Three’s a Crowd (36 page)

‘So, what? Are you telling me you're having an affair with this guy?'

‘No, no, nothing's happened since the conference. The situation is quite complicated.'

‘You don't say.'

Catherine looked at her. ‘Listen Rachel, I'm an attractive woman, I've got a great body – and not just “for my age”. That's such an insulting turn of phrase.' She curled her lip, before taking a mouthful of wine. ‘I want someone who appreciates me as a woman. I want a bit of excitement in my life. I think Martin would get more excited if he could fillet and cook me.'

‘You know perfectly well he adores you.'

‘Well, he bores me,' she shrugged.

Rachel was shaking her head. ‘So you're going to dump him? Just like that?'

‘No, I have to wait for the right time . . .' Catherine had a dreamy look in her eyes. ‘When all the planets align.'

This was turning Rachel's stomach. ‘Isn't that the doomsday scenario?' she snapped.

Catherine stirred. ‘What's that?'

‘If all the planets lined up there'd be chaos across the world.'

‘I don't think so,' she said. ‘Anyway, it's just an expression. What I'm trying to say is that I have to bide my time, till the circumstances are right.'

Rachel couldn't listen to any more of this. Catherine clearly had no shame, but how had it come about that she thought it was okay to say this stuff to Rachel?

Because Rachel didn't challenge her on it. Oh, perhaps vaguely, on occasion, but not nearly enough. She got to her feet abruptly. ‘I really have to get ready now, Catherine.'

‘Oh. Well that's all right, I'll hang around.' She stood up, picking up the bottle. ‘Let's move the party into your room, I'll help you pick out something to wear.'

‘No!' Rachel blurted, standing in front of her to block her.

‘Why, what's wrong?'

‘I just . . . I don't like an audience while I'm getting ready,' she insisted. ‘And besides, I haven't even showered yet, and now I'm running late. I said one drink, Catherine.'

She sighed dramatically. ‘Fine, I know when I'm not wanted.' She handed Rachel the bottle. ‘Have you got a stopper? You and
Matthew
can finish this off later.'

‘Thank you.'

She picked up her bag and Rachel walked her up the hall and opened the door.

‘I expect to meet him sooner rather than later,' she said. ‘I get approval rights this time, so you don't end up with another Sean.'

Rachel wouldn't credit that with a response, she just turned her cheek to receive another air kiss from Catherine.

‘Ah, it's still here.' She picked up her umbrella where it stood propped by the door. ‘Bye then, talk to you soon.'

Rachel closed the door and breathed out, leaning back against it for a moment as she listened to the click of Catherine's heels on the terrazzo stairs fading away. And then, faintly, the sound of the security door on the ground floor. She would have felt more comfortable if she was sure it had actually locked, but she wasn't going to run downstairs in her robe to check. She walked down the hall and opened the door of the bedroom. Tom was lying back on the bed, one arm tucked underneath his head. He looked across at her with an expression of melancholy, probably mirroring her own. She climbed onto the bed as he opened his arm out so she could cuddle in close into him.

‘Hi there, Matthew Harding.'

He sighed a kind of half-hearted laugh as he closed his arm around her.

Rachel looked up at him. ‘I don't want to do this any more, Tom.'

‘I know.'

‘Did you hear Catherine talking about the guy she picked up at a conference?'

‘Mm.'

‘We're not like that, are we?'

‘Of course we're not,' he said, kissing the top of her head.

‘Then I don't want to have an affair with you any more.'

He shifted onto his side, bringing his face level with hers. ‘Listen to me closely, Rachel. I love you, and I chose to be with you. I just want you to remember that when the shit hits the fan.'

Her face dropped. ‘Now you think it's going to go badly?' she said. ‘You're always trying to reassure me that it'll be fine, as long as we handle it right.'

‘I hope so, but we can't control everything,' said Tom. He stroked her hair from her forehead. ‘I wish we could go away and live our own lives and everyone else could just mind their own business.'

‘What about the girls?'

‘I'm not talking about them, you know that. But I guess it's time to start working on them,' he said, resolved. ‘Come home with me tomorrow.'

‘What? No, I can't do that.'

‘Rachel, we have to get the ball rolling.' He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. ‘We'll have a barbecue in the afternoon. It'll be casual, relaxed. You'll just be an old family friend coming over for a meal.'

She looked at him doubtfully, and he leaned down to kiss her.

‘Do you want to hide like this forever?' he asked.

Rachel shook her head.

‘Well, once we get the girls onside, we won't have to any more. And I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks.'

‘Okay,' she said finally. ‘I'll come. But here's the deal – no flirting. No touching. No eye contact.'

‘No eye contact?'

‘I'm just saying that this time, and for the meantime, we have to behave the same way we've always behaved around them.'

‘Okay, but I'm pretty sure I've usually made eye contact with you.'

‘There's eye contact and there's eye contact, you know what I'm saying, Tom?'

‘Not really,' he said, suppressing a grin.

‘Stop teasing.'

‘Okay, so that I've got it absolutely clear, we better sort out exactly what's allowed and what isn't.' He shifted to position himself above her. ‘I guess, for example, this is not acceptable,' he said, nuzzling into her neck.

‘Definitely not,' she breathed.

‘What about this?' he murmured in her ear before teasing her lobe between his teeth. That always did her in.

‘No way,' she managed to say.

‘So I guess this is out of the question,' he said, as his hand slid down across her belly, and then . . . Rachel let out a squeal.

He lifted his head to look at her. ‘Out of bounds?' he said, a glint in his eye.

‘Tomorrow, absolutely. Today . . . go for your life.'

Tom would be back to pick her up any time now. He'd left over an hour ago to collect both the girls, and he was going to tell them that he'd run into Rachel yesterday, and she'd asked after them and so he invited her over for a barbecue. Then they would stop at the supermarket for supplies and come by her place on their way home. Rachel implored him not to overdo the details; she wasn't comfortable lying to the girls, and besides, it just made it easier to get caught.

She was inordinately nervous. It was stupid, she loved Sophie and Hannah, she'd always got on well with them. And she'd always got on well with Tom, so it shouldn't seem odd or strange, socialising with them as a family. But it occurred to Rachel that this was the first time she and Tom had been around anyone since they had got together. And she wasn't sure how she was going to handle it, if it would be obvious, if they'd slip up somehow.

But she had no more time to think about it, because that was Tom now, pranking her phone. She grabbed it, and her bag, and her keys, and hurried out of the flat and down the stairs. When she came out of the entrance, she could see his car parked across the drive, and Hannah waving from the back seat. That was a good sign. But as she drew closer she noticed that Sophie was sitting hunched over against the far window, her arms folded, her expression grim. It might not even have anything to do with her, but Rachel's heart sank.

She opened the door and climbed into the front seat as Tom and Hannah both greeted her. Sophie remained silent.

‘Hi,' Rachel said brightly. ‘Thanks for coming to get me.'

‘No problem, it was right on our way,' said Tom, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. She sensed maybe he was a little nervous too.

‘It's so great to see you both,' Rachel said, craning around to look over to the back seat. ‘How've you been?'

‘Good thanks, Rachel,' said Hannah.

Sophie still didn't say anything.

‘Sophie,' said Tom, ‘I believe Rachel's addressing you as well.'

She sighed loudly. ‘I'm fine, thank you for asking.'

Rachel turned to the front again, catching Tom's eye. But they both looked away quickly.

It was a mercifully short car trip, which was just as well: the conversation was strained, to say the least. Hannah seemed fine, but she gradually picked up on the vibe and became more subdued as a result.

As soon as they pulled up in the drive, Sophie got out of the car and pranced into the house ahead of them. Tom threw a sidelong glance at Rachel, before climbing out of his seat and marching straight in after Sophie. Rachel hesitated, maybe she should give them a minute. Then suddenly the door swung open beside her. It was Hannah.

‘Come on, Rachel. What are you waiting for?'

When they walked through the front door, Sophie was halfway up the stairs.

‘. . . but we have a guest,' Tom was saying.

She turned around to look down at him. ‘Well I didn't ask her!'

‘Sophie.'

‘Dad, you knew I had this big assignment, and you picked me up later than you said, and now you expect me to entertain someone you invited over?'

Rachel flinched.

‘What I expect is for you to mind your manners, young lady.'

Her eyes flickered to take in Rachel standing just inside the door. ‘Sorry,' she muttered. ‘Is it all right if I come down when dinner's ready, so I can at least get some work done?'

‘Fine,' said Tom. ‘As long as you bring a better attitude with you then.'

She turned and stomped up the stairs and out of sight. Tom looked around at Rachel. ‘Sorry about that.'

She shrugged. ‘She must be anxious about that assignment.' She looked down at Hannah, placing an arm casually around her shoulders. ‘So looks like it's up to you and me to make the salads, kid.'

‘I'm an excellent salad maker,' Hannah said proudly. ‘Aren't I, Dad?'

‘Yes you are,' he said, ruffling her hair as he walked past. ‘I'll just get the things out of the car.'

Rachel caught up with all of Hannah's news while they chopped the vegetables for the salad. Mostly it was gossip from school, girlie stuff. But she also talked about teachers she liked, subjects she enjoyed. Tom hovered in the background, topping up Rachel's drink, coming in and out from the backyard as he prepared the barbecue.

It was all very relaxed and normal, but Rachel could not shake the feeling that she was somehow trespassing on Annie's domain, using her things, preparing dinner with her daughter. It was easier to keep Annie out of the equation when it was only her and Tom, at her own place, but it was impossible here. Especially with Hannah's constant, rather unsubtle reminders: ‘No, Mummy uses this cutting board for vegetables . . . that knife for tomatoes . . . No, you don't do it like that, Mummy always said you have to tear the lettuce leaves . . . This was Mummy's favourite salad bowl, her and Dad got it on their honeymoon . . .'

‘Are we going to eat outside?' said Tom, popping his head around the back door, holding a pair of tongs. ‘It's pretty nice out here.'

Tom had even gone back to looking like Annie's husband again.

When Sophie came downstairs to join them she complained she'd be eaten alive by mosquitoes, so Tom lit every citronella candle and mozzie coil he could find, and finally they were seated around the outdoor table eating their meal.

‘How's the assignment going, Soph?' he asked.

She shrugged, picking at the vegetable kebabs Tom had cooked for her specially on a separate hotplate.

‘What's it about?' Rachel tried next.

‘
King Lear
.'

Tom and Rachel exchanged a smile. ‘As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport,' they recited in unison.

‘What was that?' Hannah pulled a face at them.

‘Rachel and I both studied
King Lear
for our HSC, we used to play duelling quotations.'

‘Did you go to school together?' she asked.

‘No, we met at uni straight after we'd finished school,' Tom explained. ‘I knew Rachel before I knew your mum.'

Hannah shrugged. ‘I never knew that.'

‘I'm sure I've told you.'

‘Musta forgot.'

‘So, ask us anything, Soph,' he said, turning to her. ‘You have two old hands here at your disposal.'

‘It's different now.'

‘Shakespeare's different?'

She sighed. ‘We don't study it the way they did in your day.'

Ouch, there was that phrase again.

‘What do you mean?' asked Tom.

‘We have to imagine we've just seen a production of
King Lear
where the genders have been reversed, and then write a review about it for a journal.'

Tom was listening, obviously confounded. ‘So you have to imagine King Lear is Queen Lear, and the daughters are her sons?'

She nodded. ‘And the other characters as well. You have to discuss one character where the gender reversal works, and one where it doesn't.'

‘What's the point of that?'

‘It has to do with exploring gender constructs in literature and applying a postmodernist framework, or something like that.'

‘Again, what on earth is the point?'

‘Don't ask me,' said Sophie. ‘To pass the exams, I guess.'

Tom was shaking his head. ‘Shakespeare would be spinning in his grave. King Lear as a woman . . .'