House of Sticks (15 page)

‘Well, I'll go and get ready then.' He went through to the bathroom and the shower started up.

She put some water on for pasta and got out a tin of tomatoes. She went out to pick some herbs. Stepped onto the porch and saw the empty spot again. Went over to it. Scanned the porch, the steps. Walked down and cast around in the half-dark. Along both sides of the workshop. Over to the back fence and the outside toilet. Nothing. She wrapped her cardigan closer around herself and went back in.

‘Pete?'

‘Yeah?' Through the shower curtain she could see his blurred outline, his hair wetted down, the water bouncing off his shoulders. She moved closer. Stood for a moment just watching him. The steam, the smell of his shampoo, the rushing water sounds, it felt like it was all soaking into her, through her skin, loosening her. All she wanted to do was strip off and get in there with him. Not make dinner. Not clean up again and wash the dishes. Not fight her way through the whole bedtime routine with the older kids. Not feed the baby, and bathe her, and do her nappy and put her to bed. She wanted to step out of all that, shrug it off and drop it to the floor. Be naked with Pete under the water, her eyes closed, her hair wet, the taste of him and the mineral taste of the water on him, his skin and his lips.

‘Yeah?' he said again. ‘Bon? You there?'

‘Mu-um!' came a call from the living room. ‘Louie keeps taking my train tracks!'

‘Um. Oh yeah, did you do something with my pot plant?'

‘What pot plant?'

‘Mu-um!'

‘Hang on, Edie — I'll be there in a sec.' She put her palm to the shower curtain, felt its thin fabric cleave to her skin. ‘You know,' she said. ‘The pot plant that was on the back porch. The one my great-aunt Jean gave me.'

‘The geranium?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Mu-um!'

‘Hold on, Edie! Yeah — the geranium. It's gone.'

‘Really? Well, I didn't move it.'

‘You sure?'

‘Of course.' Pete turned the shower off. He stepped out and started drying himself. He bent towards the mirror, flicking his hair around with his fingers. ‘I wonder what this thing'll be like tonight.'

She watched him. Behind her, in the kitchen, Jess started to complain. ‘It's so weird — it just seems to have vanished,' she said.

‘I mean, I haven't seen any of these guys for, what, sixteen years,' said Pete into the mirror. ‘Except Deano. And Douggie of course.'

She looked at the beads of water on his shoulders. ‘It couldn't've been the kids. It's actually quite heavy. I don't think they could carry it anywhere. They could maybe push it down the stairs, but I checked and it's not anywhere in the backyard that I can see. And anyway, they wouldn't do something like that.'

Pete opened the bathroom cabinet and took out his toothbrush. ‘I wonder if Douggie'll turn up,' he said. ‘After not coming here at all yet this week. Maybe he's sick or something.'

‘Pete.' She looked at his face in the mirror.

‘Yeah?'

‘Maybe Doug did something with the pot plant.'

‘Yeah, maybe. Although I can't imagine why. I guess you'll have to ask him.'

‘But …' Bonnie paused. ‘He hasn't been here since last week, and I'm sure I would've noticed it missing before now.' She tried to picture herself, her movements over the past few days. Up and down the back steps so many times a day. Now that she really thought about it she couldn't see the plant there — had no clear memory of the last time she had noticed it.

‘Mm.' Pete stuck his toothbrush in his mouth. ‘It's a mystery.'

‘I'm sure I would've noticed,' she said. She was looking past him now in the mirror, at her own face.

‘Mu-um!' Edie's voice shrilled out over the sound of Jess wailing from the kitchen.

She turned and stomped out into the hallway. ‘Oh for god's sake, Edie,' she shouted. ‘How many train tracks are there? Why do you need to have them all? Can't you guys just play quietly without constantly bothering me with these petty squabbles?'

Edie came to the living-room door. ‘But he keeps taking the bridge ones,' she said in a whine. ‘And I'm trying to make —'

‘I'm not interested,' she snapped. ‘You two can work it out.' She marched into the kitchen, scooped up Jess and turned the gas off under the frantic water. Opened the bread bin, pulled out two slices and dropped them in the toaster. ‘Right,' she said. ‘Change of plan. Baked beans for dinner.'

‘Shh! Shh! You guys.' She reached out her arms as if she could physically smother the noise the twins were making. ‘I've just put Jess to bed.'

‘But we're having running races,' said Edie. ‘Ready, Lou? No — here's the start. Here. And you put your foot there and then you —'

‘No.' Bonnie spoke in a stern whisper. ‘It's not time for running races — it's time to read a story. Have you chosen your books?'

‘… and then the starter says, “On your marks!”'

‘
Edie!
' Bonnie went over and took her arm. ‘Did you hear what I said? It's not time for games now.'

Edie shook her off. ‘Just one more, okay?'

She sighed. ‘Okay.' She squatted down in front of them. ‘One more race, but it has to be a tiptoe race, okay? You have to go on your tippy-toes and be as quiet as you can. And when you're finished I want you to choose your books and I'll meet you on the couch.'

‘Okay.' Edie giggled and made a face of exaggerated caution. ‘On your marks,' she whispered. ‘Get set …'

Bonnie went into the kitchen. A cold draught hit her. The back door stood open, swinging slightly in the wind, the rope of bells stirring. Through the open space the sky over the workshop roof was velvety black, starless, moonless. It looked low and close. There was the faint scratching of the branches of the apricot tree. She shivered. She went over and shut the door, and turned the lock. She had to suppress an urge to do it quickly, to snap it locked and lean against it. And she had to suppress the silly image that came slinking into her mind, the scene from the horror movie where the woman rushes from door to door and window to window, slamming and locking them, only to discover the predator already inside.

‘Edie? Louie?' She went back out into the hallway. The twins were rolling and wrestling near the front door. ‘Edie? Louie?' She stood over them. ‘Did either of you open the back door?'

‘No.' Louie didn't even look at her.

‘Edie?' She could hear herself getting shrill. ‘Did you?'

Edie didn't answer. She rolled on top of Louie.

‘
Edie!
' Bonnie knelt down beside them. She grabbed Edie's arms.

‘What?' Edie rolled back and stared at her.

Louie sat up and stared too.

You're frightening them
. ‘Sorry.' Bonnie let go and sat back on her haunches. ‘Sorry, guys — I just get sick of asking the same question a hundred times.' She made her voice light. ‘I was just wondering if one of you opened the back door for any reason.'

‘No.'

‘No.'

‘Are you sure? After the bath? When I was feeding Jess?'

They glanced at each other. ‘We didn't do it,' said Edie.

She moved her eyes from face to face. ‘You're not in trouble. I just want to know if you did it or not. I promise I won't be angry.' She reached out and picked up one each of their hands. ‘I promise.'

They looked at each other again. Then Louie lowered his head. ‘I just wanted to find my super bouncy ball,' he said.

Bonnie pulled them to her, an unwieldy bundle, all bones and trailing limbs. ‘God, you guys are getting big,' she said. ‘Thanks for being honest with me.' She kissed Louie on the head. ‘Now. Which books are we going to read?'

After they were asleep though, she couldn't help creeping all through the silent house, checking each room. She peered behind doors. She pulled back the shower curtain, fright wriggling in her chest. Nothing of course. Drops of water on the tiles. Pete's razor on the high ledge. She eased open the door to Jess's room and stared into the shadows between the wardrobe and the wall, the cot and the change table. She looked in again at the twins in their beds, the jumbles of clothes on the floor, toys and books. She reached over Louie and behind the curtain, felt the lock on the window.
This is ridiculous
, she kept saying to herself. But still she did it, and as she did the silence seemed to thin, to grow taut with waiting.

She finished in the kitchen. Stood scanning all around — the table full of crumbs, the accusing pile of dirty dishes. She went over and opened the pantry door.
As if anyone could even fit in here
. Closed it again. Her heart beating hard enough for her to notice it. She turned off the light and went to the door. Checked again the cold lock. Looked out at the blanketing sky, the faint skeleton of the apricot tree, the hulk of the workshop. And then down, at the glimmering concrete porch, stark and empty where the pot should have been. She could feel the chill of the glass so close to her cheek. Her breath was fogging it.

She turned away. Went into the living room and switched on the light and the heater and the TV with the sound low. Lay on the couch with her acoustic. Picked out little sketches of notes and watched a documentary about arctic life. On the screen a polar bear lifted one of her cubs, the tiny back legs hanging toylike from the huge jaws.

She started awake. The guitar slid to the floor with a hollow bump.

There was a noise, a scrabbling.

She sat up. Fumbled for the control and turned off the TV.

The noise again, and she held her breath, frozen on the couch.

A thump, then silence.

She sat motionless, straining to hear.

Another scrabble, another thump, then a quiet voice saying, ‘Shit.'

Quickly, she got up and went to the front door. There was the jingle of keys. She put her hand to the deadlock. ‘Pete?'

‘Yeah, it's me.'

She opened the door. ‘You gave me a fright.'

‘Sorry.' He smelled of booze. ‘Couldn't get the key in the lock. It's dark out here.' He stepped in, past her.

She shut the door behind him and stood for a moment with her hand on her chest. She could feel her heart knocking.

‘Bon?' Pete turned. ‘You okay? Sorry — I didn't mean to scare you.' He put his arms around her. ‘I mean, you knew I was coming.'

She leaned her head against him. ‘Yeah, of course. Sorry. I'm just half asleep.' She lifted her head again. ‘Yuck. You stink.'

‘Yeah, sorry, I had a few cigarettes.' He went into the bedroom.

Bonnie followed. She kicked off her ugg boots and got in under the covers with her clothes on. She lay watching as he unlaced his shoes and took them off. She tried to picture him at the party, drinking, talking, shaking hands. Would they shake hands, his old mates? Weren't they mostly ex-punks? Probably no shaking hands. Maybe hugging. But not the initial greetings — only at the end of the night.

Pete yawned. ‘Jeez, I'm tired.'

She reached out and put one hand flat in the middle of his back. He was warm. ‘So how was it?'

‘It was good.' He flopped down beside her. ‘Yeah, it was good. Some people there I haven't seen for a really long time. But it's funny — everyone looks pretty much the same. Bit fatter. Couple of them bald.'

‘Well, it's only been — what? — sixteen years.' She gave a short laugh. ‘Right, yeah, I guess it has been a while.' She stared up at the ceiling. ‘God. We're not young any more, Pete.'

He moved closer. ‘You still are. And I'm not exactly old yet, either. Forty-two, that's not old, is it?'

‘No. But … The funny thing is I still feel like I'm the same. I mean, I feel the same inside as I did when I was twenty, or even eighteen, or even younger. It's like I'm the same person inside and all this stuff's just happened to me and sometimes I sort of … forget. And then someone yells “Mum” and I think, Oh my god, that's me — I'm someone's mum. Or I look in the mirror. Or try on bathers.'

Pete kissed her neck. ‘Oh, come on, you're as gorgeous as ever.'

‘Ha. You have to say that.' She turned to him. ‘Anyway, you know what my mother always said:
All cats are grey in the dark
.'

‘What does that even mean?'

‘I'm not actually sure.' She laughed. ‘You know: who cares what a woman looks like if you're just after a one-night stand.'

‘Really? That's what it means?'

‘I think so.'

‘Jeez. What sort of a mother teaches her daughter that particular saying?'

She laughed again. ‘Well, she didn't really teach it to me. I mean, it was just one of the things she said.'