The rip, p.6
The Rip, page 6
Anyway, this is the perfect time to go. We told Rosie we’d be back to meet her at seven thirty. We’ve got a long day tomorrow with Kav’s birthday celebrations and the rest of the guests arriving. Edmund is playing with other little kids, climbing trees just outside the entrance. He’d be tired.
I glance at my watch, kiss the ladies goodbye and pull Kav from the table. He’s still got the red-eye look and he’s barely talking. Too stoned. Immature, like a teenager. I’m turned off him and I think he knows. That’s why he keeps stroking the back of my neck, hoping to make up for it. And he will. He will make up for this. But I still can’t believe he went with her.
Scott glances up at me with Coco on his lap, sucking her dirt-creased thumb. Poor man, having to deal with all this while his wife is off smoking pot in the dunes. I’m so tempted to tell him, but then I’m only tarnishing Kav with the same brush. If she does something like this again though, he’ll be the first to know. He means a lot to Eloise. I know how little the feeling is reciprocated. She doesn’t want any added judgement coming from Scott.
Coco is sticky, saucy, in need of a bath. I want to take her and shower her. Perhaps I should. Perhaps I will. Yep, I will.
‘Let me take her,’ I say. ‘You enjoy your night and I’ll shower Coco and get her and Edmund into their pyjamas.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ he smiles. ‘Eloise will take her home.’
He’s handsome, in a Clark Kent kind of way. Not my type, not my style. She doesn’t match him though. I’d be better suited. Scott looks around for his absent wife.
‘I saw her head off a while back.’ Taking Coco off his lap, I hold her chubby, sweet body on my hip. ‘Coco can sit beside Edmund in the buggy. Have you got your villa key?’
Scott tucks his hand into his shorts pocket and then dangles the villa key. ‘You’re a superwoman, you know that?’
‘Our kids are young and tired,’ I say. ‘They need a bath and bed. I’m only doing what any mother would do.’
Any mother who’s not Coco’s own. Scott’s eyelids flicker and it fills me with a deep satisfaction to be taking his baby and taking care of her. It’s what people know me for, it’s what they love about me. It also accomplishes a need to hide the truth: what kind of mother I am really. Only Rosie knows. No one else needs to find out.
What happens when you block a memory out for a long time? It steadily rises like a lump under your skin. You can cover it with make-up, bronzer, skin glitter, fillers, but it comes up eventually and everyone looks at it.
Memories can be so grotesque that your mind will cleverly find a way to adapt the memory in shape, size, colour. You can shrink memories, blur them out, add a clown to make them funny. You can change the setting too, so it’s no longer where it once was – on a steaming hot summer night, with the doors to the house open, letting in mosquitoes that’ll soon feast upon your naked skin. You can change the drink in your hand from raw grapefruit gin to orange juice, maybe even a peppermint tea, just so the blame doesn’t feel so bad. You can change the circumstances, the reasons, the people involved.
Thank God the mind protects itself from itself. Thank God I can shun most of my memories.
Eloise, 7.33 p.m.
Rosie’s eyes widen and she mumbles out an excuse. Looking into her bag, she’s trying to distract herself from me, because she’s been caught out. And I don’t know what type of role to adopt – a concerned parent or a young, hip, modern mother? I still feel the compliment Rosie gave me this afternoon on my skin. It’s the first time someone has complimented me in a long time. For this, I feel fond of her, like I shouldn’t be too hard.
‘I didn’t know anyone was in here.’ Rosie laughs, sniffing again.
I shrug. ‘Well.’
‘Love this dress.’ She fingers the golden sheer material and I feel it again. A tingle. Like being noticed in a tight skirt by a van of tradesmen. Noticed at a restaurant when I saunter in with my hair done. Noticed by the mothers at school for how youthful I look. Rosie complimenting me sends me back to high-school toilets where I’m a teenager again, being accepted into the group.
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s a designer dress, right? I’ve seen it on this supermodel I follow.’
I nod. It was a couple of thousand dollars for something that looks like it should only be a couple of ten.
‘You’re so trendy, Eloise.’ It’s a distraction, a ruse. I remember being the same way when I was young and caught out. And it feels good, great in fact, to be noticed. But I also have a responsibility. If I’d seen Levi step out of a cubicle, sniffing, wiping his red raw nose from drug-taking, I’d be livid.
‘Rosie, I know what you were doing in there.’
She looks up at me and laughs, a chiming, bright laugh. Swipes her red nostril. ‘Do you want some?’
I step back. ‘What?’
‘I’ve heard Kav say you’re a bit of a party animal.’
‘He did?’
She smiles and pops gum in her mouth. ‘Said you’re heaps of fun.’
‘That’s nice of him. Don’t know whether it’s true.’
She glances back to the toilet bowl, lid shut. ‘I promise I won’t tell Levi.’
I hate that she’s mentioning my son. She’s always been much older for her age, able to suck you in like her mother does. But Rosie’s only seventeen. Too young to be doing this. Too young to be peer pressuring me. Still, my eyes are stuck on the toilet.
‘You don’t have to have it now, but if you want some, I’ve got some.’ She opens her worn brown shoulder bag and presents two little packets of white powder. It’s so scarily tempting, and I don’t know why. She’s found my weakness. The joint has only made me emotional, soppy and insecure. Perhaps this white powder would lift my mood, create a spontaneity in me that the other women out there would pick up on and enjoy. I could be the life of the party, the guest they’re happy came along. Scott could look at me differently, see me as attractive and confident like Penny always is.
But then Rosie interrupts any notion of agreeing when she says, ‘I was never going to offer Levi any.’
Inhaling, I face her in the mirror. ‘I really hope not, Rosie. He’s a child who doesn’t know about any of that yet.’
If I took it and they found out what I’d taken, Levi would be disgusted with me, Penny would probably have me arrested for buying drugs off her daughter.
I ignore her staring gaze on me as I fish inside my bag for lipstick. And then a woman walks in and Rosie clips up her bag, adjusting it on her shoulders.
It’s one of Penny’s Peacocks and she gives me a wary look as she whispers excuse me and slips into the toilet with the remnants of cocaine on top. And it’s then I want to rip Rosie’s bag off her shoulder and run away with it. But instead, Rosie heads out. And I drag fresh lipstick over my quivering lips.
Penny, 7.58 p.m.
Rosie’s phone rings and switches to the voicemail she recorded with background teenagers squealing and carrying on. While I head to shower Coco over the road in Scott and Eloise’s villa, I ask Kav to keep on trying, keep on calling until she picks up.
Their villa lights are off, but the front door is open. They must have let Levi come home on his own. In the lounge room, Levi sits cradling a bowl of barbeque crisps in his lap, scrolling through his phone while Escape to the Country blares on in the background. I ask him where Rosie is, and he shrugs and says he has no idea. Great. The one tween on this island I thought would be following her around like a puppy and he’s already lost interest. Or she’s lost interest in using him as her plaything.
My daughter is quite mature for her age because she’s been through things I don’t like to admit.
Rosie’s the type to hang out with older girlfriends and talk with confidence to the teacher. She’s not your typical insecure, gawky teen at all. In fact, a few weeks ago I met the guy she’s started seeing, through the driver’s seat window. He barely grunted hello, didn’t offer a name and Rosie told him to hurry and drive off. He wore shades, a beanie, and looked older than Rosie. The fact I couldn’t read his eyes annoyed me, but then again, he could’ve said the same about me. I was coming back from a run, and I didn’t want to slip mine off. Behind the lenses, I was squinting, judging his black four-wheel drive with tinted windows. Show pony. I’d estimate he’s in his late twenties, unless he was driving his parents’ car. But when I asked what his name was, Rosie told me to mind my own business. Later, when I warned that she’d be made to stop seeing him, Rosie promised she’d bring him around for dinner once we get back from this trip.
I once heard a mother from school say it’s best if your teenage girl gets a boyfriend. It distracts them and stops all the dangerous nonsense like drugs, partying, hopping in the car with drunken friends.
No, I’m not too worried about why Rosie isn’t back in the villa, because it’s a safe island, but I am annoyed. She knew we were meeting back at seven thirty and this rebellious flouting of the rules just has me feeling as though the attachment between us has severed completely. I can’t feel warmth towards her. I just can’t. And it makes me feel ill to admit it. I’m sure she senses it, too, but it’s better to push all those emotions away for now. Besides, I have kids to shower.
Levi doesn’t even ask where his parents are, and maybe all kids his age are the same. Distant. Grim. Provocative. But then I know that’s a lie because Rosie has always been this way. Ever since . . .
I blame her, I really do. And at times I’ve wondered whether I should see someone about this horrible coldness that has me staring at my daughter like a murderer. But then life just gets so busy. Edmund has his after-school sport, Kav needs his shirts ironed, Book Club is held at mine once a month.
Now more than ever, I’m too busy. I smooth my hand over my belly and smile, enjoying the bubbly scent of peach coming from the bathroom.
Coco is playing in the shower, squealing and giggling about the bubbles spinning around in the drain. I can’t wait to wrap her in the towel and pull clean pyjamas over her fresh, squishy body.
In Eloise and Scott’s room, I find a nappy bag and tug out a fresh nappy, holding it against my nose and closing my eyes.
It’s been so long. Thirteen years too long. I can barely swallow.
There’s a bottle of baby powder, which I twist and sprinkle on my palm, breathing in the milky, baby scent of it. This makes me want to cry. And her bottle – hopefully sterilised and BPA-free – sits snugly in the side of the bag. Perhaps I’ll feed her on the bed and at least lie with her a while until she’s full and sleepy. Kav won’t mind putting Edmund to bed while I go about settling the little girl.
She needs a mother like me. Someone to heat up milk, place her in fluffy socks and stroke her head to sleep. I think she enjoys that I’m here with her.
‘Levi, have you eaten dinner?’ I ask, turning my attention back to the living room. I have Coco’s pyjamas and toiletries ready to brush hair and teeth. But Levi needs the same attention. Poor kid.
‘Nah. I had a meat pie before. And I’ve got these.’ He stuffs a mouthful of crisps into his mouth.
‘Are you hungry, though? We have some frozen pizza across the road. Would you like me to heat some up for you?’
Looking up from his phone, he nods. ‘Alright. Thanks.’
I smile. ‘No problem.’
Returning to the bedroom, I then stare over their private belongings. There’s a lot you can learn about a character from their luggage – what they pack, what they deem as valuable. Just from Coco’s nappy bag alone, I can build a picture of Eloise. The perfect pretend mother with her bamboo baby brush and eco-friendly wipes. Her Instagram posts are centred around the concept of ‘Pure Earth mothers’ being the best mothers. As though those who allow their kids to watch television and eat fish fingers from time to time aren’t.
From the outside, looking in, you’d believe that Eloise is a perfect mother with her linen, sandy-coloured photographs. Coco naked on her lap with amber teething necklaces hanging down her tanned body. Coco in a white pinafore dress, running through long wheat grass. A picnic rug, complete with a vase of daisies, healthy fruit and vegetables and loaded wholemeal sandwiches. She gets the comments, the likes, the endorsement products sent to her. But it’s all a lie. And looking in this villa now, I see it.
Her technology-addicted son consuming crisps for dinner, her toddler left awake and tired and hungry, her bags packed with unfolded clothes, a hairbrush and charger cord stuffed in between the socks and beach hats. She’s actually no different to Pearl – neglectful and hopeless. Her life is chaotic, like this very suitcase that I’m searching through. It brings me great joy to catch other people out.
Eloise, 8.15 p.m.
Where is Coco? She’s not at the table with Scott. The Peacocks are rowdy, now enmeshed with the men in their multicoloured silk fabrics. But there’s no ringleader, there’s no Penny. There’s no Kav either. There’s a table filled with beer jugs and cocktails with sour cherries.
Beyond the gates, Rosie’s on her phone, heading under the shadows of the peppermint trees. I edge around the table and tap Scott’s shoulder.
‘Where are the kids?’
He blinks at me and slams his beer down hard. ‘Have a nice smoke with Kav?’ His voice is cold, hard and straight to the point, highlighting his absence of affection towards me. It’s a sadness I often try hard to ignore, just like our splintered memories. Our European holiday before Levi arrived unexpectedly. Sex on the beach, under the umbrellas and rising moon. We were passionate, all over one another, fingers in hair and tongues in between lips. I swallow something thick. ‘Where is Coco, Scott?’
‘Having a nice warm shower. Being put to bed.’
I frown, shifting my feet. He’s not making sense. Levi? Did Levi come and grab her? When I don’t respond, he stares up at me with glassy, drunken eyes. ‘Penny’s taken her back to the villa . . . for you.’
A wild fury tenses my leg muscles and when it comes, it’s almost shocking. I want to bolt to the villa and slap Penny across the face. I want to kick Scott in the gut. It’s unreasonable and harsh but I understand where this anger hides. It’s been simmering in there and now it’s reaching a point that’s hard to overlook. Scott thinks Penny is better than me. Of course he does.
‘Why would she take Coco?’ I shake my head. ‘She is so weird. That is such a weird thing to do.’
‘It’s quite hospitable actually.’
‘And you just said, sure, go ahead?’
He glares up at me. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘You didn’t think to come and get me?’
‘Where?’ His voice rises. ‘Where have you been? Her mother is absent half the time.’
It’s then we both realise the rest of the table’s listening. So, I speak louder. ‘And her father is fucking useless.’
Turning on my heels, eyes stinging and blurry, I march off in the same direction as Rosie. Into the shadows, under the flowering peppermint trees, deeper into darkness. I call out and see her silhouette stopping a few metres ahead. And then I ask her for a bag of that stuff, paying her whatever I have in my purse, stuffing it into her eager hands.
Eloise, 8.20 p.m.
Riding down the dark island roads with the ocean view to the right, I savour the boats floating on the black water, the yellow dotted window lights spilling out on to the ink surface. The colours of the city, twenty kilometres away, wink back, a reminder of how far removed we are from civilisation. The cosy villas with people in their kitchens, making cups of tea or coffee. It was a lifetime ago since I was here. Some people are out in their courtyards, radios playing, deep in mumbling conversations. I ride past all this. I ride with my dress almost tearing at the bike chain, grease up my leg.
But I don’t give a shit.
Because Penny is with my baby, in my villa, taking over.
Rosie’s sweet little packet is tucked in my bag. I’ve decided not to use it yet, no matter how distraught I feel about Scott and my argument at the table, the group listening in, him vocalising how absent I am as a mother. I want to sniff it all up into my brain and leave. I want to take the kids with me. I want Scott. I don’t know what I want. Wind smears the tears to my cheeks.
Arriving at my villa, I slide the bike against the gate and hop off. It crashes behind me, the pedal whirs, because I’ve forgotten to kick the stand down. Again, I don’t give a shit.
I kick the gate open and barge through the unlocked front door. The lounge room is empty, a half-full bowl of crisps and crumbs scattered around the cushions. But the air is infused with soap and baby powder, so what Scott said is true. She’s washed my baby. But where has she taken her? They’re not in the bedroom, yet a towel lies spread out over the bed sheets, sopping wet and soaking through. I shake my head, bundle up the towel and take it to the bathroom, where I hang it over the rail. She must be over the road in her own villa.
Leaving the door open, I allow my fury to crest and stride out of the gate, towards Penny and Kav’s villa. I don’t bother knocking. I push the door open and see them all there. Coco drinking a milk bottle on Penny and Kav cradling Edmund while they watch a family Friday night movie. Levi at the dining table with a slice of pizza. And when they see me, they look up and smile. As though I’ve entered their family home and everything about this is normal.
