Chapter 9
Gwen lived in a big house on a round hill behind Joanna’s street. Bribie Island was a small, mostly flat island off the coast of southeast Queensland. It was joined to the mainland by a long bridge over the Pumicestone Passage.
Sunshine was a cozy hamlet that huddled around a bay on the eastern shoreline. Gwen could see the ocean from her front verandah, and she often sat there with a cup of coffee to mull over things while she watched waves crash against the golden sand. There was something therapeutic about the steady rhythm and the shushing sound. It comforted her.
And today, she needed that. She took a sip of coffee and leaned back in her chair. A magpie warbled in the gumtree in the front yard. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her husband’s shirt and the perfume she’d smelled on it. Debbie thought Gwen should confront him, but she wasn’t ready to do that. She hated confrontation on the best of days. But something like this — it might mean the end of her marriage. Would it be better to know or not know? Would it be better to leave things as they were and put up with the uncertainty, or to uncover the truth?
She honestly couldn’t say.
It was easy when she was twenty and single to declare that she’d never put up with infidelity and she wanted to know the absolute truth from her future husband. But now she was sixty years old, and she’d spent a lifetime with the man she loved, raising four children with him. When the family gathered for an event, there were ten grandchildren. And it was bedlam. But in a good way.
She loved the noise and chaos of her family get-togethers. But what she didn’t like was that her husband, children and grandchildren were all perfectly happy to let her manage everything on her own. She’d clean the house, buy the food, prepare and serve the food, then clean up afterwards. Sometimes her daughter would offer to wash the dishes, but her three sons never lifted a finger. They took after their father that way. And now that they were raising children of their own, they expected her to also help them with that.
At thirty-five, Brandon was the eldest. He had four children with his wife, Mara. They’d been separated for over twelve months, and on the weeks he had the children, he often drove them over to Gwen’s and dropped them off so he could run errands, or go on a date, or even go cycling. At first, she’d been happy to do it. He’d always been a lovely boy, so handsome and charming. And he needed her. His marriage was on the rocks, and he was struggling. She could see that. But that was a year ago, and it seemed more and more that he was taking advantage.
Now that they’d reconciled, Gwen was extremely grateful to see him happy again, but he seemed to feel entitled to leave the kids with her, without a word of thanks.
His brothers, Hilton and Frank, had followed his example. They were both married, but they often dropped the children with her without asking first. They assumed she’d be home and have nothing else to do.
“I’ve got to work, Mum. See you after five,” was all they’d say by way of explanation.
She didn’t mind. Of course she didn’t. She loved that her children saw her as someone they could rely on. It showed that her boys loved her and her parenting style. They were comfortable having her help to raise their children. But she was tired. And there were other things she wanted to do with her life.
She’d been waiting and waiting for Duncan to retire so the two of them could finally spend time together, travel, enjoy the fruits of their labour. And now his shirt, the perfume—it could change everything. Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was getting worked up over something silly. There were a dozen possible explanations for the scent. Now that some time had passed, she couldn’t recall exactly how it had smelled. She didn’t know if it meant anything at all. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
The doorbell rang. She set her coffee cup down on a small wicker glass-top table and hurried to open it. Brandon stood on her doorstep with the four children. All of them were under the age of ten. It was Monday morning. The two older kids were supposed to be in school. But both had on casual clothes rather than their uniforms, although they did have their backpacks. She knew what this meant. Her day was about to be completely hijacked.
“Hello, my darlings. How are you all?”
“Hey, Mum, not so great. Kimmy and Nolan are sick, and the two younger ones say they have sore throats. I can’t take them to daycare. They’ve really cracked down on people bringing sick kids.”
She offered a sympathetic smile. Each of the kids either looked miserable or bored. The younger ones ran at her legs and threw their arms around a knee each.
“Nanna!”
She couldn’t help laughing. “You’re going to knock me over one of these days. You’re getting so big.”
“I’ll be back to get them around five. Maybe six. Work has been crazy.” He waved goodbye and jogged down the front path to his idling SUV.
Gwen ushered the four children inside, then stood in the doorway to watch him drive away. He hadn’t said please or thank you. She didn’t raise him like that. When had he decided to do away entirely with his manners? Maybe she’d been too slack, always giving in. She’d spoiled him.
With a sigh, she shut the door then walked to the kitchen, where she found the children had all dropped their backpacks and were either rummaging in the fridge or playing with the TV remote.
“How about we all make fresh, hot pikelets for morning tea, and then you can do some painting?” she trilled.
The younger kids were soon absorbed in mixing pikelet batter, but the older kids retreated to the den with their iPads. Gwen helped them to pour large spoonfuls of the batter into her electric frying pan. Then she flipped them over when they bubbled on top.
Before long, the kids had batter on their noses and cheeks from licking out the bowl. When finally the golden pikelets were done, they ate them with lashings of creamy butter and strawberry jam she’d made from her garden in the cool autumn months. Then she cleaned them up and sat them on the closed-in back porch with watercolour paints and easels.
She made sure the outer door was locked, set the baby monitor she’d purchased years ago on the BBQ, and then retreated inside to do some housework. The laundry was still in the dryer from days ago. It’d be wrinkled now, and she’d have to iron it all. But she hadn’t been in the mood to finish it up after she’d smelled the perfume. Now that some time had passed, she was ready to get it finished and hung up.
She reached for Duncan’s shirt, smoothed it out and studied the collar. Was that lipstick? No, surely not. She was imagining things. It was a small pink smudge. She’d have to wash the shirt again to get that out of the fabric. She held it up to her nose and breathed in deeply. It smelled like a field of daisies now after going through the washer and dryer. Then she tossed it into a bucket of hot water to soak with bleach and finished the rest of the laundry.
When she returned to the back deck, the older kids had hung up everyone’s paintings to dry on the line with pegs she’d strung up for that purpose. And she took them inside for lunch and a movie in the den. She sat on the couch with them. One child on her left, snuggled into her side. Another on her right, head on her thigh. The other two sat at her feet, cuddling up to each leg. These were her favourite moments. When everyone was quiet and close. It felt good to be loved.
But it would also be nice to be appreciated. She’d never said anything to Brandon, or the other adults in her family, about it. Maybe it was time. She didn’t want much. She was happy to help. In fact, she loved it. She’d dedicated her life to caring for her family. She’d raised her children with very little help. Neither her parents nor Duncan’s were nearby. She’d done without babysitters, without the village that people like to talk about. And she’d relished every moment.
She was born to do this. It was her favourite thing in the world — being a mother, a grandmother. Still, she was supposed to be retired by this age, lounging by a pool, pottering in a garden or travelling the world. It would be nice to have a little time to herself now and then. And she could do with a rest, maybe a nap each afternoon. Even without all of that, she would manage with a kind word, the occasional thank you. She was feeling unappreciated. Especially by Duncan. If he was stepping out on her after all of her years of faithfulness, love and care, she simply wouldn’t understand.