The Great Christmas Breakup (11 page)

And didn’t even complain when he snuck his left arm around my shoulders.

- Cue
one of
very
few
cherished
Carson
memories
:

Carson knew about Dad. I’d told him when we’d begun to get serious, b
ecause it was a big deal for me –
a husband cheating on his wife.

‘I’d never do that to you.’ This was said as we walked along the banks of the Hudson.

Not the most idyllic of walks but it had become a ritual for us. Sunday afternoon, we’d scavenge whatever was cheap from the mark
et stalls,
carefully lay them out on the table of the miniscule studio flat we re
nted for an extortionate monthly sum, then set out, bundled up
,
for our trek.

Snow, wind,
sun,
rain – no matter what nature threw at us we welcomed it, because of the feast we
had waiting
for us at home.

‘It’s probably the ketones that make doing this feel so good,’ Carson said.

‘The what?’

‘They’re released
by your body
when you’re hungry, or so I’ve read.
. And they’re supposed to be really good for you.’

Sinc
e Carson and I had started dating
, t
he kilos had begun to creep on, but I figured the huge walk every Sunday was enough to keep the weight gain at bay.

So we walked and talked
about all sorts of things, including Dad.

‘Now that he is getting older
, you
might want to go and visit him?
’ Carson said.

‘He’ll be okay. That woman
is probably keeping him young
.’

Carson had considered my expression
carefully. ‘You need to let it go,
Scar,
one way or another. Maybe confront him?’

‘How can
I,’ I cried. ‘What would that do to Mum? What if he ran off
with the bimbo
and left her?’

‘If he hasn’t already, he won’t,’ Carson reasoned. ‘The alternative is to try and forget it. Pretend you don’t know.’

‘But I do,’ I said, irrationally. ‘That won’t work.’

‘Let’s agree to disagree then,’ he said, companionably. ‘Now, which are you going to have first, the pate with ciabatta, or those falafel thingies?’

I heard Cecily 2  get up at around
four a.m.
,
but by morning she was back,
thankfully alone and with al
l her clothing intact. I got up to check, because I didn’t want the kids walking in on something that couldn’t be protect
ed with a parental lock, like the TV channels on
a laptop
.

‘You
up?
’ she said, burping loudly. At least she wasn’t yelling.

‘You drunk?’ I responded.

‘Yep. What of it?’

Sighing, I decided to go back to bed. Let Carson deal with
his sister. When I got back in bed and his arm moved to reposition itself, I sl
oughed it off. He and his
bloody family were really too much to bear.

Dan Phillit had reduced my hours, so I purposely stayed
in bed until nine.
I heard the predicable rattle of cupboard doors as the kids se
ar
c
hed for breakfast.
Sitting up, I thought I’d make a dash for the shower
before the J
got
in
there. The hot water had been known to run out when scho
ol and work weren’t calling. In fact, I could do with a massage:
my back ached a little from standing at that stu
pid counter at
Flindes
most of the previous afternoon and evening
.
That nasty Phillit, or pillock, as Carson called him, had rearranged my roster so that my shifts were the most inconvenient he was able to manage at short notice.

If only I could find a job that didn’t make me want to pop my clogs.

‘Not
con
-
flakes
again,’ I heard Jessie moan.

‘Since when are they con-flakes?’ Carson said.

‘Since Mum started buying the ones that don’t have any corn in them. This is child abuse, you know.’

‘They’d probably have
better food at an orphanage,’ Cecily 2 yelled.

‘Aunty Cecily, put something on!’

Carson and C
ecily could now be h
eard discussing something in less than hushed voices.

Serve Carson right.

Let him deal with his defenseless children catching sight of his half-naked sister – particularly as it
seemed from my
husband’s screams
that it
was the
nasty
part that was naked.

Jessie and J came bounding in. ‘Dad is just having a conversation with her, and she’s, like, nude,’ J informed me.

I got up, angry once more. Could the bloody man at least tell his skanky sister to put something on? Was it so difficult to
wear knickers w
hen you were in someone’s house?

‘That image is going to be seared into my brain forever, Mum,’ Jessie told me, giving me a hug.

‘I know baby,’ I said, feeling completely and utterly wretched.

The momen
t I heard Cecily 2 lurching about on
the sofa,
I should have jumped up and managed the situation.

Pulling my dressing gown around me, I stepped into
the kitchen, which was
located right off it, and surveyed the mess.

It had been clean when I’d left it, less than eight hours previously.
Now, packets of everything from sugar to pasta were open,
the fridge was open and blasting
cold air into the already freezing flat, and there wa
s something that looked like ma
ple syrup edging its way down the pantry cupboard door.

‘What is going on in
here?’

Cecily 2 shrugged.

I had to look away – who wore a nightie
that
short?

‘Just experimenting with what you’ve got. Don’t worry, I’ll pile everything in the dishwasher when I’m done.’

‘We don’t have a dishwashe
r,’ I said, trying to keep my temper.
‘Unless you count me.’

‘
I’ll leave it to you then, if you insist, sista.’

I glared at Carson,
the familiar
rage building, but
all
he said
was that Cecily 2 should get changed so that he could
show her around the neighborhood.

He emphasized the word ‘
changed
’.

‘Hope you’
ve got plenty of hot water,’ Cecily 2
chirped, sashaying her sinewy
,
naked backside out of the room. ‘I like to take long, long showers.’

Bitch.

*

Carson did the sightseeing
and I managed to come up with chicken a la onions and a couple of carrots for supper. I knew that Dan Phillit did the day’s markdowns
at exactly
6 p.m.
, so
I sent J down with my discount card to pick up some
milk,
bread and a cream cake for dessert at six on the dot.

Mauve, like all girls under twenty, had a thing for J, so she didn’t quibble about the rule that I had to be present for the discount to be applied.
Even at a hefty
discount, we couldn’t
really
afford the extra bits and pieces, but I figured that pretty soon I would throttle Cecily 2 and end up in prison, so this might
well
be
one of
our last supper
s
together.

The phone rang
just
as
I was putting
finishing touches of dried oregano (the only
herb I had in the L
azy Susan) onto the chicken legs.

It was seven, so I h
oped Carson was on his way home and
not calling about some holdup, or worse, that he was going to work and leaving me to deal with his sister on my own.

If he did that to me he’d wish he was in a holdup!

‘Muuuuum,’ called Jessie. ‘It’s for you.’

‘It better not be your father,’ I said, taking the phone under my chin as I tried to encourage some
juices from the elderly chicken
to make a gravy.

‘Scarlet? Is that Scarlet?’

Not Carson.

‘L
ook, I told you before, I don’t need any quotes for windows or car insurances, nor do I wish to become involved in any pyramid selling schemes.’

‘
D
o people actually try to sell
you
those over the phone?’

This was a new tactic.

‘You’d know.’

A brief chortle. ‘Would I?’

Wait a minute?
The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

‘Who is this?’

‘I’m offended that you don’t know.’

Still jolly.

‘Hmm? Tom Cruise?’ I wish
ed
.

‘
Oh far b
etter
looking
than him
.’
I could hear the smile in his voice.
Where did I know him from
?

‘Brad Pitt.’

‘Slightly poorer.’

‘George Clooney.’

‘Okay, a lot poorer.’

‘Then I have no idea.’

‘Here’s a clue, Lolly gave me your number.’

My heart stopped. By the time it restarted I w
as taking huge, heaving breaths.

It couldn’t be
? Even though there was no way the caller could see me, I self-consciously pulled at my shift dress and rubbed at some chicken fat
that had splattered
on my black tights.

‘No. Really?
The mayor?
’
A feeble joke, but it bought me time to regain normal breathing.

‘Ha
h
ha
h hah.
It’s
Robert Simpson.
Don’t you remember me?
Lolly said
she’d mentioned
that
we’d bumped into each other.’

Robert Simpson was actually on the phone to me right now
!

‘Right . . .
Robert. How are you?
’

I
simply
couldn’t believe I was talking to
the
Robert Simpson – after all these years.

The
man who might have been the one
– if it wasn’t for Carson.

Perhaps Robert should have been the one?

No hope
of a re-do
,
said the evil voice inside my head
, thanks to your huge backside.

I told the voice to shut up; I wasn’t planning on an affair, was I?

Even if Carson was the hugest form of
sodding prat
the world had to offer.

Suddenly, a
noise from outside distracted me.
I moved over
to the window at the sound of a
loud guffaw, to see
Cecily 2
and Carson
alighting from a cab. Where had they got the money for
that
?

‘Look, Robert, I am really sorry
,
but I’m kind of in the middle of something.’

‘Sure, of course, I shouldn’t have called right at dinner time.’

Or at all.

‘W
hy did you call?’

He cleared his throat. ‘Shop windows, actually.
Lolly’s, specifically.
’

‘O
h.
’
I got it.
He’d called because he liked the sheep or something.
Probably w
anted to score some for Christmas presents.
Lucinda was going nuts with people asking if they could buy the animals as gifts.

Lolly had been insane to thin
k Robert was still interested in me.