CHAPTER 26
‘I’m redecorating!’ called her mother from behind a tangled mess of eucalyptus branches and what appeared to be Paterson’s curse.
‘Mum, are they weeds?’
‘I foraged them, darling! It’s the new thing! The girls and I went down to the wetlands and we found all these glorious branches. Desmona said you’d pay a fortune for them in Sydney. I’m going to hang them from the light fixtures in the kitchen. It will be very French provincial. Like giant bushels of lavender, only—’
‘Only Paterson’s curse.’
‘No need to be so snippy, darling, I hear this is all the rage in the city. Now, where is my beautiful girl?’ She heaved the bunch of branches onto the kitchen bench and dusted herself down, looking around Poppy for the pram.
‘I left her with Dad. They’re in the front room watching the Panthers game.’
‘We can’t have that,’ said Chrissie, brushing past her daughter to walk down the hall. ‘Paul! I’m coming to get Maeve. I will not have you indoctrinating her with all this rugger-bugger palaver. It is her right as a child of a single mother to never have to endure a sports match unnecessarily.’
They entered the front room to find Maeve bouncing happily on her grandfather’s knee and sucking a Jatz cracker.
‘Dad!’ cried Poppy. ‘Maeve hasn’t started solids yet.’
‘What?’ asked her father, oblivious.
‘Ugh,’ groaned Poppy, pulling the cracker from her daughter’s mouth. ‘I was hoping her first food would be slightly less trans-fatty.’
‘She’s enjoying it,’ her father insisted.
Poppy picked up a teething ring from the carpet, wiped it on her shirt and gave it back to her daughter. ‘Here, Maevey. This is a more age-appropriate chew toy.’
‘I gave you one job , Paul—make yourself scarce—and you still manage to stuff it up,’ groaned Chrissie theatrically.
‘If you want my help in the kitchen, I’m ready,’ he replied.
‘No!’ cried Poppy and her mum in unison. Paul had a habit of burning everything, including the utensils, which infused everything with a poisonous plasticky smell.
Paul laughed and squeezed his granddaughter. ‘Your first life lesson, Maevey: incompetence brings rewards.’
Chrissie rolled her eyes and took Maeve from her husband. ‘My granddaughter is not being raised on this drivel. Modern men are not hapless fools, like the men of our generation. She will marry a man who can mow the lawn and cook her dinner.’
‘Or a woman who can mow the lawn and cook her dinner,’ countered Poppy’s dad.
‘Or she’ll be single and do it all herself,’ added Poppy.
‘Of course she will,’ agreed Chrissie. ‘My point is, Paul, you need to start helping around here so Maeve has some positive male role models in her life. She can’t grow up seeing you glued to the television screen all the time. You need to contribute …’
Poppy and her dad shared a glance, barely stifling their amusement. They knew this rant back to front. It was long and superlative-laden, with just a touch of truth to it. (Poppy’s dad may have been prone to burning things but he was also Chief Washer-Upper and Chief Calmer of the Head Chef—both critical duties in the kitchen.)
‘Oh bugger!’ cried Chrissie suddenly, thrusting Maeve at Poppy. ‘I forgot to turn the oven off!’ She raced into the kitchen, swearing at herself.
Poppy’s dad smiled. ‘Don’t worry—I put the timer on. I knew she’d forget.’
Poppy laughed. Her dad was always quietly fixing things in the background.
A voice rang down the hall. ‘I must have put the timer on! Clever me! Don’t worry, lunch is saved!’
Poppy and her dad chuckled. Chrissie McKellar would never change.
Half an hour later, they sat down to a steaming homemade moussaka, the Panthers game still playing in the background and a bushel of Paterson’s curse festooning the ceiling above them.
‘This is going to be a lovely family tradition now you’re back in Orange,’ declared Chrissie. ‘We should have family lunch at least once a month.’
‘Why not weekly?’ asked Paul.
‘I have golf every third Sunday,’ his wife reminded him. ‘You should tell Dani to come one weekend,’ she continued. ‘And we could invite Henry and Willa.’
Poppy choked on her side salad. ‘What? Why?’
‘We talked about this, darling, remember? We said it would be good to all get together.’
‘Oh, right,’ muttered Poppy. So many plans flitted in and out of her mother’s brain and yet this one had stuck? She noticed her mum and dad exchange a look and felt her hackles rise. They could be so parental sometimes. She swallowed her mouthful of lettuce. ‘That sounds great,’ she said brightly. ‘I would love that.’
‘Excellent,’ said Chrissie. ‘Now, next thing, I think I should take Maeve for one day a week.’
‘Why? I’m doing okay, aren’t I?’ Poppy looked to her dad for support. ‘Maeve is happy; we’re making things work.’
‘No-one’s questioning your parenting, Pops,’ said her dad.
‘Just imagine a day for yourself,’ continued her mum. ‘You could do all those errands you’re always telling me about. You could get a haircut. You could go to the gym. You could do whatever you want—and the upside is, I get more quality time with beautiful Maeve.’
Poppy’s dad raised his napkin and spoke to Poppy behind it. ‘Your mother wants an accessory for coffee with the other grandmas.’
Chrissie ignored him. ‘I think Thursdays would be best, because Martha and Susie also have their grandkids on those days.’
Poppy squeezed her daughter, who was sitting on her lap. The idea of letting her mother take the caregiving reins was slightly nerve-racking, but the prospect of a whole day of freedom was shamefully tempting. She would love a few hours to herself, though she felt guilty for even thinking that. ‘Maybe we could start with the afternoons,’ she suggested cautiously.
‘Perfect,’ her mother said. ‘Thursday afternoons with Grandma. No sports viewing allowed.’
‘No problem,’ agreed her dad. ‘We’ll watch Judge Judy instead.’
Poppy laughed, a bubble of excitement swelling inside her. She was going to have time . She was going to have space . She could go places without the pram . Maybe she could even organise some job interviews, get her career back on track. She would be able to achieve so much!
‘That reminds me,’ said her mother cheerfully. ‘A lady at golf mentioned I could sue Martha and Peter for removing the magnolia because there’s legislation that covers tree disputes with neighbours. I could go to the Supreme Court!’
‘What?!’ spluttered Poppy. Her mind had drifted to visions of Thursday afternoon Reformer Pilates classes wearing cream leggings or something equally baby-unfriendly. ‘You literally just said you were going to have grandma babycino dates with Martha. Why would you sue her?’
‘It would be nothing personal, darling. I’m just upset that as a good neighbour and friend of more than twenty-five years, they haven’t even consulted me about their landscaping.’
‘Not true,’ interjected Paul. ‘They invited us over weeks ago to look at the plans.’
‘That was all for show, Paul,’ Chrissie retorted. ‘They’d already had them drawn up by that stage.’
‘They weren’t likely to take you to the meetings with the landscaper now, were they?’ he replied.
‘You’re missing the point. I mean, did Martha even consider my hellebores when she was making these decisions?!’
As Chrissie nattered on about the inadequacies of overpriced landscape architects, Maeve fell asleep in the crook of Poppy’s arm. Hopefully those cream leggings from Nimble would be on sale soon. They’d be perfect for her vision of baby-free Pilates chic. And she could organise a coffee with some prospective employers. Network a bit, get her CV out there. This would be so achievable when she didn’t have to leave the house with twenty kilos of baby paraphernalia.
On the table, Poppy’s phone buzzed with a message.
Still on for Block epicness tonight?
Ah yes, James. In all the excitement she’d forgotten their not-date was tonight. Maybe they could have coffees on Thursday afternoons too, now that they were kind of friends? How civilised and delightful!
Using her left hand, so as not to disturb Maeve, Poppy tapped out a quick thumbs-up emoji.
?? was the response.
Poppy checked the thread and swore under her breath. She’d accidentally sent back an eggplant emoji. Oh bugger.
SORRY! she texted.
Fat fingers!
Meant to send thumbs up .
Penic texting now!
*PANIC!
Sorry for all the texts!
Stopping now!
Poppy put her phone down and tried to slow her breathing to match her daughter’s. Oh jeez, nothing was ever straightforward, was it?
‘Who are you texting?’ asked her mother, interrupting her own commentary on the merits of magnolia canopies.
‘Ah …’ Poppy didn’t know how to introduce the concept of James to her parents. ‘Dani,’ she lied.
Her mother peered across the table to Poppy’s phone, where an oversized eggplant emoji was still visible.
‘Oh, of course,’ said Chrissie. She turned to her husband. ‘They’re texting about my moussaka.’
‘The lasagne?’ he asked.
‘It’s moussaka, Paul. It’s made with eggplant, you dill, not pasta.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Less carbs,’ explained Poppy.
‘Yes, lots of women prefer eggplant,’ added her mum.
Unbidden, a vision of James’s chiselled body flooded Poppy’s central cortex, his jeans stretched to the perfect tension across his butt. It was wildly inappropriate to think about friends that way, but she was dog-tired and clearly delirious. Her mind dipped to the denim below his belt buckle and she inexplicably felt like exploding with laughter.
She swallowed the final mouthful of moussaka and nodded enthusiastically. ‘You’re absolutely right, Mum,’ she said. ‘Now and then, we all love a bit of eggplant.’