Chapter 16 #5
Which splits open that hairline crack inside her.
Because she had hoped – she’d pretended – he wouldn’t care.
Because this is Bren. He gets on planes, he bails on funerals.
He doesn’t talk to her for months at a time, and he’ll shoot off again, when it suits him, he’ll get bored, he might already have been doubting his offer, can’t have thought, truly, she’d have said yes, I’ll come with you, because how could she.
Well, yeah, she says. I’m sorry if … you thought …
I thought nothing, he says, still in that iron voice. Seriously. Don’t look at me like that, Nora. It doesn’t matter, and you know what, I’m hardly surprised.
He has taken his eyes from hers, now.
Of course you were gonna stay home, he says. He is holding his body unusually still, and Nora does not react. Doesn’t bite back. He is hurting; she has hurt him.
I know you said we’d missed our chance, she says, but –
To get out of here, Bren says. That’s all. I was giving you a way out, if you needed one. But you’ve said you don’t, so that’s fine. I can get my flight out whenever I want to, now, right.
Right, Nora says.
Because I can do that, Bren says. I can do what I want, when I want, I can be free as a fucking bird and it’s a good thing, he says, and his voice has gone unnaturally high, if heat had a sound, it would be his voice right now, hot and hurting and alight, and again he says don’t look at me like that, Nora, don’t you dare feel fucking sorry for me.
I’m not!
It’s not like I’m in love with you, for Christ’s sake. You’ve always hung on to me like some kind of lovesick schoolgirl, but I was just being a friend, all right? I just wanted to give you a way out of this boring-arse life in the suburbs. That’s all. Don’t kid yourself.
Bren, Nora says, her voice breaking, because his has, too.
Photographs, framed.
A world map pinned to his ceiling.
His hurt leaching into hers, or hers into his, as they stand there in a room cluttered with their past, airless despite the open window.
Shall we get to this lunch, then, Bren asks, and he leaves without waiting for her so that Nora is left alone, staring at herself, now, in the mirror. His white shirt, crumpled, on the floor.
_
You’re back, Robin says, when Nora comes through the garden gate. He is sandwiched between both mothers at the table, and seems drained; has probably spent the last ten minutes being insulted by Freya, or fawned over by Josie; most likely both.
We’re back, Nora nods, forcing a smile.
Bren, who’d beaten her to the table, says nothing.
Pours himself a glass of Pimm’s, then lifts one of the chairs and points it towards the sun so it’s not facing the rest of them.
Sits down, takes a drink. Nora lowers herself into the only empty seat, warm despite the spring breeze lifting her hair.
You look very dapper, pet, Josie says to Bren. New shirt?
Very old shirt, Bren says.
I like it, Robin says. Rather Jeff Goldblum.
Bren scoffs into his glass and Nora reddens; leans over for some bread, to hide it. Freya, who is dishing out tomato salad with a serving spoon, says really, Bren? You’re going to sulk like you used to at Christmas, when your father made you wear a tie?
And despite all that’s just happened in Bren’s bedroom, despite how terrible and guilty and muddled she feels, Nora feels a zap of panic shoot through her. At how wrong it is that Freya would use Jon’s name like that, in front of everyone. Bren seems to tense up, too. Downs the rest of his drink.
So why, Robin asks the table at large, is a smart shirt necessary for eating roast lamb?
His words sound forced, like he knows something is happening here, but is trying to keep things cordial. Nora feels a rush of affection for him; showing up as himself, no matter what’s going on at home. She’ll show him, soon enough. Another zap through her, at the thought: this time a thrill.
It’s a very nice roast lamb, is all, Freya says.
Now that Nora’s seen to it, Josie says, and Freya makes a faux noise of outrage, says was that a joke, Josephine?
Very good, very sly! See, all you needed was a bit of grog in you and you’re blimmin’ Lucille Ball!
Well, cheers, everyone. Here’s to all of us getting together, like this.
Making an effort, she adds, in Bren’s direction.
They all clink glasses, aside from Bren, who raises his above his head.
Nora leans across the table to touch Robin’s, who is searching her face due to Bren’s mood.
She wants to tell him to ignore it, she’ll explain later.
To just get through the meal. To avoid the pesto, which is inedible; they’ll laugh about that, later, she’s sure.
So, Robin, Bren says, raising his voice. How’re the wedding plans coming along?
Nora drops her knife. Robin, who had just started talking to Josie, turns his head.
Not long till the twenty-second, is it, Bren says. Invites need to go out soon, don’t they?
Bren, Josie says, before Nora can find her tongue.
Ignore him, Freya tells Robin, as she passes him the coleslaw. He’s just out of the loop, as usual.
Clearly, Bren says. Seeing as I put my life on hold for a wedding I’ve now found out isn’t happening.
Nora puts her fork down, hard.
It’s happening, she says, hoping that Robin hears this, and believes her. And you didn’t have to put your life on hold.
Except you asked me to be best man, Bren says, so it was kind of implied, wasn’t it? And now you’re what, rescheduling? Eloping?
Eloping! Josie says, with a clap of her hands. Oh, that would be lovely!
Maybe, Robin says, maintaining his easy demeanour. He dishes some coleslaw onto Josie’s plate, his movements deliberate, like his words. The world’s our oyster, I suppose, he says, but he does not look at Nora as he says it.
Have you ever eaten an oyster, Bren asks, and Robin blinks. Freya says Nora, d’you want some pine nuts on your salad?
Contentious, aren’t they, Bren says. Either dodgy as hell, or the height of sophistication. Two extremes, really.
Nora is not sure where he’s going with this. She pours herself more Pimm’s, finds that she’s shaking, slightly.
Everyone says they taste like the sea, Bren goes on, but that’s kind of unoriginal.
To me, they taste like risk. They taste like life.
They taste like doing something in the moment, shucked straight from a fisherman’s bucket in Phuket or a shack on a Tasmanian beach, just because you can. Because you can’t not.
Pine nuts, Bren? Freya asks.
I’ve had oysters before, yes, Robin says. He has stopped smiling, now, is passing the bread basket to Josie who shakes her head, says she’s still got half a roll left, thanks, and Freya says Bren, your salad’s getting cold, and nobody laughs.
Quiet, for a moment. The tablecloth fluttering in the wind.
Josie says well, this looks, and Freya says do not say lovely, Jose, and the two mothers begin to eat.
Nora is looking at Robin, trying to communicate without words.
Robin looks down at his napkin. Bren looks up at the sky, as if wishing he were on a plane, and Nora finds, for the first time since he got home, that she’s wishing the same thing.
I thought about grilling peaches, Freya says, to put in the salad.
Small sounds of cutlery on the side plates.
Why didn’t you, Robin asks, and Freya says oh, she’s not cleaned the barbecue in a decade, it’s congealed in this burnt-black carcinogenic matter, so.
Jon used to clean it for her, Josie adds.
He was the barbecue king, Freya nods. And Bren swears, then, under his breath, but loud enough that everyone hears. Freya cracks some black pepper, loudly. Josie glances over at her son.
Tasmania, she says, to change the subject. I didn’t know you’d been there, pet.
Yes you did, Bren says. I lived there for four months, a few years back.
Really? Josie picks at her lettuce with her fork. You’ve been so many places, darling. It’s hard to keep track.
I know nothing about that place, Robin says, when Bren hasn’t responded. My sole knowledge of it comes from that kids’ cartoon.
Which cartoon? Josie asks.
Ta-Ta-Taz-Mania? With Bushwhacker Bob? Constance and Thickley?
You’ve lost me, Josie says. Freya winks at Robin, whose returned smile seems to take quite an effort. Nora wants to reach out, touch his hand. Tell him everything’s fine. She promises. He’ll see.
You’re missing out on some great tommies here, Bren, Freya prompts. Bren stays seated for a moment but then gets up and comes over to the table. Picks up his plate to start serving himself. Sets it back down.
We had several long calls when I lived there, he says to Josie. When I was walking the Three Capes track, with a hiking group.
Ah, says Josie, yes.
You don’t remember, he says. Don’t pretend that you do.
Bren, Nora says, but Josie says he’s right, pet. I do have trouble remembering things.
Don’t we all, Robin says. I’ve been forgetting little details, recently. Where I’ve put my notebook. Which equipment is mine, even, on a photo shoot.
Details, Bren echoes, going back for his chair. Setting it down at the head of the table, while Josie pats Robin’s hand.
I’d say where your son lives is more than just a detail, he says. It’s not like you’ve got much else to keep track of.
Josie pauses as she lifts a piece of bread to her mouth. Freya says Brenavin, at the same time that Robin says hey, now.
I just don’t get it, Bren says, more to his plate than his mother. Living like this.
Get what? Freya blusters. That you’re not the centre of the universe? That there are other things that occupy the minds of the people you love?