CHAPTER 29
Dani was disproportionately excited about their impending trip to the races. ‘Should I bring my Scanlan and Theodore or my Sass and Bide? Is Sass and Bide a bit, I dunno, spangly for Orange? I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. Like, I have done country races before, I am not a novice. I need to give off a hot-but-not-novice vibe. Do you think there’ll be heaps of cute country boys there? Bloody hell, my uterus feels like I’m twenty-two again!’
‘Dan, literally no-one will care what you’re wearing. The fanciest shop we have here is Sportscraft and it’s designed for the sixty-plus market, so you’ll look banging in anything. How does Sam feel about you having a weekend off to chase cute country boys?’
‘He’s pumped. After he takes his mum to some appointments, he’s got lots of plans with Nella. They’re going to the zoo, apparently. Good luck to them. He’s most worried about me having a hall pass to sleep in—aka get a hangover. I don’t think I’ve been drunk in eighteen months. He’s made me promise not to drunk dial him. I tried to explain I’d be way too busy shimmying on the dancefloor with some hot belt-buckled twenty-somethings and he laughed in my face . Well, little does he know: Dani is back for one night only and it’s going to be wild.’
Poppy laughed. Dani’s enthusiasm for attractive members of the opposite sex was only surpassed by her obsession with her husband, who was a favourite topic when she was a few wines deep.
Meanwhile, Poppy’s mum would be babysitting Maeve for a whole twenty-four hours . Not only would Poppy be able to go out with her best friend, she’d also be able to wake up and eat a cafe breakfast baby-free. The prospect of being able to eat with a fork and knife was making her giddy with anticipation.
The whole town seemed to be going to the races and Facebook was abuzz with people desperate to buy last-minute tickets. A few girls from the mothers’ group were going (also sans babies) and had been eagerly texting all week with questions and advice on everything from dresses conducive to sneaky mid-races breast-pumping sessions to the best after-races venue (unanimously agreed to be the Royal Hotel dancefloor).
‘Just remember to bring your coat, Dan. Honestly, this weather is the devil.’ Poppy looked outside to see the rose branches being battered against the window.
‘Already packed, girlfriend. I will see you in less than seventy-two hours. Put the champagne on ice!’
Poppy ended the call and put the phone on the kitchen bench. Seeing the bench every day had the discombobulating effect of amplifying the highs and lows of her love–hate attitude towards James. Every time she saw it she would think, God, that was good , while simultaneously thinking, I wish that damn kiss had never happened , but then she’d follow that thought up with, But, oh god, that kiss was the best , and the cycle of mind-fuckery would continue.
Maeve was settling into her dinner—literally—by joyously massaging her chest with pureed sweet potato. Such were the dilemmas facing Poppy these days: answer the phone and let Maeve control dinner, or reject the call and maintain a semblance of order.
‘Ba-baa,’ said Maeve, slapping the table of her highchair with sweet-potato hands. ‘Baaaaaa! Ba!’
‘Ba-baa!’ agreed Poppy. ‘Shall we try using a spoon again, Maevey?’
She picked up the silicone teaspoon that had been flung onto the tiles with half the puree and handed it back to her daughter.
‘Ba-baaa!’ said her daughter happily, flinging it back to the ground. ‘Ba-ba! Da-da!’
Poppy froze. That last bit had sounded eerily like ‘Dada’.
‘Ba-ba!’ she reminded her daughter, picking up the spoon again. ‘Or Ma-ma! Let’s try that. Mama! Mama!’
Maeve looked at her, confused. ‘Ba-baaaaaa!’ She threw the spoon away again and began massaging the puree through her hair.
Poppy’s phone rang and she glanced at the caller ID.
James.
She looked at her daughter, now sucking her puree-covered fingers. Oh well, at least some food was making its way into her mouth. She answered the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, Poppy, what’s going on?’
‘I’m feeding Maeve sweet potato and she is feeding it to the floor—and to her hair. You could say we are redecorating with sweet potato. If anyone is still saying orange is the new black, we are right on trend.’
‘Sounds fun,’ said James. ‘I can also recommend dried Weet-Bix as an alternative to gyprock. That stuff is like concrete. I’m pretty sure the Egyptians used it to build the pyramids.’
Poppy smiled. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?’
‘Uh …’ James faltered. ‘I said I would call you, so, here I am calling you. You know, in an attempt to keep promises and not disappear for months. You’re still coming to the races, right?’
‘I am.’
‘Great. What tent are you in?’
Poppy looked at the paper flyer stuck to her fridge. ‘Twelve D. I think it’s trackside. It’s all you can eat and drink, which sounds potentially devastating, but apparently it’s the place to be.’ April and a few of the mothers’ group girls had booked places in the same tent, so there’d be a few friendly faces.
‘I’m Twelve H, just down from you. It’s the cricket club tent, so there’ll be too much testosterone flying around in there. I’ll come find you.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ replied Poppy. ‘Unless I have an electric drill–induced trip to emergency, I’ll see you there.’
‘Wait, what?’
‘Long story,’ said Poppy, ‘but a new dryer is being installed on Monday, which means I need to fix the laundry shelves I broke when I was trying to fix the dryer in the first place. Anyway, I’m going to attempt to fix them tomorrow so I don’t have to do it hungover on Sunday. I’ve been watching a lot of DIY how-tos on YouTube so I’m at least thirty-five per cent confident I’ll be okay.’
‘Do you want some help?’ asked James.
‘No, of course not,’ replied Poppy too quickly. She hadn’t told him that to coerce him into offering to help. If she actually wanted help she would have asked her dad. ‘It’ll be fine. I promise I didn’t tell you that to make you feel compelled to help.’
‘You realise I enjoy that kind of stuff? I have the power tools to prove it.’
‘Are you saying you want to help me?’ asked Poppy.
‘Are you trying to avoid asking me?’
Poppy exhaled. ‘I wasn’t going to ask for your help, James. We weren’t speaking two days ago.’
‘We weren’t not speaking, Poppy. I just hadn’t timed my coffee runs very well. I was definitely still speaking to you, I just hadn’t seen you.’
‘Okay, well, do you want to come help fix my laundry shelf?’
‘Nope.’
Poppy groaned.
‘Kidding!’ James laughed. ‘I’m on the early shift tomorrow so I could pop over in the afternoon?’
‘That works.’ Poppy made a mental note to clean the kitchen. Or actually—should she leave it dirty for maximum friends-without-benefits vibes? Oh far out, she had no idea what she wanted. ‘See you tomorrow then,’ she said.
‘See you then,’ agreed James. He clicked off and Poppy watched her phone go blank.
‘Dada!’ cried Maeve delightedly, pointing at the phone.
Poppy grimaced, sinking under a tsunami of too many feelings that made no sense. She picked up a wet cloth and wrapped it around her daughter’s chubby fingers. ‘Maeve,’ she said sternly as she began wiping off the orange puree, ‘please never say that in public.’