chapter nine
The day of the barbeque
It was quiet. It was always especially quiet the moment directly after Vid left the room. It was like the moment after a band stopped playing when the silence roared in your ears. Tiffany could hear the tick of the clock. She never heard the clock ticking when Vid was in the room.
Tiffany sat at the kitchen table catching up on email on her laptop and eating Vegemite on toast. Vid had gone down the driveway to collect the paper, muttering about how he had to hunt for it each day in the garden and he was going to cancel the delivery.
‘Read it electronically like the rest of the world,’ Tiffany always told him, but although Vid was generally enthusiastic about trying new things, he was also extremely loyal, and his loyalty to certain habits and personal rituals, products and people was unshakeable.
‘Isn’t it quiet when Daddy leaves the room?’ Tiffany said to Dakota, who lay on her side on the long bay window seat, curled up like a cat in a rectangle of quivering morning sunlight. Barney, their miniature schnauzer, lay next to Dakota, his nose and paws resting on Dakota’s arm, his eyes shut so all you could see were his big, bushy eyebrows. Barney was a dog who napped like a cat.
Dakota was reading, of course. She was always reading, disappearing into different worlds where Tiffany couldn’t follow. Well, she could follow, if she could be bothered to pick up a book, but reading made Tiffany restless. Her legs started to twitch impatiently after one page. TV made her restless too, but at least she could fold laundry or pay bills while she watched. At Dakota’s age Tiffany never would have picked up a book for pleasure. She was into make-up and clothes. The other day Tiffany had offered to paint Dakota’s nails and Dakota had responded with a kind, vague: ‘Uh, maybe later, Mum.’ It was her karma for all the times her own sweet, domestic mother had suggested that Tiffany might like to help her bake something and Tiffany had apparently said, according to family folklore: ‘Will you pay me?’ ‘You were always so keen to be compensated,’ her mother said.
Well, time is money.
‘It’s quiet, isn’t it?’ said Tiffany when Dakota didn’t answer.
‘What?’ said Dakota.
‘You mean, pardon?’ said Tiffany.
There was a beat. ‘What?’ said Dakota again, and she turned a page.
Tiffany snorted.
She opened a new email. It was from Saint Anastasias, the super-posh private school that Dakota would be attending next year. Tiffany wouldn’t be able to follow her daughter into that new world either. Vid’s three daughters from his first marriage, Dakota’s three older stepsisters, had all attended Saint Anastasias, which wasn’t a great advertisement as far as Tiffany was concerned, but the school did have a stellar reputation (it freaking well ought to have for what it charged) and Vid had wanted to send Dakota from kindergarten. Tiffany thought that was ridiculous, when there was a great little public school just down the road. Year Five was the compromise.
There was to be an Information Morning in August. Two months away. It was ‘compulsory’ for all students and ‘both parents’ to attend. Compulsory. Tiffany felt her hackles rise at the email’s officious tone and quickly closed it. She wasn’t going to fit in at this place. She felt a real resistance to attending the Information Morning and even a certain level of nerves. As soon as she registered the feeling as fear she was disgusted with herself. Furious. She snapped the laptop shut, refusing to even think about it. It was Sunday. They had the day free. She had a huge week ahead of her.
‘Good book?’ she asked Dakota.
‘What?’ said Dakota. ‘I mean, pardon?’
Tiffany said, ‘I love you, Dakota.’
Long pause. ‘What?’
The front door banged. There was a mark on the wall from where Vid threw it open each time he came into the house as if he were making a grand return from an epic journey.
‘Where are you, women?’ he shouted.
‘Where you left us, you peanut!’ Tiffany called back.
‘I am not a peanut! Why do you keep calling me that? It doesn’t even make sense! Now listen to me, I have news!’ He came in swinging his rolled-up paper like a baton. He looked energised. ‘I just invited the neighbours over for a barbeque. Ran into Erika in the street.’
‘Vid, Vid, Vid.’ Tiffany rested her head on her hand. ‘Why would you do that?’
Erika and Oliver were nice enough but they were so freaking shy and serious. It was hard work. It was better to invite them over when other people were going to be there so you could pass them on when you got tired of all the seriousness.
‘You promised we’d have just one Sunday relaxing,’ she said.
She had such a busy week ahead of her: a property going to auction on Tuesday night, a fight with a local council at the Land and Environment Court on Wednesday, and a painter, a tiler and an electrician (well, Vid) were all waiting on her to make decisions. She needed a break.
‘What are you talking about? That’s what we’re doing! Relaxing on this beautiful day!’ protested Vid, looking genuinely puzzled. ‘What’s more relaxing than a barbeque? I’m going to call Drago. Organise a pig. Oh, and their friends are coming. Remember the cellist? Clementine. Clementine and her husband. What was his name?’
‘Sam,’ said Tiffany, perking up. She’d liked Sam. He had that short, broad-chested blond surfer boy look she used to go for before Vid, and he was funny and easygoing. They’d met them just the once when Erika and Oliver hosted Christmas drinks at their place last year. That had been such a strange night. Vid and Tiffany had never been to a drinks party like it. All these people standing about, talking so quietly, as if they were in a library or church. One woman was drinking a cup of tea.
‘Where’s the food?’ Vid kept whispering too loudly to Tiffany while Oliver and Erika seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time worriedly wiping down already clean kitchen benchtops with dishcloths, as if to make it clear their guests were making a mess but they were on top of it. It had been such a relief when they got introduced to Clementine and Sam. Vid, who loved classical music, had been so excited to learn that Clementine was a cellist, it was almost embarrassing, but then Tiffany and Sam got talking politics and had an enjoyable argument. (He was a bleeding heart but she forgave him that.) ‘Do you think we could order a pizza?’ Sam had whispered at one point and Vid had roared laughing, although then they all had to stop him from pulling out his mobile phone and actually ordering one. Clementine found a chocolate bar in the bottom of her handbag and surreptitiously divided it up among the four of them while poor Erika and Oliver were busy polishing their benchtops. It was like they had all been marooned on a desert island, and had done what they could to survive.
‘They’ve got two little girls,’ said Vid.
‘I remember they said they had little kids,’ said Tiffany. ‘Cutesy little names.’
‘I don’t remember their names,’ said Vid. ‘Anyway, Dakota can play with them, you know, can’t you, Dakota?’ He looked hopefully at Dakota.
‘Uh, guys, there’s someone at the front door,’ said Dakota, without looking up from her book, as Barney, eyes alert, lifted his head from her arm and leaped to the floor, where he ran around in circles, yapping delightedly. Barney liked guests nearly as much as Vid.
Someone was thumping over and over again on the front door, ignoring the doorbell.
‘You didn’t invite them right this very minute, did you?’ said Tiffany. ‘Shh, Barney. Vid, did you?’
Vid was standing at the pantry, pulling out ingredients. ‘Of course I did not,’ he said distractedly, although he was perfectly capable of doing that.
Tiffany went to answer the door, Barney zigzagging excitedly in front of her and almost tripping her up. She found Harry, the old man who lived next door, standing on the front porch, glowering at her, as usual, in his normal outfit of old grey suit trousers (from his old job maybe?) and a white business shirt going yellow around the collar. White tufts of hair spurted from the top button of his shirt. He had white bushy eyebrows just like Barney.
‘Hello, Harry,’ said Tiffany, smiling as nice a smile as she could muster, while thinking, And how have we freaking well offended you today, my elderly friend? ‘How are you?’
‘This keeps happening!’ shouted Harry. ‘It’s unacceptable!’ He handed her a letter addressed to Vid. ‘I’ve spoken to you about it before. I don’t want your mail. I shouldn’t have to deliver your mail. It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘It’s the postman, Harry,’ said Tiffany. ‘He accidentally put it in the wrong letterbox. It happens.’
‘It’s happened before!’ said Harry belligerently.
‘Yes, I think it did happen one other time,’ said Tiffany.
‘Well, you need to put a stop to it! Are you stupid? It’s not my responsibility!’
‘Okay, Harry,’ said Tiffany.
‘Harry, mate!’ Vid strolled out into the hallway, stuffing a handful of purple grapes into his mouth. ‘You want to come to a barbeque later? We’re having Erika and Oliver over! You know, from number seven.’
Harry blinked at Vid. He put his hand inside his shirtfront and scratched. ‘What? No, I don’t want to come to a barbeque.’
‘Ah, that’s a pity,’ said Vid. He put his arm around Tiffany. ‘Maybe another time, but Harry, you know, I don’t want to hear you calling my wife “stupid”. Okay, Harry? That’s not nice. That’s not neighbourly.’
Harry looked at them with his rheumy brown eyes.
‘I don’t want any more of your letters,’ he muttered. ‘Not my responsibility. You’ve got to take responsibility.’
‘We take responsibility,’ said Vid. ‘Don’t you worry about that.’
‘Get that dog away from me!’ said Harry as Barney sniffed his shoe with fascination. Barney lifted his bearded little face, as if his feelings were hurt.
‘Come on, Barney.’ Vid clicked his fingers at the dog.
‘You know we’re always here if you need us, Harry,’ said Tiffany. He suddenly seemed so heartbreaking, like a confused child.
‘What?’ Harry looked appalled. ‘Why would I need you? Just keep your damned letters out of my letterbox.’
He shuffled off, shoulders bowed, shaking his head and muttering.
Vid shut the door. Harry was already forgotten. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Do I feel like baking? Yes, I feel like baking! Will I make strudel? What do you think? Strudel? Yes. I think most definitely strudel.’