Three’s a Crowd (6 page)

She was pouring herself another glass of wine when Tom appeared in the entrance to the kitchen. ‘There you are,' he said.

Finally. She smiled her funeral smile, subdued but consoling, the kind of smile one had to master in family law. ‘You poor man, you haven't had a moment to yourself all day,' she said. ‘Let me get you a glass.'

But he was shaking his head. ‘No thanks, Catherine, I'm beat. Listen, Dave has just offered to give you a lift home.'

Catherine took a moment to process that and prepare her response. ‘Oh, that's okay, Tom, I need to finish up with the caterers.'

‘They've just left,' he said.

‘Pardon?' she blinked.

‘I told them they could go.'

‘Well have they put everything back the way it was? They were under strict instructions –'

‘All the furniture is back in place,' he assured her.

‘But I had them move some things out to the garage, the extra chairs and –'

‘It's okay, I'll get them later, tomorrow.'

‘And there's all your things, ornaments . . .'

‘The girls will take care of that, they know how everything was,' said Tom. ‘Honestly Catherine, you've done more than enough. I don't know how to thank you.'

But she did. ‘Have a drink with me,' she suggested.

He smiled awkwardly. ‘Thing is, I think Dave might want to get going.'

‘That's fine, I can make my own way home, Tom.'

His eyes flickered to the glass in her hand. ‘That's probably not a good idea, Catherine.'

‘No, I mean I can get a cab.' She paused, frowning. ‘When did Rachel leave anyway? She didn't say goodbye.'

‘I'm not sure,' he shrugged.

Dave appeared behind him then, rattling his keys. ‘Hey Cath, ready to hit the road?'

She was getting pissed off now. No one called her Cath, and
she did not like to be handled. ‘Are you sure you're going to be all right alone?' she asked Tom.

‘I've got the girls,' he reminded her. ‘I think we need some time together, just the three of us.'

That was that then, he'd played his trump card, she could hardly force the issue now.

‘Of course,' she said, restoring her composure. ‘That's exactly what you need to do, Tom, we'll get right out of your way.' She finished off what was left in her glass as she walked across the kitchen, rinsed it in the sink and upturned it onto the draining board. ‘I'll just get my things,' she said to Dave.

‘The flowers were so pretty,' Hannah sighed. ‘There must've been like a million.'

‘There wasn't anything like a
million
, Han,' Sophie refuted.

Eventually Sophie had slid down off the bed to join Rachel and Hannah on the floor. They were both bright, confident girls, though quite different in many ways. To look at especially; Hannah's hair was a riot of honey-coloured curls, while Sophie had the fine, straight, white-blonde hair of her mother. Hannah was bubbly and outgoing and wore her heart on her sleeve. She was much more like Tom, whereas Sophie had a certain level of reserve; not that she couldn't be outspoken, but sometimes Rachel wondered just what was going on in her head.

‘Well, there were a lot of flowers anyway,' Hannah was saying. ‘But why did they put them in the grave? They just would've got covered up with dirt and then they would've all died.'

‘What were we going to do with them?' Sophie asked her sister.

‘Maybe we could have laid them over Mum's piano,' Hannah suggested.

‘Mor
bid
,' Sophie declared. ‘Besides, haven't you noticed all the flowers downstairs? I'm totally flowered out.'

‘Gardenias don't last very long anyway, Han,' said Rachel. ‘They go brown really quickly, especially if they're handled too much. So in a way, they were perfect for . . . you know, a one-off occasion.' Bugger. She could have put that better.

‘You know why we buried her, Rachel?' Sophie said suddenly.

It sounded like a rhetorical question, or at least one she didn't expect Rachel to answer, which was just as well because Rachel didn't have a clue what to say to that.

‘Dad thought we wouldn't handle seeing her cremated,' Sophie went on. ‘But I think Mum would have chosen to be cremated.'

Rachel paused, glancing at Hannah. She wasn't sure how to respond to that. ‘Had she ever said anything to you?'

Sophie shook her head. ‘Of course not. She didn't know she was going to die.' She rolled over onto her stomach, propping her chin with her hands and looking squarely at Rachel. ‘Dad wanted us to have somewhere we could visit Mum, but I think it would have been against her beliefs.'

‘What do you mean?' asked Rachel.

‘Well, I'm sure she would have gone with the most environmentally friendly option, and scattered ashes would have virtually nil impact on the environment.'

Sophie had been a mainstay of the debating team throughout high school, she knew how to mount an argument.

‘Though I guess those incinerators couldn't be all that good for global warming . . .' Sophie paused, thinking. ‘Maybe she would have preferred to donate her body to science.'

Rachel glanced at Hannah; her lip was trembling and she was beginning to look a little dismayed. This didn't seem to be an appropriate topic for conversation right now, but on the other hand, if Sophie needed to talk about it, it wasn't Rachel's place to stop her. Then again, maybe Hannah shouldn't have to listen . . .

The door opened suddenly and Tom appeared. Thank God.

‘Thank God, everyone's gone!' he announced as he strode into the room and fell backwards onto Sophie's bed. Hannah leaped straight up off the floor and clambered up next to him, snuggling into his outstretched arm and burying her face in his neck.

‘Okay, that's my cue,' said Rachel, getting up.

‘No, no, Rach, I didn't mean you,' Tom protested. ‘You're not everyone.'

‘Still, I'll leave you guys to it.'

‘Wait just a sec,' said Tom. He stroked Hannah's hair. ‘Hey Hannah-pie?'

She lifted her face. She looked sleepy more than teary, Rachel was relieved to note.

‘I'm just going to talk to Rachel for a minute, okay?'

‘Sure Dad,' she said, shifting out of his way.

‘It's okay, Tom,' said Rachel. ‘I can see myself out.'

He ignored that. ‘I'll be right back, girls.' He ushered Rachel out onto the landing, pulling the door to. ‘Do you really have to go?'

She hesitated. ‘Well . . . no, but I think I should, Tom. The girls might need some time with you,' she said. ‘Sophie's coming out with some strange stuff, and I'm not sure how Hannah's taking it.'

He listened, nodding faintly. ‘Okay, I'll talk to them, but they're going to crash any minute,' he said. ‘They're both beyond exhausted.'

‘You must be too,' said Rachel.

‘Yeah, but I haven't been sleeping that well,' he shrugged. ‘And I'm going to need to wind down from today.' He looked at her directly. ‘Would it be too much to ask for you to hang around till I get them settled?'

Rachel didn't know what to say.

‘Please, Rach,' he added. ‘I don't think I can face being alone right now.'

‘Of course,' she assured him. ‘Whatever you need, Tom. But take your time with the girls, okay? Don't rush them. I'll be here.'

‘Thanks, I appreciate it.'

She headed downstairs to the kitchen. The furniture was back in place, but everything looked a little bare. She carried the two chairs in from the hall and placed them either side of the table, then she went to inspect the contents of the fridge. She found an open bottle of wine and took it over to the sink, where a solitary glass stood draining. Rachel gave it a quick rinse under the tap and poured herself a glass of wine. She gazed out the window into the dwindling light and Annie's garden. At least the hired help had left that alone. Rachel wandered over to the screen door and pushed it open, it squeaked as she stepped outside.

There was nothing restrained or formal about the garden, in fact it rather ran riot. Plants had to be hardy this close to the ocean to survive, so there were rosemary and lavender bushes, seaside
daisies, some pretty funky-looking cacti, and here and there a quirky little statue peered out from behind the foliage: fairies and goblins and gnomes, put there when the girls were little.

At least half an hour must have passed before Rachel heard Tom moving around in the kitchen. She came to the back door.

‘No, stay out there,' he said. ‘I'm just gathering supplies.'

‘Are the girls okay?'

‘Yeah, Hannah was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.' He took a couple of glasses from an overhead cupboard and turned around to look at her. ‘When I went back in to check on Soph, she was plugged into her iPod. I took the hint. They haven't had a minute to themselves the whole week, and Sophie likes her privacy.'

Rachel nodded. ‘Do you want a hand there?'

‘Nuh, coming now.'

She held the door open as Tom walked through, his arms laden with bags of chips, a bottle of Scotch, glasses and an ice bucket. He set it all down on the outdoor table.

‘Let's get drunk,' he said.

Rachel eyed him dubiously.

‘Don't give me that look, not you, Rach,' he sighed, dropping into a chair. ‘All day, the “looks” I've been getting, you have no idea.'

‘Sophie said something about that.'

‘If I cry, people are uncomfortable; if I smile, they're uncomfortable. I spent the day contorting my expression into what I thought people could cope with. It's exhausting.'

‘You didn't have to do that, Tom.'

‘Oh, but I did. I have a responsibility to everyone to grieve the way they want me to grieve.'

Rachel watched him loosen his tie and undo the top button of his shirt. ‘I haven't cried,' she said suddenly.

He glanced at her. ‘I won't hold it against you.'

‘But you know I thought the world of Annie, and Lexie can't stop crying. What's wrong with me?'

‘Nothing,' said Tom. ‘That's exactly what I was trying to say. There are these expectations about how you're supposed to grieve.'

‘I never seem to get it right,' Rachel shook her head. ‘I have a terrible tendency to laugh when I hear something really sad, or tragic, or serious, or just at totally inappropriate times. It's so embarrassing.'

Tom was smiling at her. ‘Like at your wedding.'

‘Oh no, don't bring that up,' she protested, covering her face.

It was possibly the worst thing Rachel had ever done. Poor Sean struggled valiantly through vows he had written himself, while she struggled just as valiantly, though with less success, to suppress the fit of giggles that had seized her. Half the congregation were shocked and dismayed at the bride's lack of composure, the other half were too busy trying to contain their own laughter.

‘See, I'm a terrible person.'

‘You're not a terrible person, Rach. They were pretty lame vows.'

‘Oh, come on, at least he tried, God love him.'

‘Whereas you, you had nothing,' said Tom.

‘Don't remind me,' Rachel groaned.

‘I never got to ask you what happened back then. Did you go blank or something?'

‘No. Apparently Catherine put it on my to-do list, but I didn't see it, or I forgot . . .'

‘You forgot to write your wedding vows?'

‘I thought they told you what to say,' she defended. ‘Why else do you have the guy with the robes if you've got to do it all yourself?'

Tom smiled, gazing at her across the table.

‘What?' she asked.

He shook his head. ‘I'm just glad you're here. Thanks for staying, Rach.'

‘Don't mention it.'

He picked up the bottle of Scotch. ‘So, are you going to help me drown my sorrows?'

He was almost too pretty for a man, was Tom. He had big, crystal-cut blue eyes framed with thick curled lashes, high cheekbones, bowed lips, and caramel hair tipped with blond that looked like it had been done by a professional, but Annie insisted he never stepped foot in a hairdresser's, she cut his hair. He'd always
had good hair; he wore it longer at uni, surfie-style, his shoulder-length locks bleached bright blond by the sun and sea. Had all the girls drooling over him. Had all the girls, period.

But for some reason he had taken a seat right next to Rachel in their first lecture, their very first day of first-year Law. She probably looked safe, ordinary, non-threatening, despite the fact that she was desperately trying to look ever so cool and like she absolutely belonged there. How anyone thought they could pull that off in first year, Rachel had no idea. But that was the whole thing. She had no idea.

‘Hi, I'm Tom,' he'd said as he dropped into the chair. He reminded her of a big friendly puppy.

‘Rachel,' she nodded.

‘Where are you from, Rachel?'

She was living in college because she didn't have any choice. But she was determined to find an alternative, especially before the end of semester, so her parents couldn't drag her over to London or Madrid in the break.

However, she wasn't going to admit to this guy that she lived in college, it didn't exactly fit with the image she was trying so hard to project. So she just said, ‘I'm a local.'

‘Cool. I've come down from Crescent Head, do you know it? Up the north coast? So I'm living in college and it sucks. If you hear of anyone looking to share a place . . .'

And that's how she and Tom and a procession of housemates came to share a sprawling old Californian bungalow on the somewhat whimsically named Rainbow Street, for the next two and a bit years, until Rachel dropped out and took off overseas. Tom was the only one who understood at the time. Her parents shook their heads as they wrote their cheques, writing cheques being pretty much the extent of their parenting, and of far greater use to Rachel than any discipline or advice they might have cared to administer. And Catherine thought she was plain mad, throwing away two whole years of a law degree. Not quite two years, Rachel reminded her. She had failed yet another subject, so she was falling further behind. ‘That means you'll be taking a lot of classes with me,' Catherine pointed out. She was a year behind Rachel and Tom, but gaining fast. Giving birth to Alice in her
HSC year had created a momentary setback, but setbacks were only ever momentary in Catherine's life, whereas they had a tendency to completely derail Rachel's. She sometimes had the feeling her whole life thus far was one big setback.