House of Sticks (10 page)

‘So he had someone over, you think?'

‘Well, there was an empty champagne bottle, cheap, and some beers — Pete's beer, from our fridge, and —'

‘Really? He took beer from the fridge?'

‘Yep.'

‘Did he replace what he drank?'

‘No.' Bonnie spooned up froth from her coffee. ‘I don't know, I feel like I'm being really uptight or something, but I just feel sort of … invaded. And don't you think it's weird that he didn't say anything? I mean, I could understand — he's staying at this miserable place apparently, a bungalow in someone's backyard, and it's probably cold and no TV or whatever. And we weren't around, and Doug's an old friend of Pete's and … It's just, it's really hard to put your finger on why it feels so weird.'

‘But if it was someone else — like an old friend of yours, say, visiting from out of town, or with some other reason for needing to use your house — they'd have probably called you and checked it was okay to host a dinner there. And if they couldn't get onto you then they would definitely say something as soon as they saw you again.' Mel frowned. ‘But the thing is, there's no real reason he'd need to use your house. He's not staying with you guys. He's just working out the back with Pete. The house is your territory.'

Bonnie shifted Jess on her lap. ‘You know, that's exactly what it feels like — like an invasion of my territory. But the thing is, another person could do all the same things he does — you know, hang around and have dinner, or a beer, or a cup of tea in the morning — but somehow when he does it it feels weird.'

Mel looked at her watch. ‘I'd better go soon. I've got a client at eleven.'

‘Thanks for talking about this.' Bonnie felt in her bag for her purse. ‘I just — I feel like I've lost perspective. You know, the way my whole life's sort of shrunk … It's like it's just me and Pete and the kids, this little world, and I don't know, maybe I've lost the ability to recognise what's normal behaviour. And, honestly, sometimes I don't know how much of this stuff with Doug is him and how much it's me.'

‘I'd say most of it's him.' Mel put some coins down on the table and stood up. ‘That's definitely not normal, using your house without permission or explanation. Drinking your beer without replacing it.'

‘Well, he did have permission, sort of. Pete gave him the key.'

‘So you think Doug took that to mean he had free use of the house, day and night?'

‘I don't know.'

‘How much do you think they communicate?'

‘Not much. I don't get it. It's like this weird super-casual relationship where nothing ever seems to be actually spoken about or agreed on.'

‘Well, there's your problem. I reckon anyway.' Mel slipped the straps of her bag up her shoulder. ‘It's all about communication.' She reached to stroke Jess's head. ‘And boundaries, with people like that.'

Back at the house Bonnie pulled up behind Doug's van. She sat looking at it, its yellow rust-spotted doors and bald tyres, and tried to rein in the surge of irritation, and something more, some deeper feeling that she didn't really want to own up to — something childish she'd long been conditioned to bury.
You're lucky
, she told herself.
You've got so much — why can't you be more generous?
She sighed and got out of the car.

‘Hello, darling.'

She jumped and turned. It was Grace from down the road, all dressed up in her boxy green coat and thick beige stockings. She had her stick — the one the twins were so fascinated by, that branched out at the bottom into four little black stoppers. ‘Oh. Hi, Grace. How are you?'

‘Ah, you know.' The old woman gave a shrug, blinked behind her big, thick glasses. ‘I have a bad leg, but apart from that I am all right.' She peered at Bonnie. ‘Where are the children?'

‘The twins are at kinder today. And the baby's just in the car there. Hold on, I'll get her.' She opened the back door and lifted Jess out.

Grace bent to the baby. ‘Beautiful, beautiful.' She straightened up. ‘Can I give her a kiss?'

‘Of course.'

Grace put the backs of her knobbly fingers to her mouth and then gently lowered them to Jess's cheek. ‘Beautiful,' she said again, and then, still with her eyes on the baby, she added, ‘I met your husband's business partner on Saturday.'

‘Sorry?' Bonnie looked at her.

‘He is very nice.' Grace curled her fingers around one of Jess's feet. ‘I hope you are warm enough in this weather, my little one,' she said. She turned to Bonnie. ‘What is his name again?'

‘Do you mean Doug?' said Bonnie. ‘The guy who's been working for Pete? He's not actually —'

‘Yes, Doug, that's right. The partner in the business. He came over, and we had a cup of tea. We had a long talk. He is very nice. He says they have a lot of work, very busy.'

Bonnie felt that cold shrinking in her stomach. ‘Oh,' she heard herself say.

‘And it's so nice that he is like a part of your family. Like an uncle to the children. That is nice.'

Bonnie stared.

Grace let go of Jess's foot and leaned on her stick. ‘Good to see you, darling. I'm glad to hear they are busy. That is good.'

She was feeding Jess on the living-room couch when she heard the back door.

‘Bon?' called Pete.

‘In here.'

He stuck his head in the door. ‘I'm going to get some Turkish pizza. Want some? Spinach pie?'

‘Yes, please.'

‘Won't be long.' He paused, glanced down at Jess, at Bonnie's pulled-up top. ‘Doug's in the kitchen.'

‘Okay.'

Jess finished, and Bonnie took her time changing her nappy and settling her to sleep, all the while listening out. She didn't go into the kitchen until she heard Pete come back.

Doug was sitting at the table with the newspaper. Pete had got some plates and was unwrapping the bundle of pizzas.

‘Isn't it nice and quiet without the two terrors around,' said Doug.

‘Yes, it is.' She tried to look at him.
Say something. Why can't you just be straight with him? Ask about the empty bottles. Make it light — just say, ‘So did you have a bit of a party?'
She unfolded the paper from her spinach pie. Her hands were shaking.

‘So where are they?' said Doug. ‘Child care?'

‘It's a long day-care place, but they have an integrated kinder program.' She cringed at how prim she sounded.

‘Integrated program, eh?' said Doug. He picked up a meat pizza and folded it in half. Looked at it for a moment, then back at her. ‘So do you reckon your kids'll be grateful for all this — what do you call it? — all this
hot-housing
they're getting?'

Ignore it
. She tried to take a bite of the pie, but it was too hot. Her eyes stung.

Doug went on. ‘I mean, look at me: I got nothing. We played in the streets, or in the backyard if me gran and me mum weren't using it. Or we went and worked for Dad at the shop, for twenty cents a day, on weekends and holidays. Sunday school, that was our
extra-curricular activity
.' He said the words with an exaggerated posh accent, eyebrows jerking, grin cracking.

‘Oh.' Bonnie broke off a bit of pastry and blew on it. She snuck a glance at Pete, but he'd taken the paper and was reading it.

‘Miss Spensley, in the church hall. She had a bung eye.' Doug gave a tittering sort of laugh. ‘She'd stand there' — he got up, one hand with the half-moon of pizza in it, the other thrust out in front of him, sweeping his pointed finger wildly back and forth and squinting up his face — ‘and she'd go, “Stop talking! You know who I mean! You know who I mean!”'

‘Oh,' went Bonnie again, and tried to smile.

Doug sank back down in his chair. ‘But your kids,' he said through a mouthful of pizza, ‘they'll be thanking you when they're geniuses won't they? Or' — he swallowed loudly — ‘or they'll be blaming you when they turn out as hopeless as me, despite it all!' He gave a sort of wide-mouthed hoot, exposing his broken teeth, wagging his head and slapping his knee.

She stared at the piece of pie in her fingers. A muted, embarrassed rage swelled in her, and still she couldn't seem to wipe the pathetic smile from her face.
Just get up and walk out
.
You don't have to listen to this
.

‘So I've got this meeting with Grant,' said Pete without looking up from the paper. ‘In Fitzroy. Can I take the car, Bon, or will you need it? It's just that it's easier to park than the van. I'll be back by three.'

She put her uneaten pie down and watched Pete sitting there in such untouchable peace. Her eyes pricked at the injustice of it. ‘Take it, that's fine,' she said.

‘I'll need some money for parking.' Pete leaned back and felt through his pockets. Then he got up and went over to the pottery dish that sat on the windowsill. ‘Did you take all the coins from here, Bon?'

‘No.'

There was a pause. ‘Funny. I just put a whole lot of gold coins in here last week.' He checked the dish again. ‘At least I thought I did. Never mind, maybe it was the kids.'

‘How much was it?' She was keenly aware of Doug across from her, hunched over his pizza.

Pete was rustling through the piles of papers on the bench. ‘Nothing here.' He glanced at the clock. ‘I'd better get going. I'll have to stop and get some change from somewhere.' He came back past the table, pausing to kiss her. ‘See you later.'

She stood up. ‘I'll check if I've got any change in my bag.'

‘See you later, Douggie,' said Pete.

Still chewing, Doug bobbed his head. ‘Bye, Boss,' he said. ‘Knock 'em dead.'

Bonnie followed Pete down the hallway. He opened the front door and waited on the step as she got her bag from the table and dug through it. She found two twenty-cent pieces and a one-dollar coin, and held them out to him. ‘Pete,' she said in a low voice.

‘What?'

‘Shh.' She glanced behind her, moved closer, reached up to murmur right in his ear. ‘Those coins. I don't think the kids took them.'

Pete's eyes flicked over her shoulder, and he lowered his voice as well. ‘How do you know?'

‘I'd know if they did. They never keep a secret for long.'

‘So, what're you saying?' he whispered. ‘Douggie did it?'

‘Well?' She lifted her shoulders. ‘What else could've happened to them?'

Pete looked down the hallway again. ‘I've got to go. Let's talk about this later.' He started towards the street.

‘Pete, wait.' Bonnie held out the money.

He shook his head. ‘It's not enough. I'll just stop and get change somewhere.'

Bonnie watched him get in the car and drive off. She closed the door and stood in the dark hallway.

She hid in the bedroom, fiddling on her acoustic guitar, and when Jess woke she went straight out with the pram, walked aimlessly up and down the shops, buying milk and bread and a slab of parmesan cheese. It was cold. Jess got sick of being in the pram and cried. Bonnie tried to ring Mel but got her message bank. She couldn't think what to say so she hung up.

At a quarter past three she went back home. The car was there. The kitchen still, the wrappers from the lunch scattered on the table. The back door shut.

She looked in the pottery dish. One lonely ten-cent piece, some rubber bands and a broken fridge magnet. She went to the twins' room and checked under their pillows, searched through the open bookshelves that served as bedside tables, opening every little treasure and trinket box. No coins.

She sat on Louie's bed. The next-door neighbours' dog yapped frantically. A machine drone came from the workshop. She rubbed her thumb along the tips of her fingers, where her skin with its long-gone calluses was tender from the guitar strings. She tried to remember a song, a whole song, in progression — intro, verse, change, verse, bridge, chorus — but her mind slipped, drifted, couldn't hold it.

‘So.' Bonnie took a glass from the dish rack and dried it. ‘I checked the kids' room today.'

Pete glanced up. ‘For the money?'

‘Yeah.' She went to the cupboard, put the glass in it, picked up the next one. ‘Didn't find it.'

‘So, maybe they hid it somewhere.'

‘I don't think it was them, Pete.'

He looked at the plate in his hands. ‘Neither do I,' he said. ‘It was quite a lot of money — maybe twenty bucks. I bought some stuff from the hardware and they'd run out of notes so they gave me a whole handful of gold coins. So I put it there because I thought it might be handy, you know, for the milk bar, or parking meters or whatever.'