Spin Cycle (10 page)

‘A lot of things.' She looks at me and I realise that she really
is
worried. I have been so involved in my unexpected front-page appearance that I haven't given
her
appearance much thought. Now I absorb the fact that she looks rather strained and her eyes have that slightly puffy, pink-tinged look that invariably comes after a lot of tears the evening before. Even her clothes – brown slacks, a navy jumper and a black and grey striped blazer – look like they were thrown on this morning with very little regard to their compatibility. And that's not like Diane at all.

‘What's happened? You were so excited on Monday. Have you let David and the boys get to you? What've they done?'

‘No, of
course
it's not them. I mean, the boys were actually rather pleased when they got over the shock. They were lovely about it all. And Michael was just thrilled that he wouldn't be the youngest anymore.'

‘Yeah right. What about David?'

‘Well,
he's
still in shock, I think. And of course he's worried – about me, that is. The pre-eclampsia and all that. He hasn't spoken about it much at all but the thing is that I think he thinks …' She pauses as obviously it's a struggle for her to say anything that might conceivably show David in a bad light. ‘I think that he thinks that I did it on purpose. You know, that it wasn't an accident. He isn't speaking much at all. But it'll be even
worse
if…well, if …'

‘If
what
? Just tell me!'

‘If there's something wrong with the baby!' Diane blurts out as she stares down into her coffee cup for a moment, deliberately not meeting my eyes. ‘See, I've been thinking and I was so thrilled at the ultrasound that it was a girl so, well, I didn't really think about what he was saying. There's something wrong with the baby, I know there is.'

‘Oh, Di, there's nothing wrong. They would have picked it up!'

‘That's just it!' Diane wails. ‘I think they did! Why else would they order another ultrasound? All that business about not drinking enough, or a bad position, it's utter rubbish!'

‘Why? How do you
know
it's rubbish?'

‘Because they saw enough to work out the sex, didn't they? What else do they need – unless there's something wrong, something they're not going to tell me until they double-check.'

I must admit, I think she has a point. It's also one of the things I was initially worried about. Everybody knows that the chance of problems goes up with age and Diane
is
nearly forty-three years old. My own concerns must have shown on my face because Diane turns even paler, so I take a deep breath and pull myself together. ‘I bet there's nothing wrong. There might be one hundred reasons why they need another ultrasound.'

‘Name one.'

I can't. But then, I'm no medical expert – just an out-of-control librarian with a shaky job. That gives me an idea about how to approach this.

‘Look, when's the next ultrasound?'

‘Friday morning.'

‘God, that's quick!' I say before I can stop myself. ‘But that's all to the good, otherwise you'll just fret. Is David going with you?'

‘No, I don't want him to. That is, I know that he
would
if I asked him. But I haven't even told him that it's Friday, or even that there is another ultrasound. I didn't tell him … it was so hard even …' She drains her coffee and takes a deep breath. ‘It was so hard even telling him about the baby, that I haven't mentioned the possibility that something might be wrong.'

‘Okay. Well, I'll make a deal with you. We'll
both
take the advice that you just gave me. What were
your words exactly? There's nothing you can do until you find out what's going on for sure and you won't find out until – Thursday in my case, Friday in yours. So there's no point working yourself up about it. In fact, I'll come with you so you'll have someone there.'

‘Oh,
would
you? But what about work?'

‘In for a penny, in for a pound. I'll take the day off. What are they going to do to me anyway – fire me?'

At that moment, the doorbell rings. I stare at Diane in consternation. For a split-second I'm sure that because I just uttered the words ‘fire me' in jest, the library police have arrived to do exactly that.

But in fact it's even worse. It's my mother.

I open the front door and she steps neatly through, pausing to examine me from head to toe with her eyebrows raised before leaning her umbrella against the wall and removing her thick, camel-coloured coat in silence.

‘Mum, how great to see you.' I smile weakly as I wrap my dressing-gown around myself securely and tie the cord. ‘Diane's here too.'

‘Of course.' She straightens the hat-stand and hangs her coat neatly on one of the hooks before leading the way back to the kitchen and greeting Diane with a magnanimity which I have patently been denied: ‘Why, hello, Diane dear, how pleasant to see you here as well. I was sorry to miss you on Monday. That outfit looks horrid, but I suppose it's better than still being in pyjamas. How are David and the boys?'

‘Oh, fine thanks, Mum.' Diane smiles sweetly and then, as our mother turns and begins removing her gloves, she gestures wildly at her stomach before putting her finger to her lips and frowning. I pride myself on being rather quick on the uptake, so immediately surmise that she has not yet informed Mum of the impending addition to her family. I nod back.

‘Is your head loose, dear?' Mum has sat down and is now regarding me thoughtfully. ‘Or perhaps you damaged it wrestling with members of the police force, or whatever else you do in your spare time?'

‘Aaah, no. It's fine. Would you like a cup of tea or something?'

‘No thank you, I'm due at the rectory in an hour to discuss Certain Things, so I won't stay long. I just called in to ascertain for myself that you were still in one piece. I must say, though, next time you plan to get yourself involved in an unsavoury melee, could you do me the courtesy of letting me know in advance that I might receive a telephone call from members of the constabulary?'

Diane looks at me in sympathy while I open my mouth to answer but no words come out. Suddenly, a five-year-old whirlwind comes bucketing into the kitchen and leaps onto her grandmother's lap.

‘Grandma! Grandma! I heared you talking! Guess what? Mummy broke the window!'

‘And whilst we are on the subject …' My mother quietens CJ with consummate skill, rearranges her more comfortably and continues unabated: ‘Next time you decide to grace the front page of the newspaper, could you possibly attempt to have your hair
brushed and your mouth closed? Or at least refrain from giving your name.'

‘I
didn't
give my name! It was all a big misunderstanding, I was only –'

‘And why on earth
that
paper? The
Age
is really much more reputable.'

‘I didn't even think –'

‘Quite. My point exactly. Now, on to more pleasant matters. Diane, I have been trying to reach you since Monday to give you my news but I assume your sister has filled you in by now. Well, what do you think?'

‘Grandma, Mummy wouldn't let me see you when she saw you t'other day.' CJ snuggles deeper into her grandmother's lap and sighs contentedly.

‘What do I think?' Diane is looking at me but there's nothing I can do. What with everything else, I had completely forgotten about the
other
potential newcomer to our family. I shrug helplessly.

My mother frowns as she looks from Diane to me, and then slowly back again. ‘You don't know, do you? Your sister
hasn't
told you about my news. Well, I don't know why I feel surprised. After all, I suppose you girls had much more important matters to discuss than my impending nuptials.' With this, she kisses CJ on the cheek and starts to draw back on the gloves that she has only just removed. Diane is sitting there with her mouth half open and a stunned expression on her face. I try to make amends.

‘I thought
you
would want to tell her first.' Even to me that sounds rather lame, but it's the best I can do.

‘Tell me what? What impending nuptials?' Even as she speaks, Diane's eyes widen as she slowly grasps the significance of the conversation. ‘Don't tell me you're getting married … again!'

‘Well, as nobody else considers it significant, I suppose I shall
have
to be the one to tell you.' Mum puts CJ down and gets up, fixing me with one of her I-am-
so
-indescribably-hurt looks while her granddaughter drapes herself lovingly around a leg. Traitor. ‘Diane, perhaps we should leave your sister to get dressed. After all, it
is
almost lunchtime. And maybe you could possibly see your way to giving me a ride. It would save me a bus-trip, and then I'll be able to fill you in on all the details that your sister hasn't mentioned, being too busy, one assumes, breaching the general peace. Have you been crying? Hmm, I think we
had
better have a little chat. CJ darling, if you let go of Grandma, she might be able to find you a little something in the bottom of her bag.'

Having successfully organised everybody in the room, she walks out without a backward glance and stalks down to the front door with all of us obediently following. There she retrieves her coat and umbrella, reaches down into her capacious handbag, pulls out a largish, brightly wrapped gift and hands it to CJ.

‘Now, darling, don't open it till Grandma leaves. It'll give you something to do whilst Mummy gets herself organised. And then perhaps she could do something about her front window – it looks dreadful. Come along, Diane.'

‘I'm sorry, Mum. I was
just
about to tell her.'

‘I am sure you were. Diane, please.'

The front doorbell rings.

‘Well, if it isn't like Grand Central Station here.' My mother opens the door. ‘I marvel that you even find the time to make a spectacle of yourself. Why, hello – Bronte, isn't it? And how is your lovely mother?'

‘Hello, Mrs Riley.' Bronte is standing on the doorstep, looking rather disconcerted. ‘My mother's fine. I only dropped in to see –'

‘Of course, dear, of course. Don't let me hold you up. Diane and I are just leaving. Give my best to your mother.' She bends down to kiss CJ, turns and gives me another Look before gesturing testily at Diane: ‘Do come along, dear.'

‘God, god, bloody god,' Diane mutters at me as she grabs her gear and follows Mum out to the car. I watch Diane open the passenger door and settle our mother within, then I turn to Bronte.

‘Come in. I've been trying to ring your mother for days. What on earth's going on?'

Suddenly Diane is back in front of me hissing urgently, ‘Don't tell
anybody
. I mean it, because I haven't decided anything. I'll ring you, okay?'

She waits for me to nod before jogging back to the car where our mother is glaring straight at me through the windshield. I decide to ignore her. But I do feel a bit affronted that Diane would even suspect that I
might
tell someone. She is under a lot of strain, though, so I mentally shrug and forgive her. Then I turn my attention back to Bronte.

‘Are you coming in?'

‘No, I can't, I'm late for uni already.' Bronte stands aside for CJ to dash back in after farewelling her grandmother. ‘Hi, CJ! The thing is, Mum rang last night and asked me to let you know what's happening. She said you'd worry.'

‘And she's right! What on earth
is
happening?'

‘Well, she did say she tried to ring you on Monday, to ask your advice or something. So, like, maybe I can blame you for what's happened!' Bronte gives a strained little giggle at this and then her face lights up as she obviously remembers something that she found amusing: ‘Loved your picture in the paper! I'm saving it for Mum!'

‘Don't bother and don't change the subject. Where's your mother?'

‘Yeah, that.' Bronte's face has fallen again. In fact, she looks more than a little distressed.

‘Bronte, will you please just tell me what's going on?'

‘Sex! That's what's going on!' Bronte blurts out with evident disgust. ‘She's, like, having a mid-life crisis or something, and she's gone off for a week of – what did she say? – “a week of unadulterated sex and unbridled passion”. I nearly threw up.'

‘But, Bronte, good on her! At least someone's having fun! But why did she want my advice and what was all the urgency? She wasn't planning on having any holidays.'

‘That's because it all hit the fan on Monday. I came home from uni and they were in the bath together! With nothing on! Naked! At their age! And I couldn't
believe
it so when I'm, like, cracking it,
which is better than being violently ill, which is what I felt like, she tells me they're going away together the next day for “a week of unadulterated” … but I told you that. Anyway, I wouldn't be so upset except that he's such an arsehole, you know.'

‘Who's an arsehole?'

‘Mummy!
Look
! Look at what Grandma gabe me! A Wiggles beanie hat and scuff – just what I always wanted!'

‘Why, Dad's an arsehole, of course. Oh, sorry, CJ! Arsehole's a naughty word but my dad is one – an arsehole, that is.' Bronte turns back to me and continues bitterly: ‘That's the whole thing, he's finally managed it and I'll bet they're getting back together, whether I frigging well like it or not.'

This is all doing absolutely nothing for my headache.

It has taken me a solid hour of plastering myself up against the lounge-room windows but I have finally managed to sticky-tape patches of plastic and cardboard across the segmented pane of glass. Every time I got the tape in position, the soaking wet curtain managed to wrap itself around my body or slap me across the face on its way out through the hole in the
glass. It probably would have been more sensible to have attempted this task
before
I had a shower and got dressed in my only clean jeans and windcheater, because I am now freezing, as well as having pulled at least another three muscles. However, the job is done – and there was no other choice as I certainly cannot afford new glass in the foreseeable future. Especially if I am laid off.