Cindy Jones (9 page)

 

Cindy inspected the big lounge room with mixed feelings. It was only another half-hour until the wedding.

From the kitchen came the clatter of crockery. There were flowers everywhere; banked on the buffet, on all the mantelpieces, and in the big vases by the stairs. Long tables were set up in the second lounge room. Everything looked beautiful, but strange and unfamiliar, as if she had strayed into the wrong house.

“Have you seen my black shoes, Cindy?” her father called.

“Under your bed.”

Cars were pulling up. Cindy scowled at her clean jeans. She was going to look out of place. All the guests were dressed in good clothes.

She opened the door to Jennifer and Mike, Mr. and Mrs. Waterbury, Thumb and Carrots, and then Gretta and George McLaren. The big lounge room was suddenly crowded with people laughing and talking.

“Everything looks lovely,” Jennifer said. “Those pink silk curtains really set the room off. Why haven't you changed, Cindy?”

“Into what?” Cindy asked with a shrug. “I only have the dress Miss Hopkins lent me last night, or Prunella's ghastly hand-me-downs.”

“Let's have a look,” Jennifer said cheerfully. “We can organize something.”

“Like a miracle,” Cindy retorted as she led the way upstairs.

“Hum,” Jennifer mused as she studied the three offending dresses. “Do you have any nice blouses?”

“My new gray cotton, which I'm wearing, but I only have jeans to wear with it.”

“It matches the gray patterned dress,” Jennifer said.

It did, too! The material in the dress was good quality silky cotton with the same shade of gray through it.

“A nice sharp pair of scissors,” Jennifer ordered.

Cindy produced the scissors and watched with fascinated horror as Jennifer put the gray dress on the floor and hacked the skirt off above the shirred waistline. Cindy pulled off her jeans and slipped the skirt on. The gray blouse and the gray patterned skirt looked a perfect match, except for the untidy raw waistline.

Jennifer ripped open the full gathered neckline and started cutting. “There's enough material here for a sash. We can turn the edges in. Find some safety pins to fasten it with.”

When Jennifer had finished pinning the sash, the outfit looked surprisingly good. With the tailored cotton blouse and the full skirt swinging out from the tight sash, Cindy felt elegant and grown up.

“Get those shoes and socks off, and wear the silver sandals,” Jennifer advised. “They will look better with that outfit.”

After Cindy changed into the sandals and brushed her hair, she gave Jennifer a hug. It was amazing the confidence and pleasure that wearing the right clothes gave.

“You look very pretty, Cindy.” Her father beamed with pleasure when Cindy and Jennifer came downstairs. “I don't know why you make such a fuss about wearing dresses.”

Cindy smiled and moved around offering drinks and showing the guests to chairs. The minister was waiting by the flower-covered buffet, whispering to old George McLaren.

Miss Hopkins smiled when she saw Cindy, but her head kept swiveling around as each newcomer came into the room. Everyone sat down. There was a lull. The pianist looked around and started playing. Cindy found a chair at the front. She thought the Professor looked nervous.

Mrs. Barry, wearing a pale mauve dress and a matching picture hat, walked through the door. She carried mauve roses and leaned on the arm of an elderly man. Prudence and Constance, dressed alike in blue dresses, followed her.

“That's her old uncle,” Gretta whispered to Cindy.

The person playing the piano thumped out the wedding march. A part of Cindy's mind noted one key was still flat. Her new stepmother walked slowly between the aisle of guests. Mrs. Barry's face was flushed an attractive pink, and her large dark eyes glowed. She stared straight ahead to where the professor waited.

Cindy felt the dislike and irritation rise at the sight of her, but she suppressed it. From now on Mrs. Barry was going to be the second Mrs. Jones, and Cindy intended to get along with her. Mrs. Barry reached the professor's side and handed Constance her flowers. Both girls sat down beside Cindy.

The minister opened his book, took a deep breath, and started to drone his way slowly through the marriage service. He went on and on. The professor shifted from one foot to another. Above his nicely polished black shoes peeped one black and one green sock. Cindy glanced around but no one else was looking at his feet.

The minister raised his voice to intone, “Whereas speak now or forever hold their peace”.

Hooper barked. Someone shushed him. There was the sound of a raised voice and more annoyed shushes.

“I do object,” a vaguely familiar person insisted.

The minister looked startled. Everyone turned around. A man with untidy gray hair, a brown weather-beaten face, and grey whiskers, dressed in a shabby gray suit, pushed his way towards the professor and Mrs. Barry.

“Gwenny can't marry the professor,” he said loudly. “She's still married to me.

Mrs. Barry looked around. Her eyes widened, and her face went white. “Thomas,” she quavered and fainted into the professor's arms.

“Wake up, Gwenny.” The shabby man pushed closer. “I've come back.”

Mrs. Barry opened her eyes. “You can't be Thomas! He drowned six years ago.”

“Well, I'm not drowned, am I?” he said. “Lost my memory for a while, maybe. Pull yourself together, Gwenny.”

“Stupid old man,” Constance sneered. “My father didn't look a bit like that old tramp.”

Tom Barry spun around, his gray eyes sharp. “That will be enough nonsense from you, missy! You can wash that muck off your face, too.”

Old George McLaren peered at the old man more closely and put out his hand. “Welcome back, Tom. I must say you look well.”

Tom Barry shook his hand. “Fishing is a lot more fun than banking, George. Think about it when you retire.”

“Fancy turning up in that dreadful old suit, Thomas.” Mrs. Barry moaned. “And why aren't your bottom teeth in?”

“A fisherman doesn't need a suit, Gwenny. And those fancy teeth were uncomfortable.”

“Are you really my father?” Prunella's eyes were rounder than ever.

“Yes, Pru,” Tom Barry assured her. “And have I got a real good little whistler put aside for you.”

“We can't have pets in the townhouse,” Mrs. Barry said immediately.

“But we aren't going to live in the townhouse, Gwenny,” her husband said. “We'll live at Seaview. There's the local high school the girls can attend.”

“Seaview,” Mrs. Barry echoed in a stunned voice.

“Seaview,” her husband repeated. “There's a good living in fishing.” He patted her arm. “Picked out a nice big house down there for you, Gwenny.”

“So you can have some more bottom teeth fitted,” Mrs. Barry said in a high stressed voice. ‘Really Thomas, I've always told you, you have to persevere with false teeth.'

Cindy decided it was an odd thing to say, but then perhaps Mrs. Barry was a bit taken aback at finding she still had a husband on her wedding day? She did seem less in control than usual.

Cindy saw that both Constance and Prunella had whipped out their mobile phones in the same matching blue as their dresses and were whispering into them.

People rushed up to shake Tom Barry's hand and congratulate Mrs. Barry on her husband's return. Mrs. Barry's smile was wavering, but she kept assuring everyone how happy she was.

The professor, deep in a conversation with the minister, stopped talking to him, turned around, raised his voice and called for silence.

“Friends,” he said. “I think we are all happy about Tom's return and equally happy for Guinevere and the girls to regain both a husband and father. I am inviting you all to celebrate the welcome home for Tom Barry.”

The uproar became general. The caterers circulated with trays of drinks and savories, until the guests all settled at the tables and started eating. Tom Barry sat at the wedding table with his wife. The professor found another chair and sat beside Cindy.

After they had finished eating, Cindy's father radiated goodwill and happiness as he stood to propose a toast to the newly reunited family.

“Do you think Dad is relieved not to be marrying Mrs. Barry?” Cindy whispered to Gretta as she went past filling glasses with champagne.

“I don't think the professor would make a good bigamist.” Gretta chuckled.

Prunella's face glowed with happiness. For the first time since Cindy had known her, she looked pretty.

“Isn't it wonderful, Cindy,” she mumbled through her fruit salad and ice cream. “It's like having all your wishes come true at once. I've got my father back. I'm going to have a canary of my own. We're going to live at Seaview and go to school there. I'm just so happy, Cindy, and I owe it all to you.”

“That common old fisherman can't be my father,” Constance sneered. “My father was distinguished and dignified. I just won't leave all my friends to live in a horrid, moldy fishing village.”

“Yes you will, missy,” warned Tom Barry. “And I'll expect you to study a lot harder next year, or you will start work at the fish cannery.”

“Fish cannery,” Constance screeched. “You wouldn't dare! Mother wouldn't let me do anything so gross.”

“Your mother will agree with me, missy,” Tom snapped. “Now put a pleasant expression on your face and make yourself useful.”

Constance stood up without a word and started collecting the dirty plates.

“It's a terrific welcome home party, Dad,” Cindy whispered to her father.

“Very successful, Cindy.”

The professor watched Gretta as she came over to their table again. Gretta looked at the professor. A secret smile dimpled the side of her mouth. The professor smiled up at her.

“Would you be terribly disappointed in me if I kept the idea of a wedding in mind?” he whispered to Cindy.

Cindy glowed with pleasure. Yes, Gretta would certainly do as a replacement stepmother! “With all the practice, another wedding should be easy to organize.” A sudden thought struck Cindy. “Why didn't you tell me that Miss Hopkins was my godmother?”

“I'm sure I told you at some stage that Miss Hopkins was your godmother, and George McLaren your godfather,” the professor explained. “Miss Hopkins knew your mother all her life.”

“She's been just like a fairy godmother,” Cindy said with a happy sigh. “Everything has turned out so right. She must have worked magic to fix my life so well.”

“I don't know about that.” The professor looked at Cindy. “I'm surprised at you, Cindy. An almost grown-up young lady like you, being so fanciful!”

Gretta and Cindy exchanged glances. Cindy smiled at her father. He probably didn't understand about happy-ever-after endings either, but he would learn.

“Yes, Dad,” Cindy agreed meekly.

 

Started off my writing life as a copywriter in an advertising agency and took to writing fiction when raising children. Completed an Arts Degree as a mature age student at Monash University, which put me off writing anything factual for life. Lurk in an underground flat in the Dandenongs still writing.

Chapter One

I'll Do What I Like

 

“This isn't for real!” Gail yelled. “Someone had better tell me this isn't happening!”

“Kelvin Jackson is always welcome around here,” her mother said coolly. “I just repeat what Allan has pointed out. At fourteen—”

“Nearly fifteen.” Gail's anger flared.

“You are too young to be settling into a steady relationship. We don't mind if you go out with Kelvin occasionally, but you can drop this inseparable twin act, as of right now.”

“I'll do what I like,” Gail retorted. “Try and stop me!”

“I'm sure I can spell it out to Kelvin myself,” her stepfather warned her. “I just thought it would seem more adult if you cooled the relationship yourself and put some time into actually doing schoolwork.”

“Or have you been too busy to care about your abysmal school report?” her mother asked.

Gail bit her lip. She felt the tears come to her eyes as she glared at her anxious mother. If her mother had been fat and frumpy like everyone else's mother, she wouldn't be in this situation. Why did her mother have to be so slender and young-looking, with her dancing, hazel eyes and the way she smiled so easily? Except right now, she was not smiling.

The three of them—she, her mother, and her brother Garry—had lived quite contentedly in their small house for as long as she could remember. Ever since, in fact, her father had resumed his habit of trading in wives in every seven years. They didn't see that much of him. Sometimes he remembered Christmases or birthdays, but it didn't matter. He was preoccupied with the extra family some of his wives produced, and after all, as Gail always remembered, she still had her mother and brother.

Then, one wet night when her car broke down, her mother had accepted a lift from the widower who lived around the corner, and life had never been the same.

Six months later, her mother and the widower had married. The comfortable little house was rented out to strangers; and Gail, Garry, and their mother had moved with their dog and two cats into the spacious home of Allan Motterly and his son, Matt.

“Always out to humiliate me in front of my friends,” Gail accused her stepfather. “And sticking your nose into things that don't concern you. I think you're a...”

Gail slowed down her attack, trying to find the right word. Her stepfather was a pill, a creep, a monster, and a selfish pig, but there had to be something more accurate to describe him.

“Gail,” her mother warned in a no-nonsense voice.

“A pig!” Gail yelled at the top of her lungs and fled to the refuge of her bedroom, slamming the door after her.

Unfortunately, the door just sighed closed into its rubber-lined jamb. No doors in the house slammed. The efficient Allan Motterly, who disliked noise, had fixed them all.

Gail threw herself on the bed and wept noisily, adding to the score against her stepfather the dreadful trauma of living in a house where she couldn't slam doors.

For a while, it had seemed such a successful arrangement. She was the envy of her friends. Her new stepfather was good-looking and good-humored. The house also had a small pool and a large double garage, where her stepfather assured them they could have parties occasionally. Her mother now only worked part-time, and her face glowed with contentment.

It was only gradually that Gail realized things were changing. Her good-humored stepfather was firm about chores. The spacious garden had to be tidied once a week and the little swimming pool cleaned. She didn't really mind that. After all, it was their friends who used the pool and the barbecue area and their dog that wrecked the garden. Matt always mowed the lawns, painted the front fence, and did all the other jobs.

Gail remembered the first confrontation. That afternoon she was absolutely exhausted. There had been school sports. On the way back, they had joined the boys in a game of unisex basketball. When she got home, she and Garry drank all the milk, so she rode her bike down to the small shop for more.

What with the puncture and pushing the bike all the way home, she was too pooped to do anything but collapse on the couch. Then her stepfather arrived and ordered her to set the table.

Gail explained that she was too exhausted to lift a finger. He was still courteous, but he became more and more unreasonable. He seemed to be under the impression that she spent all her time loafing on her mother, simply because she sometimes didn't clean up her own room or help with the cooking, cleaning, and washing up.

“I am not being sexist,” he had finished tersely. “Matt and I aren't scared of housework. I don't like to see the way you and your brother lean on your mother all the time. She works too, and she gets tired. Life runs more smoothly if everyone pulls their weight.”

Gail blew her nose firmly and wiped her eyes. The most dreadful thing about her stepfather was that he never made empty threats. If she didn't tell Kelvin they had to break up, he would do it for her.

This afternoon had been the same as all the others. She and Kelvin had waited for Garry, who had another detention, and came home together. They had sat in the kitchen, drinking chocolate milk and eating slices of fresh bread and strawberry jam.

When the big car turned into the driveway, they realized the afternoon was over. Kelvin said hello to her mother and her stepfather, kissed her lightly, punched Garry on the arm, and left.

This was when the afternoon stopped being ordinary. Her mother and Allan called her into the small den, saying they both wished to speak to her. Gail drifted in after them, expecting at the worst to be yelled at for leaving the kitchen in a mess, but it was her school report open on the desk.

She was able to shrug off the fuss about her low marks, but the order to break up with Kelvin was totally unexpected. Kelvin was the most important and stable person in her life. Of course she couldn't break up with him. It would be like trying to cut her arm or leg off. Why didn't her mother understand?

She thought of Kelvin and why he was so special. Gradually, the lump in her throat lessened, and the angry tightness in her chest eased. She had met Kelvin just after her father had gone away. In those days, Kelvin had been a small, freckled, redheaded boy with a cheeky grin. He had asked why she was crying, and she had thrown a stone at him. She had loved Kelvin with all her heart since.

He had grown into a tall, skinny boy—still freckled and redheaded, with ears that stuck out, and the unchanged cheeky grin. Garry was his best friend, and the three of them went everywhere together.

This year, they were a group. Garry usually had a girlfriend to make them into a foursome, because now there were school socials and other outings that needed to be attended as a group for full enjoyment.

Gail was proud they were such a tight-knit clique. They waited for each other after school and cheered at each other's sports and worried about each other's exam results. She couldn't visualize life without Kelvin beside her, holding her hand as they walked home, or watching videos with his arm around her.

The trouble with adults was that they just didn't understand. They thought kids had to be geriatric before they could have a deep and caring relationship. No one understood that what she and Kelvin had going was something lasting.

There was quiet knock, and Garry opened the door. “Dinner's ready. Are you coming?”

Gail didn't answer. She would choke if she had to sit opposite her stepfather tonight. She heard Garry's steps pad down the passage and clatter across the tiled hall.

The smell of savory rice, stewing apples, and hot fruit mince drifted through the slowly closing door. Gail decided she was hungry. It was embarrassing to have lost her temper with her stepfather. All she had to do was to be dignified and refuse to discuss the matter with him again. The way she and Kelvin felt about each other was for always; and no one, certainly not her mother or her stepfather, was going to change anything.

She walked out to face her family more cheerfully. She probably had overreacted. They couldn't really expect her to split a relationship that had been stable for the past seven years!