Tom Houghton (39 page)

‘You don't hear from Hal at all?'

‘Christmas and birthdays,' Norma sighed. ‘I suppose that's better than nothing. Tell me, Maggie, has Isabel been over to London lately?'

Maggie would have preferred to be in the conversation that was taking place between Kathy and Brigette. She couldn't help feeling a particular stab of jealousy at the sight of them giggling away while Maggie had to repel Norma's fantasy. She had been insisting Isabel stay for a weekend at her son's cottage in Bath. This had been persisting for close to two years and the only time Maggie ever mentioned it to Isabel, she'd slammed down the phone.

‘She seems so busy,' Maggie said to Norma. ‘Most of the articles she writes for the magazine are researched on the weekend,' she added a little unconvincingly.

‘Horny Hal still after Isabel, is he?' Cheryl cackled from the other end of the table.

The rest of them burst into laughter – they all knew Hal had no interest in Isabel; this match-making was all his mother's idea.

‘Oh, sod off, Cheryl!' Norma said, gulping some more wine.

There was more laughter as the handsome waiter delivered their entrees.

‘Strangest thing . . .' Kathy whispered in Maggie's ear as the waiter went to retrieve the other three plates from the kitchen, ‘I felt a flush through my body at the scent of his cologne.'

‘I don't think he'd be interested in your type, somehow dear,' Maggie teased.

‘How is Patrick?' Kathy asked.

‘What?' Maggie said, realising the connection Kathy had made between her son and the waiter. ‘He's fine, he hasn't come to see Leroy for a few weeks but I know he's always busy.'

‘So he does tell you what he gets up to?'

‘Oh my heavens, no! We don't discuss those things. In fact, all he usually says is in disagreement with something I've said, or to tell me he doesn't like what I'm wearing, my perfume's too strong.'

‘You should tell him to wise up, Maggie.'

‘I'm used to it now, Kathy. He's Sagittarian, he always speaks his mind and I have learnt to accept that.'

‘As long as he doesn't upset you. Now eat up before your soup gets cold.'

‘Oh, God,' Kathy moaned as she tucked into her oysters with delight.

‘Here's to the Cleopatra machine we won on last night!' Cheryl raised her glass. ‘May it continue to provide us with lunches for months to come.'

‘And to our anniversary!' Maggie added.

‘I have to ask you all,' Brigette said seriously and narrowed her eyes, ‘is this outfit too . . . bright?'

There were a few moments of no one knowing what to say.

‘That depends on whether I'm wearing my sunglasses or not,' sniggered Cheryl.

‘Oh, sod off, Cheryl!' Norma said again and they all giggled.

They took it in turns tasting each other's entrees – with the exception of Kathy who'd consumed her dozen oysters without offering any to the others.

‘Chocolate and oysters,' she said dryly, ‘you'd be hard-pressed getting me to share them for anything less than sex.'

‘I think you're pretty safe around us,' Val joked.

‘Ladies,' Kathy said as she motioned for a waitress to bring another bottle of wine. ‘You're all mothers – should I worry about my oldest smoking pot?'

Between them they had thirteen children and nine grandchildren.

‘How old is he?' Cheryl asked.

‘Fourteen,' Kathy said with a shrug. Maggie was disappointed to find out that Brett smoked marijuana but she couldn't condemn him as she suspected her own son of doing the same at his age, and then some.

‘Well, I knew that my son was in with the wrong crowd,' Brigette said, her accent making its first strong appearance of the day as she began her third glass of wine, ‘but I don't think it was the marijuana smoking I should have been concerned about. Perhaps if I had acknowledged it instead of allowing him to hide his drug taking, he would still be alive today.'

Brigette's only child had died twenty years earlier when he had stolen a car and slammed it into a traffic light as the police pursued him. She never referred to him by name, it was always ‘my son'. Come to think of it, Maggie wasn't even sure she knew his name, but she didn't dare ask it.

‘Not that I mean to worry you, Kathy,' Brigette continued, ‘but if I had my chance again I think I'd demand an open exchange with him. No secrets.'

‘Oh, I'm quite glad Patrick and I have secrets,' Maggie said, speaking more to herself than anyone in particular. ‘I don't need to know everything he does.'

‘My girls told me everything,' Cheryl said. ‘I knew every period, every kiss, and each loss of virginity.'

‘I just don't want to encourage him,' Kathy said. ‘I don't want him to be one of those layabouts with no ambition. I went out with a boy like that once . . . and ended up raising his three children alone.'

‘My advice?' Cheryl offered. ‘Smoke a joint with him and tell him you understand, but you only want him to do it once a week at most. Always with his friends, and never alone or when they have to drive or are supposed to study or anything.'

‘That's outrageous!' Norma shrieked.

‘Oh, I don't know,' Maggie turned to Kathy. ‘You seem to be doing a great job embracing everything you know about your kids. You show them that you're one of their friends and they respect you for that. It's something I could never do with mine.'

‘It's never too late, Maggie,' Kathy said. ‘I haven't had pot in about ten years,' she added with only a hint of suggestion.

‘Why don't you get some for all of us?' Cheryl picked up on the hint.

‘Count me out.' Brigette put her wine glass firmly back down on the table.

‘You've all lost your minds,' Maggie said with a smile to defuse the situation. ‘I'm off to the ladies.'

•  •  •

In the bathroom, she felt a sense of dread. How gut-wrenching that life couldn't continue without her deteriorating. Her future was mapped out and it terrified her that she had no control over how it would end. Though she had finished, she sat on the toilet a few moments longer to regain her composure and steady her rising blood pressure. Maggie eventually made her way to the basin to wash her hands. It was then that she noticed tightness in her forehead, the first sign she was getting drunk. She splashed some cold water on her face and stared at herself in the enormous mirror.

What is it, Maggie? What insanity are you going to let spoil this perfect day? She splashed a little more cold water over her arms and shook away the excess moisture, and her doubts. The main course would be served soon.

•  •  •

As she approached the table, everything softened as though broadcast through a dream. None of the ladies would look at her, consciously avoiding her gaze. Only Kathy made eye contact, her face white with shock. In one hand she held Maggie's mobile and she slowly rose to hold Maggie's hands in the other.

‘Maggie, that was Marcus' work. He's had an accident.'

Maggie began to shake her head. That can't be right. She made her way to her chair and sat down, taking a gulp of wine and a deep breath. The room suddenly turned silent.

‘So, what's he gone and done?' Maggie tried to be cheery, though she knew from her friends' faces things must be serious.

Kathy moved her hand up Maggie's arm, as if to warn her of the state of Marcus' condition. ‘It happened on the freeway, sweetheart. There was an accident and they've taken him to hospital. They say he's on life support.'

‘Where is he?'

‘Royal North Shore.'

‘I have no idea what to say,' Maggie said awkwardly. ‘I suppose I ought to know what to do in this situation but I'm a little lost. I'm sorry for spoiling everyone's lunch. I guess I should go . . .' her voice trailed off.

‘You have to be strong, Maggie. Just stay strong.' Norma. It was all Maggie could do to stop herself from wringing her neck.

Maggie got up slowly from the table, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. Then the sounds around her became audible again. The chink of cutlery. The drone of boat engines. Squawking seagulls. The hum of distant traffic and thunder of trains. A plate dropped in the kitchen. Her own heartbeat. It was suddenly hard to breathe – if she didn't move she would faint. She clutched her bag, snatched the blasted phone back from Kathy – who answers somebody else's mobile anyway? – and hurried away from the table, down the stairs and around the side of the sandstone building. She noticed she was on grass and for a brief moment she felt like throwing herself down. Instead, she placed one hand against the cool of the stone. She wasn't sure how long she leaned there fearing she might vomit. Absurdly, she thought I must explain this sensation to Marcus and it took her a few moments to comprehend that there may not be any more conversations to have. She shuffled over to the street and threw out her arm to hail a passing taxi. Her vision was blurry, so the tears had come after all.

The taxi smelled strongly of the driver's sweat, of stale bread, and of a sickly sweet deodoriser. She apologised to the driver, got out and closed the door almost as swiftly as she'd opened it. And then she vomited. A burning, painful rejection of soup and wine, a return to sobriety and reality. Taking a moment to regain her composure, she longed for water but decided she should get to the hospital as quickly as possible, for how could she ever live with herself if her hunt for water was the one thing that kept her from spending Marcus' last moments with him?

It took longer to hail a second taxi and Maggie found it difficult to concentrate on the task. The acid bile coated her tongue and the sunlight made it nearly impossible to gauge whether each passing taxi had its vacant light on. Eventually, she gave up trying to distinguish and stood there on the side of the road feeling foolish with her arm held straight out, hanging with blind hope.

What if he dies? she thought. What if the one constant in her life simply ceased to be? Tears welled in her eyes and her throat burned as she tried half-heartedly to imagine a life without Marcus. Who did she have left aside from Kathy? The simple answer was no one. Patrick couldn't be relied upon for anything and the rift between her and Isabel was now impossibly deep and, even if Maggie wanted to try to bridge it, Isabel was so stubborn that she'd push Maggie even further away at the first sign of an attempted reconciliation. It scared her to think of being alone in the world, to be forced to concede the reason she had not managed to hold on to anyone other than Kathy and these tenuous ties to the four other women who joined her for lunch once a month.

Her arm began to ache but she still stood firm, clutching her bag with the other hand. The reality of death began to wash over her. The commitment to this one event absolutely filled her with dread, how trying it was going to be dealing with this alone, to no longer be needed by anyone. No, she thought, this can't be about my future alone. This was a time to think about Marcus and to turn to a god for the first time in her life, to pray for his safety, beg for his life. Why was she so desperate to keep him? It wasn't as if they were intimate any more, not as though they laughed together or shared private thoughts. But there was just so much she wanted to say, questions she needed answers to, explanations for so many things in their past. Now her past would go untouched, and she'd be forced to continue hiding behind her veneer of aloofness but that was the last thing she wanted now that her life was on a course beyond her control. But what if he wasn't dying? What if the accident wasn't as bad as Kathy made out, what if he was doing fine now and went on living another ten, twenty years? Stop it! She pleaded to the invisible powers of fate, please stop, I don't want to go this way any more.

A cab pulled up just in front of her but she saw the silhouette of someone sitting in the back seat. Perhaps they were getting out? The back door opened and Maggie rushed toward it. Kathy poked her head out of the cab and urged her to get in.

‘How on earth?' Maggie began in bewilderment.

‘I hailed it from outside the restaurant,' Kathy explained. ‘Come on, get in. You didn't think I was gonna let you go alone, did you?'

‘But how did you find me?' Maggie asked as she climbed awkwardly into the cab, banging her knee slightly against the metal of the door.

‘It was a fluke. I called your mobile, you didn't answer, I figured I'd meet you at the hospital . . . then I saw you with your arm stuck out like a scarecrow.'

‘Oh, yes. Right. You called me? I didn't hear.' Maggie closed the door behind her. ‘Oh, my phone – I guess I should try to call Patrick and Isabel, let them know what's happened.'

‘Would you like me to do it?' Kathy asked as the cab took a sharp turn north.

‘It's okay, I think I should try.' Maggie realised she wasn't wearing her seatbelt and fumbled with the strap to get it around her. The strap locked in its holder and she tugged at it sharply several times before taking a deep breath and trying again, slowly. The buckle clicked in place. She paused to take another deep breath. She was now remarkably composed, just having Kathy by her side made things seem manageable.

‘He'll be okay, Maggie,' Kathy attempted to soothe her even further. ‘Don't alarm the kids just yet, try to stay calm.'

Kathy was right, of course, but something made Maggie's skin crawl at another person telling her how to behave in the situation,
her
situation.

The talkback radio host's voice grated on her, blaring from the speaker behind her ear. The air pressure around their cab held them in a vacuum, each passing car on the bridge pulled them sidewards, making Maggie hold her neck stiff so she wouldn't bang her head against the window. It made her feel dirty to think that thousands of people had sat in this seat. Maggie pulled her mobile from amongst the clutter in her small bag, the one Marcus had bought her for a birthday several years ago. Even as she opened the box she had known it was impractical. Expecting it would be a fruitless exercise, she tried Patrick's mobile first. After three rings it went through to his voicemail, the familiar sound of his ‘business' voice telling her that he was unavailable. She decided to leave a brief message, one vague enough to pique his interest but not emotional enough to raise alarm.