‘Hey lady!’ yelled the skateboarder. His body and his board flew in different directions, but he landed on his feet. ‘Jesus. Look before you cross the road.’
Xanthe had been distracted by thinking about how happy she was. She apologised profusely. The young man picked up his skateboard and inspected it. He tested the wheels. He was set to carry on when she stopped him.
‘Can I have a go?’
He stared at her. She was thirty-one, but she didn’t look much older than twenty, about the same age as him. She’d had a bit of work done on her face. She was certainly beautiful. Her gym gear showed her body off to its best advantage.
‘Sure,’ he said.
It had been years since she’d been on a skateboard. She put her left foot on, wobbled a bit, pushed off with her right. She flew down the hill, laughing out loud all the way. It was quite a walk back up again.
‘Whoa!’ he said. ‘You totally bombed that.’
She grinned and handed the skateboard back to him. ‘Not bad for an old girl, eh?’
The lace curtains at number 49, on the uphill side, twitched. Xanthe waved cheerfully at the retired accountant, who probably thought she was drunk. It was that sort of street. She hadn’t realised that when she’d talked Hugo into moving there.
She walked up the two flights of steps to the entrance of her house. She put her gym shoes in the cupboard and spun around in her socks across the shiny wooden floor and into the magnificent living area where a glass wall looked out over the sea.
Paul Prufrock from Paul Prufrock Catering was standing at the window admiring the view. He walked over to Xanthe with his arms outstretched and kissed her on each cheek. ‘Come and look at the salmon, darling, they’ve just arrived. Plucked fresh out of a canal in Twizel this morning.’
She looked at the two fish in the polystyrene box. They were snuggled into each other on their bed of ice. She felt a bit sorry for them.
‘I saw you skateboarding,’ he said. ‘Remarkable.’ His eyes flicked down to her butt.
‘I see the florist’s been,’ she said, looking around. There was a lot of purple. The florist had asked for a colour and she’d said, ‘Oh, I don’t know, what about aubergine to match the fish on the lampshade? I don’t really care, do what you like.’
She rearranged the flowers to make them look more natural, as if they’d been picked straight out of her garden, if she had one. She had a rooftop with giant pots full of plants whose names she could never remember, and a sandpit and fairy lights, which was all the garden you needed when you had a view like theirs.
On the huge island bench, Paul Prufrock, taking the florist’s lead, had made a display of little baby eggplants still attached to their foliage, tomatoes on the vine, pimentos and various hot peppers, and a beautiful pink flower she didn’t recognise. ‘They’re all from the nightshade family,’ he told her. ‘Like the winning garden at the Chelsea Flower show.’
Xanthe wasn’t interested in a flower show from the other side of the world, but she understood that she was meant to be impressed. She was used to overkill. Once people found out their address they were only ever offered the deluxe version. Sometimes, she’d get cross about it, but not today, because today was going to be perfect.
She was finally getting married. They’d nearly done it four years ago, before Jay was born. Hugo had helicoptered her into a winery and presented her with an enormous diamond. That was the first happiest day of her life. She’d rung her sister Cathy who said, ‘congratulations’, which was a relief. Then, three months later Cathy rang and said, ‘Brett has proposed too and we’re getting married straight away.’
Hugo was furious. After he’d cooled off, he changed his mind about getting married. ‘Been there done that Xanth, marriage makes you miserable, and look how happy we are.’ Which they were, but still, she was disappointed. It was finally happening now because Hugo was in line for a judicial appointment and someone had told him it would help his chances if he had a proper wife.
Xanthe ran down to the rumpus room, where Jay and Benny were sitting at a little wooden table ignoring their dinner. They were dressed in their Spiderman costumes. Jay was wearing his pink gumboots.
‘Baxter likes broccoli, but I don’t,’ said Jay, putting his hands on his hips.
‘Who’s Baxter?’
Amy, the babysitter, grinned. ‘The boy in the broccoli story I told them. Maybe you’ll have more luck.’
Xanthe loved Amy. She was at uni and came to give Xanthe breaks, which was much more often that Hugo realised. She was also secretly doing the cleaning.
Xanthe sat down on a tiny chair and took a bite of a fish finger. ‘Yum,’ she said. ‘Yuk,’ said Benny, his little fat face scrunched up.
‘There’s chocolate cake for little boys who’ve eaten their dinner,’ Xanthe said. Jay bit on a raw carrot. ‘Are you the bride yet mummy?’
‘Soon,’ she said. ‘When you’ve finished eating.’
‘Can I wear Spiderman?’
Xanthe thought of the little black suits and bowties that she’d bought them. They could go in the dress-up box.
‘Sure, you can,’ she said, and she laughed at the thought of it, after all that careful planning. It was the second time she’d laughed that day. She was counting.
Upstairs in her bedroom, she took out her wedding dress from its cover. Cathy had helped her choose it. Not white, at her age, with two kids in tow. Pink, Cathy said. It was the colour of nurturing and unconditional love.
There was no sign of Hugo yet, or her bridesmaid for that matter. It was her wedding day and she was all alone in her bedroom, getting ready. Cathy was unreliable, she knew that, but there was much about her to love, even if Hugo didn’t think so. Cathy’s marriage had ended, and she was back, living with their mother, but mostly hanging out at Xanthe’s house. Xanthe loved having her close. Hugo was sick of her always being there. He thought she was shallow.
The dress was floaty. She was going to wear flowers in her hair. Cathy was meant to be curling it. Xanthe tried to do it herself, but it was impossible. She couldn’t get the tongs to go at the right angle. The curls, instead of softly cascading, stuck out. It looked terrible.
When the doorbell rang, she ran down in bare feet to answer it. It was Hugo’s brother, George. He was wearing a vivid blue suit with the pants turned up to expose his startling white socks and shiny black shoes.
‘Worst Uber driver in the world,’ he said. ‘Honestly, he was taking me to a different suburb. I could have missed my own sister-in-law’s wedding.’
‘You’re early,’ she said.
He kissed her on the lips. ‘Oh, good, I’ll have a drink.’ He opened a bottle of champagne and filled two glasses. ‘Your hair,’ he said. She’d forgotten what a mess it was. ‘Brush it out. Go tousled. It’ll look sexy,’ he said. ‘And keep the bare feet,’ he called out after her as she disappeared back up the stairs.
The brushed-out curls were perfect. She looked a bit hippie, like that rock star Hugo used to like. She put on her high silver shoes to show off the calf muscles she’d worked so hard on, and was back downstairs in time for the next guest.
Her mother swept in. She was wearing an enormous hat and a dress with everything going on – buttons, bows and stripes and too many colours to count. It was undoubtedly expensive. Her most recent ex-husband had been rich.
Her mother was delighted to see George. ‘You can be my partner,’ she said. ‘We’ll be the best dressed couple here.’
He said, ‘What happened to Gordon?’
Xanthe’s mother made a throat slitting action, and said, ‘What happened to whatshername?’
The doorbell rang again. It was Hugo’s mother and father and a sister, Lisa, and her partner whose name no-one ever spoke out loud and Xanthe could never remember. Hugo’s other sister, who mentioned the devil at least twice every visit, was too busy to drive to the airport and take a one-hour flight for their wedding, which suited everybody just fine.
Hugo’s mother and Lisa were dressed in black. Chanel probably. Elegant. But black.
Hugo’s father was wearing a plaid jacket and a big smile. It was such an easy thing to do, thought Xanthe. Smiling. It made all the difference in the world. He gave her a big hug and then pointed at George’s socks, which had little white rabbits on them. ‘Interesting,’ he said.
‘They’re good luck,’ said George.
‘I already have all the luck.’ Xanthe smiled and put her arm through George’s and somebody took a photo.
The back door burst open. Hugo called out, ‘Don’t start without me,’ and tore off up the stairs. He was always late. Being early made him fidgety.
The kids, having heard their father’s voice, came tearing in, with clean faces and hands and everyone smothered them with kisses, which they wiped away.
That was the guest list covered. Immediate family only. No one else had been invited.
Xanthe slipped away upstairs. She leaned against the wall in the hallway and watched Hugo through the crack in the door of the bedroom. He was fresh out of a hurried shower, posing naked in front of the mirror, flexing his arm muscles. He’d gone mad for the gym lately and it was paying off. He turned his head to check out the silvery grey that had snuck into his hair at the sides, then posed again. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Not bad.’
She loved this side of him. The boyish charm, the silliness. He was like it with the kids, when he romped around and told them stories, like how he used to be Peter Pan, and they’d look at him with eyes as round as the wheels on their trains. Sometimes he’d take it too far and they’d cry. He was a bit the same with her. Tickling her under the chin, saying, ‘It’s a joke Xanthe, you really need to laugh more.’
She couldn’t wait to see his face when she told him that they would be spending the next two weeks sipping cocktails and sunning themselves in Hawaii. She’d booked a surprise honeymoon. Checked with Hugo’s secretary. Don’t make any appointments he can’t change.
He was putting on a new suit. Cream linen. That took her by surprise. He had a wardrobe full of pin-stripes. She waited until he finished dressing before she went into the room. ‘Amazing. You look like Stevie Nicks,’ he said and kissed her on the top of her head.
‘Ready? I’ll scuttle down and pretend I’m surprised, you sweep down the stairs and take all the glory.’
‘Let’s go down together,’ she said.
No one was at the bottom of the stairs waiting, because they hadn’t organised it, or rather Cathy hadn’t.
‘I seem to be missing my bridesmaid,’ she said.
‘How typical,’ said Hugo. ‘I’m not delaying my wedding for her.’
‘Be nice,’ she said, but she knew he would be. He knew what a difference her sister had made to her life since she’d come back.
Cathy dashed in, with her shoes in her hand. She was wearing a white dress and what looked like Xanthe’s pearl-drop earrings. She had curled her hair.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘I burnt a hole in my dress when I was ironing it and I had to find something else at the last minute.’
‘You look magnificent,’ said Xanthe. ‘Doesn’t she Hugo?’
‘She looks very pretty,’ said Hugo and kissed Cathy on the cheek. Cathy blushed.
‘You’ve embarrassed her,’ said Xanthe, but she squeezed his hand in thanks.
George came into the hall and did a little bow and kissed Cathy’s hand. He said, ‘You really are as delicious as Xanthe said, how did I not notice before?’ Cathy said, ‘I was married the last time we met.’
George put his arm through Cathy’s and led her into the lounge. ‘Looks like I’ve been dumped,’ said Xanthe’s mother.
Paul Prufrock doubled as the marriage celebrant. Xanthe frowned when he started to get all poetic. They had agreed not to gush in front of everyone. What they had asked for was the minimum legal requirement. Do you know of any legal impediment to this marriage and do you take this person to be your spouse? It should have been over in two minutes. He didn’t even know them.
Cathy saved the situation, even though she broke the rules too by giving a speech, but it was so heartfelt, so generous about Hugo, that Xanthe had tears in her eyes. And when Hugo gave Cathy a hug and said, ‘Thanks, Sis,’ Xanthe could have burst with happiness.
George was watching from the back, leaning against the door. He said, ‘Hugo, you may now kiss the bride.’
‘You don’t get to say who can kiss me,’ protested Xanthe. ‘It’s my body,’ but she wasn’t serious, and Hugo tipped her back and smothered her in kisses, and Jay and Benny grabbed her legs, and they all ended up in a heap on the floor.
Xanthe’s mother said, ‘Aww. I don’t care if marriage is old fashioned, I think it’s wonderful.’
‘We’re of the view that it should be forever,’ said Hugo’s mother, who was still friends with Hugo’s first wife.
‘Look how happy Xanthe looks,’ said Cathy, and there was no denying it. Xanthe was still on the floor with her kids in her lap. She looked radiant.
‘And you’re not even on anti-depressants any more,’ said Cathy as she linked arms with Xanthe and they all went in to the dining room for dinner.
There was no seating plan. Hugo and Xanthe sat together. Benny was next to Xanthe in his little booster seat, and Jay next to Hugo. Each of the boys had a grandmother facing them, passing them cake. George sat opposite Xanthe, Hugo opposite Cathy. Hugo’s father was at the top of the table. The remaining two, Hugo’s sister and her partner, were invisible down the other end.
Hugo’s mother said to Xanthe, ‘I expect you’ll be taking Hugo’s name.’
‘She’s already got a name,’ said Hugo. ‘Paul, these crab cakes are delicious.’ He squeezed Xanthe’s hand.
‘But it will be so confusing for the children.’
‘I’m pretty sure the children have worked out I’m their mother,’ said Xanthe, stabbing a piece of celery into the artichoke dip.
Jay was blowing bubbles in his glass. He looked up. ‘You’re a bride,’ he said and slid off his chair and followed his brother into the annex off the kitchen to watch Peppa Pig. They had chocolate on every part of them.
Cathy said, ‘Did you know her name’s not really Xanthe? It’s Justine.’
‘She was named after her father, which was very short-sighted of me,’ said Xanthe’s mother.
Cathy said, ‘Sorry, I should probably stop drinking.’
They talked intently about the food. Cathy was having trouble trying to kick her shoes off under the table. The tablecloth nearly reached all the way to the floor. It twitched.
‘Greedy,’ said Hugh, ripping a chunk of ciabatta with his teeth.
George said, ‘Who’s greedy?’
‘Cathy,’ said Hugo. ‘The salmon is all gone, and the empty dish is in front of her. It makes it look like she’s gobbled it all up by herself.’
‘Salmon are wise,’ said Cathy. ‘They always find their way home. To regenerate. Like me. I’m a salmon.’
‘That’s bloody stupid,’ said Hugo’s sister. ‘Salmon are farmed. They don’t go anywhere to come back home from. That must really mess with their heads.’ It was the first time she had spoken all night.
They tried talking about work, but Hugo shut that down when his sister asked Xanthe if she was going to go back to teaching fitness classes any time soon, but not until he calmly reminded her that Xanthe had been a Personal Trainer not an instructor, but her most important role right now was as a mother and look how the children were benefitting.
They were trying out politics when there was a knock at the door. Xanthe was pleased to get up.
‘Wow. You look amazing.’
It was the skateboarder from earlier. He smelt of cologne. There was a dog on a lead, winding itself around his feet.
‘We’re having an event.’ She leaned against the porch post and waited. The fresh air was good.
‘Sorry,’ he said. He put his head down so that his hair flopped over his eyes. He shuffled his feet.
‘Um, so I was wondering if you might like another go on the skateboard.’ he said. ‘You know. Another time. I was just taking the puppy for a walk and I had to come right past, so I thought ...’
Xanthe said nothing.
‘Um, yeah. His name’s Bert. He’s my flatmate’s. We’re not supposed to have pets but he’s pretty small. No one knows.’
‘I see.’
Xanthe loved dogs. She’d always had them, her whole life, before Hugo. Not pretty little dogs like this one, but Labradors and German Shepherds, dogs you could bury your whole face in. The puppy was a caramel coloured fluffball. Some sort of oodle, she supposed. Wool instead of hair. A dog who wouldn’t shed everywhere.
The skateboarder picked the puppy up. It licked his face, manically. It wagged its tail. Jay and Benny would love it. She was tempted to go inside and get them, but she’d have to explain herself on the way through.
She held out her arms and the skateboarder handed the puppy to her. She kicked off her shoes and sat down on the step with the puppy, which wriggled all over her, biting and making little pulls in her silk dress.
The skateboarder sat down next to her. Their heads were close together and their hands touched as they both leaned in and petted the wriggly puppy’s soft head. Xanthe was pleased she hadn’t gone inside to get the boys. She tried pretending for a moment that she was young and unencumbered. It was no use. It was blindingly obvious from the rings on her finger that she was not single.
‘I don’t need another go on the skateboard,’ she said. ‘But thank you.’ She went to stand up, but he put his hand on her knee. ‘Don’t go,’ he said. ‘Not yet.’ He leaned in to kiss her.
‘Don’t be a jerk,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘I’m married.’ She dumped the puppy in his lap and got up.
‘Hang on,’ he said. He handed her a piece of paper. ‘It’s my number. Like maybe if you want a puppy or something. I know the breeder.’
She took the piece of paper but was careful not to smile.
‘I can get you a discount,’ he called out, as she closed the door.
After this, Xanthe felt re-energised. She paused at the entrance to the dining room to take in the scene. It was nice that the two families were all together. Everyone was chatting happily. Cathy had moved and was sitting next to Hugo. Hugo was smiling in the vague direction of his father, who was talking loudly, about fishing. Even Hugo’s sister looked like she had finally started to relax. They’d laugh about her puppy story. A discount! Hugo would never in a million years agree to a puppy, even if it was free.
It took a few seconds for Xanthe to realise that one of Cathy’s hands was firmly planted in Hugo’s crotch. His left hand was holding it there. His right hand was holding a glass of red.
‘Oh, there you are,’ said George. ‘We were about to send out a search party.’
Cathy removed her hand. Neither she nor Hugo turned around to look at Xanthe.
‘I’m going to check on the kids,’ Xanthe said. She walked through the kitchen where two people were building the profiterole tower that she had ordered, and into the annex, where the children had fallen asleep on the on the couch. Peppa Pig was still playing on the television. She put a throw over them and walked up the stairs.
She was sitting on her bed when George came in. ‘I’ve been watching those two all night,’ he said. ‘Want me to do something about it?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s my own fault. I handed him to her on a plate.’ She remembered Cathy’s words, after she’d told her about Hugo’s affairs. What did you expect? That’s how you two got together in the first place.
She moved out onto the balcony, into the night, and watched the city lights on the harbour. George put his arms around her and his chin on the top of her head. She leaned into him, but he pulled her in even closer, pressing her breasts into him.
‘Don’t, George.’
‘I love you, Xanthe.’
She loved George too, but not in the way he wanted. ‘Hugo’s my husband now,’ she said. ‘For better or for worse.’
‘You might want to rethink that,’ he said.
She didn’t reply.
‘I’ve got you a wedding present.’ He fished into his pocket and took out a key. ‘My flat,’ he said. ‘If ever you need it. No strings attached. Unless you change your mind.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking it. The skateboarder’s phone number was scrunched up in her other hand. She put both items into her jewellery box and shut it.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘We have a party to get back to.’
When they got downstairs, nobody was looking for them.
‘We need to cut the cake,’ said Hugo. He looked the same as he always did. He grinned, put one arm around her, the other on her hand and they both cut.
‘Make a wish,’ someone shouted.
‘I’ve already got everything I could wish for,’ he said, and they kissed. George bumped the table and the profiteroles toppled everywhere.
‘Come and sit with me George-y,’ said Cathy, waving a decanter of scotch.
‘I think you’ve had enough,’ he said.
‘Cathy and George seemed to be getting on well,’ said Xanthe to her new husband as they undressed.
‘Oh, wait,’ he said, ‘I got you a present.’ It was wrapped the same as all the presents he ever gave her. It was a silk teddy. She put it on, did a bit of a slow dance for him.
‘God, you’re beautiful,’ he said, reaching out.
‘I have a present for you too,’ she said, handing him the envelope. ‘It’s a honeymoon. In Hawaii.’
‘Oh,’ he said.
‘We’re leaving tomorrow. I’ve organised everything.’
‘Great,’ he said. They climbed into bed. He spooned her, kissed the back of her neck. ‘No-one has sex on their wedding night,’ she said. ‘They’re too exhausted.’ She switched off the light.
‘Xanthe,’ he said.
‘Yeah?’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
‘I don’t think I can come to Hawaii.’
‘It’s ok,’ she said. ‘Your ticket’s refundable.’
After he was asleep she got up. The kitchen was sparkling clean. Paul Prufock had left a note saying, great getting to know you. She screwed it up and threw it in the bin. She made a cup of tea, which she didn’t drink. She went and looked at her sleeping children. They were still in their Spiderman suits.
Cathy was staying the night. When the children woke up they’d run straight into her room, opposite theirs. They loved her. She’d let them into her bed and turn the TV on for them, and keep them there until the babysitter came, because the plan was to let Xanthe and Hugo sleep in.
Xanthe could see a line of light coming through under Cathy’s door. She put her hand on the door handle. She could stop this right now, scream at Cathy, throw her out.
It would fizzle out soon enough. It always did.
She went up onto the roof, where the fairy lights would stay on until the sun came up. The kids called it the top of the world. The city was reflected in the stillness of the harbour. There was no wind to blow away the noise coming from the container port.
She deleted a text from George that said Take me to Hawaii instead.
She logged into the airline and cancelled Hugo’s ticket. In a few hours he would get up and go for a run. She could be gone before he came home. It wouldn’t take her long to pack. A couple of sun dresses, three or four swimsuits, some jeans and a sweater. Shoes.
Before she left, she would hide some Hershey’s kisses for the boys. She’d ring from the airport and tell them where to find them. She’d promise them a puppy when she came back. At least one. Maybe she’d get a pair.
She was so tired. Two weeks all by herself sounded like bliss. Two weeks, lying in a deckchair, being waited on hand and foot. She’d buy some trashy novels from the airport and leave them at the hotel, so Hugo would never know.
She sat on the edge of the sandpit and waited for the sun to come up.