Chapter 44
CAMP SKYLAR
At six o’clock on Saturday morning, Zane had been gone exactly three days.
Not enough time to miss him, Skylar would’ve said, but she’d been missing him anyway.
Especially because it was hard to talk to him on the phone due to the time difference, and anyway, Zane was not an excellent telephone communicator.
She knew that because he’d rung yesterday at six-thirty A.M. Auckland time, when she’d been rushing through her ten-minute hair and makeup routine and feeling much too tired from that Body Pump workout.
She’d only skipped a couple of days! How could she slide that quickly?
Nobody was ever going to draft her for the Black Ferns, that was sure.
Oh, yes, the call. Here’s what she’d got out of it:
The flight had been long.
The training was going well.
The All Blacks were in Cape Town preparing to play the Stormers, and that was easier than playing the Bulls in Pretoria or the Lions in Johannesburg, both on the Highveld, much less playing the Springboks in those places.
“We train for that, of course,” he’d said, “but it’s still an advantage for them to be acclimated to the elevation.
” Which was information, but not exactly a heartwarming profession of love.
He missed sleeping with her. He hadn’t even seemed to mean just the sex part, so that was nice. But still.
His texting game, though, was better. Pithy, but funny. On Thursday, he’d sent her this:
Has your granddad talked to you about the weekends? I’m gone one day, and they’re already wanting you to take my kids every weekend. What the hell? They’ve got some cheek. If you can’t bear that much of Scarlett rolling her eyes, Just Say No. Not just for drugs, eh.
She’d texted back, Alternating time at your house and mine, I thought. Less of a home invasion for yours. Not much we can do about it, not with the two of them that determined. And if we want to be together, we’ve got to get the kids sorted.
He’d answered, You’ve got the bottle for that if anybody does. But I’ll owe you. Keep track of the groceries, because I’m paying.
Her reply: You’ll owe me more than money, boy.
Just wait until the offseason arrives and I’m off on some weeklong yoga retreat and leaving you with all six.
I’ll come back and find you a shattered husk of a man.
Also, what do you reckon Granddad’s got to keep Maureen that interested?
At 78? Really? Maybe you should be taking lessons from HIM.
He’d answered, Don’t ask, don’t tell. I’ll study up instead, how’s that? Pity the hotel has the porn filters on. Which had made her laugh out loud, but again—not precisely phone sex, or even sexting.
Everybody in the world was sexting now, though! Teenagers! Married couples! Probably Maureen and Granddad, horrifying as the thought was. How was she missing out? Of course, she didn’t know how to do it, but she could learn, couldn’t she? Apparently eggplant emojis were involved. Also peaches.
She hadn’t needed sexting this morning, though, because she’d got to watch him play.
And lead the haka, which had worked exactly as well as always for her.
When he called those words out in Maori as he paced between the rows of threatening, determined men …
well, yeh, that had made her want him in her bed.
You like it that I’m a bit on the dominant side.
It was true. She did.
He’d had that one tackle, too, where he’d grabbed the ball carrier by the waist, lifted him, and put him on the turf. The ball carrier, it must be said, had been of the “hulking” type, and the muscles in Zane’s arms had stood out like cables.
There’d also been the moment when he’d thrown in the ball at the lineout, had it shoveled straight back to him in some sort of trick play, and run down the tramlines like the bull he was, scattering opponents like ninepins before diving across the tryline, feet and ball barely clearing the white touchline and the orange pylon at the corner flattened.
That one had had all of them on their feet, even Olive.
Well, except for George and Georgia, who’d fallen asleep together in a corner of the couch, but then, it had been early.
Oh, and the All Blacks had won. Skylar may still have been riding a high when Scarlett turned off the TV after watching them shaking hands and slapping backs with the Stormers players, but it was dampened a bit when Scarlett said pointedly, “Nan makes special brekkie on match days when we have to get up too early to watch. Waffles, sometimes, but you have to make the batter the night before, and you probably didn’t. ”
“Well, no,” Skylar said, “I certainly didn’t, as yesterday was a workday for me, and as the kids and I got up at four-thirty this morning to come over here and be with you. You can come help me fix eggs and fried tomatoes and baked beans on toast now, though, and Finlay can lay the table.”
“That’s not very special,” Scarlett said. “And I don’t know how to make eggs.”
“Good thing I’m here to teach you, then,” Skylar said.
“Why? Because I’m a girl?”
“No,” Finlay said, “because I already know how. You don’t know how to make eggs? You scramble them in a bowl and then push them about in the pan until they’re done.”
“Like you’re—” Scarlett began, and Skylar talked straight over her.
“Perfect time for me to tell you my plan for our weekends, too. First, as soon as breakfast is over, we’re all going to my house and doing chores.
Finlay and Scarlett, you’re walking. Not enough seats in the car.
We’ll need all of you to pack a bag with your night things, too.
And before you ask why the chores, it’s because the Chore Fairy keeps skipping my house, so it’s down to us. ”
“What kinds of chores?” Duncan asked.
“Cleaning,” Finlay said. “Laundry. Putting on new sheets.”
“You should get a cleaner,” Duncan said. “Then she’d do those things.”
“It costs money,” Finlay said.
“Do we have to help clean?” Duncan asked. “It’s not our house, though.”
“But you’ll be using it,” Skylar said. Luckily, she’d foreseen this one. “And as you’re now enrolled in Camp Skylar, it’s only fair. Call it the Skylar Tax. Also, the faster we get it done, the faster we can do the fun things.”
“What fun things?” Scarlett asked.
“Ah,” Skylar said. “You’ll see.”
Zane sat on a chair in the hotel lobby and pushed buttons. There you were. The sound of an international call going through. Modern technology was pretty bloody miraculous. If expensive.
“Zane?” Skylar asked. “What time is it there? You just played a match yesterday morning! Last night. Whenever. It’s barely six in the morning here, so it’s … sorry, can’t compute.”
“Just past eight in the evening,” Zane said.
“No worries, I got my beauty sleep last night. That’s because I’m not twenty years old.
Also because I couldn’t go home with anybody.
Sad. My roomie’s twenty-three, though, and likely to be snoring like a horse up in the room again the moment they let us off for the evening.
He’s lying on the bed right now, in fact, probably because he came in with a pretty good beer fug around him at about three this morning.
Lobby’s better, so that’s where I am. Talk fast, because we’re doing some team-building thing pretty shortly. Karaoke, I think it is.”
“Well, pardon bloody me,” Skylar said, but she was laughing. “Here I am, interrupting my workout for you, and you’re whinging about the sex you’re not having? Poor form, boy.”
“Yeh.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “You’re right. I’ll have to console myself with thoughts of you. How’s the workout, then? What’s your favorite bit?”
“My favorite bit? I’m lifting weights! No part of it’s my favorite bit.
I’ll tell you my least favorite bit, though.
Planks. Who invented the plank? Especially the side plank?
I’m almost positive that I was behind the door when the muscles to do those were handed out.
And all right, I may not hate chest presses, but only because I get a sexual charge from them.
Isn’t that odd? If you come home to find that I’ve suddenly developed bulging pectorals, that’s why. ”
He said, “You do know how to show a man a good time on the phone. Why didn’t I know?”
“Because you’re actually talking to me this time. Do I assume the other day was some sort of pre-game nerves?”
“No. I don’t get nerves. I get focus.”
“Oh, focus,” she said, in an extremely insincere way. “Also, you were very impressive yesterday. The kids thought so, and I really thought so.” He heard some rustling. “I’m sitting on the bed to talk to you. If I start snoring, it’s because I fell over on my side from exhaustion.”
“That from the exercise?” he asked. “Or the kids?”
“Why not both? Just joking. It’s been good. Want to know what we did?”
“Dying to,” he said, and it was actually true.
“We cleaned my house. Drumroll, please. Not everybody’s favorite.
Dusting! Hoovering! Cleaning mirrors and glass sliders!
Oh, the humanity. Then I took the four youngest to the supermarket.
I left Scarlett and Finlay alone at home, because I don’t have enough seats in the car.
We didn’t think about that one. No worries, though, because they are eleven and twelve, it was only about an hour, and I asked my neighbors to keep an eye out and to look in, too, if they had the chance of it.
As the female half is the nosiest woman in the world, and her only hobby appears to be checking on the goings-on next door, that seemed like a reasonable choice, and I was right.
She dropped by within half an hour ‘just to check.’ Pumped Scarlett about you, too, if I’m not mistaken.
Good thing your daughter thinks you’re God’s gift to mankind, or the Herald might be getting an exclusive on your bad habits. ”
“No worries,” he said, “though we should probably do something about that. The car.”
“Oh, yeh? Like what? It’s six kids, Zane. That people-mover in Wellington took ten years off my life. My shoulders were up around my ears every time I drove it. I was almost happy when it got crushed in the earthquake.”
“So let me see.” He was enjoying this, which might be odd—he wasn’t much of a telephone conversationalist—but Skylar was an entertaining woman. “So far, you watched my match, did chores, and went to the shops. A riveting day for you. Also, send me the amount so I can put it into your account.”
“I will once I separate out what was for this weekend.”
He sighed. “You’re annoying. Just send me the amount, will you? It’s little enough to do, since Nan’s left me high and dry. Any word from her, by the way?”
“Nope. Exactly none from her or Granddad, ever since they buggered off early yesterday morning. When they said they needed their own life, they meant it. So beyond that exciting program, we had our first session of Cooking School. Brilliant, if I do say so myself. We made pizza dough, and everybody did their own toppings and then shared their creations. Smash hit. We also made yoghurt and granola, so we’re doing parfaits for brekkie. With passionfruit. Yum.”
“You did all that in one day?”
“I’m an efficient woman. Also, I enjoy teaching.
Perhaps you’ve noticed. And … another drumroll …
we stayed over here for the night. First stab at it.
The older kids in Finlay’s loft in their sleeping bags, and George and Georgia in George’s room, as they don’t like being separated.
I didn’t see Snowball all night, which probably means that there’s now white cat hair on all your sleeping bags.
Snowball shares his favors around pretty equally.
A bit of a slut, in fact. Oh, and instead of watching TV last night, all four of the younger ones climbed into Olive’s cupboard to read.
There were plans to get up early and spy, I believe, but the spies are apparently worn out from their busy day and haven’t stirred. ”
He dropped to the floor and did some pressups, as he had earbuds in. Also, active recovery. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“Your house. Swimming—how much does all that heating cost you?—trampoline, and games. And more cooking school. Tonight, we’re doing homemade gnocchi and tomato sauce, because that’s always a fun one.
And for pudding, plum crumble with plums from my freezer.
Cheating, because they’re already pitted, but so easy. ”
“I’m definitely paying for your groceries,” he said. “Also a … a spa day, or something. What would be good? What do women like?”
“Some women,” she said, “enjoy being taken to luxury resorts in Fiji. Or so I hear.”
“The resort has a spa,” he pointed out. “And I owe you child-minding time. Also, the resort has nannies. I checked.”
“Brilliant. Although I don’t even know what women do at spas. I’ve never been. Sad.”
“Look it up on the website,” he said, “and get inspired. Waxing seems to be heavily favored.”
“My luxury experience is having somebody rip out my pubic hair by the roots? Sorry, boy, not happening. If you think waxing sounds so luxurious, you do it. Waxing your bollocks, now … that’s got to be pretty relaxing.”
“Ouch,” he said, and he was laughing. Also forgetting to do his pressups.
“Exactly,” she said. “And now I need to finish my workout, so go do your karaoke, please, and stop bothering me.”
He was still grinning when she rang off.