The Fence (20 page)

Frankie helps Bijoux make starfish shapes with her plastic mould. Dear little Joux-Joux oblivious to the calamitous downfall of her parents' marriage or that she was supposed to fix it. Pregnant with the twins, Frankie and Brandon had believed they were the vanguard of the new world order. She would be the breadwinner, he would raise the children. Brandon had jumped at the chance. Neither of them questioned how much he relished the prospect of hanging out with his growing crew. ‘It'll be a great life,' he'd said. ‘Yes,' she'd replied, relieved to keep her career. But she knew something he did not. That being at home full-time was a lot more repetitive and boring than he realised. That the reason women organised relentless play dates and visits to the park was so that there was at least one small chunk of their day where they could commune with other adults. That great freedom Brandon envisaged when he accepted the mantle of house husband had ended up shackling him to a life of monotony. And now they had both paid the price.

She hadn't been able to let Brandon run things his own way. In the face of his hopeless disorganisation, Frankie had stepped in. But was there more to it than that? Had her need to interfere in the running of the household been more about managing her own guilt than Brandon's ineptitude? Was cleaning bathrooms some sort of atonement for her absence as a mother? Or to show Brandon that she could muck in with the best of them? Had helping out morphed into taking over? Her inability to step back must have come from somewhere. She thinks of her mother. ‘There's a right way and a wrong way to do things, Francesca,' as Noelle disinfected the kitchen benches with pure vodka, a habit left over from her flying days. Twelve-year-old Francesca was ironing the school uniforms, struggling with the fiddly box pleats of the tunics. Spraying on the starch, making sure the iron was set to the right level for the steam to set the pleats. When her mother examined her efforts and noted Frankie's failure to stick to the line of the pleats so they now bent to one side, she sighed, saying, ‘It will have to be done again.' Spraying water on the tunics, Noelle took the iron from her, adding, ‘I don't know how many times I am expected to show you, Francesca. You really are hopeless.'

Shaking off the memory, Frankie calls the children over and suggests fish and chips. Pulling their Christmas outfits over their salty bodies, she watches them race down the beach towards the cafe. This afternoon has calmed her. In a funny way, the awfulness of coming home today and finding a lunatic had rampaged through her house has offered the opportunity for clarity.

She should never have listened to her mother. It's her fault they went down this path. Frankie's fault for believing Noelle's advice was sound. She's made a complete mess of her marriage. If only she had let Brandon run things his own way. Stopped trying to control the inevitable chaos of life with four children. Now five. Punishing Brandon for being an inadequate wife instead of praising him for being a brilliant dad. A better dad than she is a mother. No wonder he doesn't want to be with her. She's turned into a complete bitch. She's brought this whole catastrophe upon herself.

Whilst Camilla's message made it clear that she and Brandon are over, it's come too late to save Frankie's marriage. It hurts though, to think Brandon ever wanted Camilla in his life. That she must have been so horrible to live with that he preferred to be with a woman capable of such nastiness. Now all she and Brandon have to do is endure the next six months. Six months and he will be free to live life as he wishes. It's pointless to dwell on it, what's done is done. Pushing the thought away, Frankie doles out chips to four hungry sets of fingers. But since they do have to stay in that house for another six months, the first thing she is going to do is install security cameras. Lots of them.

Outback + Outdoors

In the Garden with Gwen Hill

Summertime at the beach: swimming, fishing, surfing, making the most of the long hot days. Whilst it's imperative to keep the water up to the garden, front of mind should also be the fertility of your soil. Here the sea is your inspiration because seaweed, sea water and sand all improve your garden's health.

Seaweed is nature's soil conditioner. The amazing thing about seaweed is that it rejects salt, which means you can put it straight on your garden without washing it. It breaks down quickly, so spread it around thickly but be careful with the acid lovers, like your camellias and azaleas – they won't like the bits of sand and sea creatures that might be lurking within the weed.

Undiluted sea water can be used as a weedkiller and, heavily watered down, used directly on your plants as a tonic because it contains trace elements.

So next time you're by the seaside, grab a bag of seaweed and a bucket of sea water and bring the beach home to your garden.

Tip of the month

Container plants, especially those in terracotta pots, are at their most vulnerable over the long summer months. It's a mistake to stand them in saucers of water as this encourages root rot and provides the perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes. It's best to move them to a spot out of the westerly sun and keep them mulched to conserve moisture. Instead of water, use damp sand to keep your pots cool – your plants will thank you for it, even if the mozzies don't!

Gwen's January

Gwen is worried about her trees. Since she transplanted them, two have died and three look like they are on their last legs. It's a sorry business all round. She's standing there wondering how she might save them when Diane's Volvo pulls into the drive. Out scramble Molly and Jasper, Molly carrying her precious skateboard. Diane waves hello, releasing Lisbeth who squeals to be freed. Simon fetches an enormous box from the boot wrapped in Happy 80th Birthday gift paper.

‘My goodness, dear, what have you bought your father?' Gwen says, kissing Diane's cheek then Simon's.

‘It's a surprise. Are we the first ones here? I thought we were running late. You did say noon, didn't you?'

Gwen hugs each of her grandchildren in turn, saying, ‘Jonathon's going via the caterers. Vanessa's ordered canapés.'

Diane pulls a face. ‘Sounds fancy.'

Gwen takes the bowl of fruit salad from her. ‘You know Vanessa, she never does things by halves.' Although at least her daughter-in-law can be relied upon to make an effort.

Diane shields her eyes from the sun. ‘God, Mum, when did they go up?'

She is pointing at the security cameras next door. There are five in total. One above the garage door, two aimed across the front verandah and another two capture the side path. There might be more but Gwen daren't be caught on film checking over the back fence.

‘About a week ago,' she says. ‘They're quite intimidating, aren't they? I've no idea how wide an angle they capture but I don't like the thought of them filming our business.'

‘They're not spying on you surely? I mean, the fence is up, you can't see into their yard anymore. Why do they need cameras as well?'

Gwen turns away from the cameras, whispering, ‘They had a break-in on Christmas Day.'

‘No!'

She nods. ‘The police were called.'

‘Gosh, those two must be on first name terms with the cops by now.' Diane fetches the nappy bag and passes Lisbeth her drink bottle. The little girl then toddles over to the snail paddocks and upends the contents on the plants.

‘Nanna, is it all right if I ride my skateboard on the driveway?' Molly asks.

‘Wait till your father's moved the car, Mol,' Diane says, ‘then you can skate your heart out.'

Retrieving the bottle from Lisbeth, Diane shoves it back in the nappy bag and, taking her youngest's hand, leads the way to the house.

‘Do you know what happened?' she asks once she's deposited Lisbeth on the kitchen floor.

Gwen fetches a jug of iced tea from the fridge and pours them both a glass.

‘Thanks, Mum. Where's Dad? Isn't he ready yet?'

Gwen hasn't shared her concerns about Eric. The test results came back from the doctor and it turns out he has vascular dementia. She knows the news will upset Diane, it upsets her. Age brings with it the acceptance that something inevitably will go wrong with your health. Eric and she both agree that a short, sharp death is preferable to a lingering one. Gwen's hoping she'll die in her sleep but will take a knockout blow from a heart attack or a stroke if she has to. But not yet, they're still young. She wants to see her grandchildren grow up, maybe even become a great-grandmother. Eric, at least when he behaves like his old self, is planning one last big trip. He wants to hire a mobile home and tour Tasmania, especially to see the model town of Old Hobart Town in Richmond. But Gwen doesn't think they'll be able to now. The years ahead are dark with uncertainty. She's decided she won't think about it. She'll take one day at a time, that way she can play down that he isn't his old self at all.

‘He decided he needed another shower. God knows why, but there you go. Anyway, the police came here afterwards.'

‘And?'

‘They wanted to know if we'd seen any unusual activity on Christmas Day. I pointed out that since the fence went up, the chances of us seeing anything were slim. How would we know who was coming and going?'

Diane pulls ice-cream out of the nappy bag and begins rearranging the freezer to fit it in. ‘Do they know who it was?'

Gwen nods, a wicked smile tracing her lips. ‘His girlfriend.'

Diane turns from the fridge, a packet of peas in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other. ‘He has a girlfriend?'

Gwen takes the peas and shoves them on the bottom shelf, putting the ice-cream in their place. ‘Had a girlfriend. I don't suppose you'd want her as a girlfriend after what she did to the house.' Diane passes her the bread and Gwen squeezes it in above the trays of ice. She shuts the freezer door with a satisfying thump.

‘What did she do?'

Gwen relays the gist of her conversation with the police. About the beaten-up red car that regularly parked out the front. How she thinks she remembers seeing it parked there on Christmas Day but hadn't given it much thought as it was there so often. There had been a racket, but wasn't there always?

‘So are you telling me that whilst the kids were at Gumnut, he was doing the business with this girl? Gawd!' Diane opens the fridge to put in the fruit salad she'd made for dessert and sees the chocolate cake. She swipes a finger in the icing and sucks it. ‘Yum, ganache.'

Gwen smacks her hand away and closes the fridge door. ‘Double chocolate. Cocoa in the batter and a dark chocolate ganache. I'm going to garnish it with raspberries before I serve.'

Diane selects tomatoes from the windowsill and starts slicing them for salad. ‘So is that why they've put in the security cameras? Are they worried she might come back?' She pauses. ‘Haven't they arrested her?'

‘I don't know, dear. No one tells us anything.'

Gwen assembles cutlery. ‘If they hadn't insisted on building that stupid fence, there'd be no reason for cameras. This is a quiet neighbourhood, anything unusual gets noticed. Remember I used to be on the neighbourhood watch committee, but Val only saw it as an excuse for cake and Babs was never here. Since the Desmarchelliers turned their place into Fort Knox, you can't see much anymore.'

‘Yoo-hoo, we're here,' Vanessa sings out from the front door.

Diane goes to welcome her and Eric wanders into the kitchen. ‘I can't find my glasses, Gwennie,' he says.

‘They're on your head, silly,' Gwen says out of habit then looks up and starts. ‘Eric, what are you wearing?'

Eric wears his dinner suit, complete with a ruffled shirt and a black velvet bow tie. He smooths the lapels of the jacket. ‘It's my birthday, Gwennie. I thought I'd dress up.'

Gwen examines the suit, a little tight around the middle, shiny on the knees. It must be ten years since he'd last worn it at Diane's wedding. There's a moth hole in one of the sleeves. ‘Well,' she says, ‘you look very handsome, dear. The kids will be pleased to see you've gone to such an effort.' No, they bloody won't, she thinks, they'll think you're losing your marbles and they won't be far off the mark. Dear, oh dear, today of all days, she had hoped Eric might be well enough to enjoy the celebrations. Pushing the thought aside, she says, ‘But you might want to do up your buttons properly, you've missed a hole.'

As Eric fumbles with his buttons, Vanessa comes in, kissing Gwen on both cheeks. ‘You never told me that Frankie Desmarchelliers was your next-door neighbour.' Vanessa's eyes are wide. ‘I just saw her with a tribe of children in a multivan.'

Gwen frowns. Why would she mention her neighbours to Vanessa?

‘We used to go to school together. One of her sisters was in my year. How weird that she'd end up being next-door neighbours to my in-laws!' Vanessa waves her hand over her phone's screen as if performing magic. ‘We did
The Importance of Being Earnest
one year. I played Gwendolen Fairfax, of course,' here Vanessa presses a hand to her breast, ‘and Frankie was Lady Bracknell. Look, here's some photos I dug up for the last school reunion.' Vanessa flicks her screen, filling it with images of her and Francesca.

How young they look, thinks Gwen. Fresh-faced, full of idealism and a blithe hope that their futures are bright. Francesca was an attractive young woman, with luscious hair and a lovely smile, though Rubenesque even then. ‘She's very different now,' she says.

‘Oh really? I think she looks marvellous. She was always a big girl but carries it well.'

Unlike you, you stick insect, thinks Gwen. You'll regret being thin when you're older and all your wrinkles show. ‘Stop it, Gwennie,' Babs pops up in her thoughts. ‘Don't be so uncharitable.' How Gwen wishes Babs were here today. At least Val is coming. She always knows how to jolly along an occasion.

Eric stands at the front door blocking Jonathon's entrance. ‘Are you expecting someone, Dad?' Jonathon asks, juggling the trays of canapés atop a case of champagne. ‘Hi, Mum,' he calls over Eric's shoulder as Gwen comes to help.

Eric starts and frowns at Jonathon, trying to recall whether he knows this young chap. He does seem familiar. ‘I thought she'd be here by now,' he says, checking his watch though he's not wearing one. ‘Have you the time, son?' he asks the young man.

Jonathon adjusts the weight of the trays and the box so he can read his watch. ‘Twelve thirty, Dad.'

Eric taps his wrist, ‘Mine's a bit slow then,' and pushes past Jonathon to look outside.

‘But who are you waiting for, Dad? I thought today was just family,' Jonathon asks, looking at Gwen for confirmation.

‘Marilyn!' Eric snaps. ‘She promised me she'd come. I've dressed especially.'

Jonathon shakes his head. ‘Where do you want these, Mum?' He goes through to the kitchen and Gwen can hear him telling Vanessa that Jack is having a go on Molly's skateboard. ‘It won't be me taking him to the hospital if he breaks his arm, Jonno,' she hears her daughter-in-law replying. Eric remains out the front, searching for this Marilyn woman.

As they gather outside for lunch, Eric insists the chair next to him be kept vacant for Marilyn. Diane whispers in Gwen's ear, ‘I thought you said Dad was okay.'

‘He is, dear,' Gwen says, spooning pasta salad onto the children's plates.

But she can't deny it's odd putting out a plate and champagne for Marilyn. Diane stares first at her father and then at Gwen but Gwen is not dealing with this today. It's Eric's birthday after all.

Throughout lunch Eric chats to his absent guest, bursting into laughter at odd intervals. Personally, he thinks they're all being terribly rude to Marilyn, ignoring her and leaving it up to him to entertain her.

‘Would your lady friend like a spot of potato bake?' Val asks, offering the aluminium tray and spoon, her cleavage wobbling with mirth.

Oh now she makes an effort, thinks Eric. He'd never say it to Val's face because he'd hate to hurt her feelings but the woman can't cook an egg without ruining it. Best to answer on Marilyn's behalf before Val dumps a lump on her plate. ‘No thanks, Val, Marilyn doesn't eat carbohydrates.' He leans forward and whispers in Val's ear, ‘They're not good for the figure. They make you fat.'

Val blushes and turns and offers the tray to Vanessa. Gwen knows that Val, like her, thinks Jonathon's skinny wife could do with a few extra pounds.

Eric's in the middle of telling Marilyn the story about the Queen's Birthday weekend cracker night. ‘I think it was 1972 or thereabouts. Val's Keith, Val's the one in that sequinned thing next to you, yes, it is quite awful, isn't it? Anyway, you're going to laugh yourself silly at this, Keith being a toy importer had managed to get pounds of fireworks. The whole street was looking forward to the best cracker night ever.'

‘Poppa.' Molly stands next to him holding out a bottle of soft drink. ‘Can you open this for me?'

Eric can't be cranky at the little girl but he can't help wondering where she's come from and who she belongs to. That's the thing about this street though. Always kids coming and going.

‘Go on, Eric,' Val encourages, ‘get to the good bit where Keith burnt his eyebrows off and the Catherine wheel got stuck up the tree.'

‘For God's sakes, Val,' Eric hisses, ‘now you've ruined the punchline. Sorry, Marilyn, some people have no manners,' he says, shooting Val a pointed look but she's already turned away and is telling Gwen about Luke's new girlfriend.

Gwen invests all her attention to Val's news, all the better to block out Eric's bizarre behaviour.

After lunch, Jonathon and Diane bring out boxes of gaily wrapped gifts. Eric leans over and has an earnest conversation with the vacant chair. ‘Finally, Marilyn, they've decided to acknowledge you. No, don't ask me why they've brought you presents but it's the least they can do since you've come all this way. I hope it's something nice.'

The children think this is hilarious. Gwen laughs along, pretending Eric is hamming it up for their benefit.

‘Who is Marilyn anyway?' Vanessa says with an anxious smile. Gwen can tell she thinks there is some joke they are excluding her from. ‘I don't think I've ever met her.'

‘Oh an old friend of ours from when we were first married,' Gwen improvises. ‘More champagne?' but Vanessa waves her away.

Diane is less easily fobbed off. ‘Really, Mum?' she says, extending her own glass. ‘I don't recall her ever being mentioned. She must be important given Dad's spent the entire lunch talking to her.'

‘Don't be silly, dear.' Gwen rushes to top up Simon and Jonathon's glasses. They are the only two oblivious to Eric's performance having spent lunch discussing why golf is damaging to the spine. ‘He's just chatting to himself. He gets a bit flustered with so many people about. He is eighty, you know. No spring chicken.'

‘Are we going to sing “Happy Birthday”?' Eric shouts, silencing the table.

‘Not yet, dear.' Gwen pours a dribble into Eric's glass but he frowns at her. Sighing, she fills it to the brim. When he keeps frowning at her, she splashes champagne into Marilyn's glass too.