Where Have You Been? (16 page)

Anxious, he gives it a few minutes, then saunters into the kitchen casually, prepared for the worst.

But what he finds is completely unexpected.

Carly is carving the leg – expertly – and his mother, his mother is actually laughing at something Carly is telling her. Tongs poised above the steaming vegetables, pressures of high office momentarily forgotten. His mother is shaking with laughter, her cheeks are pink with pleasure, her eyes glitter. His mother is laughing so exuberantly that it takes her a moment to notice Ed, who is standing uncertainly in the doorway. When she finally sees him she points the tongs in his direction and says merrily, ‘You didn't tell me your sister-in-law was such a funny, clever girl, Eddy. And such a carver.' She grips Carly's shoulder, shakes it affectionately, ‘My goodness – what a treasure.'

Ed looks at Carly who is still carving demurely, then back at his mother, who is wiping her streaming eyes on a tea towel and who says, ‘Now scoot, Edward, we'll be out soon. I want this girl to finish her story ... and it's not one that can be told in front of a man, is it darling?'

His mother turns her back on him, and he has no option but to leave the room, wondering what has been said, and astonished by his mother's use of the endearment.
Darling.
She has never once called Susan anything but Susan, has never
even called her Sue. He has noticed that, quite frequently, his mother fails to call his wife anything.

Later that night, lying in bed, Susan asleep beside him, he goes over those moments in the kitchen. He is simultaneously amazed and pleased by his mother's reception of Carly. He has always wanted his mother to approve of his friends and, though he knows he should be getting over this at his stage of life, is always disappointed when, invariably, she doesn't. He wonders whether this is an indication that at last, after ten years of marriage, his mother is beginning to accept Susan. Perhaps Carly will be the one (so unlikely!) to bring the two women together. To break the deeply frozen ice.

He wonders, too, what it was that Carly told his mother. He can't remember the last time he saw her laugh. Not with such uncomplicated pleasure, anyway.

Ed recently read an article that discussed the benefits of living in an extended family situation – how another adult can provide not only a new perspective, but also a space free from the sometimes overpowering intensity that is part and parcel of the nuclear family. That what's referred to in the jargon as an ‘outside-insider' (or should that be ‘inside-outsider'?) can help deflect conflict, dissipate tension. And that this can benefit children as much as adults. The conflict thing has never been an issue in his little family – so far all their relationships have been uncomplicated, easy, untroubled – but he has no doubt that Carly's perspective has opened them all up somehow, has let in, metaphorically speaking, light and air. It has exceeded his expectations – this addition to their family. This expansion of their intimate circle.

Since Carly's moved in, Ed feels himself changed, his skin loosening, feels himself becoming more susceptible, more responsive to new impressions, new sensations. He feels that he understands his family better. In their interactions with Carly, who treats them in a way that's unguarded, equal,
offhand without being unkind, he sees his children anew – as people with their faults and foibles, rather than as precious and perfect beings, to be somehow removed and protected from the real world.

And his wife. Susan. To see her relationship with her sister develop – they're such close companions already – is a wonderful thing. So different to Ed's relationship with his own sister. And even with Derek. Susan's been granted the one thing that's rarely available to siblings – a fresh start. For the first time there is someone in his life whose familial loyalty is to Susan – and not him. And for the first time Ed has someone – another woman – with whom he can discuss his wife without feeling he has been in any way disloyal. Gillian's too distant – geographically and emotionally – and Ed's mother and sister are unlikely to proffer the necessary sympathy. There's Anna of course, but friends are different and Anna, in particular, tends to laugh at Ed, refuses to take him seriously. He can't imagine she would ever want to talk to him about Susan, senses that Anna would always know better, would pooh-pooh his perspective (if not be actively hostile). Now, if he ever needs such a confidante, he has one. He has Carly.

The article he'd read also mentioned the possible drawbacks of the extended family environment – the ganging up, the manipulation, the increase in family tension, the interference, the constraints, but he's certain that they've managed to escape these pressures, these difficulties. It takes a particular type of person to create such situations. And they're none of them that sort of person. He's sure of it.

Carly points out things that her younger sister doesn't see. Things she's never considered; that she doesn't want to
consider, but, Carly insists, they're things Susan really ought to see; should consider.

The two women are walking through a local reserve with the children, late in the afternoon. They troop past a toilet block. Mitchell tugs on his mother's hand. ‘Mu-um. I have to pee.'

‘Well, go on,' Susan says, pushing him towards the men's. ‘Just hurry.' He skips up the steps, narrowly missing a man who is exiting.

‘Hold on, Mitch,' Carly calls out of the blue. ‘Come back.'

The man looks up at them briefly, then hurries past, head down, hands in pockets.

Mitchell trots back obediently. ‘What's wrong?'

‘I wouldn't go in there,' Carly says. ‘They're really dirty. Disgusting. Go behind a tree. It's much more fun, anyway.' The child is only too happy to comply, rushes off into the bush before Susan can interject.

‘Carly, what...?'

‘Wait a minute,' she smiles slightly, ‘and I'll explain.'

‘Watch,' Carly looks towards the toilet block. ‘There should be another one.'

‘Another what?' Susan doesn't bother to hide her exasperation, her impatience.

‘Shhh. Look.' A second man exits the toilet block, this one middle-aged, red-faced. He rushes away in the opposite direction.

‘See,' Carly's smile is broad, satisfied. ‘I was right.'

‘Right about what?'

‘God, Susan. Where've you been? It's a beat. Not a nice place for a little boy.'

Mitchell runs out of the bush grinning, fumbling with his fly. ‘I weed on my shoes, Mum. I couldn't help it. They're all nice and shiny but.'

‘What's a beat?' Stella asks.

‘Just walk quickly, kids. Let's hurry up.'

‘Like a drum, stupid,' Mitchell answers his sister. ‘It's when you bang.'

Carly laughs, but Susan grabs the children's hands and holds them tight. Walks fast.

Another day a young woman rushes up behind them as they're walking down to the school together, pushes past without looking up or excusing herself. Carly watches, eyes narrowed. The woman is young, tall and thin, unnaturally pale, slightly stooped. She's wearing a short black skirt and leather jacket. Chunky heels.

‘On the game,' Carly says, ‘and on the gear.' She looks like a young university student to Susan, no different to any other.

‘Around here? I don't believe you. How do you know that?' she asks her sister. ‘How on earth can you tell?'

Carly rolls her eyes. ‘How d'you reckon, Susy? I saw it in a movie once?' she knocks lightly on Susan's skull. ‘Use those brains, honey. It won't hurt. Really it won't.'

One weekday when Ed is in town for a design conference, the two women catch the ferry to Circular Quay to meet him for lunch. The ferry is unseasonally crowded and Susan sits next to an elderly man, chatty and interesting. Interested. They talk about the weather, about the water, move gradually into more personal territory. The man, who introduces himself as Peter, asks Susan about the children – how old they are, their interests. He was a child psychologist, he tells her, is retired now, but still finds children infinitely interesting. He misses the everyday contact, the access into the singular child's-eye view of the world. He has none of his own – his wife couldn't – a minor tragedy. Though he makes every
effort – once he realises that the two women are travelling together – to include her in the conversation, Carly does not speak to him. She sits across from Susan, feet splayed out casually, reads a magazine. Looks up every now and then. When Susan takes out her wallet in order to show the man a photograph of Stella and Mitchell, Carly drops her book, and as she leans forward to pick it up, knocks Susan's wallet out of her hand. ‘Sorry,' she smiles sweetly at her sister. ‘So clumsy.'

‘A bit of big sisterly advice,' Carly offers as they disembark.

‘What?'

‘Don't talk to blokes like that about your kids.'

‘What do you mean? He's a child psychologist. He was genuinely interested.'

‘Child psychologist, my arse,' Carly snorts. ‘I just hope you didn't have your bloody address showing in your wallet.'

‘What do you mean? What's my address got to do with it?'

‘Fuck, Susan. That bloke is a rock spider.'

‘A rock spider? What are you talking about? What's a rock spider?'

Carly rolls her eyes. ‘A pedophile, Susan. A bloke who likes sticking his prick in very small spaces.'

A woman in front of them turns, glares. ‘Do you mind?'

‘He's probably had to go for a wank after what you've been telling him about your two.' Carly is unrepentant, her voice louder.

‘Shut up,' Susan hisses. ‘Just don't say another word.'

‘Sorry, lovey,' she says brightly, ‘hate to spoil the party and all that, but this is the real world.'

The real world. Susan wonders why her sister is so suspicious. Wonders why she considers such sordid behaviour, such a squalid world, to be the real world. The more authentic world. She wonders, but doesn't dare ask. The truth is, she doesn't really want to know. Susan is certain that the world
she inhabits is just as authentic. Just as real. And she wants her world to remain benign, doesn't really care what's lurking beneath. And even if the harmony of her existence is some sort of a facade – just a fantasy of comfort and ease, order and security that's camouflaging chaos – well, she doesn't want, doesn't need to know
that
either.

‘Come on, Sue,' Anna says, ‘normal people don't do this. Just up and leave their lives without a backward glance. How long has she been staying with you now? Four weeks? Five? She must have had another life. Why won't she tell you about it?'

It's Mona Vale Beach today and an easy walk – high tide early this morning and the sand packed hard and flat. The two women can walk fast and talk.

‘Maybe there's nothing to tell me, Anna. She says she had no one. Nothing. Some crummy job in a cafe. What sort of a life is that? It's not really worth going back to, is it?'

‘That's exactly my point. What sort of a person really has no life? She must have had something – a job, a car, a flat. Friends. A lover. Something.'

‘It's not my business.'

Why isn't it your business? Surely you've a right to know who she is?'

‘When she wants to tell me...'

‘You'll be there? Christ, Sue you're starting to sound like Ed. It's not normal. She's become too much a part of your life – too instantly – and you still don't know anything about her.'

‘She's my sister!' Susan can feel her face heating up, knows it's not just exertion.

‘Oh. So she's your sister. So what? Where's your commonsense gone, girl? You know what? From the outside, from where I stand, it really looks like she's using you. She's
living with you, eating your food, I don't suppose she does anything to help, does she? Or pays for anything? Does she take the kids to school, cook dinner, clean the bathrooms? No? And I'll bet you've lent her money haven't you? She's sucking you in, Susan, and I don't know why you can't see it. If she was an ordinary sister you'd have told her where to get off by now. Believe me – the whole situation – it's not normal.'

‘I wonder,' Susan manages eventually, ‘what exactly “normal” would be, under these circumstances. And how is it that you can make such a call anyway; what experience have you had, Anna, that makes you such an expert on my situation?'

She breaks into a slow jog, overtakes her friend, who shouts after her:

‘I don't need experience, Susan. I don't need experience to see what's happening. You've got to...'

Susan takes off, sprints, can hear only the wind of her own speed, the rush of the water.

‘She's just a bubble burster,' Ed hisses. ‘Always has been. She's always sticking her nose in, interfering. Someone ought to sort her out. Tell her once and for all to keep her opinions to herself. You can see why poor old Tom hits the bottle from time to time.' He manoeuvres his arm under his wife's back, pulls her over to his side.

‘But Ed,' Susan draws away from him, wriggles into a sitting position, hunches over her knees. ‘What she says isn't completely untrue. Carly's told us nothing about herself. She avoids answering any questions I ask. She straight out ignores me if I mention anything about the past. About Mum and Dad.'

Ed sighs and sits up beside her. ‘Susy. Honey. We've talked about this. You've got to give her space. Give her time. Her past might be too painful to discuss with just anyone.'

‘But I'm not just anyone, Ed, I'm her sister. I just wish she'd tell me why. That one thing at least.' He can tell that she's hurt, gives her a brief comforting hug.

‘C'mon Suse. Think of it from Carly's perspective.'

‘Oh, Ed. I have. I do. I really do, believe me.' She slides down and pulls the blanket up to her chin. ‘I just think Anna's got a point.' Her voice is muffled. ‘I think Carly's hiding something.'