The Near Miss by Fran Cusworth Page B

suggest sitting outside, under the rays of the full moon. They were nice enough people, but the night had somehow, so far, not quite gelled, and she had given up hope that it would ever leave this realm of getting-to-know-you questions, punctuated with Romy’s flirtation and Grace’s teary gratitude for Melody’s lifesaving act. Grace’s husband, Tom, seemed heavy and quiet, as if he would really have preferred a night in bed with a takeaway and the cricket on telly over this high-pitched dinner party. He had used his wife’s outbursts of thankfulness to nod mutely and slip off to the kitchen, from which the day’s cricket highlights could be heard murmuring on the radio.
    Grace herself had felt the urge to show Melody Lotte’s birth and newborn baby pictures, as if in stopping the child from being killed, she was somehow in the same category as a mother who gave her life. Melody had quite enjoyed the pictures, she was always interested in births, but was privately dismayed by the arsenal of medical equipment Lotte had been plugged into upon entry to the world. Skip had been homebirthed on the commune, on a warm moonlit night like this, and it was one of Melody’s sweetest memories.
    â€˜I’ll go check on Skip,’ she said hopefully, rising from the table. ‘And Lotte.’
    â€˜They’re fine,’ said Tom gloomily, having already unsuccessfully tried this excuse to gain respite. ‘You’ll have trouble tearing them apart.’
    â€˜Oh.’ She sank reluctantly back into her chair.
    Tom sighed, and attempted a smile. ‘What do you do?’
    â€˜Now? Look after Skip.’
    â€˜Ah . . .’
    Money. She could see his brain ticking over, with city thoughts and calculations. ‘We always get by,’ she said calmly. ‘I never worry about money.’
    â€˜Really?’ His mouth hung open. She suddenly had his full attention. He leaned towards her as if she had signaled she was about to make some great announcement. She felt compelled to make one.
    â€˜The universe will provide. It always does.’
    He fell back in his chair, his cheeks drained of colour, his eyes wide with shock.
    It was all too weird. Melody excused herself and went to look for Skip.
    â€˜Home time, Skip.’
    â€˜Noooo!’ Skip skittered under Lotte’s bed like a crab. ‘I want to stay here.’
    â€˜Aren’t you getting tired?’ She crouched and raised the blanket. The two children pressed themselves into the dark cavity, their heads together. She gave up, and straightened herself. ‘Well, soon , Skip. Five more minutes.’
    She dragged her feet back to the dining table. There they all were, in varying stages of social torture. It was like an Oscar Wilde play gone wrong; it was the most boring dinner she had attended in her life. On weary examination, she found that her seat had been taken, with Romy leaning on one arm to chat to Van, who sat in a cloud of marijuana smoke. Romy tilted her head, and continually played with her long hair. Melody stood behind her chair and crouched for her bag, pretending to look for something inside it.
    â€˜Oh, I’ve taken your chair!!’ Romy giggled mischievously, and wrinkled her nose at Van, as though they had done it together. Across the table, Eddy was distractedly involved in a conversation with Grace about teaching standards. He was pale and thin-lipped, and answeringGrace’s earnest queries with sing-song generalities. ‘I guess there never would be enough money in the system to make people happy, would there?’ His eyes drifted back to Romy. He laughed loudly at a comment Van had made, seeking to thrust himself into their conversation, but Grace, by his side, was insistent.
    â€˜This government needs to really examine its policies, and it needs to get the people on board. For example, they need to transfer control of kindergartens to the Department of Education.