Stella Makes Good (10 page)

Philippe had told Louisa many times, usually during and after sex, how much he loved her. So far, she’d refrained from offering him the same response. She hadn’t told him not to fall in love with her—that would have been presumptuous. But she had said she was with him for a good time, not necessarily a long time. Poor Philippe. Last night he’d looked like a puppy that had been rejected by its mother.

‘Don’t you even want to talk about it?’ he’d asked her.

‘Philippe, I’m here with you now, aren’t I?’

‘But for how long?’

‘As long as it’s fun.’ How more honest could she be?

‘But don’t you want more?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like knowing your partner is going to be there for you twenty-four seven. Someone who loves you unconditionally and forever?’

‘I have my cat for that.’

Philippe had pushed his plate away and taken a swig of beer. ‘I’m being serious.’

‘So am I.’

As far as Louisa was concerned, these conversations were becoming tedious. They came up every couple of months. Philippe knew where she stood on all this crap. It annoyed her that he was harping on about it again.

‘Louisa, are you telling me that our relationship is going nowhere?’ he’d asked.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I mean, if you’re never going to consider a future with me, then maybe we should call it quits before I get in too deep.’

‘You can’t be serious. We’re having fun. Don’t spoil it.’

‘You might be having fun, but I’m miserable. I want more.’ He’d pushed back in his seat. ‘Why does commitment frighten you so much?’

‘It doesn’t.’

‘Bullshit it doesn’t. You’re all about going with the flow until the flow stops suiting you. Don’t you want to get married? Have kids?’

Louisa had turned away. This was becoming a spectacle. She liked being in control, doing what suited her, and squabbling like this, especially in public, was definitely not how she wanted to spend her Saturday evening.

‘Look at me, Louisa. I want everyone to know we’re together.’

Louisa had faced him. ‘You’re my student.’

‘I may be your student but I’m also twenty-five years old.’

‘Good for you. I’m pushing thirty-seven.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘I do.’

‘I want to be with you, Louisa, but if that’s not what you want, so be it.’ He’d stood up and thrown twenty dollars on the table.

She’d picked up the notes and handed them back to him. ‘I’ll pay.’

He’d brushed her hand aside. ‘Keep it.’ And he’d walked away.

Perhaps he was expecting her to follow, but she hadn’t. What would she have said if she’d caught up?
Yes, I love you, darling. I can’t live without you. Let’s move in together right now!
She simply couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear.

She’d give him a couple of days to calm down. He’d see that she was right. It couldn’t be a more ideal situation for him: he had his freedom; Louisa didn’t question what he did or where he went when he wasn’t with her. Yes, she trusted him, but there was also a part of her that didn’t particularly care what he did when he wasn’t with her. That was his business. He had his friends and his family and she was happier not getting drawn into that side of his life. Because once families got involved, they could trap you . . . and getting trapped was not on her agenda.

Despite that, she’d met his family once, a few weeks ago at Christmas.

‘You can’t spend Christmas Day alone,’ he’d said.

‘I’m perfectly happy on my own.’

‘Come on. I left you alone at Thanksgiving, but my parents will never forgive me if I don’t take you home on Christmas Day.’

‘Philippe, I really don’t want to. Look, maybe I’ll come for dessert . . . ’

‘That’s not going to work. Are you afraid?’

‘Hardly!’

‘Then what is it? Why don’t you want to meet my family?’

‘I do. It’s just that Christmas is stressful enough without you introducing your parents to your much older friend.’

‘Is that what this is about? Your age?’

‘No—’

‘Good. Bernie’s met you. She adores you.’

Bernie was Philippe’s dog, and ‘adore’ might have been stretching the truth somewhat. But eventually, Louisa had given in. She had to eat, and at least when she spoke to her parents they’d seemed pleased she wasn’t spending Christmas alone.

Normally, she didn’t tell her parents who she was screwing because since the professor her affairs never seemed to last more than a couple of months. But Philippe was hanging in there. As soon as she’d mentioned his name, her mother had wanted to know all about him—what he did, where he was from.

‘He’s American, Mum.’

‘American? With a name like Philippe? Surely not!’

‘Surely is!’ Her mother could be so irritating.

‘Work, Louisa? What does this gentleman do for a crust?’

‘Student.’

‘A student? At his age!’

Louisa didn’t tell her mother that Philippe was significantly younger than her. She’d never hear the end of it.

‘So anyway, I’m having Christmas with him and his family,’ she’d said.

‘But not your own family?’

‘Not this year, no.’

Louisa had wrapped up the conversation pretty quickly after that. Between Jesse’s domestic dramas and her mother’s agonising concerns about Louisa ‘settling down’, phone calls home, though few and far between, were exhausting.

On the chair, Ziggy yawned, stretched, and went back to sleep. That was one of the things she loved about him: he was always there, practically on top of her at times, but he still managed to remain aloof, his disinterest in her human affairs bordering on disdain at times. Louisa looked at the hefty box of assignments on the floor next to Ziggy’s chair. She was tempted to forget about grading them and watch
Idol
instead. Sighing, she took a seat, reached for the top assignment and started reading.

It crossed her mind to call Philippe and ask if he was okay, but she dismissed the idea. He was a big boy. He could take care of himself. Besides, she had no doubt he would eventually ring her. He always did.

onday didn’t start well. I’d found it difficult to get to sleep on Sunday night after the threatening call from Steve, and at two this morning I’d woken to hear someone wandering around the house. Initially, I’d been frightened that it might be Steve before common sense kicked in and I got up to find June. She was disorientated and teary about not being at home in her own bed. I’d left it too long before topping up her painkillers, so her arm was aching and she was feeling depressed about her lack of mobility.

‘I don’t like relying on others to take care of me,’ she said.

‘June, I’m not an
other
. We’re family and we’ll always be family.’

Poor old stick. I helped her to her room, and watched while she downed a couple of painkillers.

‘My turbans, I need my turbans,’ she mumbled. Fifteen minutes later, she was asleep again. She looked mighty uncomfortable but obviously the pain had subsided.

But by the time I walked into the kitchen for breakfast, things were improving. June was well into her second cup of Earl Grey and looking resplendent in a lemon and lime headscarf, a T-shirt that said
Grandmas Are Tops
and her favourite pair of blue jeans.

‘You’re looking bright,’ I said, kissing her cheek.

‘Wish I could say the same about you. You look like death.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, pouring myself some tea.

‘Hey,’ said Ben as he made a beeline for the fridge. ‘Are Will’s parents getting a divorce?’

‘Not to my knowledge. Why?’

‘Nothing. Just something he said yesterday. I told him all parents get divorced eventually.’

‘So much cynicism in one so young.’

‘Marry an ugly girl,’ June told him. ‘She’ll be so grateful, she’ll never leave you.’

I stared at my gorgeous fair-haired boy. He’d changed so much in the last six months. His two years of braces-wearing torture were over, meaning that his teeth were perfectly straight. They were also white and hole-free, despite his love of all things sugary. His complexion was clear, and his body, so gangly and uneven last year, had filled out. He was as tall as Terry and tanned to boot.

‘What are you staring at?’ he said.

I looked away. ‘Nothing.’

He shook his head. ‘Women!’

‘Now, June,’ I said, ‘I’ve been thinking: why don’t I drop you home today while I’m at the library? You might as well be in your own house as here.’

‘Indeed,’ she said, tears pooling in her eyes.

‘But you need to rest, okay? No climbing ladders or housework.’

She nodded obediently.

I’d barely done up her seatbelt for her before she asked, ‘Is your neighbour getting a divorce?’

I shrugged. ‘Hope not. They’re just going through a tough time.’

‘What is it with you young people? Don’t you know the rules? You get married and you stay married. The end. You don’t run off and have affairs. You don’t get divorced. If you want out, you die. End of story.’

‘Yes, well, that might have worked in the good old days, June—’

‘Did you just hear yourself? Good old days. They were called the good old days for a reason. No one had any bloody time to think about whether they were happy or unhappy, they just were.’

‘I understand, but—’

‘But nothing. And speaking of no-good husbands, where’s yours?’

‘Terry’s with Amanda, you know that.’

‘Why can’t he forget about that tramp and come on home?’

‘Because, darling,’ I said, trying to think of a way to end this absurd conversation, ‘we’re separated.’

‘I don’t know why he had to go and break up a perfectly good marriage,’ she said, staring out the window. ‘It’ll end in tears, mark my words. You know what you need, Stella? Fancy lingerie. Edible undies.’

‘June!’

‘What? I may be old but I know a lot about a man’s desires. Take off your Cottontails and slip into some satin. That’ll bring him crawling home.’

‘We’ll talk some more about it later,’ I said, thankful to be pulling up outside her home and hoping to hell she’d have forgotten this conversation by the time I picked her up that afternoon.

‘Call me if you need anything,’ I told her. ‘I’m only ten minutes away. And remember what I said. Rest! Don’t do any gardening and for heaven’s sake don’t lift anything or climb stepladders. Oh, and don’t overdo the painkillers,’ I added as an afterthought.

She nodded meekly.

•

I was at the computer, pounding through overdue notices, when Carly rang about Steve.

‘We’ve got to tell Jesse,’ she said.

‘Let me think about it some more,’ I whispered, mindful that Manager Liz was hovering. I tried to hide my mobile by holding my hand over it, hoping she would assume I enjoyed touching my cheek and ear at the same time. It was an awkward manoeuvre. ‘We have to be careful about this. We’ve got no idea how Jesse’s going to respond.’

Honestly, I had no desire to be the messenger. The messenger always got the blame and lost the friendship or her life. But as much as I didn’t want to get involved, Carly had a point, especially after Steve’s phone call last night.

‘Stella, I don’t know how you can be so wishy-washy.’

‘I’m not wishy-washy. I just want to get my facts straight before we tell her. Look, I have to go.’

Despite Carly’s grumbling, I hung up and got on with my job, until Liz tapped me on the shoulder and demanded a word. ‘In my office,’ she said.

I dutifully followed her, and sat down on the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of her desk.

‘How’s everything going?’ she started.

‘Good.’

‘How’s Jesse doing?’

‘Jesse?’

Liz sighed. ‘Yes, Jesse. Remember a couple of weeks ago when I took her off the customer relations desk because she was taking too long with the patrons? How is she doing?’

As if I could forget that day. Liz had been keeping an eye on Jesse, monitoring how she was dealing with customers. Unfortunately, it happened to be a morning when Jesse had felt it necessary to tap her foot three times every time a customer handed her a book for scanning. If they were taking out ten or fifteen items, she repeated the process almost every time. Within half an hour, the line stretched back to the periodicals section and Jesse was getting increasingly agitated. I’d felt so sorry for her.

‘You understand, I can’t put up with her doing that,’ Liz said. ‘And neither can the customers.’

I nodded. ‘But Jesse loves working here.’

‘I know she does, but I’ve been watching you too, Stella. You follow her around cleaning up her messes. I’m not saying she goes around stacking books according to height and colour, but it’s touch and go.’

‘I’ll talk to her.’

‘I’m not sure how that’s going to help.’

I wanted to mention Jesse’s idea for a monthly book club, but now didn’t seem the time. ‘Maybe she just needs a holiday?’

‘Yes, a very long holiday.’

I walked back to my desk feeling helpless. The last thing Jesse needed was more pressure at the library. But I had a feeling Liz was going to step in, which would mean a confrontation, one that Jesse wouldn’t win. The minute Liz started talking to her, even if only to ask a simple question like ‘How’s your day going?’, I knew Jesse would get stressed and start tapping her foot. I needed to keep the two of them apart, even if that only meant delaying the inevitable.

Feeling despondent, I sat down at the computer again, then noticed my mobile flashing. It was a text message, from Mike. I felt my pulse leap and was smiling even before I read it. It had been sent an hour ago.

Bored. What are you wearing?

Being a complete doofus, instead of texting back
Naked, apart from Chanel No 5
(which wasn’t true, obviously), I told him what I was actually wearing—a navy wrap dress, cream heels. Idiot! I regretted it as soon as I’d hit the send button.

I was shocked when my mobile rang two minutes later.

‘Really? You couldn’t do better than that, given what we saw the other night?’

‘I know,’ I said, cringing at my woefulness. ‘I thought I’d never hear from you again.’

Mike laughed. ‘Takes a bit more than that to put me off. If you must know, I’ve been having librarian fantasies, so the image of you in a navy wrap isn’t altogether unwelcome. But your hair needs to be tied up in one of those bun thingos and—’

‘Let me guess, I’m wearing glasses and no underwear?’

‘See! Now you’re getting the hang of it. Have to go, but let’s talk soon, hey?’

He clicked off and I was left staring into space, mortified that I’d just asked him to imagine me sans underwear.

A minute later my mobile beeped and a text message popped up.
Am now imagining you wearing little more than horn-rimmed glasses
.

I was still thinking of an appropriate response when Terry rang.

‘What’s going on?’ he said.

‘Hi to you, too. Can you give me a clue? Are we talking about your mum? Hannah? Ben’s geography excursion? The lame Christmas present you bought me? What?’

‘I’ve just spoken to Mum. She said you want me to come back home. She also said you were going shopping to buy—I can barely say the words out loud—edible undies.’

‘And you believed her?’ I was trying hard not to laugh.

‘Well, no. That is, I thought . . . Well, you never know. Women of a certain age, they decide they want a divorce and then change their minds again—’

‘What are you talking about? It was a mutual decision. Besides, aren’t you forgetting Amanda?’

Even after all these years, Terry could exasperate me. You’d think he’d be in heaven living with Amanda, far away from his boring life in the suburbs with a wife and two kids. But more often than not he made it sound like he was doing me a favour—that the only reason he was with Amanda was to make me happy. And I was happy he was occupied with her, but I wouldn’t be for much longer if he kept pestering me.

Terry coughed. ‘I didn’t say I wanted to eat your edible undies.’

‘Thank God for that.’

‘I only said that Mum said you were going to buy them and that you were getting sentimental about old times.’

‘Really? I can see June saying something ludicrous about underwear but the getting sentimental part?’

‘Yeah, okay. I made that up. So how is she?’

‘Not bad, though evidently she’s taking too many painkillers.’

‘And?’

Clearly, Terry wasn’t in a jovial mood.

‘Look, as much as she’d never admit it, I think she’s lonely. It gives her a purpose being with the kids and me.’

‘Jeez, I could never live with her.’

‘No,
you
couldn’t.’

‘Are you saying you could?’

‘Maybe.’

‘But you used to hate her. Said she was interfering.’

‘A hundred years ago. It’s different now. We’re friends.’

‘United against the common enemy?’

I laughed. ‘Something like that.’

He snorted. ‘She’s been with you half a day. You’ll feel differently by the end of the week, trust me. I lived with her for eighteen years, nine months, three days and fifteen hours. I know what I’m talking about. You’ll be pleased when the week’s up and you can drop her back to her villa, no questions asked.’

It was true that in the early days, long before Jimmy died, June could be a handful. She’d had very definite opinions on everything from toilet paper to chicken seasoning. Most of the time, I’d switched off. I didn’t care what brand of toilet paper we used. If it made her happy that we used her preferred brand, so be it. I’d been less accommodating when it came to her suggestions about raising my kids. She was a self-proclaimed expert on breastfeeding, control crying, even banana puree. You name it and June knew all the answers. Dr Spock had nothing on her. It was around that time I’d started making up excuses as to why I couldn’t go to dinner with her or meet to see a movie in the city.

All that had changed when Jimmy died. The standard family joke was that Jimmy had died to escape June’s nagging, but the truth was, June was lost after that. Gradually, she’d changed from being an overbearing matriarch to a caring, interested and loving grandmother. The more involved she became in our lives, the less she’d tried to interfere in the day-to-day running of the household. In the last couple of years, she’d been great. I really did enjoy her company and I silently hoped we’d still be on speaking terms by the end of her stay.