House of Sticks (6 page)

She looked up from her book. ‘Yeah. We should.'

His voice was muffled as he bent over. ‘Well, let's actually do it this time.'

‘Yeah, I know. But it's just so hard, organising someone to babysit, and worrying about if Jess needs to be fed and all that.'

He sat up again. ‘What about your mum?'

She sighed.

‘Just ask her.' Pete stood and unbuttoned his shirt. ‘I mean, she's their grandmother. You'd think she'd want to spend the time with them.' He tossed the shirt over a chair. ‘Or at least do it to help you out.'

Bonnie sank lower in the bed. She felt exhaustion drag at her, her limbs weighed down with it. ‘I know. It's just — she's so hard to pin down. I just, I feel like it's not worth the effort.'

Pete undid his belt. ‘Does she know she's not normal?'

She closed her eyes.

‘Does she know that most people — all our friends, Greg and Kylie, and Mel and Josh, everyone — they've got parents who actually help out with the kids? Weren't you just telling me Mel's mum takes Freddie for whole weekends? Imagine that.'

She put her arm across her face. ‘Yeah, but Freddie's an only child. One kid, that's easy — three's just, well, it feels like too much to ask. And anyway, Jess's too young. Maybe one day, when they're all a bit —'

‘Yeah, right, like she'll just suddenly start helping one day, after doing nothing for five years.' There was the sound of him taking coins from his pocket and putting them on the bedside table. ‘Hasn't she got friends who're grandparents? Doesn't she know that's what they're supposed to do?'

She opened her eyes again. ‘Come on, Pete.'

‘What? You think because she gave us that money she doesn't need to do any more?'

Bonnie didn't answer.

‘We didn't ask for that money.'

‘I know.'

‘We would've been okay. Eventually.'

‘Pete. It covered almost the whole deposit for this house.'

His voice softened. ‘Why would you do that? It just seems really weird to me that someone would give away half of their dead husband's life insurance like that. She could've retired. Gone travelling.' He looked down at her. ‘I mean — why?'

‘I don't know. I guess she does want to help us out. But just — on her terms.' She put her fingers to her temples. ‘And it's a bit unfair, all the pressure being on her. I mean, if she wasn't the only one — if Dad was still around, or if your parents lived in Melbourne …'

‘They're too old now anyway. They'd probably try, but I doubt they'd be capable of much.'

There was a silence.

‘The thing is … I just don't know why a grandmother wouldn't want to spend time with her grandchildren.' He threw his jeans on the chair. ‘And why doesn't she do it just to help you out?'

‘I don't know.' Bonnie yawned. ‘I didn't ask her if she wanted to be a grandmother.' She pulled the covers further up. ‘Anyway. It's not like it would've stopped us from having the kids — if we'd known she wasn't going to be on board.'

‘Yeah, I guess not.' He sat down and touched her hair. ‘But we had no idea, did we? What it was going to be like.'

She smiled and shook her head. ‘Absolutely no idea.'

He got into bed.

‘So …' She let her book slide to the floor. ‘When did you find out?'

‘Find out what?'

‘About the new job for Grant?'

‘Last night.'

She switched off her lamp and moved closer, rested her head on his shoulder. ‘So why didn't you tell me then?'

‘Well, you know, we had that fight.'

‘Oh.'

‘And then this morning you were in such a bad mood I thought I'd leave it for later.'

‘I'm sorry. I feel like such a harpy.' She kissed his neck. ‘You know I hate being like that. It's just … I'm always tired, and I find it so stressful with Doug around and —'

‘Let's not talk about Doug.' Pete turned towards her, slid down so their faces were level. He kissed her and moved closer.

Bonnie shut her eyes. She tried to let go, to lose herself in the kissing and the touching, to sink into that fluid place where there was no thinking, only their bodies together. But she couldn't. She had to keep pressing words back.
But where was Doug this afternoon? Will he be back in the morning?
Behind her eyelids came the vision of Doug at the door, the bob of his head, the solicitous grin. Pete put his mouth on her breast, and she couldn't help it, she squirmed, only just managed not to push him away.

‘You okay?'

She nodded. ‘That tickles.' She concentrated on his smell, the taste of his skin. In her head she took herself back to that camping trip, to looking out at the wallaby, silent in the grainy dawn light. The pale trunks of the trees towering, just visible, hanging like brushstrokes. Turning to Pete in the dark tent. The woodsmoke smell of him. Just the two of them there in all those miles of trees and scrub.

Pete was awake next morning when she came back to bed after feeding Jess. His eyes were closed, but Bonnie could tell by his breathing. ‘Pete?' she whispered.

‘Mm?'

‘What're you thinking about?'

‘Nothing. Trying to sleep.'

She rolled over to face him. ‘Yesterday,' she said in a low voice. ‘What happened to Doug?'

He didn't open his eyes. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, he wasn't here all afternoon.'

‘Oh, I don't know.' He turned the other way. ‘He went off somewhere, to meet a friend or something.'

She lay looking at Pete's back. She bit down on all the incredulous words that sprang to her mouth.
So he just comes and goes as he pleases? You have no formal arrangement? You don't even communicate about what's happening on a day-to-day level?

‘Hey, Bon?'

She shut her eyes. How unfair, that Pete could afford to be so casual when she was the one picking up the slack. The one trapped, politely listening, while Doug told his bullshit stories and Pete drifted off as if somehow exempt. Or popping up like some horrible ghoul to drag the kids away, spoil their fun, because she knew if she didn't Doug would just sit around reading stories all morning instead of working. The one tiptoeing, feeling watched and judged. Feeling she had to explain or justify herself, her behaviour, her parenting — in her own house.

‘Bon?'

She managed a ‘Hm?' noise.

Pete rolled onto his back. ‘I need to get some timber. For this Grant job.'

‘Okay.'

‘Should we all go? Go away for a weekend? Family holiday?'

She opened her eyes. ‘Really?'

‘Why not? I think I'll go back to that same guy as last time, near Orbost. He was good. I was thinking we could see if we could stay at Jim's shack. It's not far from there. It'll be freezing, but could be fun. Get out of town.'

‘When?'

‘What about this weekend? Maybe we could even stay an extra day. Leave tomorrow morning. Do you think we could get organised that fast?' Pete moved closer to her. ‘Be nice to spend some time together. And I wouldn't mind getting away from the workshop for a while. Doug's been driving me a bit crazy.'

Bonnie stared. She opened her mouth. A double layer of thought slid through her mind. The top layer was strident. It said:
You have to get out of your own workshop because this friend who you don't even know will turn up or if so for how long and has a history of fucking things up for you and your business is driving you crazy?
And the bottom layer, which resonated like a bass line, said:
Pete is kind and generous and tolerant and you, Bonnie, are not. Look at him, trying to help Doug and manage you at the same time. The poor man
.

‘Bon?' Pete was watching her face.

She turned away and pushed her back into him, and he lifted his knees, fitted them to the backs of hers. She pulled the covers up over her ear. ‘Sounds great,' she said.

Doug arrived while they were having breakfast.

‘Croissants,' he warbled, tossing a bulging plastic bag into the middle of the table. ‘Been up since half-past five this morning. Went out to see me mate Phil at Flemington.' He rubbed his hands together and stuck them in his armpits. ‘Phew. Cold as a witch's tit out there.'

Bonnie cringed at the saying. Was he trying to get a rise out of her? She couldn't tell. She watched him bouncing up and down on his toes and grinning at the children.
Just ignore it
.
Whatever he's doing, look, he's brought us a gift. He's trying to be nice.
‘Thanks, Doug.' She picked up the bag. ‘They're still hot.'

‘From the Vietnamese bakery on Union Road.' Doug winked. ‘Best croissants in the inner north-west.'

‘I'll make some coffee,' said Pete.

She got out plates and knives and jam and put them on the table.

‘I got to see lots of great big beautiful horses this morning,' Doug was saying to Louie and Edie.

‘Did you ride on them?' said Edie, tearing the end off a croissant and stuffing it in her mouth.

‘No, no. Normal people like me aren't allowed. But I got to pat one.'

Bonnie sat down next to Edie. She watched Doug's rough hands breaking apart the pastry, the way he wolfed down the bites with jerks of his head. She willed herself to look him in the eye. ‘So is your friend a trainer then, Doug?'

‘No, no — stablehand.'

‘Did he give you any tips?' said Pete from over by the stove.

‘Not today, no.'

‘Been years since I had a bet,' said Pete. ‘Hey, remember, Douggie?' He brought the coffee pot over. ‘At McKean Street? We had all the money for the phone bill and we put it on that trifecta?'

Doug flung his head back and let out a wheezing laugh. ‘And we cleaned up — made enough to pay all the bills plus that month's rent.' He wiped his fingers on his pants. ‘We bought a bottle of champagne on the way back from the TAB.'

‘And then we got stupid and put it all on another trifecta and lost it all.' Pete shook his head. ‘God, we were idiots.'

‘We were young,' said Doug. ‘We thought we were gods.' He tossed the last bit of his croissant into his mouth and chewed. ‘We were gods.'

Bonnie half filled her cup with coffee. ‘I can't believe you put it all on another bet,' she said to Pete. ‘Shouldn't you have at least hung on to half of it?'

‘Like Douggie said — we were young,' said Pete with a shrug. He swung a look at her, and his eyes were bright and for a moment she saw him, the younger him, from before her time, unencumbered, full of swagger.

‘We were gods!' Doug raised his mug and grinned round at them all.

‘But still,' she said. ‘You'd think …' But then she stopped. ‘Oh, never mind. I can't believe I'm even bothering to reason with two people who'd think it was a good idea to put all their bill money on a horse.'

‘Three horses,' said Pete.

‘Well, even worse.' She shot him a smile, drained her coffee and stood up. ‘Thanks for the croissants, Doug. They were delicious.'

‘Pleasure, Missus Bonnie.'

‘Come on, you kids.' She smoothed back Louie's hair. ‘Kinder today.' Outside the yard was lit with thin winter sun. She could feel the caffeine, her heart picking up. Maybe after she'd dropped the twins she'd give herself a treat — go and look in some shops.

As she hustled Louie and Edie down the hallway she could hear Pete and Doug still talking in the kitchen. ‘What came second?' Pete was saying. ‘It was Special that won, wasn't it?'

‘Special first, Snippets second, then Redelva third,' came Doug's voice. ‘And remember Deano didn't want to put Snippets in, 'cause he thought it was a weak name — he wanted to have another horse instead, with some macho name like Rock Hard or something, but we said …' Their voices faded and the back door slammed.

They arrived at the childcare centre at the same time as Mel and Freddie. The kids brushed away their mothers' goodbye kisses and ran out to the sandpit. She and Mel took turns at the sign-in sheet, checked for notices, skimmed the lost-property box.

Outside they stood in the cold street, Bonnie with Jess on one hip, Mel with her heels and clean, unladdered stockings, the black oblong of her handbag tucked under one arm.

She glanced down at her worn jeans, a stain over one knee. ‘I've been offered some work,' she said.

‘That's great,' said Mel. ‘Live shows, or …?'

‘No, recording.' She moved Jess to the other hip. ‘Probably only a half-day. But' — she gave a sheepish grin — ‘it still feels like a big deal to me.'