The Last Anniversary (30 page)

‘Flossing,’ answers Grace.

A
fterwards, Sophie will always remember the Anniversary Night starting like a sedately moving merry-go-round, with smiling faces and shimmering lights and pretty music, and then gradually, imperceptibly, getting faster and faster until finally it was whirling wildly out of control, a mad, streaky blur of colour and half-glimpses of frantic mouths, which was when she decided she’d like to get off now please because she was feeling sick.

It’s six p.m. and Sophie is dressed up in her Fairy Floss Fairy outfit trying to decide whether she looks gorgeous or ludicrous, when her mother rings.

‘I think I might be too old for my fairy outfit,’ she says, still looking at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, and waits comfortably for Gretel’s soothing cries of protest.

‘Well of course you’re too old for it!’ cries her mother, and Sophie’s eyes meet her own in the mirror with surprise. ‘Why don’t you take off that silly outfit and put on that stunning new green dress you got last week and come to the opera with us? Dad and I will pick you up at the station. You can stay the night. You don’t want to be making that terrible long trip back late at night in the cold.’

Months before, Sophie had agreed to go to see
Cosi fan Tutte
with her parents, but it isn’t one of her favourite operas and when it turned out to be on the same night as the Anniversary celebrations she’d asked her mother to see if she could give away her ticket. Apparently Pam from Pilates had been delighted to accept.

‘I thought Pam from Pilates took my ticket.’

‘Well, yes, she did, but I could just tell her it fell through and you wanted to come after all. We’d rather have you than
Pam
. Pam, schmam, I say!’

There is definitely something going on here.

‘Well, thanks, Mum, but I don’t think I can pull out now at the last minute. It would be a bit rude. Grandma Enigma is already so upset about Margie not being there.’

‘Oh, well we don’t want to hurt
Grandma
Enigma’s feelings. Is that what you call her now?
Grandma
Enigma! How lovely. I guess you feel like she’s your grandmother now. They must be making you feel like you’re part of the family. That’s lovely.’

‘Actually, mostly I just call her Enigma. That was a slip of the tongue really.’

‘Of course, you missed out on so much, not having grandparents. So it’s lovely that you think of her that way.’

‘Well, I don’t really think of her that way. And I never missed out on one single thing in life.’

‘You did miss out on having a big family. No cousins or aunties or anything. And every Christmas you used to ask Santa Claus for a little sister or brother. I felt so mean for not giving you one. I still feel guilty about that. That’s why I think it’s lovely the way the Scribbly Gum family has adopted you. When we were there the other week and Margie just dropped in for a cup of tea, I thought, how lovely for Sophie! I admit I did feel a bit embarrassed when she asked you about your sore throat from the night before and I didn’t even know you’d
had
one! As I said to her, I obviously would have brought some butter menthols for you if I’d known. She probably thought I was a shocking mother. I hope you haven’t ever told her about how we used to smoke around you, have you? She’ll get Social Services onto us! Not that she’d do that. She seems like a lovely person.’

‘You’ve used the word “lovely” about forty times now, Mum. I think it means you don’t think they’re lovely at all.’

‘Oh, well, listen to Freud here! You’re onto me. I’m
wildly
jealous of your new family.’

‘I wouldn’t call them my new family, exactly.’

‘Oh, I’m only teasing you, darling! I’ll see you Tuesday for our manicures. You can still fit me in on Tuesday? I don’t mind if you’ve got something on with Margie or Aunt Rose or
Grandma
Enigma or anything.’

‘Of course I wouldn’t miss Tuesday.’

‘And I’m sure you look absolutely adorable in your dear little Fairy Floss dress.’

Sophie hangs up the phone and goes back to stare at herself in the mirror, tugging irritably at her neckline. She looks like a complete twit. Mutton dressed up as a Fairy Floss Fairy.

She needs to do something about her mother, who is obviously feeling neglected and actually sounded quite snide just then; but really, it’s hardly fair of Mum–how many daughters in their thirties talk to their mothers on the phone every single day? How many daughters join their mothers for fortnightly manicures, monthly facials and cut-and-colours every six weeks? Her mother is spoiled, that’s the problem! Of course, Sophie is also spoiled. They’ve spoiled each other. ‘You should be thankful you’ve only got a small family,’ Claire was always telling Sophie. ‘You’ve never had to endure emotional blackmail from your mother. Mothers specialise in it. I spend half my life feeling guilty.’

It turns out that Gretel can do emotional blackmail with the best of them. Sophie feels rather proud of her. She’ll have to tell Claire that her family isn’t quite so lovey-dovey after all. That fairytale façade hides conflict–issues! They’re dysfunctional! Next they’ll be on Jerry Springer throwing chairs at each other.

Sophie treats herself to two Turkish delight chocolates from her emergency stash next to the bed. As the familiar sweetness fills her mouth she looks at herself in the mirror and wriggles her shoulders so her glittery wings flap. She looks OK. She looks cute! The children will love it. Also, her cleavage is quite impressive. At least one of her suitors, Rick or Ian (Callum?), is sure to be weak-kneed with lust when they see her. It’s true that this may indicate questionable tendencies, but still, she’s been celibate for so long she’ll take it any way she can get it. She lifts her pink satin skirts and hurries down the spiral staircase. She has to meet Aunt Rose to get her face painted.

Grace pushes Jake in his stroller down the main street of the island, breathing in the smells of cold air and wood-smoke, popcorn and mulled wine. Once, she and Callum were skiing in America when they walked into a bar and Grace sniffed and said, ‘I just got a whiff of Anniversary Night.’ After all these years of bigger and better innovations it still seems to have exactly the same fragrance it had when she and Veronika and Thomas would run wild for the night, acting like little royals and telling the other children it was
their
island and they’d better be off it by midnight or the ghosts of Alice and Jack Munro would eat them for dinner. Of course, then came their teenage years when they would just lope around looking superior and sullen and sneaking off for illicit cigarettes. One year, Veronika decided that the whole concept of the Anniversary was disgusting and disrespectful. How could they celebrate the deaths, possibly the murders, of their great-grandparents? The three of them had worn black and held a private wake for Alice and Jack on the beach at Sultana Rocks. They’d held torches under their chins and chanted incantations that Veronika had written. Aunt Connie had discovered them and laughed, which had wounded their pride, and then she had apologised, which had confused them.

It feels wrong having the Anniversary Night without Aunt Connie.

But it seems like everything is going smoothly. Margie hasn’t left anything to chance. The fairy lights are on and sparkling. The island staff, who, after all, know the drill pretty well after all these years, are standing to attention behind the food-laden trestle tables which line the street. The performers are limbering up and checking their equipment. The tarot-card reader is sitting behind her table shuffling her cards. At the end of the street is a big stage and Callum’s jazz band are tuning up their instruments. This is the third year they’ve played for the Anniversary. They were a big hit the first year, and Callum was so touchingly chuffed when Aunt Connie told him The Snazzy Jazzies was the best band they’d ever had for the Anniversary. There will be a jukebox afterwards and Callum will be giving dance lessons. He thinks rock ’n’ roll, or swing, he’s going to see what the crowd is like. She watches Callum’s familiar body made strange by distance. He’s such a good man. Kind and funny and fundamentally good all the way through. Not like Grace, who has a secret rancid core, who is capable of thinking terrible thoughts, who if somebody bumps into her in the shopping centre will sometimes horrify herself by screaming silent obscenities, DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME! It’s probably only the constraints of society that curtail her capacity for unspeakable cruelty. She should never have been allowed to be a mother. She should have been sterilised.

Early guests are starting to arrive, spilling off the extra ferries that will be running all night. Grace looks at the faces of the families walking by, flushed with excitement and probably too many clothes. They’re all obediently dressed in parkas and beanies, as if they’re in the Snowy Mountains, not Scribbly Gum Island.

‘Excuse me?’ A beaming female face swims into focus. A woman has touched her on the arm and Grace is disconcerted, as though someone on television waved at her. She feels so remote from the world, from normal people, she thought she was invisible.

‘Do you know where we go for the face-painting?’ asks the woman.

‘Actually, I’m one of the face-painters,’ answers Grace. ‘We’ll be setting up in about half an hour.’

‘FAIRY FLOSS!’ shrieks the little boy. Grace sees Sophie in her fairy outfit, surrounded by children, laughing as she swirls floaty fairy floss around a stick from her tub. Sophie is shimmery-pink and pure. She is another good person. A dear little sunflower. A sweet little sugar-cube. A sunny little honey. The perfect match for Callum.

Sophie hands an impatient child a stick of fairy floss and sees Grace walk by, pushing the baby in his stroller. She’s all in black. Black jeans. Black jumper. Her hair is out, hanging straight down her back, and it looks very blonde. As she gets closer Sophie sees the impatient child’s father’s eyes drawn to her, flicking up and down her body. He sees that Sophie has caught him looking and says, half-apologetically, half-leering, ‘That’s what I call a Yummy Mummy!’ Why is he talking to Sophie like she’s a bloody mate in a pub? She gives her most charming smile and says, ‘And that’s what I call a Sleazy Daddy!’ He chuckles uncertainly and drags his son away by the elbow.

‘Free fairy floss?’ offers Sophie brightly to the man who appears to be next in line. He’s not dressed as warmly as all the other guests. He’s wearing jeans and a yellow surfy sort of T-shirt. He looks about fifty, with a paunchy stomach, stubbled jaw and an earring.

‘Not exactly free, is it?’ he says. ‘Not when you’ve paid seventy-five bucks a ticket.’

Sophie notices that he is carrying some sort of elaborate vase shoved under one armpit. Has he stolen it from one of their houses?

‘Well, everything is included in your ticket price,’ says Sophie. ‘Would you like some?’

‘Can’t stand the stuff. Rots your teeth.’

Aren’t you the charmer, thinks Sophie, smiling beatifically.

‘I’m looking for someone called Veronika Gordon,’ he says. ‘I’ve got a business appointment with her.’

Oh goodness, he’s the
Kook!
Everyone has been talking about this man who responded to Veronika’s ad about Alice and Jack in the paper. They’ll all be delighted to see how unsavoury he looks, which will confirm their suspicions. Grandma Enigma has declared that she intends to give him a good piece of her mind. ‘But what if he really does have information about Alice and Jack?’ Sophie had asked. ‘Well, I can assure you, he doesn’t,’ Enigma had said. ‘He’s a con-man. Ooh it makes my blood boil!’

‘Veronika will be here somewhere,’ says Sophie. ‘But I don’t know where. Are you sure I can’t offer you any fairy floss?’

‘If you see her, will you tell her I’m looking for her?’ says the Kook. He turns and glares down at a little girl who is sighing loudly and elaborately behind him.

‘Well, you’re taking too long!’ says the little girl, unperturbed. ‘People are waiting for their fairy floss!’

‘Where are your manners?’ asks the Kook, suddenly looking just like a baffled grandparent, and he wanders back into the crowd, clutching his vase.

Grace is already painting her tenth child with a blue and silver face inspired by Gublet McDublet. She’s painting the boys, while beside her Aunt Rose gives the girls pink and gold ‘Melly the Music Box Dancer’ faces.

It had been Rose’s idea to give the children Gublet and Melly faces this year, in honour of Grace’s books. Grace had pretended to think it was a wonderful idea. No need to mention that Gublet hadn’t been himself lately.

Grace always paints the boys because it’s harder work keeping them still. She keeps a firm hand clamped on their heads and whispers that they need to sit very still or else she’s liable to accidentally poke out their eyeballs. The boys like this sort of talk and give her respectful, masculine looks.

‘There you go! All done!’ Grace holds up a mirror in front of a grumpy six-year-old. His eyes widen as he sees his own transformed face in the mirror. ‘But I want to be a scary lion!’

‘Next please,’ says Grace, ignoring the child’s mother, who is smiling fondly under the mistaken impression that Grace finds her child as adorable as she does.

Grace can see that Aunt Rose is already drooping. She’s painting much slower than usual, even with the standard ‘fast-track’ design. The face-painting queue is snaking all the way down the road. Dozens and dozens of squirmy, whiny, often quite remarkably snotty children. ‘Why don’t we ask Mummy to blow that nose?’ shudders Grace as the next little boy takes the stool in front of her.

At least Grandma Enigma doesn’t seem to be having any trouble minding the baby. She is sitting right next to one of the gas heaters in a comfy chair with the baby on her lap, under a sign that says ‘
MEET THE MUNRO BABY–SCRIBBLY GUM’S “ENIGMA
”!’, graciously signing autographs and allowing people to be photographed with her. When Grace had gone over to check on them, Grandma Enigma was using Jake as a handy prop for her performances, telling people that this was her great-grandson and isn’t it amazing that she was a baby just like this little darling when her parents vanished into thin air seventy-three years ago today.