Chapter 13
‘And so you just snatched it away?’ Katrina asked, as she scrubbed the saucepan she’d cooked the chickpea curry in.
‘Tore it right out of his hands,’ her client said. ‘You know store-bought pesto is made with cashews, so I had to act before he took a bite.’
‘What a drama!’ Katrina said. ‘I’m glad you were paying attention, Drew. Imagine if you’d had to use the EpiPen. That would have been so frightening for poor Ollie.’
Katrina was at her Tuesday night appointment, with the client who had five children – not real children, Katrina had figured from a quick glance around the neat, tiny house.
She was playing ‘Hazel’, a quirky mother who baked her own sourdough and homeschooled her and Drew’s two youngest. After some intensive thought and research, Katrina had done her hair in twists secured by bobby pins and put on a girlish smock dress in an eye-watering print.
Early in Katrina’s marriage, Craig’s mother had given her the frock for her birthday.
Katrina had loathed it on sight, but since it was a present from her mother-in-law, it had been impossible to get rid of.
Now, she was glad she’d kept it. Sneakers, bright smudgy lipstick, quirky red reading glasses and a distracted expression finished the look.
Katrina felt juvenile, but ‘Hazel’ seemed to please her client, and that was entirely the point.
Though Katrina was feeling confident about the number of clients in her schedule, the loss of Nick meant she was working hard to replace him with Drew.
‘And how’s Charlotte going with her maths?’ Drew asked as Katrina dried the rice cooker pot with a tea towel.
‘Still resistant.’
They looked at each other and sighed. ‘Perhaps she needs tutoring to raise her confidence,’ Katrina suggested. ‘I’m not having much luck getting her to tackle the harder problems, I’m afraid.’
Drew scratched his trimmed beard, thinking this over. ‘It’s not cheap, but you’re probably right.’
‘We wouldn’t get just any old tutor, of course. What we need is someone who’s accredited by the Association of Gifted and Talented Educators . . .’
By 9pm, Drew had settled on the sofa with a mug of herbal tea and was scrolling on his phone.
‘Well, I’m off to bed,’ Katrina said. ‘I’ve got a big day tomorrow, what with Willow getting the growth mindset award at assembly.’
Drew nodded. ‘Night love,’ he said, without glancing up.
Smiling to herself, Katrina took her handbag, tiptoed along the corridor and gently shut the front door behind her.
As she padded down the narrow footpath, she caught a flicker from the corner of her eye: on the other side of the road, a jogger was labouring past. He disappeared around the corner and Katrina lost interest. She had other things on her mind, like finding her car and texting a champagne-bottle emoji to Michelle – because Hazel had been a triumph, Katrina’s best performance yet. She was sure Drew would book her again.
Navigating her way home through the narrow Inner West streets wasn’t too much of a challenge either, thanks to Google maps.
Katrina was feeling so positive about her general competence that she flicked on the radio and started singing along to Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’. Such a good song. So uplifting.
A red light gave her the chance to take out the bobby pins and stow them in the dashboard tray.
Glancing into the rear-view mirror to check her hair – which was sticking up at some strange angles – she noticed a black VW Golf stopped behind her.
She couldn’t see the driver because a streetlight was reflecting off the windshield, but something about that car made her uneasy. It was right on her tail.
At least she had her new duress alarm and the homemade pepper spray in her handbag. They reassured her.
Five blocks later, the same car was still following. She was just starting to get edgy when it turned left and vanished. Katrina relaxed. Of course other people took the same route. It wasn’t as if she owned the roads.
As Katrina turned into her street, she spotted Craig’s BMW parked in the driveway, blocking access to the garage.
With mounting indignation, she pulled up outside the house, grabbed her bag of props (the Spiderman blankie, the outgrown storybooks, a single kid’s slipper) and scurried up the front path.
She couldn’t believe Craig’s gall. On the back of all his stuff about ‘parental alienation’ at the lawyer’s office yesterday, he had decided to bully his way into her house, without an invitation, and was now probably trying to coax Justin to live with him.
Katrina was about to burst in and kick Craig out when she paused, recalling their humiliating fight at the swimming carnival.
She didn’t want an argument in front of Justin, so she decided to try a new, mature approach – a technique that her mindfulness app called the Grey Rock.
The Grey Rock technique was a way to deal with difficult people and situations.
Whatever Craig said or did, Katrina would act as cool and unreactive as a Grey Rock.
She discovered Craig sitting in the games room opposite Justin, who was playing a chess game on his phone. She didn’t need a body-language expert to tell her that her son desperately wanted his father to leave.
No sign of Hamish, naturally.
Craig stared at her. ‘I thought you hated that dress?’
She’d forgotten her Hazel guise. Even Justin goggled. ‘Mum, what are you wearing?’
I am a Grey Rock, Katrina thought. Nothing bothers a Grey Rock. She turned to Craig. ‘You can’t walk in here without asking me.’
‘Actually, I can.’ Craig spread his arms across the top of the sofa and leaned back.
A challenge. ‘My name’s still on the title deed.
Legally, I can come and go as I please. And, by the way, this place is a tip.
It’s hardly a fit environment to raise children.
And what about the inspection next week? It’d better be clean for that.’
Katrina cringed. Oh, God, it was a mess, but how did he expect her to manage?
I am a Grey Rock. A Grey Rock does not react to provocation.
Her tone was distant as she said, ‘The court won’t look kindly on you invading this space.
’ She’d learned that from her excellent lawyer after their meeting yesterday.
Craig’s face darkened and Katrina suddenly felt drained.
She dropped her handbag, sank onto an ottoman and rubbed her eyes.
Honestly, she didn’t know how anyone managed to be a Grey Rock for more than a minute – being so calm and collected was exhausting and it was only aggravating Craig.
She couldn’t bear further awfulness, not in front of Justin.
‘Listen, it’s late and Jus has school tomorrow,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Please, Craig. You two can pick this up tomorrow if that’s what Justin wants. Like the lawyers told us, it’s up to the boys.’
Justin shot her a grateful glance, which Craig noticed. He looked at his son, whose gaze was glued to his screen again, then clapped his hands on his thighs and stood.
‘All right, Jus, if you want me to leave—’
Justin gave a quick nod.
‘—I guess I’d better be going. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay, maybe send through some links of beds you might like for your new room?’
No response from Justin. He stared at his chess game and Katrina knew he would be staying with her. For now.
Craig didn’t bother saying goodnight. He ostentatiously kicked aside discarded shoes and misplaced cushions on his way to the door, while Katrina followed him, determined to make sure he left the property.
He’d just stepped over her coir doormat when something shifted in the azalea bushes, accompanied by a burst of coughing.
Craig and Katrina stopped. They shared a look – Who the hell is that? – and she motioned for him to do something macho, then could have kicked herself for being so intimate. But the shorthand was automatic after years together.
‘Who’s there?’ Craig called out.
A man emerged from the bushes – Nick Jasinski.
He was panting and bedraggled in a white T-shirt and running shorts.
With a bowel-loosening jerk, Katrina realised she’d already seen that outfit once tonight, outside Drew’s house.
Nick had been jogging on Drew’s street, and – of course! – Nick drove a black VW Golf!
‘Don’t I know you?’ asked Craig.
‘Nick Jasinski. Chess club pick-up?’ Nick gave a feeble little wave. He looked pathetic – sweat had plastered his T-shirt to his stomach and there was even a leaf stuck in his hair.
‘What’s going on?’ Justin’s voice made Katrina jump; he was peering out the front door. ‘Mum?’
Before Katrina could reply, Craig jerked his thumb at Nick and asked her, ‘What’s that idiot doing in our bushes?’
Acting like a sad, lovesick teenager, that’s what, Katrina thought, but shrugged cluelessly. When Craig turned to glare at the intruder again, Katrina shot Nick a charged glance. If he breathed a word to Craig about Dreamwives, there would be hell to pay. She prayed he understood.
‘Tell me you’re not seeing him, Kat.’ Craig’s voice dripped with contempt.
‘No!’ Katrina and Justin both yelped.
Meanwhile, Nick had put his fingers to his wrist and tilted his head, as if checking his pulse. ‘Just out for a run,’ he said. ‘Getting the old heart rate up. I was doing some push-ups on the grass, didn’t think you’d mind.’
Craig glared at him. ‘Well, we do! Now fuck off and don’t come back!’
Nick took an awkward step sideways, crushing Katrina’s box hedge. ‘Okay, well, Peter Attia reckons I need to stay in Zone Two, so I’d better keep moving. Bye, Katrina.’ He stumbled down the street at a clumsy trot, leaving the others to stare after him.
‘You can’t be with that joker,’ Craig said, after Nick had disappeared into the darkness. ‘Was he waiting for me to leave?’