The Boys' Club (13 page)

Rosie was overcome with nervous excitement as she drove to Jeff's to
pick up Leon. The giddiness of a first date was something she hadn't
experienced in years – if that was in fact what tonight actually was.
But here were all those conflicting feelings again, making her feel
like a prepubescent teen.

Clutching the steering wheel, Rosie looked at the pine tree
deodoriser swinging from her rear-view mirror and pictured herself
similarly pendulum-like, swinging from desire to dread, fantasy to
fear, yearning to yawning.

Pull yourself together, woman! You are officially Jatz crackers.

To try to stop the negative voices, Rosie turned the radio up to
capacity and began to sing along to the Killers at the top of her voice,
as appallingly tuneless yet fervent as ever. Somehow it worked and
by the time she reached the small worker's terrace Jeff had moved
into when they split, she was in a good mood until several telltale
signs attracted her attention. The first being that the garden had been
worked on – a lot – since Rosie last visited a month or so ago. There
were herbs planted along the fence line to catch the most sun – basil,
rosemary, parsley (continental and curly), coriander and oregano. The
old mosaic tiles on the porch had also been repaired and the groaning
pile of newspapers that used to sit beside the recycling bin was gone,
replaced by a rough wooden bench adorned with mismatched Mexican
pots featuring an impressive collection of cacti.

A woman has been here
, Rosie realised. Heather must already have
moved in.

For the umpteenth time that day, Rosie cursed her mufti outfit,
wishing she was wearing something vintage and carefree, something
casual and chic that Heather would be jealous of. It seemed the two
women shared the same taste in decorating and plants, so it was
likely they would also have similar preferences in clothing.

Rosie pulled out her compact to check her make-up but, as usual,
she couldn't see her own reflection for the caked-on foundation
and greasy fingerprints she had not found time to remove from its
mirror. She dabbed at the make-up with its grimy sponge then ran it
across her face in giant sweeps, hoping like hell the strokes blended
in but doubting that was the case. She then grabbed a tube of gloss,
attempted to wipe away the loose tobacco that had adhered to the
lid, and applied it to her lips, mashing them together to distribute
the sticky pink goop. As she contemplated running back to the car
to get an elastic to put her hair up, the flywire door swung open and
her nemesis, Leather Heather, stepped out.

'Rose, you're here!' Heather said, obviously taken aback.

'Yes, Heather, isn't it?' Rosie replied.
Gee, like you don't know the
name of the woman who broke up your marriage!

'I guess you're after Leon,' Heather continued nervously. 'He's in
the kitchen. We've been making muffins. Chocolate chip.'

'
Chocolate chip,
' Rosie muttered sarcastically under her breath,
hating herself at the same time for being so mean spirited. 'Oh, that's
nice,' she said more loudly, resenting this woman who had the time
to bake treats with her boy while she was in TV hell on a Saturday.

The two stood silent, neither knowing the appropriate protocol for
the situation.

'Um, would you like to come in?' Heather finally asked. Rosie
knew Heather desperately wanted her to say no, so she didn't hesitate
to answer heartily, 'I'd love to, thanks.'

Heather looked even more uncomfortable than before as she led
Rosie through the stained-glass panelled front door and into the
hallway. Rosie took the opportunity to study her husband's new
fiancée from behind and had to admit she was far more attractive
than she'd originally given her credit for. Wearing a pair of old
cargo pants rolled up casually to reveal slim ankles and bare feet
with bright pink toenail polish, a little chipped and tired, she looked
effortlessly gorgeous. Her navy singlet looked like it was a favourite
that had seen better days and her hair was caught up in a rough bun
that had probably taken a second to fasten but could not have been
more casually glamorous if she had spent hours on it.

Rosie also had to admit that Heather was not, in fact, as leathery
as she first thought when she and Lou had spied on her and Jeff at the
beach one day. Instead, she was one of those naturally golden-toned
women who bronze up into a warm caramel with the slightest touch
of sun. In fact, if she hadn't been about to marry her ex-husband,
Rosie realised Heather was the type of woman she would have liked
on sight: someone who didn't take herself too seriously and was in
no way a try-hard. She reminded her a lot of Lou, Rosie's favourite
person on the planet. And she hated her for it.

The terrace had changed so much since Rosie had last ventured
inside that she took her time walking so she could rubberneck as
much as possible. The hallway, once dark and dank, was now a sunny
lemon colour, like an enveloping yellow brick road leading into the
house. As they approached the lounge room, which Rosie remembered
as a jumble of unopened boxes, containing the thousands of books
Jeff refused to cull, she saw immediately that the place had been
transformed from a lonely bachelor pad into a comfortable home.

The first thing to attract her attention was a charming art deco
cabinet, exactly the type of piece Rosie hoped to stumble upon during
her many trips down the south end of King Street's treasure trove of
secondhand stores.
Look, it's even got bakelite handles!

'You like that piece?' Heather asked.

'Yeah, it's adorable,' Rosie answered, too in love with the item even
to attempt faking her answer.

'I found it at the secondhand auction house, you know, Gardner's
Court?'

Rosie did indeed know Gardner's Court. It was one of her favourite
places to visit on a Saturday and leave a bid on a curio of some sort
in the hope no one else would see its beauty and it could be hers for
a steal.

'I'm just mad about its cute bakelite handles,' Heather continued
proudly. 'Silly, I know,' she added, no doubt concerned that she
sounded shallow.

As Heather moved on, Rosie took one last look at the lounge room.
An old embroidered Spanish shawl was draped across the overstuffed
couch Rosie had allowed Jeff to take with him, and it was strewn
with pillows which picked up the shawl's elaborate colours. A huge
art deco sunray mirror was mounted above, reflecting the fireplace
and its mantelpiece laden with silver-framed photos and half-burnt
candles in beaten holders. Rosie's heart sunk with admiration. It
was the sort of room she aspired to create: a warm, inviting and
unpretentious space where you could kick your shoes off and cuddle
into the furniture like a familiar lover. Turning, she saw Heather
waiting for her at the leadlight doors leading to the kitchen.

'I see you've noticed I'm a hoarder,' Heather confessed. 'I just can't
help myself. I'm always buying junk.'

'No apologies required with me,' Rosie replied. 'I've been known
to collect myself. Why, I would have to have a dozen shoe lasts and
milliner's dummies—'

'Oh my god,' Heather interrupted. 'Look behind you.'

There, on an old wooden ladder, was a collection of lasts and
hatstands that even outdid Rosie's, along with that darling green
glassware from the thirties she had always planned to collect, all
tastefully displayed. The two women looked at each other knowingly,
realising they shared deeper similarities than their taste in men. Rosie
prickled with discontent. Heather was making it hard to dislike her.
Must look harder for faults.

The dining room didn't give Rosie a lot of ammunition either.
A large wooden table rich with the patina of enjoyed meals past
dominated the room. Above it hung an impressive collection of
chandeliers, all old and all mismatched. An equally impressive
collection of kitsch vintage souvenir plates was mounted on the walls
and a large window looking out onto a drab brick side passage was
draped in quaint linen that looked like it belonged in a 50s caravan.
Rosie loved the room more than she could say.

'You see, more junk,' Heather laughed. 'Jeff calls it Tempe Tip
chic, as that's where I found most of this stuff.'

A momentary chill hung between the women at the mention of
Jeff's name, but this time Rosie piped up to break the silence.

'You'll have to watch him, you realise,' she warned, taking the
opportunity to exploit the fact she'd known him – and his annoying
faults – longer. 'He doesn't see the beauty in things like we do and
is prone to chucking out anything that can take space away from his
beloved books.'

'Tell me about it!' Heather replied, enjoying the exchange, much
to Rosie's chagrin. 'Those bloody books of his. I mean, what is this,
a library? Surely he can't need all of them?'

Rosie was trying her best not to smile at Heather's remark as they
walked into the kitchen and caught Leon's eye. 'Mummy,' he yelled
as he sprinted towards her and grabbed her in a sticky embrace, his
oversized apron covered in cocoa.

'Oooh, what have you been up to, my little champion?' Rosie
asked, reaching down to squeeze her boy.

'Heather and I have made muffins, come and look,' he said excitedly,
grabbing Rosie's hand and towing her towards the kitchen bench.

'Clever man,' Rosie gushed, looking at the bumpy brown lumps
in their cute coloured patty cases. 'You know who we might give one
of these to?'

'Who, Mummy?'

'Your friend Elroy. We're going to visit him tonight for dinner!'

Rosie watched her beautiful boy's face light up.

'Mummy,' Leon continued, suddenly appearing timid. 'Can I ask
Heather if she wants one too? She helped me a lot because I can't
measure properly yet.'

Rosie looked over at Heather and saw her genuine affection for Leon.
And vice versa. She felt her heart puncture, draining her of all joy.

My boy has a second mother now. And he loves her too!

'Yes, baby, Heather can have a muffin if she likes,' Rosie answered,
swallowing down tears.

Leon beamed a huge smile and ran full steam, muffin in hand, to
the other woman and burrowed himself into her legs. Heather looked
across at Rosie and the women exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
The tension of the moment was only exacerbated by the familiar
bellow of Jeff's voice.

'Are those muffins ready yet? I'm starving,' he roared, slamming
the kitchen screen door behind him carelessly. 'Rosie! What are you
doing here?'

'She's come to pick up Leon,' Heather said, nervously grabbing
his arm with both hands, as if to say, 'Stay back, I have this under
control.'

'Look, Daddy, they're muffins,' Leon chimed, pointing proudly up
at the bench where his culinary triumphs sat.

Jeff grabbed one of the still warm treats and shoved it into his
mouth, letting the crumbs fall on the shiny chequered lino below.

Rosie saw her little boy's eyes well and cursed Jeff's innate lack of
consideration yet again.

'Jeff, I think Leon had those muffins allocated,' she said, trying to
control her tone.

'What are you talking about?' he barked back, kneeling down and
scooping Leon up. 'Daddy's allowed to have a muffin too, isn't he?'

'Yes, Daddy,' the boy answered, still clearly upset but not wanting
to hurt his father's feelings. 'But I'm going to see my friend Elroy and
he'll want a muffin too.'

'Well, there's plenty left for Elroy, so enough with the sooks, huh?
Now, go and get your things together. I want to have a quick chat
with Mummy.'

Jeff flashed a look at Heather, who took it to mean 'evacuate the
room'. She grabbed Leon's hand and walked with him down the hall,
leaving them alone.

'Look, Jeff, I'm in a hurry. I have to be at a dinner in half an
hour – a date, actually – so whatever it is you want to say might have
to wait,' Rosie said, noticing her boy's paintings pinned to the fridge
door with the cutest frangipani-shaped magnets and cursing herself
for not getting around to doing the same.

'Well, Rose, when is a good time to talk to you these days? Should
I make an appointment with your PA to talk about our child?'

'I don't think it's come to that,' Rosie replied, not sure whether
what she was saying was actually the truth. 'But you've got five
minutes now. What's up?'

'As you know, Heather and I are getting married.'

'Yes, you've told me that.'

'Well, we both want Leon to meet Heather's family as soon as
possible.'

'Oh really? And where are they?'

'Perth.'

'Perth! That's so far away! How long do you plan to be there?'

'We're looking at two to three weeks.'

Rosie felt sick. She couldn't bear the thought of being away from
her boy for three days, let alone three weeks.

'Look, I'm sorry about this, Jeff, but I can't say yes to that period
of time. It will be too unsettling.'

'For you or for him?'

'Well, both actually. I'm not going to apologise for wanting to be
with my son.'

'This is a new attitude. From what I hear, lately you've hardly been
home to see him at all.'

Bastard!

'Oh, Jeff, you're all ears, aren't you? And who would be telling you
this crap then?'

'Your mother and your son, for a start. Leon says you're always
cranky these days and that he misses you. Your mother's on the
phone to me every second day telling me she thinks you're cracking
up, worried sick that Leon isn't getting enough attention.'

'Huh!' Rosie spat. 'This is from someone who drops his sick son off
to go surfing!' Rosie was yelling at a hysterical pitch but couldn't stop
herself. 'You're a fine one to be telling me how to look after Leon!'

Jeff leaned forward and grabbed Rosie by the shoulders, shaking
her violently. In a hushed rage, he continued: 'Look, you've been a
fucking nightmare ever since you took that job. I don't recognise you
any more and neither does anyone who knows you. You've been an
unreasonable bitch and it's time it stopped. Not only am I planning
to take Leon away with me, when we get back I'm going to see a
lawyer about full-time custody. You can't look after a child when
you're working sixteen-hour days. I mean look at you, you can't even
take care of yourself. You look like shit. You look like you're surviving
on an hour's sleep a night. Get a grip, Rosie. Tell me you like what
you see because I can tell you no one else does.'