The Family Next Door(49)

Something isn’t right with you, Essie.

And she wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“Right,” her mum had said when she arrived this morning. “I’m looking after the girls at my place today. I’ve made you a hair appointment first thing, and afterward you can go out for lunch, get your nails done, or just come home and sleep. Up to you.”

Essie knew she should feel grateful, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything at all. Ben had still been at home when her mum arrived, which meant they were clearly in cahoots.

Don’t leave her alone with the children was the implication. She can’t be trusted.

Maybe they were right. In the past few days she’d drifted past exhaustion into some sort of deadened state. Instead of constantly lusting after sleep, she’d accepted she would never sleep properly again. When Polly cried, she lurched to her feet like someone had flicked a switch, robotically feeding, bouncing, and replacing the pacifier in the child’s mouth. She did everything that was expected of her, but she didn’t feel a thing. The only time she’d felt vaguely alive was when she was with Isabelle.

The nicest thing about Isabelle was that she found Essie so interesting. It was unfamiliar. Usually when Essie spoke to other adults she played the role of interviewer—asking questions, listening, nodding. But with Isabelle she became the focus of every conversation. Isabelle wanted to know every detail about Essie—how she’d met Ben; had she always wanted children; had it been difficult to conceive? How about Essie’s childhood—was it happy, was Barbara a good mother? She asked about her father, and Essie explained that he had run off with another woman while her mum was pregnant. She didn’t usually tell people that. Her mum had never spoken much about her dad and Essie had deduced from this that it was an insult to her mother to talk about him. But there was something special happening between her and Isabelle. It felt like that time after you’d started dating someone special when you wanted to share every detail about each other.

Isabelle shared details about her life too. Her mother died when she was twenty, but her parents had gone their separate ways years before that. She had a brother called Freddy and two half-sisters. Her dad had married a much younger woman who was nice enough, but Isabelle kept her distance, as she’d never felt part of that family. There was genuine sadness in her voice when she talked about that. It made Essie want to wrap her arms around her and hold her. She didn’t remember wanting to do that to another woman before.

By the time Kym returned with the color board, Essie had a couple of pictures ready to show her.

“Oooh,” she said. “A big change!”

Was it? Essie wondered.

“I love it!” Kym squealed before she could change her mind. “It will really suit your face shape.”

Well, good, Essie thought, sipping her peppermint tea, and then spitting it out and putting the cup on the bench in front of her. Kym gave her a strange look, but Essie didn’t care. When you were a sleep-deprived mother of two in your thirties, you could spit out your tea if you didn’t like it.

As Kym pasted color onto her hair with what looked like a pastry brush, Essie found herself feeling overwhelmingly tired. She let her eyes close. Maybe she’d catch forty winks while she was here? When you were a sleep-deprived mother in your thirties, you were allowed to do that too.





33


ANGE


“Ange! Is that you, dear?”

Ange had been about to head out to her Pilates class when the phone had rung. Now, she cursed herself for answering. Her mother-in-law always called the landline, probably because Ange always screened the calls to her cell. In the early days of her relationship with Lucas, Ange would make him call her back. (Your family, your problem, she’d say). But at some point she’d stopped saying things like that to him. At some point his family became her problem. Everything became her problem.

“Hello, Leonie,” Ange said, standing by the counter with her rolled-up yoga mat by her feet. She never sat when her mother-in-law called. It was better to remain on guard.

“It’s nice to hear your voice, Ange. My word. How long has it been?”

Not long enough.

“I’ve been meaning to get in touch forever,” she continued without a pause. Leonie had an irritating tic of filling even the slightest pause with meaningless chatter. After a conversation with Leonie, she always felt like she’d been the victim of a minor assault.

“How are my grandsons? Growing like weeds? I really must plan a visit.”

“Will and Ollie are fine, and you’re welcome anytime, Leonie,” Ange said, safe in the knowledge that Leonie only ever left Perth to come to Melbourne at Christmas, where she stayed for a week at an Airbnb in the city. She refused to stay in the spare room because “she didn’t want to intrude,” which would have been wonderful, had she not gone on about it so very much. Apparently her own mother-in-law used to descend when her children were little and demand to be waited on hand and foot. Clearly, she’d set the intention to not be this grandmother, and more important, to make sure everyone knew she wasn’t. In spite of this, Leonie was a wonderful grandmother. Whenever she did visit, Leonie could always be found engaging with the kids. She read books and did role-plays and played the dullest of games for hours. Because of this, the boys adored her and because of this, Ange found she couldn’t quite bring herself to hate her.