Episode 6
The oven dinged that it was ready. Patricia, wiping her wet hands on her Laura Ashley apron, only slightly flecked with flour, opened the oven, pressed the sponge lightly and when it sprang back, slid the tray carefully out of the oven and onto a wire rack. It was important there be no excess airflow while it was cooling, so she shut the window. She was beating the cream when the doorbell ring. Patricia wasn’t expecting anyone this early. When you lived alone, all you got was the odd earnest Mormon or Jehovah’s Witnesses. She had always accepted their pamphlets which graciously, and used them to line her bins. She didn’t have one of those peepholes, so she didn’t want to say “Who is it?” which would sound like a suspicious old person, terrified of being mugged by some teenager on Ice and having the house turned upside down or worse.
The pale bearded face was oddly familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Was it an old neighbour? The father of a student? You didn’t want to pre-empt anything by saying too much. So she smiled and waited for the man to introduce himself.
“Hello. Patricia?”
“Yes…”
“Don’t you remember me? From St Marys?”
Now she remembered. But the face was so much older. Hers must be too. Suddenly it hit her. The priest. That must have been when she broke up with Rory, how many years was it? Oh God, don’t let me revisit that. It was so long ago and what was the point now? He looked older, and somehow different – it was the absence of the collar.
“Oh yes, of course. Father Williams”
“Oh, come now. Not Father Williams, it was never that. James.”
She went slightly red and noticed her palms were turning sweaty
“Of course. Come in.”
She wondered why he was here. What could he possibly want? After she’d got him sitting down on the couch and offered a cup of tea. It would seem rude not to offer him a slice of sponge, but she wanted to keep it intact for the Book Club. Was that being mean? So she pulled out a few Arnotts Creams and fanned them out on a plate. When she finally brought the tray into the living room, he wasn’t sitting but turning over her photos on the mantelpiece. She wanted to scream:
“What the hell are you doing? Do you live here, or something?” but instead she said:
“Here’s your tea. Do you take milk? Sugar? Do have a biscuit.” She nudged the plate across the coffee table.
He sat down and smiled.
“It’s been such a long time, hasn’t it, Patricia?”
“Yes, it has.” She murmured uncertainly. What was he here for? Should she say something?
“So, what are you doing these days? Are you retired?”
“Yes, thank goodness. And I don’t know where the days go. I’m actually expecting some people in about…” she quickly consulted her watch “about…half an hour…sorry”
“Oh, that’s no problem. Now that I’ve tracked you down and know where you live…I can pop by anytime.”
An expletive ran through her brain, and didn’t quite make it to her mouth, so she said…
“So…how did you find me? It’s been years”
***
It was pouring with rain and Therese’s umbrella which she’d purchased from Coles was not living up to its promise. When she got it back up again, the plops of moisture had escaped down her collar. It was already 3.30 when Therese pressed the bell on Patricia’s door. Her unit was one of twelve in an immaculate row – surrounded by topiary trimmed with in an inch of its life and little brick paths that led to each individual unit. It was so perfect, just like Patricia herself. Therese carried a plate of Tim Tams, which she knew might be privately sneered at by her hostess, but it was the best she could do, and they would be eclipsed by whatever fantastic concoction Patricia herself had made.
Still, she was never quite prepared for Diana’s high- pitched voice with its siren-like laugh that made her shudder every time she heard it.
“Oh, Therese, how are you? You’re late” Diana would have to state the bleeding obvious, so she automatically turned red and offered profuse apologies. Patricia whisked the plate out of her hand, waving her in the direction of the lounge room.
It was then she realised she’d forgotten her copy of the book. She’d only read half of it anyway – what was it? The latest Margaret Atwood. She’d remembered reading her books years ago, and always found them rather strange – all that stuff about what was it? Dystopia? Some of it she really didn’t understand. When were they going to pick a book that was funny, so they could all have a good laugh? There was no doubt she could do more, but sometimes she just didn’t feel like it – she hated to admit that sometimes she just wanted to loll about on the couch and watch reality tv. Although she’d never admit it. They’d hang, draw and quarter her. Give her no mercy.
“I’ve just got a few things to take care of in the kitchen, make yourself at home, Therese” Patricia said.
She entered the living/sitting room and found them all sitting at the antique dining table, Caroline looking stunning, Brenda with the book propped up in front of her, Diana sipping tea and holding forth about her latest excursion into the city with her friends from her art group – they went to some cultural event every week – and bellowing about how much she enjoyed it. Sometimes she would go on about politics – and you just had to tread a fine line of pretending to agree with her or saying nothing.
“Oh, yes, we had such a wonderful time. But then we got on the wrong train. Silly me I read the wrong timetable and it took us four hours to get home. Hubby was not pleased.”
Therese thought that this was highly unlikely and that Hugh, quiet and methodical was definitely under Diana’s thumb. He wouldn’t dare. Let Diana preserve the fiction, though, she seemed to enjoy it. Therese was just relieved that she was not on the receiving end of Diana’s viper tongue, which she’d been polishing since high school.
Patricia entered, bearing a magnificent sponge cake oozing with cream. They all oohed and aahed and Patricia smiled, setting it down on the table. She sat down herself.
“Wow, that’s amazing. How do you do it Patricia?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, just something I whipped up. But before we tuck in, should we have a chat about the book?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t actually finished it, Patricia. Sorry. I’ve been so busy recently.”
“I thought it was wonderful. One of the best of hers” Brenda said, uncharacteristically - she was usually the last one to venture an opinion.
Patricia chimed in now.
“Me too. I thought it was one of the best books I’ve read this year. All the environment aspects of it – so interesting, coupled with her brilliant writing. What did you think, Caroline?”
“Oh, I haven’t actually read it, sorry. I couldn’t get past the first few pages.”
“Anybody like another slice of cake?” She held the knife aloft.
“What about you, Diana?”
“Found it a bit strange. I like something that you don’t have to think about too much, really. Life is so difficult these days isn’t it, every day some new terrorist plot, the economy’s failing, the new Safe Schools is completely corrupting the children – I think it’s some kind of genetic engineering with all this gay activism being shoved down people’s throats. I’m so glad I don’t have young children now.”
Therese wanted to give Diana a piece of her mind, but she had vowed to keep her mouth shut for the sake of peace, but then Diana continued:
“So I was wondering if we want to take this Book Club thing a little further.”
“What do you mean? Further?” said Patricia, flicking the cream off the side of her mouth.
“Do we still want to meet every Monday at the same time, or do we want to meet on another day as well - a little more social? What does everyone think? I was thinking about lunch out at a nice café – afternoon tea, the art gallery on occasion, that sort of thing. There’s a great exhibition on at the moment, French Impressionists, I think.”
“Oh, I’m working, sorry. I’ve only got Mondays free.” Caroline replied brightly.
“Okay, you’re excused. What about you, Therese?”
Quite frankly, Therese didn’t want to tie herself down to any regular social outings. The book club was more than she could manage. She’d once had a friend, she’d met on the school run when Julie was a teenager. Nice enough at first, but pretty soon, she had taken over Therese’s life – she didn’t quite know how it happened – she became a “yes” woman overnight, coerced into things she had absolutely no interest in – like lingerie parties.
“I don’t know, I’m really busy at the moment.”
“Oh, come on, Therese, how can you be so busy in retirement? What is there to do after all, smell the roses? Do the washing up?”
Everyone was looking at her, and God forbid, she was reddening, she hadn’t done that for years, not since menopause crept up on her silently and without warning, like a thief in the night, stealing her sleep and turning her from a cool cucumber to a hot mess in an instant. Thank goodness that was over and done with. Should she acquiesce? Pretend she hadn’t heard? That would be difficult, next to impossible. Give in, go along with it, and then just not turn up? There were a few choices here, but mostly they would lead to her to giving up her power. Well, she’d never had any power really. Not like some of these women. How did they do it? Was it some gene they were born with?
“Or perhaps there is some lovely man lurking in the wings that has you so busy? I did see a black Mercedes parked outside your villa some time ago. Is there something you’re not telling us?” Diana trilled, with a little laugh at the end.
Now Therese was really shocked. Diana had always been a busybody, milking stories about disastrous first dates, gossip from the entire form, turning them into interesting stories. God, she ought to write a book! Diana really had a lot of time on her hands, didn’t she? But it was scary as well. Why would she be keeping an eye on her like this? Stalking her?
“What?” Therese blinked.
“I just wonder whether there is something you’re keeping from us. Some secret life that you’re leading that has you so busy.”
Caroline interjected now. “Surely that’s her business.”
Therese shot her a grateful look. Caroline? The only one to stand up, to defend her.
“Well, I don’t know what you’ve seen, Diana, but I don’t know anybody with a Mercedes.”
Damn! Why did she have to defend herself? That response just sounded so lame! Ridiculous! She was berating herself even as the words came out of her mouth. She should have just cut her dead with some clever remark, but the problem was, she could never think of anything in time. It was only once she got in the car and on her way home that the witty rejoinder would pop up in her head and she could see herself using it in all confidence …far too late! Suddenly, she felt really sad again that she was on her own and Michael wasn’t there to use as an excuse – “I’ll have to talk to Michael – we’ve got something on – Michael wants me to go to his annual Goatherding Conference and so on and so on.”
