The Shadow House(26)

‘You know you don’t have to do it, right?’ said Mariko, dipping a tortilla chip into the guacamole bowl and popping it into her mouth. ‘There’s a perfectly good high school down the road.’

‘I’ve heard it’s good,’ agreed Shannon. ‘But I totally get why you’d rather have them here. It’s such a delicate age.’

Layla pushed her plate aside and laid her head down on the table. ‘Delicate, and impossible. I need a drink. Is it too early for a drink?’

‘It’s never too early,’ said Mariko. ‘What have you got? No, don’t tell me. Stay there, I’ll go rummage in your fridge.’

Despite my fuzzy head and fluttering nerves – I’d drunk myself to sleep again the previous night, lurching from one unpleasant dream to another – I couldn’t help but smile. These women made such a refreshing change from the ‘friends’ I’d made in Sydney, mostly the wives of Stuart’s business associates, whose tight, designer-clad bums and taut abs made me want to weep. My local mothers group had been no better; it was like they’d arrived home from the hospital to find all their muscular definition waiting for them on the doorstep, along with the night nanny and the private paediatrician. My reality had been so far removed from theirs that I might as well have been a different species. The Pine Ridge mums, on the other hand, were funny, honest and (homeschooling and greenhouse parties aside) normal.

‘I think you’re doing an amazing job, Layla,’ I said, glancing over my shoulder and into the house where Amy was still hunched over her artwork. I pictured Ollie’s usual pose: hunched over his phone. ‘You’ve got the screen thing nailed anyway, which is more than I can say.’

Layla smiled and squeezed my arm. ‘Thanks. I know I shouldn’t complain. They’re good kids, really.’

I had to agree. On the whole, all the Pine Ridge kids were eerily well behaved. Well, all except mine.

‘Hey, Shan,’ Mariko yelled from the kitchen. ‘Can you bring me that knife from the table? And the strawberries? And maybe the watermelon too? I’m going to improvise a fruit punch.’

‘Oh, Lord.’ Shannon stood up. ‘No good can come of this.’ She carried the bowls of fruit into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Layla.

The morning was bright and warm. Lazy clouds drifted across the sky, casting patchy shadows and causing the light to change like someone was playing with a dimmer switch. Mixing in with the sound of Kara bashing on saucepans was the delicate chime of bellbirds and, from somewhere directly above us, the whistle-crack call of a whipbird.

‘So, what are you doing about school next year, Alex?’ Layla asked, stifling a yawn. ‘Have you enrolled Ollie anywhere yet?’

I shook my head. ‘Not yet. I was thinking of homeschooling too, actually, but now I’m not so sure.’

‘Oh no, please don’t let my whingeing put you off. I’m just having one of those days. It’s actually very easy. A total walk in the park.’

I laughed. ‘No, it’s not you. I just don’t know if it’s right for us.’ Translation: there may be no faster or more efficient way to decimate what’s left of my relationship with my son than to try being his teacher as well as his parent.

We lapsed into a comfortable quiet, the silence punctuated only by the raucous laughter of kookaburras and the sound of Mariko dropping stuff in the kitchen.

Layla cut another slice of cheese. ‘Where did you guys move from again?’

‘Sydney.’

‘I know, but which suburb?’

‘We moved around. Last place we lived was south Bondi. Near Waverley Park.’

‘Oh, nice. So, which school did Ollie go to, then? Was it Randwick? Or Rose Bay?’

I reached for a cracker. ‘No, neither of those.’

‘Reddam? Cranbrook?’

I chewed slowly, trying to think of a way to change the subject, but my brain was momentarily paralysed by the memory of Principal Tinsley’s booming voice. You’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve decided on just a suspension, he’d said, his fat hands clasped across his stomach. Although I must emphasise the serious nature of the situation.

‘We lived in Clovelly,’ said Layla. I could feel her watching me, her curiosity sharpening. ‘Funny to think we lived so close.’

It’s just for the remainder of term. He can start afresh next year when this whole business has blown over. I’d told him I thought a suspension was too harsh a consequence, that if the school kept it up they’d have no students left. We have to take a hard line, Ms Ives, the principal had replied, his eyes roaming disdainfully over my unwashed hair and spit-stained T-shirt. Think of those poor girls. Imagine the humiliation.

‘Those private schools can be tough, can’t they?’ Layla pressed on. ‘The fees are exorbitant.’

I must say, it’s very disappointing. Oliver was such a good kid when he arrived. Exemplary, even. But his behaviour has undergone such a major U-turn this year that we feel he would benefit from a short period of reflection.

‘And some of them are nothing short of toxic. I mean, I thought the Eastern Suburbs was a safe bet, but it seems none of us are safe anymore. You must’ve heard the stories?’

I nodded slowly. It wasn’t just Ellenhurst High. The news was full of Sydney school scandals: muck-up day pranks gone wrong, hotness ratings lists, sexting, even a recent string of assaults. But somehow Ollie’s school had copped some particularly brutal coverage and the media made an example of them – hence the overly stringent punishments.