The Last Anniversary (9 page)

Sophie looks up to see her mother smiling radiantly, as if she has just read out a glowing report card, while her Dad has his shrewd fatherly ‘nobody’s going to put one over me’ expression.

‘A rare capacity for joy,’ says Gretel. ‘That’s lovely. I expect you inherited it from me. Well, I’ve changed my mind. I think you should absolutely accept the house!’

Hans says, ‘I’m betting she’s put in some sort of clause that says you can’t sell it. She obviously wants you to live in it. Now, how expensive is the upkeep? Is the place falling apart? That’s what I’d like to know. And do you really
want
to be living there, Sophie, spreading your message of joy?’

‘Sarcasm!’ scolds Gretel.

They are interrupted by the arrival of the wine: a Gewürztraminer Sophie had selected. She tastes the wine as she’s been trained to do since she was thirteen years old: swirl, sniff, slosh in mouth, reflect with serious expression, smile decisively up at waiter and say graciously, ‘Lovely, thank you.’

‘It’s not exactly a convenient location,’ continues Hans when the wine is poured. ‘They don’t allow cars on the island, do they? How would you get to work?’

‘There’s a ferry,’ explains Sophie. ‘The families all have their own motor boats and they keep their cars in a padlocked parking area on the mainland. So I’ll take my boat across, hop in my car, drive to the station and catch the train into the city.’

She tries hard to look casual, so her father won’t guess how enchanted she is by this idea, but her mother spoils it by clasping her hands and saying out loud everything that Sophie is secretly thinking. ‘How wonderful! I can just see it! The sun shining on the water! Your own little boat chugging across the river while you wave hello to other islanders!’

‘That will all seem very romantic right up until the first day it rains,’ says Hans. ‘Or you’re running late for work. Or you’re coming home late at night.’

Her mother says, ‘Oh no, darling. I don’t think she could drive her little boat late at night! I don’t think boats have headlights, do they?’

Hans gives her an exasperated look. ‘Well, she can’t stay home every night, can she?’

‘She could come and stay with us if she’s out late.’

‘That’s hardly practical.’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Because she might want to–you know–she might have a–she might like–she could–bugger it, you know what I’m trying to say!’

‘Oh, well, she could stay at his place!’ says Gretel blithely and then frowns. ‘If he seems nice. And clean.’

‘Mum. Dad. I’m very grateful that you’re both so concerned about my sex life but I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ says Sophie. These assumptions by Aunt Connie that she has ‘dozens of beaux’, and by her parents that she actually has sex on a regular basis, are both flattering and depressing.

There is a disturbance at the table next to them. The younger woman stands up suddenly, with a face she is trying hard not to let crumple, and walks off quickly to the ladies.

‘Told you so,’ whispers Gretel, looking sympathetic and triumphant. ‘I wonder if I should go after her?’

‘I might not even get the house,’ continues Sophie. ‘Veronika rang me up and told me she’s going to fight me all the way to the highest court in the land.’

Her father snorts. ‘I’ve checked up on it. I really don’t think she has a chance. One, she’s not even related to this woman. Connie doesn’t have any living relatives, does she?’

‘Yes, she does,’ says Gretel. ‘The younger sister who was with her when they found the baby. The face-painting lady. Remember, we met her when we took Sophie to the island when she was young. What was her name?’

‘Rose,’ says Sophie.

Hans says, ‘Well, even if Rose wanted to contest it she’d need to prove that Connie wasn’t of sound mind, or that she was somehow manipulated. It’s clear from her letter that wasn’t the case. She just took a liking to you. Anyway, this is all premature until you hear from the lawyers and what the will actually says.’

‘But I don’t know,’ says Sophie. ‘Is it morally right for me to take the house?’

‘Of course it is,’ says her mother. ‘Now I’ve heard that letter I’ve decided it would be morally wrong not to take it! Connie wanted you to have it.’

‘If you think you could be happy living there, then you should,’ says Hans. ‘It’s a windfall, darling, that’s all. No need to feel guilty about windfalls.’

‘I’m going to check on that poor girl,’ says Gretel.

The next day, Sophie models possible outfits to wear to Aunt Connie’s funeral, while her friend Claire lies on Sophie’s bed eating a gigantic bag of salt and vinegar chips.

Claire can eat and eat and eat and still retain a malnourished look. She looks a bit like a junkie, a skinny young rock chick, although she’s actually a forty-two-year-old physiotherapist.

‘Is the funeral on the island?’ she asks, as Sophie stands in front of her wardrobe flicking through hangers.

‘No. The island is tiny,’ says Sophie. ‘It’s Sydney’s smallest suburb. Only six houses. Haven’t you ever been there?’

‘Nope.’

‘You’ve never done the tour of the Alice and Jack house?’

‘How could I if I’ve never been there?’

‘Right. Well, when I live there you can come and visit me. We’ll do the tour together. I’ll make you cinnamon toast.’

At the thought of living in that house, walking out onto that balcony in her PJs and having a cup of tea in the morning sun, watching the reflections of the gum trees in the river, Sophie feels an intense shot of pleasure. It will be bliss. It is like the life she’s always wanted without ever knowing it–and this lovely old woman has just handed it to her–‘here, take this life’–a glittering gift, like something in a fairytale.

‘There’s a kookaburra that comes and sits on the balcony every night,’ she tells Claire as she pulls a shirt over her head and zips up a skirt.

‘I know,’ says Claire. ‘You told me. Sounds thrilling. That outfit is far too insipid.’

Sophie looks down at her grey skirt and white shirt. ‘I think insipid might be exactly the right look. I’m not even sure if I should go. It’s not as if I would have gone if she hadn’t left me the house, but it seems ungrateful not to be there now. So I sort of want to be there and not be there at the same time. Plus there will be Thomas and his wife, and Veronika, and all the family who I haven’t seen since the break-up. Oh God, it’s going to be excruciating.’

Claire says, ‘Wear the black dress you wore when you snogged that fat guy at Melissa’s christening.’

‘He wasn’t fat. He was stocky. Anyway, I don’t want to wear black,’ says Sophie. ‘People will think I’m pretending to be sad when they all know I didn’t really know her.’

She shoves Claire’s hand aside so she can reach in the bag for some chips.

‘Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen,’ says Claire. At Sophie’s request she is counting the number of chips Sophie eats, with orders to stop her at twenty.

‘I think you look really sexy in that black dress,’ says Claire.

‘Nineteen, twenty, that’s it, no more.’ She folds the top of the chip bag with a straight, firm crease and begins licking her fingers, efficiently, one by one, like a cat grooming itself. Sophie will not get another chip now even if she goes down on her hands and knees and begs for it.

‘I don’t want to look sexy. I want to look demure and non-manipulative.’

‘You should look sexy,’ says Claire. ‘
He
might be there.’

‘Who?’

‘Oh, don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. The guy Aunt Connie thinks would be right for you. Your new
beau
!’

In fact, Sophie hasn’t thought about him being at the funeral at all. When she thinks about him, which she does quite a lot, she imagines him knocking on her door a few days after she’s moved in to Connie’s house. She’ll be wearing overalls with one strap dangling down and her hair will be tousled and cute. She might have a darling smudge of dirt on one cheek. He will walk in, probably wearing muddy boots for some reason, and he will glance down at her piles of books and exotic, interesting ornaments demonstrating what an exotic, interesting woman she is, and he will make some sort of funny, perceptive, intelligent (but not scarily intelligent) remark, and at that exact moment there will be some sort of minor crisis. Something will explode or flood or burst into flames. They will work
together
to overcome this crisis, which ideally will require some bicep-bulging strength on his part, and when it is over they will flop down together, laughing with relief, and their eyes will meet and they will both just
know.
That will be the moment Sophie will sneak a look at her watch to check the time that she met her future husband, so she can tell her future children.

One problem is that she doesn’t own a pair of overalls. Or any exotic, interesting ornaments. She’ll also have to hide away her collection of regency romances. She hates the condescending expressions new boyfriends get on their faces the first time they see her regency romances, as though she’s an adorable puppy.

‘Oh, him,’ says Sophie vaguely. ‘I’d forgotten about him.’

Claire gives a long, exaggerated snort of disbelief.

‘Well, she wrote that letter months ago,’ says Sophie defensively. ‘The guy is probably with someone now. Single men don’t last long in Sydney, remember? They’re “snapped up”. Besides which, what do I know about Connie’s taste in men?’

‘You said you saw photos of her husband. You said he was a spunk.’

Sophie grins. ‘That’s true.’

‘Look, you really can’t risk looking insipid the first time you meet this guy. You’ve got to go for it. It could be your one chance. You’re not–’

‘–getting any younger. Yes, thank you, Claire.’

‘I’m just saying, if you seriously do want to have a family, you haven’t got much time. You’ve got to take every opportunity. You’re about to miss the baby boat.’

There’s that bossy, big-sisterly tone Claire adopts whenever she talks to Sophie about her love life, or lack thereof. She herself has been in a long-term relationship for eleven years and doesn’t want children because she and her partner have a ‘lifestyle’, which means they go on trekking holidays and have white wool carpet. However, she is very respectful of Sophie’s desire to have children, maybe a bit
too
respectful because she is vigilant about Sophie slacking off on her man-hunting. She doesn’t believe in fate or destiny or that ‘Mr Right will turn up just when you least expect it’. She believes that finding a man to be the father of your children before your fertility drops to zero is no different from any other goal, like finding the right car or the right property.

Sophie sighs and pulls another hanger out of her cupboard. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit much to expect Aunt Connie to provide me with both a house and a man, as if she’s my fairy godmother? You’re the one who says I think life is a friggin’ fairytale.’

‘Put the sexy black number on, Cinderella.’

Veronika rings Sophie again the night before Aunt Connie’s funeral. ‘Tell me you don’t have the
gall
to come tomorrow.’

‘I thought you weren’t saying another word to me in your entire lifetime.’

‘You’re not welcome. You’re not family.’

‘Gosh, Veronika,’ says Sophie sweetly. ‘I thought I
was
like your family. I seem to remember you making a speech about how I was like the sister you never had.’

Naturally, Sophie had been Veronika’s bridesmaid. It is cruel and bitchy of her to remind Veronika of her wedding to Jonas when it had ended so quickly in divorce, but this is getting tedious.

‘May I remind you that it was at my wedding that you got together with my brother!’

‘I don’t deny it, but what’s the relevance?’

‘The relevance is that you rejected him. You rejected our family. And now you think you can waltz back in, Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth.’

She means, you rejected
me.
Sometimes Sophie thinks she’d hurt Veronika more than she’d hurt Thomas. Veronika had been ecstatic when Thomas and Sophie got together. If Sophie is honest with herself–and oh, how she strives to be honest with herself–Veronika’s effusiveness is probably one of the reasons why she had to break up with her brother. There is something about Veronika that makes Sophie want to fold her arms tightly across her chest and say, ‘You can’t have any more of me.’ Sophie has an irrational dislike of Veronika’s intense interest in the most trivial details of her life. She remembers everything, as if she is stockpiling ammunition to prove…what? That she knows Sophie better than she knows herself? She would say in front of other friends, ‘Oh, no, that date is no good. Sophie wouldn’t be able to come. It’s the third Thursday–it’s her dinner night with her parents. They rate restaurants, you know.’ She remembered what books, food and movies Sophie did and didn’t like. ‘Sophie hates tortellini.’ ‘Sophie loved that movie.’

Why do such innocuous comments aggravate Sophie so much? It feels like if she spends too much time with Veronika there will be nothing left of her. She’s like a vampire sinking her fangs into Sophie’s neck and sucking her dry.

‘I thought you’d forgiven me for breaking up with Thomas.’ Sophie softens her voice because Veronika just wants to be her friend, that’s all. She’s not really a vampire. ‘I thought you said it was time to move on.’

Veronika ignores that. ‘I bet you were trying to get your claws into Aunt Connie at my wedding.’

Sophie is outraged. ‘
What
? I barely spoke to her!’

Connie had been far to busy having a good time, remembers Sophie. Her husband Jimmy had still been alive. They had danced the Charleston: an elderly, white-haired couple who still somehow managed to flutter their fingers and kick in perfect timing, crossing their hands across their knees and giving Sophie a split-second glimpse of the vibrant young couple they had been. Everybody had applauded madly. They were gorgeous.

Veronika switches topics again. ‘Look, you’re just going to upset people by turning up tomorrow. Mum, Grandma Enigma, Aunt Rose–none of them wants you to be there.’