Chapter 5
On Saturday morning, Katrina surfaced from a disturbing dream in which dozens of Oompa Loompa–sized tradies were demolishing the walls of her home with tiny drills, while she ran about begging them to stop. Her pyjama top was clammy and her heart was stuttering.
‘Mum? Sorry,’ someone said. ‘My game starts in forty minutes, but if you’re feeling bad, we don’t need to go.’
Katrina squinted up to see Justin hovering by the bed in basketball shorts, wearing a hopeful expression. He hated weekend sport.
‘It’s all right, sweetheart, I’ll be up in a minute.
’ Katrina had attended every one of her boys’ sporting events, even when she’d had the flu.
Though her throat felt as if it had been sandpapered, she wasn’t going to miss a game now.
But as she struggled to sit up, a wave of nausea engulfed her and she slid back down again, head throbbing.
‘Give me a second,’ she muttered, closing her eyes. Best to stay very, very still.
‘Lie back, Mum. Do you want green tea? The mint one you like?’
Without waiting for an answer, Justin disappeared. He clomped downstairs, each thud making Katrina wince. She heard kitchen cupboards banging. Her phone pinged, then pinged again. Each ping was like a small silver hammer smacking her brain. Why was everyone texting her?
It was hard to think, but, slowly, the events of last night returned to her in bleary, uneven bursts.
Oh, no. Had she really gone onstage in front of everybody?
Opening one eye, she fumbled around her bedside table and grabbed her phone.
From Gabby on their group chat: OMG Kat you were FIERCE last night, stepping into your sacred female power!
We’ll wipe the floor with That Man. Coffee at basketball?
And Nicola: Gabby’s right, could kill C!!!! What a sleaze, everybody thinks ur too good for him so hold your head high babe. ur so much better than him!! Followed by a gif of an enormous-eyed cartoon kitten in boxing gloves knocking out a large, scary dog.
Katrina appreciated their support but couldn’t bear to answer them immediately.
Then, a message appeared from Pauline, also to the entire group: Bailey and I were saddened to hear your news, but we have a wonderful book on sexual intimacy in marriage we found helpful when Bailey had his porn addiction.
I’ve also discovered this brilliant new range of herbal supplements to support you through your troubles.
Will get Bailey to drop some samples and the book in along with a mango, lentil and vegan cream cheese casserole – gluten and dairy free!
With mounting dismay, Katrina reread the message. Oh my God, did her friends think she and Craig were having sexual problems? Is that what everyone had been saying last night? Or, horror of horrors, had Katrina herself intimated something along those lines? It was lost in a haze of alcohol . . .
Next, a voicemail from her mother, translated to text: I just heard the news from Barbara and it was extremely awkward to have to pretend I knew when I didn’t.
Really, Katrina, I can’t believe you’d drop something like this on me without warning.
What kind of daughter doesn’t tell her own mother she’s getting a divorce?
And after all the trouble I went to with this wetsuit.
What am I going to do with it? Do you expect me to go back to that hideous surf shop?
With a whimper, Katrina set her phone down.
She was having chills just like the ones she’d had as a child when her mother was angry.
‘Extremely awkward’ meant ‘I’m utterly livid’.
She knew how the conversation would go when she finally phoned back.
Maureen would suggest that Katrina had brought Craig’s desertion upon herself, because she neglected her skirting boards and hadn’t polished her silver in six months.
Next, the extended family would be summoned to discuss Katrina’s broken marriage over lunch at her mother’s balcony table.
Maureen would push Katrina’s step-brothers to have manly chats with Craig, to talk sense into him, and might even hire a private detective to dig up dirt on Roxane.
Katrina shoved her phone under Craig’s pillow.
(She still thought of it as Craig’s pillow.) She couldn’t face her mother’s withering, I-told-you-so self-righteousness.
Maureen, who would have welcomed a ‘nice Colville boy’, had never warmed to Craig; he’d dishonoured his respectable, professional family, turned up his nose at a university education, and frittered away his youth surfing and going to TAFE, until he’d fallen into a day-trading job through his expansive social networks.
For a year after that memorable first date on the beach, Katrina’s family had wheeled out their chilliest manners around Craig, secretly sniggering at his mullet and desert boots, subsiding into grim resignation only when she’d announced their engagement.
Katrina had ignored their derision. True love meant that she would never, ever give up her soulmate.
Katrina’s phone pinged again. Grimacing, she peeked at it.
Michelle Redlin? Snatches of their conversation in the change room came back to her, but none of it made much sense.
She barely knew Michelle; what exactly had the woman said to make Katrina climb onstage and humiliate herself in front of the entire Colville community?
Justin arrived, balancing a mug. ‘The game starts in half an hour, but I can see you’re not feeling well and we can just stay here,’ he offered.
‘No, sweetheart, I’ll manage.’ She’d have to get a wriggle on; hoisting herself up in bed, she reached for the mug.
But before Justin could pass it over, her body blared a warning, loud and ominous.
She hurled herself out of bed and into the ensuite, where she grabbed the sides of the toilet bowl and vomited her guts out.
When she was done, she sat on the tiles and shivered.
‘Mum?’ Justin was framed in the doorway. Gently, he set her phone on the vanity above her. ‘Your phone was going off. Are you all right?’
Katrina dug her palms into her eye sockets. She couldn’t face standing by the basketball court with everyone whispering about her. ‘Sweetie, I’m sorry, I don’t think I can make it,’ she muttered, feeling wretched. What kind of trashy mother got drunk and missed one of her kids’ sports games?
‘That’s okay.’ Justin bent down and gingerly patted her back. ‘It’s just the Gs basketball, Mum. I really don’t care. We can stay home.’
Katrina shook her head. ‘You can’t let the team down. Can Hamish take you?’ No – Hamish would be asleep after his late-night bar shift. ‘I’ll order a taxi.’ More money, but at least Craig wasn’t around to object.
Justin’s face fell.
‘Ed’s dad can probably drop you back,’ Katrina added. ‘I’ll text him.’
Justin sighed, grunted and slumped away.
After she heard the front door close behind him, Katrina curled up on the cool tiles, her phone pinging above her head.
She didn’t know how long she lay there. Finally, when her left hip was starting to get sore, she scrambled up, splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth to get rid of the sour, burning taste in her mouth.
Her phone rang as she was spitting and rinsing. No, Mum. Not now. But when she checked the screen, the icon was Craig’s face.
Relief coursed through her. Craig was finally reaching out, just when she needed him most. After a couple of weeks of sharing Roxane’s intellectual opinions and kombucha, he’d changed his mind about selling the house and wanted to come home.
Though Katrina might have told everyone last night that she and Craig were having problems – was that what she’d said?
– it didn’t mean the marriage was over. Some couples enjoyed a new relationship after a crisis, with a fresh take on marital harmony.
As part of their Marriage 2.0, Katrina would keep the grocery bill under $50 a week.
She’d even get a job cleaning toilets at a fast-food restaurant! Whatever it took to make things work.
With a trembling finger, she tapped her phone.
‘Kat?’
It was Craig on the other end, thank God; clearly Roxane didn’t have custody of his devices all the time.
‘Craig?’ Katrina’s voice was a breathless squeak. God, she missed him.
‘Did you read my lawyer’s emails?’ Craig’s voice was the one he used on work calls.
Swamped by disappointment, Katrina closed her eyes. She could picture his exact expression: pursed lips, stern glare, getting down to business.
‘We can’t go on like this,’ he continued. ‘We need to close the combined account and you’ll have to set up your own so I can transfer your money. Katrina?’
‘Craig, I thought . . .’ She knew it was pathetic and would only aggravate him, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘I th-thought you were coming home . . .’
She could picture Craig tightening his jaw. Was that the faintest pulse of ambient Euro music in the background?
‘My lawyer emailed you about this.’ His tone was one of calm, long-suffering patience. ‘Even though we can’t get divorced for another year, I need to do the settlement now. And I have to sell the house.’
‘But it’s only been two weeks! You haven’t thought this through!’ Her voice was too shrill. It was putting her at a disadvantage.
‘You’re the one who hasn’t thought it through.’ She could practically hear his lip curl with contempt. ‘Now that Troy’s business has failed, we don’t have a buffer. We have to sell. I can’t keep living in an Airbnb. I need to buy an apartment.’
An apartment for him and Roxane. Oh, God. ‘But once we sell, there’s no going back. Our marriage is—’ The sobs took over; she couldn’t form words anymore, just weird noises.
Craig made a sound of disgust that chilled her. ‘Katrina, even though it’s hard, you need to face reality. If you can’t be there for the real-estate agent and valuer, let me know.’ He hung up crisply, like someone ticking off a chore.