The North Shore Ladies Book Club 

 

Episode 4

 

 

A few weeks later, Therese zipped down to the mall to buy some cheese and biscuits and found the only vacant parking spot.  Clicking her door shut, she started walking toward the shops.  She was nearly run over by a brand new sports car barrelling past and could have sworn she saw Caroline in the passenger seat.  Therese wondered who was driving and as the car turned into the exit lane she thought it may have been Hugh.  What the heck? She told herself sternly she must have been mistaken. 

 

                                                                        ***

 

Therese had been waiting in the Roaster for nearly half an hour.  She sipped her Seniors double shot capuccino she’d finally ordered after twenty minutes and wondered whether Caroline was going to turn up at all. The Plaza was always chocabloc with shoppers at this time of day and you couldn’t hear yourself think for the screaming toddlers demanding more sweets to the scrape of walkers and the yelling of old deaf men demanding attention from the shop owners, who must have already had a gutful by this time in the afternoon.  They gently guided their customers to seats and patiently took their orders though.  Therese imagined that these were their bread and butter, so they couldn’t afford to be snippy, like those guys at Caffe Latino down the road, their noses in the air, never quite hearing your order correctly, as if all of you older people were deaf.  

Mind you, some people were always late, and she remembered that time when she and a friend were rushing for a train to get to an exhibition and missed it because the friend had decided to just put one more coat of bright red nail polish on, and had to blow on it to dry. Therese was jumping out of her skin and felt like honking on the horn, as she sat in her car, waiting, while she called out “Won’t be a minute”.  Then there was last time when they missed out on free coffee because they were late for a film.    Or did you even bother?  People like that were never going to change.  The world consisted of panicky nervous always on time people like her to the laissez-faire cool as a cucumber all the time in the world people like Caroline. She wished she was like that. Her mother had always insisted she obey the clock and woe betide her if she didn’t.  She put it down to some Swiss forbears, this desperate need to be organised, neat, punctual and tidy and the habit had stuck, so that Therese was often early just in case she missed out on something.

“Oh God, this traffic, it’s terrible.  I’d forgotten what it was like, all the school zones, for God’s sake, why can’t kids just be careful crossing the road, why do we all have to slow down, just for them?”

Caroline plonked her bag down on the empty seat, pecked Therese on the cheek and sat down herself, brushing imaginary crumbs from the table. She waved her hand out for a waitress.

“How are you, Therese? I’ve been meaning to call you for ages.”

“Great.  I’ve got my granddaughter staying with me at the moment.”

“Handful, is she?”

“Oh, no.  We had a great time shopping this morning.  She seems to be settling in quite well.”

“Oh, well.  That’s great.  Not having any kids myself, I don’t know how on earth I would have coped, really.”

“Oh, you just do.  No-one has a handbook, although many try.”  She smiled.

Therese was waiting for Caroline to apologise for being late, but she knew that she wouldn’t, because in her mind she was on time.  She was keen to find out whether Caroline was actually in a relationship with Hugh, but didn’t dare ask outright.  She racked her brain for a way to begin.

“Have you seen any of the girls from the Book Club? Diana?”

“Oh, I only see her when she makes an appointment.  I don’t think I fit into her social circle really. I do try though, I mean, to fit in.”

“Oh, I’m sure you fit in. The Book Club is so much livelier since you joined”

“Really?”

Caroline seemed so innocent and that flippant remark didn’t hint at any major cover-up, or affair, or anything else.  Perhaps she was just imagining it, but then she decided to bite the bullet.

“Have you seen Hugh lately?”

There must have been something there, but of course it was none of her business. Should she push it further?  A little imp inside her said yes, why not and then the more sensible matron said no. The Inner Auditor sometimes trumped the imp. Which to choose?  What would mother do? Mother would have said it was absolutely none of her business and she shouldn’t even be speculating about anyone else’s marriage or relationship, but now that Mother was long gone, why heed out of date advice?

“Is there something you want to tell me, Caroline?”

“No.  What do you mean? About what?”

“Caroline, a couple of weeks ago, at the Village shops – actually in the car park, I could have sworn I saw you or someone who looked very like you, in Hugh’s sports car, just zipping along – at a rate of knots actually.  I barely registered it was you – it WAS you, wasn’t it?”

She had the good grace to redden. But suddenly there was a commotion outside the fruit shop and they both looked over. They saw an old grandpa trying to manoeuvre his scooter out of the way of an errant skateboarder.  Skateboarders weren’t allowed in the mall, and pretty soon one of the security guards would be out to investigate. The old guy was trapped right up against the wall and was getting very cranky, swinging his stick and yelling at the tattooed teenager. Caroline jumped up and went over. A few other shoppers had also come to his aid.  Therese could see her talking to the man and helping him to steer the machine out of the way.

When Caroline finally got back to the table, she was looking at her watch and quickly gulped the rest of her coffee down.

 

“So sorry, Therese, gotta run.  I’ve got a podiatrist’s appointment.  You have to wait months to get in to see this guy. Sorry, love.  We’ll catch up another time, OK?”

Therese was left sitting there, none the wiser and somewhat agitated. But then a small part of her felt slightly ashamed, slightly embarrassed, that she should have even brought the subject up.  She sighed, picked up her handbag and left.

The North Shore Ladies Book Club 

Episode 3

                                                              

Diana had been voted the girl most likely to marry well when they were at St Hilda’s. She had certainly done that, but it wasn’t without a lot of grit and determination.  No conventionally pretty beauty, her nose was a little too button-like and her lips over-full, but it was her smile that won everyone over.  A smile that could make the grey clouds disappear, her indulgent mother opined. Now she was once more ensconced on the North Shore, in a lovely California bungalow, recently tastefully renovated with duck egg blue walls.  The road had been long and not without a few potholes, but she’d finally made it.  Now she could breathe easier.

She checked the security cameras for early arrivals. The traffic outside was getting so noisy – only five years before when they’d moved to this leafy enclave the Pacific Highway had only been busy in peak hour.  So many high rises – she guessed inhabited mostly by Chinese – not that there was anything wrong with that.  They were far enough away in Duchamp Crescent to perceive the traffic as merely a low hum in the distance.  Times had changed, hadn’t they? She’d made sure this time that they picked a California bungalow with the low stained glass windows and a suitably long drive where car tyres would crunch as they drove up to the front door.  You spent your whole life seeking safety and security, but you couldn’t really ever be sure of anything in life, could you?

After her father had so inconveniently died of pancreatic cancer and she was ripped from the security of St. Hilda’s with its Olympic sized pool and expansive gardens, she’d struggled to cope at the local high school, with the louts who presumed that she was a stuck up bitch and who were obviously all secretly in love with her.  It had been difficult, but she had managed to finish her HSC and gain entry to the university of her choice, where she’d excelled.  The irony of it was that her results actually improved because there was less competition.

That Therese now, she’d never actually gone to Uni, had she?  Yet, she’d got top marks at St. Hilda’s.  She was always in the A group, and Diana lingered on the fringes, trying to overhear cool phrases that she could parrot and imitate gestures that would give her entrée into their pack.  That was it, like a wolf pack -  the strongest survived and the weakest were left behind.  

That time in the Drama group, where she was dying to get lead part in Blithe Spirit, where she’d rehearsed the lines over and over again to the floppy haired teddy in her room., hoping to impress Mr James, the hot young teacher who was closer to their age than their parents and who acted more like one of their contemporaries.  She wondered now if that was appropriate, the way he hugged them too tightly after a performance.  After all the work she’d put in, she’d fully expected to be picked for the lead, but ended up with such a minor part, it was hardly worth going to rehearsals.  On opening night, it was Therese who got all the kudos.  How did she do that?  But the tables were turned now, weren’t they?  Little Therese in that poky little two bedroom villa with all those dreary pensioners – ha, she’d won!

 Diana was washing up the few Venetian glass things that couldn’t go into the new Miele, while her husband was fumbling with a packet of Codral Daytime.

‘Can you answer the door, darling, I’ve got my hands elbow deep in suds’ 

As he answered the door, Hugh, a young looking sixty-something was snuffly, holding his hands up so his germs wouldn’t be spread.

‘Hi Therese.  Come in, come in.  I was just about to go back to bed.’

It was unusual for him to be home – a head cold, Diana yelled from the kitchen – as he waved everyone vaguely toward the living room.  Good-looking, in a distinguished grey haired accountant way. And he was an accountant.  Diana’s mother had always told her that if she couldn’t nab a doctor, an accountant was the next best thing.  You’d never have to worry about your tax return or whether the rates had been paid.  

‘Go upstairs, now Hugh, and rest, there’s a dear boy.’ Diana commanded as she entered the lounge room, took Therese by the arm and led her to the table.

When he had gone, Diana said: 

‘Men are such babies, aren’t they? It’s Man Flu!’

There was a faint burnt smell coming from the kitchen which wasn’t entirely masked by Blue Glade.  Diana’s baking skills were once again eclipsed by Patricia’s, who turned up with a delectable cheesecake that Diana managed to cut into uneven slices, so that she got the lion’s share. When Diana lifted her spoon, laughing, she said something about having to watch her weight, which actually had never fluctuated since her teens. She had to be careful the rest of the week.

When Caroline was late, the talk inevitably turned to their various minor health problems, from Therese’s varicose veins to Patricia’s constipation to Diana’s multiple allergies and Brenda’s dyspepsia, skirting around the issue of Caroline’s fainting spell the previous month. 

‘She’s really late, this time, should we ring her?’ Therese asked.

Almost on cue, the doorbell rang.  Diana ran to answer it and greeted Caroline effusively. 

‘Hello, dear, we’ve missed you.  Sorry, we’ve already started on the cake.  Sit down.  Coffee or tea? Tea, isn’t it?’ she warbled.

‘So, how are things, Caroline?’ Patricia brushed a cake crumb from her upper lip.

‘Fine, just fine.’

‘So, you haven’t had any more episodes, the fainting, I mean?’

‘I did, but finally went to the doctor and I’m having more tests.   Feeling fine though.’ she replied, taking a quick gulp of tea.

 ‘That’s great, Caroline.  And now, for the book.  I’ve chosen one of the greatest classics in the English language – Pride and Prejudice – possibly my favourite book of all time.’ Diana bellowed.

Therese said: 

‘I frankly loathed that book ever since I had to read it in high school. Those self-interested cardboard characters obsessed with marrying well made me sick. ‘

Caroline just smiled.  There was a creak on the stairs.  They all turned to see Hugh entering the lounge room. Even in pyjamas, dressing gown and tousled hair, he managed to look both attractive and almost boyish.

‘I’ve run out of Codral’ he mumbled.  He had to squeeze past Caroline to get to the kitchen and Therese thought she caught a flicker of interest in his eyes - just a flicker.   Diana glared at her husband coldly.

‘You need to rest, dear.  I won’t offer you any cake.  Go back to bed.’

‘Alrighty’ he replied dutifully. ‘Have a good time, girls.’ He ambled back upstairs.

Diana turned back to her well-thumbed copy of the book – she opened it to a marked page

‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ ‘I just love that.  That’s exactly what happened to me and Hugh.  Of course it took a while to convince him – but then they all need a little push, don’t they?  In my case, it was little Hughie’s imminent arrival, ha ha.  Water under the bridge now.’ 

Therese looked shocked.  What was her problem, Diana wondered. Didn’t she know you had to use every little bit of feminine wiles to get what you wanted? The end justified the means, and look at little Hughie now. Not so little, at almost thirty.

‘Of course, now my little Hughie’s back.  It’s lovely, cooking his favourite spag bol again.’

‘Oh, he’s living with you?  I thought…’ Therese enquired.

‘Just temporary. Till he gets his own place …That bitch Alison’s got the house.’

‘Oh. I see.’ 

‘So what did you think of it, Brenda?’ Therese asked.

‘Oh yes, it’s a great classic. It is an accurate portrayal of a certain kind of eighteenth century life.’ As usual, Brenda was playing her cards close to her chest, being polite, nice, non-judgemental.  You could never really tell what she was really thinking.

‘And you, Therese?’

‘Oh, I’d have to agree with Brenda.’

That was it – and when Caroline told a really funny story about a starving mutt, who’d made an absolute pig of himself in the forecourt of a McDonalds – snavelling someone’s Big Mac right under their nose, Diana took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders.  Caroline seemed to be always up for a laugh.

When they all stepped back out on the soft bell-like yellow blossoms on Diana’s tessellated path, she was glad that Caroline was in the Book Club. They needed fresh blood.

 

 

Episode 2 

 

Now it was time to get down to the business of reviewing the book.  Therese never liked to go first, as she hadn’t gone to Uni like Patricia or Brenda and was ashamed to admit her reading before the book club had mostly been confined to gardening books and true romance.  

“That’s why it’s probably good for you to be in a book club, Therese, you might at least learn something” her Inner Auditor whispered.  So she began brightly:

“So, what did you think of it, Brenda?”

“Well, I…ah, it’s not my cup of tea really” she said with that shy toothy smile.

Caroline said.

“I think the title is really interesting. She Warrior, that’s fascinating.  I’d never thought of myself as a warrior - never really been interested in Women’s Lib.  They always seemed like such hair under the armpits blokey sort of women. Strident, I heard them called.”

Patricia chimed in now. “I think it was a crock of shit.  All this American navel gazing.  The self-help gurus of this world are laughing all the way to the bank while some poor saps keep buying this stuff.  Whose suggestion was this, anyway, was it you, Therese?” 

“Um, it was on the New York Times bestseller list.”

“What, in 1983?  All this stuff has been done to death.  Jung was at the forefront of Psychology theories aeons before this.  They’re all copycats now. What are we even reading this for? “

“I thought it would be interesting.”

Caroline smiled brightly.  “Anybody seen any good movies lately?  I saw the new Terminator one – it was fantastic – all that muscle and grunt – I know Arnie has well and truly had his day, but it’s still funny.”

Therese was in the kitchen when she heard the thump.  She rushed in, to see Brenda lying on the floor.  Everyone was bent over her, trying to get her to respond.  It looked like she was out cold.

“Oh my God, Brenda…Brenda, can you hear me…?”

Moving in quickly and professionally like the ex-occupational therapist she was, Therese checked Brenda’s pulse.  It was fine.  She seemed to be coming around.  She sat up.

“Are you alright?  What happened?”

“I don’t know.  I must have…”

Diana chimed in. “You look very pale.  I had low blood sugar once, and the doctor said…”

“Oh shut up, Diana.” Therese snapped. “Let her speak”

“I must have just had one of my turns.”

“You’ve had them before?  You never said…”

“I didn’t want to worry anyone.  It’s probably nothing.  I just feel faint every now and again.”

“Well, we can probably rule out pregnancy. Have you seen a doctor?”

“Bob is always nagging me to, but it’s like…I don’t want to know.  I’ve always had the breast screens and the pap smears and all that, but now…I’m just…

“Scared?”

Therese could have sworn she saw an ever so brief look of trepidation cross everyone’s face. What did they have to look forward to, at the pointy end of life?  Cancer, dementia, strokes? The thoughts Therese usually banished immediately they bubbled up.

“Well, you just rest up there now.  I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Usually, Therese could shut the door on the final guest – who always seemed to wander down the garden path and linger there for perhaps half an hour, while she checked on them every now and then through her blinds to make sure they were finally gone.  This afternoon though, they seemed to head straight for their cars, ahead of the expected rain. Now she could break out the G and T and settle down in front of the box.

 

 

It's been a long time since I posted anything - so here goes! Enjoy!

                                THE NORTH SHORE LADIES BOOK CLUB

Episode 1 

Therese slapped on the icing in big dollops – some of it didn’t land on the cupcakes, so she got a clean napkin and laboriously wiped around the plate, like she’d seen them do on those cooking shows, She didn’t know how you iced cupcakes, really, nor was she sure how you made them from scratch, because she’d bought a packet mix.  Mustn’t let Patricia see the box.  She scrunched it up and tossed it in the bin. 

The girls were coming soon and she still had to get ready.  What should she wear? In this oppressive summer heat the humidity launched itself at your hair, making it limp and unmanageable. Come on, it’s only the Book Club.  You meet once a month at each other’s houses and you yak for two hours.  She didn’t know why she was still in it – force of habit, and since she’d moved into the Village friends were scarce – the ones who hadn’t dropped off the twig were all in their comfortable harbour side homes with their silver-haired banker husbands who stacked the dishwasher for them and took out the garbage.

She selected a canary yellow blouse she’d bought at an op shop – Michael had always said yellow brought out her eyes - and threw on her slimming navy slacks. She hoped the pinkish lipstick wouldn’t bleed around her mouth too much, and patted on a bit of blusher.   Was her hair bit greasy?  But what did it matter, really? It’s not as if they were teenagers but still…women could be very judgemental.  It started in infants’ school, when your little friends commented on your ribbons or your socks or the way you had your hair done.  

Was it War and Peace or that Fifty Shades of Grey?  She wasn’t sure.  Did it matter when the books were simply secondary to the gossip and the camaraderie? Ah yes, it was some obscure self-help tome – Face your Problems with Panache or Down the Chakra Cave or some such.   Oh yes, the sandwiches - the Waldorf Chicken triangles looked a bit sad with chunks of celery escaping, and the tomato ones had already gone soggy, seeping through the white bread.  What else? Plates, napkins.  She found some clean ones scrunched under the tea towels.  Therese took a deep breath.  Where was that book?

Finally she found it hiding beneath last night’s jumbo packet of Smith’s Salt and Vinegar chips she’d emptied while watching yet another reality show – was it Mob Wives with those enormous breasted women married to jailbirds or some renovation show where blonde ponytailed shrill twentysomethings screamed at their partners if they couldn’t find a drill or a Number 7 screwdriver.  By the end Therese felt like telling them where to stick their drill.

It was Harnessing Your She Warrior.  She hadn’t got past the first few pages before falling asleep, so now she quickly perused the dustjacket for more information.  No time.  Someone was banging on the door.  She must remember to get that doorbell fixed.  

The banging continued.  Oh God – was there a lingering stain of pink icing on her teeth?  She’d only given herself a cursory glance in the bathroom mirror.

“That will have to do.  Never mind.  Answer the bloody door, Therese!” her little voice of Admonition said. “And forget about obsessing what you look like, you’re a middle-aged ordinary woman, stop trying to look like something you aren’t” Sometimes this voice bore a remarkable resemblance to her mother, Prudence. Sometimes she could just ignore it.

She just knew it would be Patricia at the door.  Punctual as a Swiss watch.

 “Hi, Patricia, you’re early.  So nice to see you” Therese’s lips barely brushed Patricia’s.

Thrusting the Royal Doulton plate at her, Patricia said, her wide mouth baring yellowing teeth:

“Well, how are you coping in this heat?  I just brought you a little something – Madeleines.”

 “Lovely - biscuits, are they? They smell wonderful.”

“They’re a cross between a biscuit and a cake.  You remember, Marcel Proust?”

Therese nodded and smiled – Patricia’s croissants and cakes were delicious – but then she wondered who Marcel Proust was – perhaps the guy who had the bakery down the road?  Certainly sounded French, and then the suspicion floated through - was Patricia popping into his establishment to pick up these delectable goodies and not slaving over a hot oven, as everyone assumed. She’d been rake thin since her ballet days at school, before she got too tall. How did she do it?

Therese very carefully placed the Madeleines on the dining table and pulled out a chair for Patricia.

“Take a seat, I’ve just got to finish off.” She scurried into the tiny kitchen.

 “What’s happening in your neck of the woods?” Privately, Therese thought it must be baking, baking, baking, or perhaps she was having it off with Marcel? You never knew. Patricia, never married, fancy free, the baker in his flour covered apron, a spatula between his teeth, dancing the light fantastic with Patricia, who would be holding aloft a plate of chocolate eclairs. Therese shook her head to free herself of the image.

 There was another knock on the door and Patricia got up. 

“I’ll get that for you, it’ll probably be Diana.”

Diana, all five foot two of her, whom Therese secretly dubbed The General, was pushing an attractive fiftyish blonde ahead of her.

Diana screamed in her high pitched soprano. “Hello, hello, where’s the hostess?”

She and Patricia airkissed and Patricia stared at the newcomer.

“Oh, this is Caroline, a friend of mine.  I naturally assumed it would be OK if I brought her along. She hasn’t read the book or anything, have you love, but I think she’ll enjoy our little group, don’t you?”

No-one would argue with Diana, not since she told them she beat up her nanny when she was seven years old because she told her Santa didn’t exist. Diana hadn’t changed, except now she was bigger and bolder. Therese was a little afraid of her.

“So, should we start, then?” Therese announced brightly, as she sat down. “Brenda’s always late, isn’t she?” Brenda often reminded her of a tentative little mouse when she hurried in, in her little fitted frocks and permed hair with little waves either side – she looked like the Queen. Therese began:

 “Welcome to our book club, Caroline.  Diana’s probably told you what happens – we each choose a book, then we meet once a month to talk about it - all a bit of fun, really.  What do you do, Caroline?  You’re obviously too young to be retired.”

Diana cut in “She’s my amazingly wonderful hairdresser and beautician. I just found out she has Mondays off and invited her along.”

“Caroline?” Therese ventured.

Caroline took a sip of coffee and cleared her throat.

“Thanks for inviting me along.  I..um…I haven’t read the book, but looking forward to being part of…”

“You’ll love it, Caroline – and none of us are going to bite are we?” Diana said, looking to the others for agreement.

“So how did you guys get together?  Has it been going long, the Book Club?”

“Oh, we were all at school together.  But then a couple of years ago, at the school reunion, God, I don’t even want to say how many years it was and we all reconnected.  It’s been lovely” Therese replied.

There was another knock on the door, and Therese got up to answer it.

“Excuse me.  You just carry on.”

From the front door they could hear “Oh, Hi Brenda…no, no, not at all, we’re just getting started.  You OK?  You look a little pale.”