Other People’s Diaries (32 page)

S
ince Jeremy had left, Rebecca had operated on autopilot, doing everything that needed doing without allowing herself to think.

She had showered, woken Sam and headed back to the hospital to collect a sullen Bianca. Her attempts to talk to Bianca about Peter had been rudely rebuffed. Bianca had limped up the stairs to her bedroom as soon as they arrived home, closing the door tightly behind her.

Rebecca had called the office early, long before anyone would be in, and left a message on her assistant's voicemail. She'd then logged onto the system from home and put an out-of-office message on her incoming email saying she was on leave.

Although nobody from work had called, they must have seen the article and identified her. Rebecca could just imagine the furtive conversations that would be buzzing around the office. This would be gossip beyond their wildest dreams.

The thought of having Lorraine around all day was unbearable. So Rebecca had given her the day off, pretending not to hear the smirk in the nanny's voice. Sam's delight at having Rebecca home for the day was the only thing that had penetrated the shell around her, the guilt that it should be such a special event for him, cutting deep.

It wasn't until lunchtime, when Sam was asleep and Bianca
was doing God only knew what in her room, that Rebecca stopped and allowed herself to think.

Jeremy was gone. Gone.

With shaking hands, she called his mobile, but the call went straight through to his voicemail.

What message could she possibly leave?

‘I'm sorry I got it so badly wrong. I never realised how much I needed you until you weren't here. I'm lonely. Come home.'

Silently, she hung up.

The phone rang immediately. Eagerly Rebecca hit the talk button.

‘Hi Rebecca, it's Claire.'

‘Hi.'

The word echoed down the phone line, followed by a silence.

Where did they begin? Rebecca had no idea.

It was Claire who spoke. ‘How's Bianca?'

‘She's okay. A bit battered and bruised and not too happy with the cast on her arm. But she'll be okay.' Rebecca paused. ‘How are you – and Peter?'

‘He left this morning. It's not about Bianca, it was the final straw, that's all. There was nothing left. It's time for both of us to start again.'

Rebecca said nothing, her thoughts swirling. Had she set them all on this path the day she first lied about Bianca's father? If she had told the truth, would Peter and Claire be in a different place to this one?

‘It's okay, Rebecca,' Claire's words were strong and Rebecca believed her.

They were silent for a moment.

‘Who do you think gave the journalist the information for that article?' Rebecca asked the question that had been in her head since the previous morning.

‘I have no idea,' Claire answered.

‘It had to be Alice didn't it? Think about all the publicity her new book will get from this debacle.'

‘I don't know.' Claire paused for a moment. ‘None of the rest
of us would have done it, that's for sure. Who wants their personal life spread all over the weekend paper? But Alice? I don't know. She seems so – well, so nice.'

After Claire had hung up, Rebecca walked purposefully into the kitchen.

She hadn't eaten all day but she didn't feel hungry. Instead she made a coffee, adding an extra shot for good measure. She pulled her filofax toward her, trying to think which of the lawyers she knew would be able to help.

Rebecca knew what Jeremy would have said. ‘It's done now, Bec. Let it be.'

But Jeremy wasn't here. That was the whole point.

A
lice tried to ignore the waiter's curious look as he put the coffee cup on the table.

Surely she didn't look that out of place?

Only two other tables were occupied. One was taken by three soft-drink sipping boys, wetsuits stripped to below their hipbones. Alice wondered idly why they weren't in school. The other was occupied by a leather-skinned woman who looked as though she'd spent most of her life in exactly that spot.

Alice was in her standard school drop-off uniform of jeans and T-shirt – today's T-shirt happened to be black. She couldn't remember when she'd last washed her hair. It was forced into a ponytail which she knew didn't suit her.

Only a quiet road separated the cafe from the beach and Alice looked across at the stretch of glittering sand which looped to a point, a large flat rock at its end. The cafe had been a kiosk until coffee became a cultural essential. The owners had tried to enter the new era with stainless-steel tables and angular chairs. But the faded umbrellas and sandwich boards advertising ice creams betrayed its origins.

It was a place for holidays smelling of sunscreen and frying sausages. Not for a tired housewife who hadn't been in a bikini for a decade.

Andrew would have landed by now and arrived home to an
empty house. It had been almost a week since she'd seen him. Being at home to meet him wouldn't really have been too much to ask.

This was starting to get ridiculous. She had to get back.

It was just that she was so tired.

She shouldn't be. It wasn't as though her children were babies any more and waking for feeds every three hours.

They had all had been terrible sleepers as babies and she'd felt like a zombie for years. She remembered yearning for sleep, counting the hours before she could get back to bed, if only for a short while.

This wasn't like that now. It was a different kind of tired.

She was tired of being the grown-up that made things work as they should. And she was tired of feeling guilty.

Alice looked along the road. Currumbin was a lot fancier than when she and Andrew had been here. The one little guest-house on the corner had yielded to a multistorey hotel complex and there was a small but stylish looking hotel adjacent to the cafe. Maybe that was what she needed. To get a room and sleep. A little slice of oblivion might give her the energy to pull it all together again.

Almost unable to believe what she was doing, Alice paid for the coffee and walked into the hotel next door.

Fifteen minutes later she was sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed in a beachfront room.

She should call Andrew. He'd be wondering where she was. Why hadn't he called her mobile? Alice pulled her handbag onto her lap and pulled out her phone. Its screen was black and wouldn't turn on – battery totally out of charge.

Alice picked up the telephone beside the bed and called Andrew's mobile number, no idea of what she would say when he answered. She counted the rings, her stomach unclenching as they continued. Mercifully Andrew's voice message clicked on. As Alice listened, his voice sounded like that of a stranger.

‘Andrew, it's me. I'm out all day, but will be back later this afternoon. Just in case it's after school pick-up time, could you get the kids today? I – I'll see you soon.'

She hung the phone up, kicked off her shoes and lay back fully clothed on top of the covers on one edge of the huge bed. Finally she allowed her eyes to drop closed.

Alice woke with a start. The light in the room had faded.

Although her mind felt as though it was stuffed with cloud, she knew instantly where she was and that she'd slept way too long.

She sat up in a panic.

The clock radio read
16:20
. God, she should have been home hours ago.

A terrible thought struck her. What if Andrew hadn't got her message? What if he wasn't even in the country yet – if his flight had been delayed?

Her stomach clenched in terror. What if no one had picked up the children?

Desperately, she fumbled on the floor for her shoes.

‘Finally.'

At the soft voice, Alice spun around to see a shadowy figure sitting in a chair in the corner.

‘Andrew! What are you …'

Before he could respond, she asked desperately, ‘The kids. Did you pick up the kids?'

Andrew nodded without smiling. ‘The kids are fine.'

Alice felt the tide of panic fade, replaced instantly by embarrassment. Even in the poor light she could see Andrew looking at her as though he'd never seen her before. She shook her head, praying she could keep back the tears she could feel behind her eyelids.

‘How, how did you get in here?' She bunched the bedcover in her fists.

Andrew smiled and for a moment everything felt as though it would be all right.

‘How do you think?' he asked.

‘Oh no, I didn't, did I?'

Alice routinely left keys in doors. Andrew often walked
in at night, swinging the keys which had been hanging in the front door lock since Alice came home hours before. On one memorable occasion she'd even left the keys in the car door and then driven off with Andrew's set. They were ten minutes down the road before they figured out what the banging noise was.

Andrew smile disappeared and Alice knew that she needed to explain.

‘Andrew, I'm sorry … I don't know what happened. I just wanted … I just couldn't go home and then …' Her voice trailed off. She had no idea what had happened herself, so how could she explain it to him?

‘And then what?' Andrew pushed himself out of the chair and moved to snap on the switch, flooding the room with light.

‘I land after an extremely crappy trip away to find about twenty messages about some goddamn article. Not one of them from my wife, I might add.'

He sounded as though he were struggling to keep his voice calm. Alice tried to interrupt, but he kept talking.

‘And then I get home to an empty house. Car gone, wife gone. Just a voicemail message saying you were going to be late.'

He gestured around the room. ‘This isn't late, Alice. This is gone.'

She tried again to speak but he clearly hadn't finished.

‘What is going on, Alice? If you hadn't called my mobile from the landline here, I would have had no idea where you were. I'd have called the police by now.'

He was right. She knew he was. Nothing she had done today made any sense even to her. She'd been selfish and unfair.

And yet, now that she knew everyone was safe, she suddenly wasn't sorry.

She could see Andrew's lips moving as he kept talking but his words had stopped connecting with her brain. She stared at his face. Was this really the man she'd married? There had been a time when she'd loved him so much that she'd ached when they were apart.

The stupid little flirtation with Kerry, which she'd been
feeling so guilty about, didn't even rate on the scale of how she had once felt about Andrew.

That had been a long time ago though.

Maybe if Andrew had asked whether she was okay she would have felt differently. Or if he had sat down on the bed beside her and hugged her. Instead, it seemed the only thing he cared about was that she had abandoned her post. He hadn't even waited to hear what she had to say.

A moment ago she'd felt like bursting into tears. As he kept talking, she could feel anger coursing up her spine. His words echoed in her ears.

‘This isn't late, Alice. This is gone.'

Gone? Was that what this was?

Finally his lips stopped moving and she assumed she was now permitted to speak.

Her voice sounded cold, even to her own ears. ‘You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe this is gone.'

Fuelled by adrenalin, she stood up, careful not to move any closer to Andrew than she had to. She briefly registered the surprise on his face.

‘I can't do it any more, Andrew. Any of it. I surrender.' She raised her hands. ‘I've failed. Failed at being a writer, failed at being a mother. Failed at being a wife. I think maybe it's time to wave the white flag and move on.'

Alice's grandmother had once told her that there were lines in every marriage that shouldn't be crossed. Some were obvious, while others were like tripwires hidden in the grass, obvious only when your chin cracked onto the rocky ground.

Alice knew that what she was saying now crossed all of them. But she couldn't stop.

‘I can't keep the house clean. I can't keep the kids happy. Quite clearly I can't keep you happy. And I'm sure as hell not happy.'

Andrew opened his mouth but she raised her voice. ‘It wasn't for lack of trying. I have read just about every book on home organisation and parenting that has ever been published. At last count I had three folders full of recipes from magazines that one
day I was going to make. I have tried spending fifteen minutes every day spending quality time with each of my children. I have tried baking goddamn cookies one day a week.'

She slowed her voice down so there would be no confusion. ‘I … can't … do … it.'

Her words echoed around the room for a moment, before disappearing and leaving behind a thick silence.

Andrew looked at Alice for a long moment. Slowly he walked toward her, lowering himself onto the bed beside her.

‘So what happens now?' he asked quietly.

Alice turned toward him and was surprised to see a real look of fear in his eyes. ‘You know, I have absolutely no idea.'

Andrew looked straight ahead for a moment. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. ‘Do you know how many times I've walked in the door at night just wanting to sit down and talk to you?' He looked away for a moment. ‘But all I'd get was a peck on the check as you stuck your rubber gloves back into the sink.'

He paused, as if deciding whether to go on.

‘I'd get a time estimate on dinner and then have you banging around the kitchen exuding this self-righteous resignation at still having to be working at eight o'clock at night. I tried to suggest we get takeaway a few times, or maybe just have something simple. But you'd bite my head off as if I was complaining.'

There was silence, the tension reverberating around the small room.

Alice tried to reconcile the picture Andrew had just described with what she remembered. Achingly tired nights, when all she wanted was to walk away from the kitchen and fall into bed. Instead she'd think of something to make, clear the benches from the children's dinner and start again. Dinners made for a husband who didn't want them. The memory of an endless string of nights just like he'd described sped through her head and threatened to overwhelm her. How could they both have been looking at the same scene so differently?

‘I thought that when you suggested takeaway it was because you figured I couldn't manage.' Alice's voice was almost a whisper.

Their eyes met. For a moment the two different worlds they'd inhabited for the last years aligned.

Alice tried to sift back through the indistinguishable stretch of evenings to the beginning. Was there a moment when she'd almost agreed to a curry from down the road? Or when Andrew had almost wrapped his arms around her at the sink instead of walking straight past her to the study? A moment that could have set them on a different road to the one they stood at the end of now.

It was the sense of ridiculous waste that consumed her – a waste of time and effort and a love that had been worth something once.

Andrew shook his head as if to clear it. ‘I don't know, Alice. We used to be happy. The house, the business, the kids, they were all supposed to add to that, not destroy it.'

The angle of Andrew's head flipped Alice back through time to an afternoon in a pub in London's Camden Town. The insipid afternoon sun had stretched pale fingers across the glass tabletop and illuminated the beer sitting warm and flat in their glasses, English style. She'd watched Andrew as, eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and lager, he'd talked about the life they could have in Australia. He'd achieved exactly what he'd set out to. But his eyes were a flat brown these days.

‘I'm sorry.'

Alice looked up at Andrew, startled by his apology.

He looked back at her steadily.

‘I'm sorry too,' she whispered.

In a romance novel they'd have fallen into each other's arms.

In real life they sat there quietly for a moment, neither knowing what to do.

Finally Alice stood and picked up her handbag from the floor.

‘We should go,' she said.