Flying the Coop (22 page)

‘Jenny! Oh my god!
Jenny
!'

‘I
still can't believe it.' Chris shook her head sorrowfully as she refilled her champagne flute. ‘I mean, Stuart just doesn't seem the type.'

‘
Is
there a type?' asked Jenny bitterly, taking the bottle.

Treating this question as rhetorical, Chris simply watched her friend as she topped up her glass and then tossed down half of it in one go. Apart from the speed-drinking, Jenny hadn't changed a great deal in the three years since they had last seen each other. She still had that languid way about her that often made people jump to the conclusion that she was lazy whereas she usually managed to accomplish more than most people, just at a rather measured pace. Physically, the only major change was a little more weight, but just enough to round out her dimensions and announce clearly that she was closer to middle age than teen age. And she was still a good looking woman, with shiny, shoulder length chestnut-brown hair, hazel eyes, and a wide mouth that always seemed to have a smile hovering. Except at the moment.

‘We would've been married eighteen years next July,' added Jenny glumly, staring into her glass. ‘And he's thrown it all away. Jerk.'

‘All men are scum,' observed Dot brightly, as she picked up the platter of crackers and dip and passed it over. ‘Anyone for dip?'

‘Thanks.' Chris helped herself and then leant back, looking across the kitchen table at Jenny. ‘So you really don't think you'll work it out?'

‘I
already
worked it out. That's why I'm here.'

‘You know what I mean.'

‘Chris, it's not like he forgot to put the rubbish out, or hogged the telly or something.' Jenny banged a fist on the table, making the glasses all wobble dangerously. ‘He had an
affair
.'

‘Scum,' repeated Dot, as she straightened the glasses.

Chris looked at her friend sympathetically. ‘Well, as I keep telling you, you're welcome to stay as long as you like. Get your head together. Work out what's next.'

‘Thanks.' Jenny smiled at her, her eyes tellingly bright. ‘You know, as soon as I found out, as soon as he admitted it, I just thought of you. It was like I was operating on autopilot – ringing the airline, getting Lauren organised . . . I just wanted to get away.'

‘Well, you should've found time to
ring
me. I'd have picked you up from Tulla.'

‘I did! I left a message on your answering machine. But I'm sort of glad you didn't get it, because I don't want to put you out –' Jenny paused for a second – ‘. . . any more than I am.'

‘I keep telling you, you're
not
putting me out,' said Chris emphatically, making a mental note to start checking the damn machine more regularly. ‘In fact, if anything, you're doing me a favour. The extra help will come in
very
handy.'

‘Excuse me, Auntie Chris?'

‘Lauren! You're
still
up?' Chris looked from the thirteen-year-old standing in the archway to the kitchen clock – 10.49 pm –
before finally glancing across the table at Jenny. ‘Well, aren't
you
the liberal parent?'

‘Actually, I was on my way to bed.' Lauren came over to the table and draped herself across her mother's back. ‘But what about Michael?'

‘Michael?'

‘Yeah. He fell asleep on the couch ages ago.'

‘Well,' said Jenny with a cheerful smirk, as she grasped one of her daughter's hands. ‘Aren't
you
the forgetful parent?'

‘Let me.' Dot hoisted herself out of her chair enthusiastically. ‘It's been
years
since I carted a young lad off t'bed.'

This last comment hung invitingly in the air as Dot left the room. She was followed quickly by Lauren, who bent down and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek before she left. Chris looked across the table and met Jenny's eyes, both immediately letting out a rather unattractive snort.

‘Where did you
get
her?' whispered Jenny.

‘I think she came with the farm.'

‘Did you have to pay extra?'

Chris thought this over. ‘No. Actually, I think that's why I got it at cut-price.'

‘Bargain.'

‘I've turned the TV off and put all the DVDs away,' Lauren walked back through the archway and towards the kitchen stairs. ‘Night, Mum, Auntie Chris.'

‘Look, Lauren –' Chris twisted around to face the girl – ‘why don't we drop the Auntie now that you're older? Just call me Chris. Oh, and what happened to Grace?'

‘You mean Zoe?' Lauren shrugged. ‘Think she went to bed. Ages ago.'

‘And you're sure you don't want to sleep in her room?' asked Chris worriedly. ‘I mean, you and your mother are going to be like sardines in the boxroom.'

‘That's fine,' replied Lauren blithely. ‘I quite like sardines.'

‘
I
don't,' muttered Jenny. Then, as her daughter glanced at her with concern, she quickly smiled as she pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘But I'll make an exception for you. Come on, I'll go up there with you and make sure you've got everything. Back in a minute, Chris.'

‘No worries.' Chris watched them go up the kitchen stairs and sighed. She was actually rather relieved that Lauren hadn't taken up the offer of sleeping in Zoe's room because if there was a type that Zoe was least likely to get along with, Lauren was it. Small, blonde and a devotee of the surfer brand-name gear that Zoe most despised, the girl was unfailingly polite, demonstrably affectionate, and even willingly helpful. And Zoe had taken one look at Lauren, from her pink Roxy cap with the blonde ponytail protruding perkily though the hole in the back, to her Gallaz-branded runners, and had backed off in horror. Barely having been seen since.

Chris, on the other hand, was having a ball. Not just because Jenny was the closest thing she'd ever had to a sister, but because suddenly she had an
objective
adult around to talk to, bounce ideas off, and generally be told that she – Chris – was a lot more capable than she was giving herself credit for. And even if she didn't quite believe it, it was damn nice to hear. The only hiccup was Jenny's tendency throughout the day to suddenly remember her errant husband and then either get all teary, or kick something. But Chris figured that the positives outweighed the negatives and, besides, she was learning to move rapidly.

The sound of the screen door slamming put an end to Chris's musing and made her look quickly towards the office doorway. To her surprise, Zoe appeared, dressed in her
Tortured Artist
t-shirt, pyjama pants and her Doc Marten boots. She was carrying a torch.

‘What the hell?'

‘Oh – Mum.' Zoe, who did not look terribly pleased to see her, flicked her glance to the half-empty champagne bottle and then back to her mother. ‘Ah . . . everything okay?'

‘Of course,' snapped Chris, resenting the implication. ‘I'm just waiting for Jenny. But where have
you
been? And why aren't you in bed?'

‘I've just been out in the barn. Um . . . doing stuff.'

‘And why haven't you been nicer to Lauren?' Chris continued, remembering her earlier annoyance. ‘You could at least have taken her with you.'

‘O-
kay
,' Zoe replied slowly. ‘Next time I sneak out, I'll make sure I get little Miss Blondie to tag along. I'm sure she'd like to meet Ergo. In the dark.'

‘If you don't make an effort,' said Chris fiercely, ‘I swear to god, I'll –'

‘What's going on?' asked Jenny, jumping down the last three steps. ‘Am I interrupting a family moment?'

Chris shook her head emphatically. ‘No, no. Gra – I mean,
Zoe
just came in to say goodnight. Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep tight.'

‘Ah, thanks, Mum. Goodnight to you, too. And you, Jenny.' Zoe, still clutching the torch firmly, headed up the stairs without a backwards glance. Jenny watched her go and then came over to the table, sitting down in her chair.

‘If you're worried that the girls aren't getting on –' Jenny paused while she had a sip of her champagne – ‘don't be. Lauren will win her over, just wait and see.'

‘I doubt it.'

‘Want to make a bet?' Jenny grinned. ‘Twenty bucks says that within a week they'll be friends.'

‘You're on.'

‘And you're sure it's all right for us to stay? Till I sort everything out?'

‘I'm
positive
!' Chris topped up Jenny's glass and then pointed the near-empty bottle at her. ‘So stop asking! I'm
thrilled
you're here – not the reason, of course. Not that.'

‘I know.' Jenny went quiet for a minute. ‘Jerk.'

‘Have you met her?'

‘Yes, and that makes it worse!' Jenny leant back on her chair and shook her head miserably. ‘Because now I can imagine what – when they . . . whatever. And you know what else? All this time, whenever I rang his mobile and
she
answered, I thought it was because he was busy. And I'd say something like: oh, poor Stuart, is he flat-out again?'

‘Well, he probably was.'

‘Exactly.' Jenny narrowed her eyes. ‘Bastard.'

‘So what are you going to do?'

‘Anaesthetise myself.' Jenny emphasised this by finishing her champagne and then refilling the glass. ‘For about a month or so.'

‘You'll need longer than that. Trust me.'

‘Probably,' Jenny sighed. ‘But let's not talk about it now. Distract me. Tell me more about the farm. Like what's going to happen when this Mac goes?'

‘Well, I've got three more weeks as part of the contract. Then I'm going to have to sink or swim without him. And I can't even ask him for help after that because he's off to Sydney. For a holiday.'

‘He's
what
?' Dot, who was halfway down the stairs, stopped to stare at Chris. ‘Did you say
Sydney
?'

‘Um – yes.'

‘I see.' Dot came down the remainder of the steps and then stood at the bottom, clearly lost in thought. After a few moments, she pursed her lips and shook her head.

‘Listen, Dot,' Chris looked at her, concerned. ‘Maybe you've got the wrong idea about Sydney from somewhere. It's really not that bad.'

‘And that Opera House is quite attractive,' added Jenny. ‘Well worth a visit.'

Dot glanced at them, frowning. ‘Never mind about the Opera House.' She pointed across to the computer in the study. ‘How do you use that thing?'

‘The
computer
?'

‘Yes, yes. I need t'send a letter. One of those e-thingies.' Dot delved under the table and fished out her handbag, an extremely voluminous type that looked like the same one used by Tinky Winky of the Teletubbies. She removed a pair of glasses, slid them on, and then left the bag sitting on top of the table as she headed into the office and made herself comfortable at the computer. With the glasses now perched on the end of her nose, she peered intently at the computer. ‘How do I turn it on?'

Chris looked at Jenny and shrugged. ‘It's already on. Just hit any key.'

‘Which one's that?'

‘Hang on, I'm coming.' Chris got up as Jenny mouthed the words ‘What's up?' She shrugged again and headed over to where Dot had one hand hovering over the keyboard.

‘I see “shift”, and I see “alt”. And I see “backspace”, but no –'

‘This one,' said Chris, leaning over Dot and hitting a key at random. The screen immediately came to life and she double-clicked on the email icon and then, when her Outlook Express came up, on ‘new mail'.

‘Oh my,' said Dot approvingly.

‘Okay then, do you have an address?'

‘Yes. 13 Hanover Place, Double Bay. The postcode's –'

‘No, Dot. An
email
address.'

‘Well, why didn't you say? It's neil mackaway, then one of those funny little a's inside a circle, and then optusnet.com.au.'

‘You know it by heart?' asked Chris, impressed, as she typed the address in.

‘Of course. You never know when things like that will come in handy.'

‘True.' Chris finished typing the address, moved the cursor to the body of the email, and then stood back. ‘There you go, Dot. Just type whatever you want to say and then give me a yell and I'll show you how to send it. Okay?'

‘Okay.' Dot had already started typing stolidly with two fingers so Chris returned to the kitchen table, raising her eyebrows at Jenny as she sat down.

‘What was that about?' whispered Jenny, leaning forward.

‘No idea, but I bet it's something to do with her and Mac. Besides, “Mackaway” is Mac's surname and she's emailing some bloke called Neil Mackaway. Maybe they all met on top of the Harbour Bridge back when she was a mere slip of a girl and now she thinks Mac's going to jump to a watery grave. Anyway, I vote we get her drunk and find out what it's all about.'

‘Okay.' Jenny got up and went over to the fridge, removing another bottle of champagne. ‘If you insist.'

‘I do.'

‘Excellent.' Jenny levered the cork out of the bottle and refilled all three glasses. ‘I'll consider it a favour to you.'

‘Okay, all done,' called Dot from the study. ‘What now?'

‘Let me,' said Jenny, putting the bottle down and going into the study.

Chris reached forward and helped herself to a couple of crackers. For the first time in months, she felt absolutely relaxed and without a care in the world. With regard to the farm, she had decided, after the first two glasses of champagne, to adopt a fatalistic approach – what will be, will be. And, for just one evening, not to let it worry her.

‘Hey, I see you've got the present I sent you for your birthday
out.' Jenny pointed to the rooster cookie barrel on the bench as she sat down again. ‘And you couldn't have done it for show because you didn't even know I was coming. Which means you
must
like it.'