It’s like that time we went to a nightclub and I got too drunk and made a fool of myself and she got so angry with me I thought she was going to mash me right there on the dance floor. But I have to know.
‘He’s just a GP, though.’
‘You just said you only needed sleeping pills.’
‘Yeah, but … what if … there’s something more wrong with me?’
‘More wrong? Like what?’
She turns and now I notice that her eyes are teary. I’m out of my depth.
‘I don’t know, that’s what I’m saying. But my body’s sore—’
‘That’s the rugby.’
‘Yeah, sure, but there’s that and my head’s tired and I feel like shit.’
She sighs, the anger visibly fading with her.
‘Go to bed, Ben.’
I stand there feeling big and useless.
‘Were you talking about me. To your mum?’
Another sigh from her. ‘No, I was talking about Dad. They’re … she wants to leave him. And I just … she sees things, imagines things about him which are just not …’
And then she starts to cry. But I still don’t go to her. I’m trapped in the doorway, trying to hold down papers in a gale. I imagine a fox, standing outside its lair, sniffing the breeze, its hairs on end, instinct telling it to run from a farmer’s gun that it cannot see.
I find words from somewhere, not sure how. ‘Why don’t we go out tomorrow for a drink, and talk. Somewhere without the kids. Not anything big and boozy. Just, you know, if we tried to do it here then Emma would have nightmares or Joe would have a coughing fit or …’
‘I’d like that.’ She reaches for a drying cloth. ‘Go to bed, hon.’
I nod, turn. Go upstairs. I slip into Joe’s room. Crouch down and stroke his matted hair. He sleeps so deeply he doesn’t stir. Sitting here in the dark, seeing the faint glow of the luminous stars that we stuck on the ceiling together, I wonder again what I have to worry about. A bad feeling. A glimpse of a face of a person I’ve never met.
I see the fox dead and decomposing. And the contents of my head feel wrong in my boy’s room. So I clamber up and get out.
I head for the bedroom. But stop, distracted by the wonder wall. I see Carrie at her own graduation with the worst perm ever. There are her parents holding Emma up so she can see the penguins at the zoo. There’s me and Joe pretending to be sumo wrestlers. There’s …
Carrie appears at the top of the stairs.
‘Bed.’
But I can’t take my eyes off the photos. ‘How come there are none of me up here?’ I ask.
‘Huh?’ She comes up close to me again, an arm around my waist.
‘Well, there’s you when you were younger – there, about to do that bungee jump in
‘Oh. Forget about it. Mum. Panicking about nothing. You know her, drama queen.’
She smiles. It’s a natural, easy smile. And her confusion before seemed absolutely genuine. She grabs Joe’s school bag off the floor and hangs it on the bottom of the banister.
‘I thought you were gonna get naked,’ she says, but the grin has gone now.
I go to the phone, pick it up, watching her the whole time. I dial last number recall. And her mother’s number comes up. I was so sure I was about to catch her out, but, no, I’m wrong, totally wrong. I’m an arsehole. I see the look of disappointment on her face and then she turns her back on me, marches into the kitchen.
I follow her, saying nothing. She goes to the sink, dumps too much detergent into the bowl then starts bashing the saucepans clean.
‘Carrie.’
No reply.
‘I don’t know why I did that. I’m sorry.’
She nods, but doesn’t turn. Still, the plates crash a little more lightly in the bubbles.
‘I think it’s, maybe, it’s cos I’m not sleeping properly. These dreams, Jesus.’
‘You’re booked in to see the doctor,’ is her head-down reply.
‘Yeah, Doctor McKay. Next week.’
A glass is placed on the rack. Her hand instinctively pulls hair behind her left ear. I don’t know what to do. It’s like that time we went to a nightclub and I got too drunk and made a fool of myself and she got so angry with me I thought she was going to mash me right there on the dance floor. But I have to know.
‘He’s just a GP, though.’
‘You just said you only needed sleeping pills.’
‘Yeah, but … what if … there’s something more wrong with me?’
‘More wrong? Like what?’
She turns and now I notice that her eyes are teary. I’m out of my depth.
‘I don’t know, that’s what I’m saying. But my body’s sore—’
‘That’s the rugby.’
‘Yeah, sure, but there’s that and my head’s tired and I feel like shit.’
She sighs, the anger visibly fading with her.
‘Go to bed, Ben.’
I stand there feeling big and useless.
‘Were you talking about me. To your mum?’
Another sigh from her. ‘No, I was talking about Dad. They’re … she wants to leave him. And I just … she sees things, imagines things about him which are just not …’
And then she starts to cry. But I still don’t go to her. I’m trapped in the doorway, trying to hold down papers in a gale. I imagine a fox, standing outside its lair, sniffing the breeze, its hairs on end, instinct telling it to run from a farmer’s gun that it cannot see.
I find words from somewhere, not sure how. ‘Why don’t we go out tomorrow for a drink, and talk. Somewhere without the kids. Not anything big and boozy. Just, you know, if we tried to do it here then Emma would have nightmares or Joe would have a coughing fit or …’
‘I’d like that.’ She reaches for a drying cloth. ‘Go to bed, hon.’
I nod, turn. Go upstairs. I slip into Joe’s room. Crouch down and stroke his matted hair. He sleeps so deeply he doesn’t stir. Sitting here in the dark, seeing the faint glow of the luminous stars that we stuck on the ceiling together, I wonder again what I have to worry about. A bad feeling. A glimpse of a face of a person I’ve never met.
I see the fox dead and decomposing. And the contents of my head feel wrong in my boy’s room. So I clamber up and get out.
I head for the bedroom. But stop, distracted by the wonder wall. I see Carrie at her own graduation with the worst perm ever. There are her parents holding Emma up so she can see the penguins at the zoo. There’s me and Joe pretending to be sumo wrestlers. There’s …
Carrie appears at the top of the stairs.
‘Bed.’
But I can’t take my eyes off the photos. ‘How come there are none of me up here?’ I ask.
‘Huh?’ She comes up close to me again, an arm around my waist.
‘Well, there’s you when you were younger – there, about to do that bungee jump in
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