Three’s a Crowd (15 page)

It was heavy. Rachel carefully removed the elaborate wrapping which Catherine always had done professionally, and opened the box, pushing aside the tissue paper. She lifted out an ugly, carved figure, not unlike one of those Easter Island statues, though in miniature. But it was really heavy, she guessed it was made of stone, or maybe concrete. Was it a garden ornament? She lived in a flat.

The irony of all this was that Catherine rarely bought Rachel anything that she either particularly liked or was likely to use. Not that she'd realise that, because Rachel always thanked her profusely, to the point of gushing. In fact, the intensity of her display of gratitude was generally inversely proportionate to how much she actually liked the gift in question. But it just didn't seem right not to be appreciative of the thought, if nothing else; it went against the very nature of gift-giving. But try as she might, Rachel just couldn't muster up any fake enthusiasm as she stared at the lump of stone in front of her.

Catherine tossed back half a glass of champagne and then began to laugh uproariously. Maybe it was meant to be a joke?

‘You should see your face right now!' she said when she got her breath back. ‘I knew you wouldn't know what to make of it. But it's perfect, wait till I explain. He's the Javanese god or something – of
sexual
potency.'

‘You have got to be kidding me.'

‘No!' Catherine exclaimed. ‘Isn't he just divine? He does grow on you, I promise, I had him sitting on my dressing table all week. Anyway, it's just meant to be a bit of fun, even though it was hideously expensive. I thought he would make an ideal mascot for our internet search.'

‘Hmm, we'll see about that,' Rachel muttered, settling him back into his box.

‘Uh-uh,' said Catherine, wagging her finger. ‘I'm not going to let you welch on our agreement.'

‘I don't remember agreeing to anything.'

Catherine laughed loudly again and threw her arms around Rachel. ‘I'm so glad you're here, it makes it so much easier to put up with them,' she said, cocking her head in the direction of the kitchen.

‘Maybe we should go and join them?'

‘In a minute,' she dismissed. ‘Do you have to go to the Dingles' later?'

Rachel nodded.

‘You could get out of it,' Catherine said, taking her by the hands. ‘Just message Lexie and tell her you promised me you'd stay.'

‘I don't want to get out of it,' said Rachel. ‘It's fun.'

Catherine was shaking her head. ‘You're too nice for your own good sometimes, Rachel. Though I guess you do have that smorgasbord of Scott's brothers to perve at, pity they're all taken.'

They heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and then Alice appeared. She gasped when she saw Rachel. ‘Mum! You said you'd call me when Rachel got here!'

‘I'm not the concierge, Alice.'

‘Hi sweetie! Merry Christmas,' said Rachel, getting to her feet. ‘You look great!'

‘I think that top's a bit tight,' Catherine muttered.

Alice ignored her mother and instead made a beeline for Rachel, giving her a big, unreserved hug. Rachel adored Alice; she was the only child she had known since birth, when she was barely more than a child herself. She had been terrified to even hold her at first. Babies were scary, vulnerable, breakable, and Rachel didn't trust herself with something so precious. But when she got back from overseas, Alice was a fully-formed little person, and that was when they really bonded. They could have conversations; they could read books together, play games. Alice used to come for sleepovers whenever Catherine needed a babysitter, which was often, but Rachel didn't mind, she loved it. Maybe it was because she was an only child too. Rachel had observed throughout her
life that only children had a certain connection; nobody but an only child could really understand what it was like to be one.

‘I have something for you,' said Rachel, stooping to pick up a long thin tube wrapped in Christmas paper. At least it was still fun giving Alice presents.

Alice gave a little squeal as she tore off the wrapping and twisted the end of the tube open. She carefully drew out the poster from inside. ‘Omigod!' she squealed again, unfurling it. ‘No way! This is awesome, Rachel! Where did you find it? I haven't seen posters of these guys anywhere!'

‘I had to order it online from the US.'

‘Who on earth are they?' said Catherine, turning up her nose. ‘I've never heard of them.'

‘Wow, Mum, I'm surprised, because you're like, so totally immersed in the Jersey indie scene.' Alice rolled her eyes. ‘This is so totally cool, Rachel, thanks heaps!' she cried, throwing her arms around Rachel's neck.

‘I hope you don't think you're going to be putting that up in your room,' said Catherine.

Alice turned to look at her. ‘What difference does it make to you? It's my room.'

‘I didn't have the interiors designed by the most prestigious firm on the eastern seaboard to have cheap posters ruining the walls,' Catherine said airily.

‘Fine,' Alice retorted. ‘I'll put it on the back of my door then.'

‘Alice, the doors are custom-made from reclaimed river red gum. You're not hammering tacks into them.'

‘Chill, Mum, I'll use Blu-Tack.'

Catherine sighed. ‘We'll discuss this later.'

‘No we won't!' Alice spat.

‘I beg your pardon, Alice?'

‘We never “discuss” anything, you just say no. It's total bullshit.'

‘Alice –'

But Alice had grabbed the poster and stormed back over to the stairs. They stood watching as she stomped loudly on each individual step until she was out of sight.

Catherine turned to glare at Rachel. ‘Well, thanks for that.'

‘I wish you didn't have to go so soon,' Lexie's mother lamented as she wrapped slices of ham in foil.

‘Mum, it's nearly four o'clock,' said Lexie, ‘and we've been here since nine this morning.'

‘But Dad called, he'll be on his way shortly,' she persisted. ‘It was a boy, by the way. Name of Finn, I think he said.'

‘Oh, I love that name. I'd like a Finn.'

She bit her lip. ‘Lexie, no, think about it. He'd be Finn Dingle, that's too awful.'

‘Mum, don't start.'

‘All the trouble I went to when you were born so that your name would be strong and beautiful and you could wear it with pride.' She shook her head. ‘Tamblyn's not that easy, there are a lot of names that don't go with it. Alexa Tamblyn was perfect, but as we found out soon enough, you just weren't an Alexa. You were the cutest little poppet, smiling all the time, with that adorable cap of curls and those big round eyes. And everyone was calling you Lexie before long, and I gave in, because it suited you so well. And Lexie Tamblyn had a certain ring.'

Her mother took a deep, wistful breath. Here it comes, thought Lexie, steeling herself.

‘Why you had to take Scott's name is beyond me. In this day and age. And now the children are saddled with it as well.'

‘Whether or not I took his name, the kids would still be Dingle,' Lexie pointed out. ‘Unless you'd prefer Dingle-Tamblyn.'

She grimaced as Scott stuck his head around the door. ‘The kids are all strapped in the car, how are we doing here?'

‘Who's watching them?' asked Lexie.

‘Everybody. They're all waiting out there to see us off.'

‘Okay, that'll do, Mum,' said Lexie, closing the lid of the esky.

‘But there's some –'

‘Mum, you've packed up enough leftovers to feed us for a week,' Lexie insisted. ‘And we really have to get going, we still have to pick up Rachel on the way.'

‘Okay,' she surrendered. ‘I only wish we didn't have to divide
up Christmas like this. Why can't all your family just come here, Scott?' she added as he picked up the esky.

He looked sheepish. ‘There's too many of us, Sally.'

‘The more the merrier as far as I'm concerned.'

‘Mum, we're going to see you tomorrow for Boxing Day brunch,' Lexie reminded her. ‘But now we have to go or we'll be late.'

As they drove away with a toot of the horn, Lexie glanced over at Scott. He always had the same expression leaving her parents' place – a little put out, on edge – he certainly never seemed relaxed. Sometimes it got to her; she wished she could reassure him that her mother's biggest issue with him was that he had a silly-sounding name. But she wouldn't tell him that, of course, because that would probably hurt his feelings.

‘You okay?' she ventured after a while.

He shrugged. ‘My family's important to me too, you know, Lexie.'

‘I know that, honey,' she insisted, touching his arm. ‘We won't be late, I promise I won't get stuck talking to Catherine.'

‘It's not that, I'm not worried about being late,' he said. ‘I'm just saying, my family's important too. Just as important as yours.'

‘Of course they are. I love your family, Scott, you know that.'

He sighed heavily. ‘Yeah, I know. It's just . . . never mind.'

Lexie watched him, wondering if she ought to draw him out, get him to say what was on his mind. But it was Christmas. Maybe there was another way to approach it.

‘Well, I was glad to get out of there,' said Lexie. ‘I don't think I could have sat listening to Monica for much longer.'

He glanced at her. ‘Yeah?'

‘Wasn't she driving you up the wall?' Lexie went on. ‘The way she kept saying, “When are you two going to take a trip overseas?” She knows we can't afford it, it's just rude. How would she like it if I said, “When are you going to get on with it and have a baby?”'

‘I think your mother takes care of that line of questioning,' Scott said with a smile. ‘Poor old Eric never has a lot to say.'

‘Because he can't get a word in between Stephanie and Monica trying to outdo each other.'

The rivalry between the sisters-in-law was obvious, despite the sugar coating they tried to put on it.

‘Don't you find it hilarious?' Lexie paused to clear her throat. ‘When I was in Utopia,' she began, affecting a pompous accent, ‘I found the service truly marvellous. Ooh, then you must go to Nirvana, my dear, it's on the way to Shangri-la, before you get to Xanadu.'

Scott was grinning, shaking his head. ‘You're a nut.'

They pulled up at lights and he turned to look at her. ‘Do you wish you could do some travelling?'

‘No,' she said simply.

‘Really? You were sitting there pretty wide-eyed while they were talking, asking lots of questions.'

‘I was just being polite,' Lexie dismissed.

‘So you don't have any urge to travel?'

She shrugged. ‘Maybe one day. But the kids are too little. And you couldn't leave the café anyway.'

‘Does that bother you?'

Lexie shifted in her seat to face Scott. ‘What are you getting at?'

He sighed. ‘I just wonder sometimes if you wish things were different, when you look at Monica, with her clothes and her cars and her trips . . . and you're . . . tied down here, because of the café and the kids.'

‘Scott Anthony Dingle. Don't you even say it! Don't even hint it! I can't imagine my life without you and the kids, and I wouldn't want to!' Lexie was shaking her head as she sat straight in her seat again, folding her arms. ‘Imagine saying that, on Christmas of all days!'

She could feel him staring at her. She looked across at him and he had a big wide grin on his face.

‘What?' she asked.

He leaned right over and kissed her soundly on the mouth. ‘I love you.'

‘That's more like it.'

Lexie had sent a text message about twenty minutes ago to say they were packing up at her mum's, so Rachel didn't imagine
they could be too much longer. And it wouldn't be a moment too soon as far as she was concerned. Lunch had been a strained affair, to say the least.

Catherine was pretty well sloshed, and her mood had become increasingly erratic as the day wore on. Alice sat with her chin in her hand, pushing the food around her plate with a fork and grimacing. Rachel couldn't blame her. There was smoked mutton and venison, salted cod, herring – lots of herring, smoked, pickled, in a salad. There were potato pancakes and turnips, black bread, roe, and the much-lauded gravlax. It was rather odd food to be eating on a typical Australian summer day, though she supposed the customary turkey roast was an odd tradition as well. But at least it
was
tradition. It might have been different if either Catherine or Martin had a Scandinavian background, but neither of them did, so Rachel had to wonder what had possessed them to go with this theme. And who were they trying to impress? It certainly wasn't working on this crowd.

As Martin carried out one platter after another, Mr Rourke would ask hopefully, ‘Is this the turkey then?' or ‘Will this be the ham?' or just ‘What's this then?'