Page 63 of The Mother-in-Law

‘Just a popcorn, please,’ he said.

‘Small, medium or large?’

The young man blinked at me, looking me full in the face. It took me a moment to place him as Tom Goodwin, the plumber who had visited my parents’ house a couple of times. According to my father he was ‘a good worker’. He wasn’t handsome, but he had clear blue eyes, a good crop of hair, a great smile. He was on the shorter side, and he did nothing to conceal his intrigue at finding me working in a cinema candy bar in Yarraville.

‘I know you,’ he said.

‘And I know you. Tom, right?’

He cocked his head. I could actually see the cogs turning.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘What does it look like?’

‘I haven’t seen you around for a while,’ he said eventually. I recognised it for what it was: a question. For that exact reason, my first instinct was to be vague in my response.I’ve been busysprang to my lips as didI was over in Europe for a while. But I forced those words away. Suddenly I understood what Meredith had said about the freedom of having nothing to lose.

‘I went away to have a baby.’

I loved the way Tom didn’t try to conceal his surprise. He blinked, long and slow, and then blinked again. He actually took a step back. It was, I am certain, the fact I admitted it rather than the fact it happened that caused his astonishment.

‘A boy,’ I said. ‘Oliver. He’s over there in that basket.’

‘He’s . . . here?’ To my surprise, Tom walked over to the pram area and peered into Ollie’s basket. ‘This little fella?’ He gazed down at him and his face softened. ‘And . . . your family—’

‘They’rethrilled.’

I laughed, and Tom surprised me by laughing back. He had a great laugh. A full-bodied, hearty laugh that came from the well of his stomach.

‘So how are you supporting yourself then?’

‘I live in a shed in Spotswood, in the backyard of my father’s disgraced cousin. I cook and clean for her. And I’m working here for money.’

His smile slipped away. ‘You’re kidding?’

‘Afraid not. But don’t worry about me, I’m doing just fine. Very well, actually.’

I glanced at the clock. I’d been talking too long. I had to get things cleaned up and organised before intermission. I grabbed a popcorn container and made Tom a large one and handed it to him. ‘That’ll be one dollar,’ I said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of crumpled notes, handing the lot to me without even glancing at them.

‘You’d better get back in there. You’re going to miss the movie.’

He jerked slightly, looking over his shoulder as if he’d forgotten where he was. Then he looked back at me and gave me the best smile I’d ever seen. ‘But what if I miss what’s happening out here?’

37

LUCY

The present . . .

Wakes are always interesting affairs. Anything that mixes family and alcohol usually is. When I arrive at the Half-Moon after Diana’s funeral, Ollie is looking more relaxed with a beer in hand, occasionally even chuckling at something someone has said. The football is on the television in the background, which also provides some normality to the abnormal occasion.

Nettie, too, seems more together than at the funeral. Edie finds her immediately and takes pride of place in her lap, commandeering Nettie’s pink lemonade. I’m glad to see her issues with us haven’t extended to our children. Say what you want about Nettie, but she’s a loving aunt. I have to love her for that.

Patrick has sunk at least half-a-dozen beers since I arrived, a good hour after everyone else, and it has to be said, he’s looking a bit worse for wear. I suppose I can’t blame him. I’d like to throw back a few too, but between chasing the kids around and ordering them to get up from under the tables, there isn’t a lot of time. Harriet and Archie have kicked their shoes off and are scampering around on the floors, where the dirt is forming a paste with the spilled drinks. Soon someone will break a glass, one of the kids will step on it, and we’ll be all headed to the hospital. Actually, it would be a relief to get out of here.

‘Hey,’ I say, finding Ollie at the bar. He has the glassiness of a man a few beers in, and he seems sombre, but then he has just attended his mother’s funeral. ‘Are you okay?’