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  “Well, well! The birthday girl shows her face at last,” said Simone, sarcastically, giving Sasha an appraising look.

  “Aw, Mum, leave it alone,” replied Sasha, grimly. “I just called David, and he’s dumped me!” she added, wiping tears from under her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Well, what do you expect?” asked Simone, without a trace of sympathy in her voice.

  “Yeah, and he’s already replaced you with Gai,” interjected Delia. “He couldn’t keep his eyes off her last night, and left with his arm around her.”

  “Bitch!” snarled Sasha, giving her sister a baleful stare. “Rub it in why don’t you?”

  “Come on, don’t pretend to be all broken hearted. It’s just your ego bruised. You treated him like dirt, anyway!”

  “Oh, shut up, Delia! What would you know?”

  “Stop it, you two,” snapped Simone. “And Sasha, your father has just had to demean himself by going over to the Braithwaites to apologise for your disgusting conduct last night.”

  Just then Lee re-entered the house and joined the other members of his family in the kitchen. As he sank into a chair, he gave Sasha a long, stern look. Before he could speak, Simone asked, “How were Harold and Emily?”

  “Harold was quite understanding, but I’m not so sure about Emily.”

  Then, looking directly at Sasha, who quickly averted her eyes from his, he demanded, “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”

  “Someone must have spiked my drink,” replied Sasha, in a plaintive voice.

  “Aw, don’t give me that crap!” responded her now angry father. “The way you were throwing down the drinks, no one needed to spike them. You were just plain drunk!”

  As Sasha dissolved again into tears, Lee continued.

  “Things are going to change around here, if you two want to keep living in this house. There will be some rules, and I expect you both to obey them. The first thing is, I’m taking back your credit cards.”

  “What?” his two daughters shouted in unison.

  “What’ll I do for clothes?” wailed Sasha.

  “You have a job! Get them out of your wages, like other people do. All you spend your money on is grog, parties and good times. Anyway, you already have enough clothes to last you a lifetime.”

  “But Dad, you don’t understand. They go out of fashion so quickly, and I won’t be able to afford the clothes I like on my wage.”

  “Choose carefully, then, what you want and can afford, and put it on lay-by.”

  “Lay-by? What’s that?” the two daughters chorused.

  “You know. You pay a small deposit, and the store puts the article aside for you until you’ve paid it off in full, by instalments.”

  “You mean you don’t get it right away? You must be joking,” lamented Sasha.

  Ignoring that remark, Lee continued.

  “And the next rule is, you both have to start pitching in and doing your share of chores around the house. I’m going to cut back on the house keepers’ hours, and you two can take up the slack, starting with your own rooms, which are a disgrace!”

  “But, I won’t have time! I have to study,” whined Delia.

  “You have plenty of time. Just cut out your protest marching and the other extra-curricular activities that you’re always running out to without letting us know where you’re going. And, Delia, no more spending money on bits of metal in your face, or tattoos on your body.”

  “I’m of age, and can do what I like with my body,” she retorted, truculently.

  “Not with my money, you can’t. If you want that junk so badly, go out and get a job, and pay for it yourself.”

  The two girls sat silently for a time, staring incredulously at their father, before Sasha spoke again, this time with contempt in her voice, and anger in her eyes.

  “And why did you have to go and apologise to that old Judge and his ‘Miss Prissy’ wife, on my behalf? He’s an old phony, and she’s just a snob! His former Associate, Paula, was in having a facial one day and she told me a story about him. She said the Court was on holidays, and one day she went in to his chambers to put away his robes, that she’d just picked up from the cleaners. She was in his walk-in robing closet when she heard him come in with a woman who was obviously not his wife. She opened the closet door just enough to take a sneak peak, and saw him bonking this woman on his couch. It was all over in no time and, just as they finished, his phone rang. When he jumped up to answer it, he looked like he was about to have a heart attack – all red in the face and panting. She couldn’t see his little willy for his big gut. The phone call must have frightened him, because he hustled his lady friend out as quick as he could. Paula was relieved they left so quickly, because she was packing it in case she got sprung. That’s the sort of grub you’re always trying to impress. How can he be so moralistic?”

  Simone and Lee stared at their daughter, open mouthed, and before they could gather their wits sufficiently to respond, she continued.

  “And, what about that nosey assistant of yours, Dad? She was in again the other day, and I had to give her a Brazilian. Ugh! You’d have loved that, Delia!”

  “Bitch!” snarled Delia.

  “And she keeps pumping me about what you’re doing, Dad,” continued Sasha, without a pause. “Are you fucking her, or what?”

  Lee’s face drained completely of colour, and he froze.

  “That’s enough, Sasha!” interrupted Simone, eyes blazing. “Your father works hard, standing on his feet all day, and studying at night to keep up to date, to support you both, including buying you a car each and whatever else you want. He also spent a heap on your party yesterday. And you are both so ungrateful, it disgusts me.”

  Then, turning to Lee, she continued, “Come on, Lee,” before leading him off towards the family room. As they were departing, she said, over her shoulder, to her two daughters, “You two just sit there and think about your behaviour, and what your father has said.”

  “Hell, it’s going to be like living in a concentration camp, here,” said Sasha, bitterly, as she nibbled tentatively on one of the gourmet snacks.

  As Lee and Simone slumped into adjoining chairs in the family room, she gave his hand a re-assuring pat, in silent affirmation of the stand he had taken. After a few minutes of silence, Simone’s face began to take on a look of amusement, and she struggled to stifle a giggle behind her hand.

  “What’s so funny?” whispered Lee, giving her a puzzled look.

  “I was just imagining Harold doing it,” she responded, her face lighting up with merriment, which Lee found contagious, despite all that had happened. Caught up in the moment, he, too, began to chuckle, his eyes looking steadfastly into Simone’s as he did so.

  Their shared amusement lasted but a few seconds, before each took on a more somber appearance. Their eyes remained locked together, however, for several more seconds, and it seemed, for a moment, that they might kiss. Both felt the urge to do so, but neither could seem to bridge the small gap between their faces. Lee suddenly felt the burden of his guilt about his affair with Nadine, and Simone harboured similar feelings about her continuing, unbearable yearning for Teale. The moment was broken when, as if by mutual consent, they drew slightly apart, and Simone then announced, “I feel exhausted. I think I’ll go and lie down for a while.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The next week passed with less difficulty than Simone had expected, after the implementation of Lee’s new rules of behaviour for their daughters. It may have been their hope that, if they showed some maturity in accepting those rules without too much drama, for a while, their father might relent and re-issue their credit cards, that induced Sasha and Delia to make an apparently genuine attempt to pull their weight, a little more, around the house. Between them, they even managed to keep the two-way bathroom between their bedrooms reasonably clean.

  There had been a slight tantrum when Sasha announced, one morning, that, without her credit card she did not have
enough money to fill her car with petrol to travel to and from work and Simone had helpfully suggested that she catch the bus.

  “What? Travel in a smelly, overcrowded bus, with all the peasants?” whined Sasha.

  “Well, it’s either that or walk!” replied Simone.

  Sasha angrily mumbled something obscene under her breath, and gave her mother a menacing look, before she snatched up her bag and marched out, slamming the door behind her, on the way to the bus stop.

  On another occasion, Simone spoke to Delia about her mobile phone account, which had just arrived.

  “This phone bill of yours is outrageous, Delia. Your father has agreed to pay it, but he expects you to reimburse him, so he’ll be making appropriate deductions from your allowance. When your contract ends, you should change to a paid-up phone, and, in the meantime, cut back on your calls.”

  “But, Mum, I only use it when I really need to,” cried Delia, defensively.

  “Rubbish! It’s always stuck to your ear. It’s not that long ago we all got by, quite happily, without them altogether.”

  “In the dark ages, maybe!” retorted Delia, sulkily.

  “Just get used to it, Delia. End of discussion!”

  At that, Delia stormed into her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her.

  Anita had visited Delia a few times during the week, but had always averted her eyes from Simone’s whenever their paths crossed, ducking her head and scurrying by with a mumbled, “Hello, Mrs. Boothby.”

  Her presence in Delia’s bedroom always made Simone feel uneasy, now, and she usually feigned some excuse to knock on her daughter’s door and open it to convey some contrived message to ensure they knew they would not be left alone there for too long. Her intrusions invariably caused Delia to give her a scowl of disapproval, but Simone persisted in this behaviour nevertheless.

  One evening Brodie came over to tell them all that the next day he was going back to his apartment, which he shared with a friend. When Simone expressed some surprise, he explained that he always maintained his separate apartment, but that whenever he came home after a long assignment away, he would stay for a while with George and Marj in order to spend some time with his mother and sister.

  “Mum likes to spoil me a bit, with her home cooking, and I don’t mind it either,” he said, with a smile. “But, there is only so long I can bear to stay with George!”

  “You’re lucky to have somewhere else to go,” said Sasha. “I wish I could get out of this concentration camp!”

  “Well, would you like to get out of it for just a little while?” asked Brodie, with a chuckle. “I have to go into the studio tonight to do some more work on the Bangladeshi doco. Would you like to come with me and see how it’s done?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so,” replied Sasha, with a shrug. “I have nothing else to do. I have no money, and your little sister has stolen my boyfriend!”

  “Don’t be so silly, Sasha,” interposed Simone. “She didn’t steal him. You drove him away.”

  Sasha did not respond, but blushed slightly, and stood up ready to leave with Brodie.

  “Would you like to come, too, Delia?” asked Brodie, giving her a friendly smile as he, too, prepared to leave.

  “No, thanks, Brodie,” she responded. “I have an assignment to finish.”

  During that week, also, Hannah had phoned to say she was ill, and would not be able to come to work for a few days. Simone decided that, rather than attempt to find a temporary replacement for their regular housekeeper, they should all try to muddle through without her. She reasoned that that would provide an opportunity to test the girls’ mettle, but also her own, in relation to taking more responsibility for household chores.

  Late one afternoon, as Simone was in the kitchen beginning the task of preparing food for the evening meal, Delia came in to obtain a glass of iced water from the refrigerator. As she stood, idly watching her mother’s preparations, she commented.

  “This is a rare sight, my mother actually cooking. Has Dad laid down some new rules for you, too?”

  “No. Hannah’s sick,” responded Simone curtly. Then, handing Delia a knife and a cutting board, she added, “Here, help cut up these vegetables. I never realized, before, how much extra work it makes for Hannah, with you being a vegetarian.”

  Reluctantly, Delia took the knife and began dicing the pile of vegetables on the bench, standing side by side with her mother.

  “Have you given some thought to coming with me to the Gay and Lesbian Counselling Service?” she asked, after a time.

  “Mmm. I have,” replied Simone. “But, let me just enjoy my denial for a bit longer, please.”

  “Anita is becoming a bit of hard work, lately,” confided Delia, after a brief pause. “She’s always depressed, and I have to keep reassuring her. She seems to have become confused about her identity, and is frightened of her parent’s reaction.”

  Before Simone could respond to this unexpected confidence from her daughter, her mobile phone, which she had placed on the bench beside her, began to ring. When she answered it, she was surprised, but instantly excited, to recognize Teale’s voice.

  “Hello, Simone. Are you alone? Can you talk?”

  “No. Not really,” she responded, guardedly, her hand beginning to tremble slightly.

  “Is it possible for you to come to my apartment next Thursday, at around midday?” he asked, in a husky voice.

  “Ah – yes – ah – I can make it,” she stammered, colour beginning to rise in her cheeks. “But I’ll have to go, now.”

  “OK! I can’t wait!” he breathed, just before she closed her phone to sever the connection.

  “What’s up, Mum?” asked Delia. “You look a bit shaken.”

  “I’m OK. It’s just a slightly demanding customer, but I can handle it,” replied Simone, returning quickly to her vegetable chopping to cover her embarrassment.

  For Lee, the week had begun with Nadine asking him pointed questions, at every opportunity, about Sasha’s birthday party, all of which he parried with fairly non-committal answers. The form of her questions, however, led him to believe that she knew more about the unfortunate events of that evening than she was letting on.

  Whenever she tried to engineer some private, intimate time with him, he begged off, claiming a fictitious commitment in relation to his humanitarian project or some other professional engagement.

  “I hate this project you’ve taken on,” she fumed, on one occasion, but then added, in a much friendlier tone, “I can’t wait for the weekend to come! I can’t believe I’ll have you all to myself for two whole days!”

  Although he smiled, and nodded his agreement, Lee was beginning to realize that Nadine was going to be trouble. Despite his awareness of the pitfalls of personal involvement with staff, here he was, now, in a situation of his own making from which he knew he would find it difficult to extricate himself.

  That same day, when he arrived home unusually early, he was surprised to find Simone and Delia together in the kitchen, co-operating, apparently happily, in the preparation of the family’s evening meal. This was a sight he found as pleasurable as it was novel.

  On the Friday night, Nadine arrived home late, laden with parcels, after a late-night shopping expedition.

  Her mother, June, eyed her armful of packages with obvious distaste.

  “Nadine, I’m worried about all the money you’ve been spending lately. How on earth do you think you’re going to pay for all this stuff?”

  “Oh, Mum! Stop worrying about it. That’s what credit cards are for. Besides, there’s always that insurance policy Daddy took out for me when I was a baby. It matures when I turn 40, but I can always borrow against it in the meantime, or even surrender it, if need be. I believe in living for today. Tomorrow will take care of itself.”

  “I dread to even think how much that gold necklace, alone, cost you,” continued June, giving the offending article around her daughter’s neck an appraising stare. “You have a daughter to
keep, my girl, and little prospect of ever getting any help from Mark. He’ll have the devil’s own job finding anyone to employ him, when he gets out, with his record.”

  Ignoring her mother’s tirade, Nadine headed into her bedroom where she proceeded to open her packages, one after the other, inspecting each item with relish as she did so. She was particularly excited about a sky blue, beaded, denim mini-skirt, with a matching jacket, which she quickly tried on, and began primping and pirouetting in front of the full-length mirror, checking her reflection from several different angles. As her mother looked on with obvious disapproval, Nadine spoke again.

  “Mum, I need these things for the seminar I’m going to, this weekend. I want to look my best for any potential employers. The seminar will help me with my work, and the exposure may enhance my future prospects. I’m even considering going to uni, part time, to study towards ultimately becoming a dentist. If I could do that, I wouldn’t need to depend on Mark to support Samantha.”

  With a shrug of resignation, June turned to leave the room.

  “I presume you haven’t eaten, yet,” she said. “I’ve got something in the oven for you, when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, Mum. I’ll be in shortly,” replied Nadine, before opening another package to reveal some flimsy lingerie, which she was pleased her mother had not seen.

  Pouring herself a glass of wine from a cardboard cask, in her refrigerator, June sat down at the kitchen table with a heavy sigh, and began to reminisce about her life, and that of her daughter.

  During Nadine’s early life, the family lived a fairly frugal existence, as her father, Doug, was a manual worker for the local council. Nadine had just entered adolescence when her father sustained serious injuries, in the course of his employment, which left him an invalid. Fortunately, he ultimately received a substantial award of damages for his injuries, which was sufficient, not only to pay off their modest home, but also to provide a fund for investment. That investment was adequate to secure a regular income, which provided a moderately comfortable lifestyle for the family.