The Last Anniversary (34 page)

Sophie will talk about music with him and go dancing with him and swing her hips and jiggle her shoulders and move like a woman, not a cardboard cut-out. Sophie will make friends with that huge social circle of Callum’s friends. She’ll go to those loud, happy, tipsy BBQs without feeling sick flutters in her stomach, and she won’t just find a chair and sit there with her arms and legs not quite right, just sitting there for the whole night, holding her drink too tightly, worrying that everybody thinks she’s a cold snobby bitch and secretly thinking the steak marinade has too much salt in it. Oh no, Sophie will be flitting from circle to circle, laughing and chatting and making everybody chuckle. She’ll know all their names and all their kids’ names. She’ll have long, chatty conversations on the phone with Callum’s lovely mum, and say, ‘Oh,
hi
, Doris!’ She’ll love Jake like a proper mother and do tuckshop duty and throw birthday parties and jump up and down on the soccer field. She’ll blush and giggle and Jake will grow a foot taller than her and put his arm around her and say to his mates, ‘This is my mum.’ His darling little mum. And nobody will think all that much about Grace except to say, ‘Oh, what a terrible tragedy.’

Jake is with Grandma Enigma right now, wearing his red woollen hat. He’s warm and clean and fed and there are eleven lasagnes in the freezer and dozens of bottles of expressed milk, and all the washing is up-to-date and Sophie is just over there, the pretty pink Good Fairy waiting to step in, and Grace did the best she could but it wasn’t enough, she never felt it, she never felt a thing, and it will be such a glorious relief, such a
release
, like when the pain-reliever begins its soft, fuzzy drift through your bloodstream, like cool grass on your bare feet after white-hot sand, like sleep closing down your brain after a long, exhausting day.

She looks around her and all she can see are children with Melly the Music Box Dancer and Gublet faces, her own smiling creations mocking her for thinking she could be happy, and it seems to her that the children are the only ones who can truly see her despicable core, and she can see their eyes shining at her through their painted faces and they’re all saying,
Yep, do it, Grace, do it, it’s time
.

Ron runs towards the wharf. He’s going to take his jet-ski over, which means his clothes are going to be drenched, and if the cabbie at Glass Bay complains about him dripping river-water all over his cab he’s either going to put him in a headlock and threaten to kill him or else he’s going to give him all the money in his wallet and say, ‘Look mate, just take me to the Hilton, my wife is there with some hairy-chested, gold-medallion-wearing guy named
Ron,
which is
my
name. I know, I can’t fucking believe it either.’

He’ll tell him he’ll pay him double the value of any speeding tickets. Triple.

Do you want to come and watch?
Was he for
real
? Had Margie got caught up in some weird trendy cult where they all practise…
fetishes
? Even the word ‘fetish’ makes him shudder. Ron does not like fetishes. He has no fetishes. He likes normal, straightforward Australian sex with a woman, and the woman should be his wife, and the woman shouldn’t sleep with anyone else but him, and afterwards they should have a bit of a cuddle and fall asleep in their own bed. Simple. Bloody hell. Why did he take such simple good things in his life for granted?

As he gets to the water he sees a familiar figure in the moonlight walking towards him.

‘What are
you
doing here?’ he calls out in surprise, but he doesn’t stop running long enough to find out.

Sophie has decided everybody on the island has had quite enough fairy floss and packed up her machine. All the children seem to be on sugar highs. Their colourful painted faces make them look like miniature demons and the older ones are running around in feral packs, making strange roaring sounds. Shouldn’t they be in bed? Callum’s jazz band has packed up their instruments, and loudspeakers are pounding out Latin American music. The street performers have all stopped performing. Sophie can see two clowns kissing passionately. There seem to be quite a lot of people trying out dirty dancing for the first time in their lives.

Sophie takes off her wings and puts a denim jacket over her dress. She had intended to find something to eat, but uncharacteristically she’s lost her appetite. All she feels like is more mulled wine–she’s drinking it like water. The more she drinks, the better it tastes. There is a gentle buzzing sound in her head.

It is so funny that both the eligible men in her life have been eliminated within half an hour of each other. Oh, it’s just hilarious! The girls are going to fall about laughing. Her life should be a sitcom it’s so funny. She giggles but it sounds like a hiccup. Or a sob.

The thing is, as well as being funny, it is also humiliating. Because she thought she was so great, so attractive, having two men interested in her, when she wasn’t even especially interested in either of them. All of a sudden she thought she had all the time in the world. Pride comes before someone trips you flat on your face.

And now here she is, single and nearly forty. So very, very single and so very, very nearly forty. That elusive marriage and babies thing has slipped through her clumsy, grasping fingertips. She just couldn’t get it right in time. There won’t be a Lily baby or a Jake baby for her. She’s going to be on her deathbed and thinking about her achievements as a Human Resources Director. That will be her gift to humanity. The Morale Committee will gather around gratefully. The only person who is apparently in love with her is Thomas, who is married to somebody else. And the only person she’s in love with is Callum, who is also married to somebody else.

‘Sophie.’

‘Ha! I was just thinking about you.’ Sophie looks up at Callum and feels herself pulled irresistibly to him like metal shavings to a magnet. She has to dig her heels into the ground so she doesn’t suddenly superglue herself to his chest.

‘Really. What were you thinking?’

‘I was thinking…’ Gosh. She has absolutely no idea how to finish the sentence. Callum doesn’t seem to care. He seems bright-eyed and fidgety. ‘Were you thinking you’d like to dance with me?’

‘How funny! That’s exactly what I was thinking!’

Callum holds out his hand and Sophie takes it. A manic happiness floods her bloodstream.

He leans towards her with wide eyes and says, ‘Don’t you think the mulled wine is amazing!’

‘Oh,’ says Sophie fervently. ‘I think it’s delicious.’

Rose is walking towards Enigma’s tent, worrying about Grace, although she’s not sure exactly why. Something about the expression on her face just then. It was so disinterested. It was wiped clean. It reminded her of someone’s face from her past. Actually, she knows who it was. It reminded her of that Jenkins boy when they saw him at Dora’s wedding after the war. Oh, but for heaven’s sake! That’s ridiculous! Grace isn’t suffering from shellshock! Grace isn’t about to do anything silly.

The Jenkins boy had hung himself in the family garage.

It’s probably just that Rose has always been slightly worried about Grace, ever since the day Laura brought her home from the hospital and handed her over to Simon, saying, ‘Here. You stop her crying. You’re the one who wanted a baby so bad.’

Oh, but Grace is fine! She’s got Callum, who anyone can see adores her, and the baby is thriving.

The music is too loud. Her back hurts. Someone knocks against her, ‘Oh my
God
! I’m
so
sorry!’ and then disappears into the crowd. There seems to be a frenetic, out-of-control feeling to this year’s Anniversary. Everybody she sees is carrying a glass of mulled wine–it seems very popular, even though Rose had a taste and it definitely has too much lemon, not enough nutmeg. As she finally reaches the Baby Munro tent she can see Enigma sitting up in her chair, pointing her finger at someone, as though she’s Lady Muck. (What sort of person would Enigma have been if she’d just been a plain old Beth or Agnes?) Veronika and her new friend are there too. The friend is holding Jake. It seems that everyone is talking at once to a man wearing, oh dear, a yellow T-shirt. It’s the Kook. He’s obviously found Veronika. As Rose gets closer she sees him hold up the strange urn and announce,

‘These are the ashes of Alice Munro. My
mother
, Alice Munro.’

Veronica’s mouth drops and stays dropped.

Enigma guffaws, ‘Well, I don’t know whose ashes they are but I can assure you they’re not the ashes of Alice Munro!’

‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’ says a familiar voice next to Rose.

Rose turns. ‘What are
you
doing here?’

Ron roars across the river on his jet-ski. He’s going to take her on a campervan holiday in Tasmania, he’s going to finally hang up that godawful baby-in-a-flowerpot print in the sunroom, he’s going to be more patient with her mother, he’s going to let her watch whatever that rubbish show is she wants to watch on Sunday nights, he’s going to go on picnics, he’s going to put Christmas lights on the guttering, he’s going to ask her, Do you still miss your dad, because I miss him, and Do you still write to the parents of the missing children in the paper, which you thought I never knew about, and Do you still know the words to all of Buddy Holly’s songs, and Do you think our children are normal…and, Jesus Christ, was Veronika trying to tell him she was a
lesbian
tonight?

‘I thought you were in Turkey!’ says Rose.

‘I decided to come home early,’ says Laura.

‘
Laura
?’ says the Kook uncertainly, lowering the urn.

‘What can I get you?’

‘Just one of those samosas,’ says Grace. ‘They look nice.’

‘You’re pretty good,’ says Callum.

‘I know I am,’ says Sophie.

The music thuds inside her. They’re on their own invisible island surrounded by gyrating people. They’re moving like one person. He’s going to kiss her very soon.

‘Your mother was Alice Munro?’ Veronika is ecstatic. It seems that
nothing
in her world is as fixed and boring as she thought. ‘So what happened to her? Why did she leave? What happened to Jack? This is amazing! Incredible!’ She looks at Audrey, who is gorgeous and calm and jiggling the baby expertly over one shoulder. ‘Can you believe this, Audrey!’

Enigma says, ‘He’s a con-man, I tell you.’

‘Oh, am I?’ The Kook shakes the urn. ‘How can you prove these aren’t the ashes of Alice Munro?’

Laura snorts with derision. ‘Oh, David, give it up!’

‘Do you actually
know
this man, Laura?’ says Enigma. ‘I suppose you met him in some dreadful foreign country. Why are you back so early anyway? Nobody told me you were coming back early! Have you noticed that Margie isn’t even here tonight? I’m here all alone dealing with problems like this!’

‘I’m back early because I decided I want to spend time with my grandson.’ Laura looks at Jake in Audrey’s arms and pats him tentatively on the head as if he’s an exotic animal. ‘Is that so strange? Where is Grace? This child looks hungry. And who are you? Are you the babysitter? Don’t tell me they’ve got a nanny? How terribly trendy of them!’

Veronika is in a frenzy. ‘Audrey is my girlfriend, Auntie Laura. I became a lesbian while you were away, but I’ll introduce her properly in a minute. This is important! How do we know for sure this man isn’t telling the truth?’

‘He’s just trying to get money out of us,’ says Laura disgustedly. ‘I dated him for a while. I met him at Parents without Partners. I made the mistake of sharing some confidential information with him after a few too many chardonnays one night. Veronika, did you just say what I think you said?’

‘Oh, Laura, that’s disgraceful!’ says Enigma. ‘But why didn’t you ever bring him home for dinner?’

‘Exactly what confidential information did you share with him, Auntie Laura?’ Veronika’s face is pink, her hands clenched.

‘You’ll just have to wait till you’re forty to find out,’ says Enigma.

‘Till I’m
forty
?’

Rose looks around helplessly for a chair. There are shooting pains up the back of her legs. She looks at the self-satisfaction on Enigma’s face and the anguish on Veronika’s. Oh, it’s all so
silly
. It’s so
tiring
. Seventy-three years of lies. Seventy-three years of thinking before you spoke. Seventy-three years of fear. Like walking along a cliff-face. How tempting to just step out into thin air.

Be quiet, Rose
, orders Connie in her head.

I’m sorry, Connie. I’ve just had enough
.

Enough is enough.

She reaches for Veronika’s hand.

‘We know he’s not telling the truth, darling, because Alice and Jack Munro never existed. Connie and I made them up.’

‘You made them up? You never found a baby? There was no baby? Or–what–why, well then,
who is Grandma Enigma
?’

Rose has a glorious sensation of freefall. ‘Well, she’s my daughter, darling.’

Enigma throws her hands in the air and wails, ‘Oh, now look what you’ve gone and done!’