Drip Dry (9 page)

‘Hmm, bit noisy, aren't they?'

‘You can say that again.'

‘Mum! Is that
Keith
there?' Sam is also staring out a window, her face aghast.

‘I told you CJ invited him,' I say defensively as I involuntarily glance at Alex. At the mere mention of Keith's name, his face closed down (
now
I know where Ben gets it from). I wonder briefly how much he knows about my second marriage. Suddenly I
realise that I've been standing in the kitchen for the last ten minutes and I haven't offered them anything to drink.

‘Keith. Oh,
I
see,' says Maggie, looking at me. ‘
That's
why you went so funny before.'

‘Quick, aren't you?' I comment sarcastically as I avoid Alex's curious gaze.

‘Christ,' Samantha mutters crossly, ‘bloody Keith.'

‘
Okay
! What would you all like?' I peer in the fridge to check what's available. ‘There's light beer, heavy beer, some riesling . . . or I could dig up some spirits if you prefer?'

‘Oh, a nice cold glass of riesling will do for me, thanks.'

‘Me too.'

‘I'll have a shandy, thanks, Mum.' Samantha is undoubtedly trying to impress her father. I've certainly never heard her request a shandy before, but I won't let her down by mentioning this. I grab some wineglasses and a tumbler out of the cupboard and surreptitiously polish them with a corner of my vest. After pouring out the drinks, I hand them over just as an ear-splitting shriek comes from the backyard.

‘Uh-oh.' I peer out the window and spot the fallen fairy immediately. She is surrounded by several of her cohorts and is writhing around on the ground clasping her eye region with both hands in an extremely unfairylike manner. While I watch, Keith strides purposefully across the backyard, gathers up the stricken sylph and heads in the direction of the house. Oh god! This is
just
great.

‘Um, I'd better go and see what's wrong,' I mutter
rapidly as I put down my glass and abandon my guests in an attempt to head Keith off at the pass. I hurry through to the sliding doors but, just as I fling them open, Keith arrives at the other side. I am forced to flatten myself against the wall as he pushes past and, like a pink and fluffy version of the Pied Piper, a flood of frothy fairies follows in his footsteps.

‘Outta my way.' Keith and his elfin entourage continue towards the kitchen and he calls to me over his shoulder, ‘She's been poked in the eye by a wand.'

With extreme reluctance and a sense of foreboding clambering up my oesophagus, I join the end of the queue and shuffle forwards into the kitchen. By the time I arrive, Keith has deposited the damn fairy on the bench-top and taken in the three sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes flicker over each of them slowly and then return to Alex again as comprehension dawns. He looks narrowly at him and Alex looks narrowly back.

‘Hello, Keith,' says Samantha politely but with very little warmth.

‘Samantha! Long time, no see. How's life treating you?'

‘Okay, I suppose. Usually.'

‘Well! Let me have a look at this,' I say loudly as I attempt to prise the fairy's hands away from the offending eye. By this time the rest of the fairies have also crowded into the kitchen to see what sort of damage has been done. Apart from CJ, they all ignore the newest arrivals. She grins happily at Samantha, smiles cheerfully at Maggie, and then frowns at Alex while she puts two and two together.

‘Is
that
your daddy, Sam?'

‘Will Jaime lose her eye?' An eager fairy elbows her way in next to me and her compatriots quickly follow suit, crowding around the bench and jostling each other in an effort to get closer.

‘Is it bleeding?'

‘I didn't
mean
to!'

‘Lemme see! Lemme see!'

‘It got in the way!'

Okay, this situation is totally out of control. Alex, Sam and Maggie are still looking stonily at Keith, who is looking stonily straight back. CJ is bouncing around like she is suffering from St Vitus dance, and the rest of the fairies are crowding so close to the counter in the hopes of seeing some blood that their injured companion is in imminent danger of toppling off. She, on the other hand, has not stopped her wailing since she was brought in. Nor will she remove her hands. I must do
something
.

‘Jaime, calm
down
so that I can look at your eye. CJ, yes, that
is
Sam's father and you'll get to say hi later. For now, could you please take all your friends into the lounge-room and put on a video. And you can give them all their lolly bags because their mothers'll be here shortly. At least, I sincerely hope so. Off you go. Now, Keith, I'd like you to meet Alex Brown, who is Sam and Ben's father, and Maggie Brown, Alex's sister. This is Keith McNeill, CJ's father.' I watch their reactions out of the corner of my eye while I continue my efforts to prise Jaime's hands away from her eye. Thankfully, CJ has done what she was told for once and has removed the rest of the
fairies from the vicinity. I can hear them squabbling happily in the lounge-room over which video to watch. In contrast the tableau in front of me remains immobile; nobody seems to be willing to make the first move. Just as I am worriedly beginning to think that my intervention will be necessary yet again, Maggie shows exactly what she is made of.

‘Hmm, hello.' She stops short of saying ‘pleased to meet you' but extends her hand courteously in Keith's direction. After a split second's hesitation (he is
not
the type to shake female hands), he leans forwards to grasp it and they shake. Then Alex stands (probably because he has realised that he has a good few inches on Keith), and follows his sister's lead.

‘Alex.'

‘Keith.'

That must be
the
most reluctant handshake I have ever witnessed. And, I must say, also the most unlikely handshake I ever expected. There was a lot of eye contact there, but very little of anything else except what could only be described as civilised male posturing. After barely a split second, they relinquish each other's hand and return to their previous positions. And I bet that was also the firmest handshake that each could deliver. I smile wryly at Maggie, who is watching me carefully, and then I turn my attention back to Jaime, mainly because her perpetual wailing gives me little choice. I swear that the main reason for throwing birthday parties is to be convinced that children worse than your own
do
exist.

‘So how long are you in town, Alan?' Keith asks Alex. ‘Permanently, or just back for a flying visit?'

‘Permanently,' says Alex shortly. ‘And the name's Alex.'

‘Alec, did you say?'

‘No,
Alex
.'

‘Oh! Sorry, mate.' Keith shakes his head ruefully. ‘I lose track of names.'

‘So, Eustace, you're helping out with the party, are you?' Maggie looks at Keith sweetly. ‘That's very sporting of you. Very sporting indeed.'

‘Huh?' Keith looks confused. ‘What did you call me?'

‘Don't tell me
I
got your name wrong!
How
embarrassing!' Maggie has the grace to even look embarrassed. ‘And it's not that
I
can't keep track – it's just this old brain of mine will only take in the important stuff. So what
was
your name again?'

‘Keith,' says Keith stiffly.

‘Ah, Keith, Keith – Keith,' Maggie repeats slowly. ‘No, sorry – it's gone again. Straight in one ear and out the other. Terribly sorry.'

At this point Sam, who has been watching this exchange with considerable interest, snorts loudly and puts her hand over her mouth. Alex takes a sip of wine and leans back with a grin on his face, and Maggie smiles apologetically at Keith. The body language of the latter, I know from bitter experience, is not looking promising for an amicable relationship to develop here. When will this nightmare end? As if in answer to my prayers, the doorbell rings.

‘Keith, could you take care of that, please,' I say with relief. ‘I'm afraid I've got my hands a bit full here.'

‘Not a problem, love.' He shoots Alex a rather triumphant look and pats me on the arm as he leaves the room with the air of someone who is right at home. I realise that I may have made a tactical error. Certainly the three at the table are looking at me suspiciously, as if there is something that I'm not telling them. But I only wanted to get
rid
of him!

‘Maybe this
is
a bad time.' Alex drains his glass of wine and stands up.

‘Yes.' Maggie takes his glass and places it, with hers, onto the counter.

‘I'll go grab a jacket.' My faithless daughter flits off in the direction of her bedroom without sparing me even a backward glance.

‘Well, it was nice to see you again,' I say lamely as I clap my hand over Jaime's mouth to shut her up. As her noise ceases abruptly, the unremitting drone coming from the lounge-room mutates into intelligible sentences.

‘This is a boring video.'

‘CJ, is
that
your mother?'

‘Hey! She's got no clothes on!'

‘My dad's got videos like this and I'm not allowed to watch them, you know.'

‘CJ – press rewind and let's see her go backwards!'

‘Holy Mary, mother of God!'

This last comment was quite obviously not from a child, but from an adult female – probably the mother who Keith went to meet at the front door. I stare at Maggie and Alex in consternation as I suddenly realise just what video has been put in the machine. I am going to kill my son. Then I am going
to give him CPR, bring him back to life, and kill him once more. Slowly. I am still frozen in disbelief when I hear one of the little perverts in the lounge-room request CJ to play it again and another child scream in response. Alex raises an inquiring eyebrow at me. And I spring into action, ripping my hand away from Jaime's mouth so quickly she yelps and then abandoning her on the island bench with her hands still clasped to her eye. But as quickly as I move, I am not quick enough. Maggie and Alex have preceded me into the lounge-room and, by the time I skid to a halt, CJ has just leant forwards and hit the play button on the video machine. I have time enough to note the fact that Keith is standing in the doorway with a very large, horrified-looking mother beside him. Mind you, neither have made any attempt to stop the repeat performance. Then suddenly, before I can even yell at my daughter to turn the damn thing off, I am on television.

And Ben was wrong – very, very wrong. It's not particularly brilliant and there
is
a bloody lot of me when I'm naked. First the tape is so blurry everything is practically indistinguishable and I breathe a sigh of relief, but then the damn automatic focus obviously kicks in and there is suddenly a grainy but relatively clear picture of events. And the star attraction is me. Half of my face has been cut off, leaving just my wide-open, gaping mouth at the top of the frame. The rest is taken up by my body which, despite the towel, is pretty well all on display. So there I am – stark naked, dripping wet and full-size, standing in the bath with one hand clutching my
ineffectual towel. This would be bad enough but, because CJ kept filming as she began her slide across the bathroom floor in my direction, the image of me on film just becomes bigger and bigger and bigger and more wet, and pink, and disgustingly glutinous. And still the zoom inexorably continues until parts of me start to over-spill the frame at around the same time I drop the towel and, with it, all pretensions to modesty. First my head, feet and arms vanish, then my neck and knees, next my breasts and thighs, and finally the wide expanse of my belly until the only thing left, becoming larger and larger and larger, is just what would be at the head height of a small six-year-old slightly bent in full propulsion.

My mouth drops open as the image relentlessly continues to take up the entire screen like a rapid descent into X-rated hell. A well-vegetated X-rated hell. A child in the audience screams and the picture abruptly changes to a close-up view of my upper left thigh. Then comes the point when I must have grabbed the video camera because, on the tape, CJ's voice squeals just before she hits the bath and a brief shot is filmed of the top of her head as she submerges and then resurfaces, arms flapping. Finally comes a kaleidoscope of walls and ceiling, ceiling and walls until, at last, the tape finishes and the television screen goes black.

Around me, everybody is still silently staring at the television as if hoping for an encore performance. The frozen tableau is only broken when a couple of the fairies sitting cross-legged in front of me put their hands over their mouths and start to
giggle. I flash a glance at Alex, who is now looking up at the ceiling and whistling softly under his breath. Next to him, Maggie is staring at me open-mouthed, and Keith and the mother by the door are doing likewise. I want to die. Quickly, painlessly, and preferably with my clothes on.

‘C'n we watch it again?'

‘No!' I leap forwards across the lounge-room over and around the juvenile audience and jab repeatedly at stop and eject simultaneously with my index finger. Finally the machine figures out what I want and spits the tape out. I grab it and turn to face the assorted fairies.

‘This,' I say slowly, thinking rapidly as I hold the tape up, ‘this is a tape that belongs to my university. It's part of an analytical guide which demonstrates representational strategies for propulsion analysis visual techniques, and CJ should
not
have shown it to you.'

‘But isn't that you on the tape?' asks one of the gigglers curiously.

‘No, it is
not
me,' I say firmly. ‘Maybe the actress is someone who
looks
like me, but I promise you it is
not
me. I am not an actress. Besides, who in this house would take a film like that of me, do you think?'