Other People's Houses(69)

“Now’s not the best time, Theo, sorry. I’m having a conversation with Michael.”

Theo shrugged and wandered outside, ending up on a swing, but not swinging. Charlie and Michael watched him go.

“So, he’s not taking it very well?” Michael kept his eyes on Theo, who had started swinging, but only to the extent of his own lower legs, back and forth.

Charlie shrugged, an echo of his son. “I don’t think so. It’s been a fucking shit show, these last two weeks. If I didn’t despise Anne so much I’d be giving her a medal for all the crap she’s been taking care of without me. I had no idea how much mind-numbing, repetitive detail went into just keeping them alive. I’ve upped the cleaners to three times a week.”

Michael smiled a small smile. “Grocery run getting you down?”

“It was fine for the first week. I decided I would run the whole thing like a Swiss Army Hospital . . .”

“I thought the Swiss didn’t have an army?”

“They don’t?”

“I don’t think so. I could be wrong.”

“Well, like some super-efficient type of organization, then, which doesn’t sound as good, but I defer to your greater knowledge of international defense. I had the kids up early, I made full cooked breakfasts, I bought a thing that lets you write their names in pancake batter, I did laundry at night, I folded clothes and put them away . . .”

Michael made a “wow” sound.

“Right? Anyway, after a week I had a total nervous breakdown in the bathtub after they’d gone to sleep. Sitting there with a beer in my hand, crying into the bubbles as quietly as possible, totally fucked in every possible direction. I am barely clinging to sanity. I really don’t know what to do.”

Kate came in. She had a Barbie-type doll in one hand, the hair of which was cut short, not very stylishly, and a roll of tape in the other. She came over and dumped both on the table. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out all the hair from the doll.

“I need you to put this back on again.” She looked at her Dad. “I got the tape and everything.”

Charlie looked at her, seeing Anne in her face, but loving her regardless. “Uh . . . I’m not sure that’s going to work, honey.”

Kate frowned. “Yes. Just help me tape it on.”

“It won’t look the same as it did before.”

“That’s OK. Tape it.”

“You’ll be able to see the tape. And it might keep coming off.”

“Tape it, Daddy.” Your injection of reality is not needed here, old man. I have a vision and I am here to see it executed.

Charlie sighed, shared a quick glance with Michael, who tried to look supportive, and pulled out a long piece of tape. It kept curling. Michael reached over and held one end, and told Kate to hold the other. They held it taut and Charlie carefully applied the hair to the tape, chunk by chunk. It wasn’t completely successful, it must be said. The individual hairs that touched the tape would stick, but the ones above would fall off. So then he tried spreading the pieces, which ended up working better, but then they looked like spider legs, which apparently wasn’t what she was going for.

It was Michael who solved it. He held up a finger (not from the hand that was holding the tape down) and suggested they make a sandwich of tape, putting the hair in between, and then use additional tape to reattach it. The team voted, this approach was adopted, and it worked ever so slightly better. It still wasn’t winning any awards, and in the distance you could hear the whirring sound of Vidal Sassoon spinning in his grave.

Finally, after winding the “hair tape” around Barbie’s head, and then applying a metric ton of additional tape to hold it on, which ended up making Barbie look like she’d lost a fight with an industrial thresher, Kate held her up and evaluated.

“She’s perfect!” She ran off, calling back to Charlie. “Thanks, Dad!”

Charlie got up to get more coffee. “Want some more?”

“Sure, because it’s too early for beer, right?”

Charlie looked at the clock, hanging over the doorway to the garden. It was 3:00 p.m.

“Do the normal rules apply on the weekend?” He put down his coffee cup and opened the fridge instead, grabbing two bottles of Anchor Steam. “Anne wouldn’t approve, which makes it even better.” Sitting down, he popped the caps with a bottle opener that was already lying on the table, and held up a bottle. “Cheers.”

They drank, and Michael idly pushed the remaining Barbie hair into a pile. He looked out at the garden. Theo and Milo were now both out there, sitting on the swings and shooting the shit.

“Do you think Frances would cheat?” Charlie wasn’t looking at him as he asked, but gazing out at the kids.

Michael shrugged. “Probably not. When would she have time, for fuck’s sake?”

Charlie made a face. “Anne found time.”

“Anne worked. She wasn’t trailing kids around all the time. She had agency. Frances has about two hours of empty space in the morning and that’s usually filled with trips to the vet.”

“You do have a lot of pets.”

“She likes animals, what can I say? I tried protesting, early on, but there was no point. She likes taking care of things.”

“But what if some other guy is taking care of her, right? I mean, clearly Anne wasn’t getting what she wanted from me.” He finished his beer, rose to fetch another.