Other People’s Diaries (31 page)

‘S
eriously Mum. It's just a movie. You have no idea. It will be fun. Remember that? F-U-N.'

Alice looked at her daughter through eyes gritty with lack of sleep. She felt as though she was seeing Ellen for the first time in a very long while.

As a small child, Ellen's hair had been platinum blonde, almost white. Recently, though, it had darkened and was now almost brown. A small part of Alice wondered when that had happened. How had she not noticed? And when had her daughter started sneering at her? Just because she wouldn't let her go into town with her friends to see a movie.

Alice tried to explain herself again, trying not to sound as exhausted as she felt. ‘Twelve is far too young to go into town by yourself. If you're that set on seeing the movie, I'll take you over the weekend. You could even bring a friend.'

‘Yeah great.' Ellen rolled her eyes. ‘Going to the movies with my mum is just what I want.' She started to turn away, mumbling ‘Thanks for nothing,' under her breath.

For quite some time now Ellen had been convinced that Alice's mission in life was to ruin Ellen's. Alice told herself that it was okay. That all her friends' kids thought the same thing about their parents.

And then, like a boxer who knew she was beaten but wanted to inflict pain anyway, Ellen turned back.

‘No wonder Dad's never home any more. Why would he want to be with someone as boring as you?'

And suddenly, just like that, a sneering daughter wasn't okay.

Without conscious thought, Alice slapped her. Hard. Across the face.

Just like that.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Ellen's face was pale except for a red mark where Alice's hand had connected. Ellen stared at Alice. Ellen who had never been smacked in her life. Not once.

Alice knew she should say sorry. She should step in, give Ellen a hug. Tell her she was just tired. Make it all right.

But she did none of those things.

Instead, she stood there, looking at Ellen. Watching Ellen watching her. Alice felt as though a well inside her had run dry and there was nothing left.

Alice knew Ellen expected an apology. And in fact, she probably deserved one. But the-Alice-with-nothing-left felt anything but sorry. In fact she felt great. She even wondered, briefly, about doing it again. God, but it had felt good.

After several more seconds of wordless staring, Ellen's face crumpled and she turned and fled up the stairs.

With shaking hands, Alice turned back to the kitchen counter, trying to focus on the task at hand. As usual they were running late.

She looked at the food she'd already laid out, ready for school lunches. Pumpkin and pecan cake – made without preservatives and with flaxseed oil. Multigrain bread and free-range roast chicken. With hummus for Ellen. With avocado for John. With mayo for Alex.

At least Andrew was still overseas. He didn't like roast chicken. She would have had to give him tuna, which he never really enjoyed …

What the hell was she doing? She was obsessing about a bunch of stupid lunch boxes, for Christsakes. Had she always been this pathetic?

Ellen's words swam in her mind. ‘No wonder Dad's never
home any more. Why would he want to be with someone as boring as you?'

Alice had a sudden memory of a dawn in London many years ago. She and Andrew had been up all night. She'd taken an Ecstasy tablet. He'd taken who knew how many. She remembered the warmth of the chemical in her bloodstream. They were utterly in love with each other and with the world.

They'd sneaked away from the party and climbed out of the attic window. There was a small flat piece of roof. There, with the new day flooding across the rooftops, they'd made love. In full view, she'd realised later, of anyone who'd cared to look up. She'd felt as though her bones were liquid, that her whole body had fused with Andrew's.

Alice hadn't thought of that morning for years but now the memory of it was so strong she could almost feel the drug-induced euphoria.

She looked down at the kitchen bench again.

Had that been the real Alice that morning in London long ago? Or was the real Alice this woman worrying about tuna?

She knew the answer. Or at least she hoped she did.

This wasn't her.

She felt as though she'd woken up from a long dream and found herself in the wrong life.

Alice picked up the pumpkin cake and threw the whole thing into the bin. Not the compost. The bin. The one that contributed to landfill.

It felt good.

She followed it with the roast chicken. Then the multigrain bread. The avocado and then the hummus.

It felt really good.

Right. Lunches.

She turned back to the cupboard and pulled out a packet of Cocoa Pops. She'd bought it for Ellen's birthday treat the next week. Perfect. She filled three small Tupperware containers right to the top and broke her special packet of dark chocolate (high in antioxidants) into thirds. Each piece she put on top. That was morning tea covered.

Lunch. She stood in front of the cupboard for a moment and then was struck with inspiration. She pulled a loaf of white bread out of the freezer and smothered three slices in butter. She slathered jam on, then crunchy peanut paste, and covered each with another slice of bread. Her children would probably be expelled for bringing peanuts into the school yard, but that was their problem.

Ignoring the Tupperware containers lined up on the bench, Alice pulled an ancient roll of clingfilm out of the cupboard. Tearing off far more than she needed, she wrapped each sandwich in plastic. Excellent, that should ensure some chemicals leaking into their bread.

Alice's mind spun as she worked.

She had lain awake most of the night wondering how this had happened. It had to be someone in the group who'd given the information to the journalist. No one would have reason to know the website was there otherwise, even if they could somehow avoid the password protection. But all of the group were implicated in the article – not one of them came out of the article unscathed. It just didn't make sense.

The group had seemed like a nice idea. You can be happy now. Don't wait for a cataclysmic event that forces you to make changes. Make small changes in your life today. Be happy. Drink nice tea. Be kind to animals.

How could something so simple have gone so horribly wrong?

Claire had called Alice on Sunday to tell her what had happened to Bianca. Alice hadn't heard from any of the others. She was sure they must blame her for the article and hadn't been able to bring herself to contact any of them.

The dark hours of last night had given Alice plenty of time to wonder what had happened to everyone else. It had also given her time to wonder what on earth to tell Andrew when he arrived home today.

She'd read the newspaper article so many times she could just about recite it.

It was so unfair, she had wanted to scream. She hadn't been
trying to control anyone. She had just thought her plan might work.

Now she was at war with her twelve year old daughter.

She pushed the lunchboxes into the appropriate school bags and carried them to the door.

‘Time to go!' she yelled up the stairs, surprised by how normal she sounded.

Shoes were scattered all over the hall. Automatically Alice bent to stack them in the shelf next to the front door. Suddenly she stopped. Straightening, she aimed a kick at a large pile, scattering them even further. Calmly she picked up her car keys and walked out the front door.

C
laire slid the last sock into the Ziploc bag and ran the white toggle along the top.

Quietly, she slid it into position at the top of the Samsonite suitcase and closed the lid. How many times had she packed like this for Peter over the years? Conferences, golfing weekends, she packed for them all. Shoes and jumpers on the bottom, shirts next and then underwear on top.

The zip whispered closed.

She started as she heard Peter's soft voice in the doorway. ‘It's probably not quite normal for a wife to pack her husband's suitcase when he is leaving.'

Claire smiled sadly. ‘We're both leaving,' she reminded him. ‘It's just that you're going first. Hopefully we'll be able to sell the house soon.'

She still wasn't sure why she was so calm about her life crashing in around her. It was almost as if she'd spent years worrying about everything and now that the worst had happened there was nothing left to worry about.

In the end there hadn't really been a decision to make. The last sliver of Peter and Claire's love had disappeared some time ago, worn out by too much unhappiness and not enough good times. The thought that they could put it back together had been tempting but not real.

It had taken the news about Bianca to make Claire sure. She wasn't prepared to see that one through with him. It was time for her to be by herself.

When Claire had arrived at the hospital the night before, Rebecca had looked utterly beaten.

Claire had sat down beside her and they'd both sat in silence watching Bianca sleep.

Finally Rebecca had spoken. ‘It happened before you and Peter got together.'

Claire nodded. ‘I know.'

‘I would never have cheated on you.'

Claire felt tears on her cheeks. ‘I know.'

She stayed with Rebecca until just before dawn when the hospital started to wake up and Bianca stirred.

Then she called Peter on his mobile, not even asking where he was. It had been strangely clinical. Both of them had known it was over. All they'd had left to talk over had been the details.

Now, standing in their bedroom, Claire looked over at Peter. ‘I still can't believe this house is worth so much less than we paid for it.'

The two real estate agents they'd had over that day had been pessimistic about the price it would raise.

Peter grimaced. ‘We must be the only two people who have lost money on property during the boom.'

Actually, if she was truthful, Peter hadn't had much to do with it. She'd told him she'd loved the house, carried away by her vision of what it could look like. Instead of seeing a grungy, dingy verandah, she'd seen impromptu brunches as friends dropped in, long dinner parties and Sunday lunches.

So much for that.

It would have been very easy for him to blame her, to tell her it was all her fault, but he hadn't.

Once they'd sold and paid off the mortgage and credit cards, they would be barely in the black. It made Claire feel sick to think of it, so mostly she didn't.

Suddenly Peter strode forward and grabbed Claire by the
arms. ‘Maybe we could make it work. Sell this place … move somewhere else …'

His voice trailed off as he saw Claire's face.

She was finished, there was nowhere for them to go.

Without another word Peter turned away.

E
llen had obviously told John and Alex what had happened. All three were unusually subdued during the ride to school.

In the rear-vision mirror Alice could see the children sneaking glances at each other, clearly unable to decide how to react.

Normally Alice would have felt forced to fill the silence. Start a conversation, turn on the radio. But not today. Today she felt strangely removed from the whole scene. As though she were just a passing stranger looking in the car window and wondering why everyone looked so unhappy.

All three kids were clearly relieved when she pulled up at the school gates and, with a quick chorus of ‘bye Mum', they were gone. Despite the fact that she was in a two minute drop-off zone, Alice didn't pull away instantly. Instead she watched the three familiar backpacks linger briefly together, then separate and go their own ways.

She could almost imagine the conversation that had passed between them.

‘She'll get over it,' Ellen would be saying in the smartarse tone Alice hated.

‘She'll be feeling guilty as hell by this afternoon. I guarantee we'll all get extra PlayStation time tonight.'

Alice thought about that. Tonight. Tonight, it would start all
over again. The fights over who wouldn't eat what. Who stole whose place at the dinner table.

Even after the backpacks disappeared from sight, she didn't pull away. She was aware of the glares shot by mothers out of car windows, but she just didn't care. On a normal day dallying in the two minute zone was a serious protocol crime. But today, it seemed, was not turning out to be an ordinary day.

She knew she should go home. Throw all the Red Folder Project stuff away. It was over, that much was clear. She might as well put it behind her. Failing that, the house was a tip again.

But when she finally put the car in gear, she didn't swing the car into its customary U-turn at a safe distance from the pedestrian crossing. Instead, she kept going. She almost turned left when she reached the Normanby five ways. She had her indicator on, intending to double back on her tracks, head home and pull herself together.

But she didn't.

Instead, she turned right and within minutes was on the freeway.

Alice flicked the radio to the country station she enjoyed, despite her children's embarrassment. She turned the volume up far too loud and let the music wash over her as the freeway took her away from the city. Away from home.

The song finished and another came on. More heartbreak and undying love. She twisted the volume knob even higher and drove faster. She knew she was breaking the speed limit. How long had it been since she'd done that?

She moved into the right hand lane, passing everyone.

One after another the songs rolled over her, blocking out the need to think as her car headed south. Alice passed freeway exits, shopping centres … All of them became a blur. The only thing that existed was the car and the music.

It wasn't until she reached a traffic jam that she slowed down.

As she did, she realised she'd hit the southern end of the Gold Coast. Surely she hadn't travelled so far?

On the side of the freeway was a sign advertising the Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary.

Alice had a sudden memory of visiting the wildlife sanctuary with Andrew when she'd first arrived in Brisbane. She remembered the heat radiating off the bitumen as they'd sat together on a low brick wall licking mango ice creams. It had been so hot it had been impossible to eat faster than the ice cream was melting and both of them had the sticky mixture dripping down their arms.

Abandoning his own ice cream, Andrew had run his tongue from her elbow to her fingertips and she remembered the feel of his mouth sucking her middle finger.

They'd laughed like little kids and in the end agreed the only solution was a dip in the ocean. They'd stayed the whole day, driving back to Brisbane as the sun went down. Sunburnt and ravenous.

Now, without any plans, she exited the freeway and pulled over next to the enormous Greyhound buses lined up beside the front door. The wildlife sanctuary was much fancier than she remembered. The unremarkable entrance she recalled had been replaced by turnstiles and a glass and stone booth.

Alice had no intention of going in. She'd been thrilled by koalas and kangaroos when she'd first moved out here. Fifteen years later, she was over them.

She looked down at her hands on the steering wheel and realised she had no intentions at all.

The clock on the dashboard read
09:57
.

She still had plenty of time to get home.

Except she wasn't going home.