Their only child

 While Cindy is away, Piet goes with Wendy (who he calls Gwen) to visit their son & in his domesticity. This is a chapter from the book DLC35.

“Hey Gwen, are we on for this weekend?”

“What are you cooking for me?”

“We’re going to Julian’s, remember? I don’t suppose you’ve rung them?”

“Cheese&crackers! I forgot.”

Where on earth is she picking up expressions like that?

“OK, I’ll call Megan. She’ll know their calendar & won’t be able to refuse me.”

“How come I don’t get that service?”

“Have you ever tried it?”

“No - Megan’s a sweet girl. I’d never impose … She’s old enough to say ‘no’ if she meant it, isn’t she?”

“That’s my assumption. Shall I pick you up?”

“OK, it can’t be that far out of your way.”

It has literally been a year since I’ve been to Julian’s house. He so often comes to ours - the one that Cindy & I used to own - that it never occurs to me to say I’m visiting him. Wendy must, I’m sure, because the kids would be bored senseless at her place.

“Megan, my dear, how are we?”

“Dad! Hey! Are you in town?”

“Well, I still live here …”

“Of course you do. Sorry. Yes.”

“Bad time to talk?”

“No. I’ll cope if Tayla can stop singing for a moment,” obviously directing that at her youngest.

“OK, Mummy,” I heard.

“Oh, you must be so … lonely without Cindy.”

“Well, I’m coping. I was thinking of dropping in on you guys this weekend some time - with Wendy.”

“You & Mum! Oh! Sure! Umm. Sure. Saturday for dinner?”

“We can both do that.”

I’m sure I’ve been given authority.

“... &, Megan, I’ll cook. We’ll work it out when I get there.”

“You will?”

“Feel free to do dessert.”

“Thank you. I’ll just have to … organise my four children, then.”

Four. Julian is included. I hope he’s not working. She would have said, surely? Even Megan can fob me off with the prediction that my son won’t actually be present.

“What is he cooking for me?” Gwen asked after a hug in her doorway.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I am so glad he left it up to you …” Then it occurred to her, “You didn’t speak to him, did you?”

“Like I said, Megan’s more connected to reality.”

“This is not my fault.”

“Gwen - it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just who he is. Love him for that. He’s very much aware of the world, & she’s very much aware of filling in the gaps. I’d call it a perfect marriage.”

“I think you call most things a perfect marriage.”

“I’ve still got to find one for you.”

“Don’t you dare!”

She was on the verge of laughing. I know I haven’t really been trying that hard recently, & I have limited time on my hands, but I’m sure I could achieve something as a parting gift. It’s that or a decent set of kitchen knives. Then maybe she could bake a man in her life.

When we arrived at Julian’s terribly suburban house, pulling up in the street, Lin was the first out the door, but Tayla quickly ran past her, coming to a dead stop when she worked out there were only two of us. Tayla favours the MacDonald side of the family, her hair now shoulder length with a slight kink to it, whereas Lin has the curly-wavy hair of both her parents, still keeping it almost tom-boy short. Tayla turned to her big sister for help in sorting out what she could see.

“Where’s Cinny? Nonno always comes with Cinny. Grenny? Where’s Cinny?”

Wendy looked to me.

“You don’t remember? Cinny’s staying in New Zealand now. You saw her on the vid call.”

“Still?”

Admittedly, it’s been two months. Who stays away for that long?

“Can I get a hug anyway?” Wendy asked.

“Sure!”

“Hey, Nonno,” & my big girl already understands the importance of hugs.

Here’s an interesting thought - little kids just accept hugs. They enjoy that closeness. They don’t see it as an outpouring of love, but simply the way that humans should interact. Call it primal, if you like. Monkeys do it. Other animals without arms nuzzle, but we have the advantage that we can wrap a child in the protection of an arm’s width. As children get older, they no longer need the protection, because they think they can defend themselves against the world. A parent might stop trying to show love in that way, preferring language. A child still needs that love. Adults appreciate the community of a hug, the shared experience, the hint of support, the act of reaching out to someone, still contained in a simple human touch. Within a family setting or a closed society, those touches - which can be as small as a warm handshake - bind us, remind us who we are connected to.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

I’ve taken too long. She’s nearly a teenager. High school next year.

“I haven’t seen you for ages.”

“Yeah, but I have to hug Grenny.”

Tayla’s nearly hopping, waiting her turn for a hug, too. In her case, she finally got the chance to throw herself into my arms.

“Love you, Nonno!”

“I love you, too, Tayla.”

It looks like we’re doing that other monkey thing where I have to carry her back into the cave.

“Hello, Miri,” Wendy said when she saw another child just inside the door.

“Hey, Mrs Mac.”

That’s going to throw me. Wendy’s been using her mother’s maiden name when teaching, so I’m used to her being Wendy Fletcher. But, if this is the MacDonald household, then I guess I’ll be conforming, too.

“Miri, this is Nonno - my grandfather.”

“Mr Mac - a pleasure to meet you.”

What a well-mannered child.

“Please, feel free to call me Nonno,” without even needing to hide a grin.

Lin rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Miri, we don’t have to hang until Nonno makes dinner or something.”

“OK.”

Megan came in through the back door.

“Nobody thought to call me?” she asked Lin in passing, who shrugged.

Megan looks harried. She needs a hug. I can put my little monkey down.

“Sorry I didn't …”

I can protect you, child. I have but two arms, but I can block the world off for a moment.

“It’s good to see you, Dad.”

Wendy was standing off a bit. When I released her, Megan went over for a half-hug-cheek-peck thing that I would be ashamed of unless I was still holding a child.

“Sit, Megan. What can I do?”

That’s possibly the worst thing that a mother-in-law can say. It implies that her son is not being looked after, & she’ll have to step in to tidy up all the things that the incompetent wife can’t handle. I know it’s almost a cliché, but Wendy’s doing it right here in front of me. She probably thinks she’s being helpful. She’s got the energy - she likes to keep her own place neat & tidy - & she can see that Megan is done-in, so it makes some kind of sense to her to offer. Sympathise, don’t undermine. It’s Megan’s house, not Julian’s, as such - & I know that sounds patriarchal or culturally biased, but it’s true in this case, because Megan literally does most of the home duties.

Worse, Megan can’t admit to any failings even if she had any. Pride. It comes before a fall, & I’m guiding Megan to a seat.

“Put the kettle on, Gwen. Tayla will help you.”

“What?”

If it can’t be done in words, it must be done with a look. I gave her a look.

“Come on, Sweetie, show me where things are.”

I left a bit of silence. I don’t want to solve Megan’s problems, either. I just want to find out what they are. I can help her find solutions as we just sit here on the couch for a bit.

“He’s doing it again, Dad.”

Which ‘it’ in particular?

“I had to send him off with Gus to get him out of the house. He was trying to be helpful, & he just gets in the way.”

That ‘it’. The one where Julian feels like he’s drifted away from his wife & doesn’t know how to get back without imposing himself. He’s been doing night work, I guess. The news never sleeps, but neither does a good relationship. You’d think it would give him precious moments of a morning, after his kids have gone to school.

“You’re not too old.”

“What do you mean?”

“For having another child.”

“Don’t make me laugh!” & she buried her head in my shoulder.

She’s definitely got some child-bearing years in her, if they were so inclined. Space might be an issue in these days of all kids getting their own bedroom, but they’d find a way. It’s not the only answer, but it is one that has worked. I’m not trying to solve the problem, just reminding her that they’ve solved it before.

“I don’t know. No - I know we don’t want to do that!”

“Then you should probably just tell him what you do want.”

She lifted her head & looked at me.

“Oh, wise greying-haired one. What would we do without you?”

“Yes, I know it’s not that simple.”

“Well, maybe it is. Don’t say anything to him, please. Maybe it’s just time I did something about it without help.”

Wendy appeared, a little unsure.

“Megan? Tayla doesn’t know where the tea is.”

“Sure, Mum - I’m coming.”

I’m staying. It’s her house. She doesn’t need my help.

I had a look around. The room is clean, but not neat. There are things just lying around. A lot of those things belong to one of the kids, & I know which one of them could find a home for everything if she thought about it.

I knocked on Lin’s open door. She & Miri are lying across the bed, a tablet held up between them. I’m not the streaming police.

“Lin, I was wondering if you could help me tidy up a little? Tayla & Gus have left a lot of stuff lying around.”

She blushed a little. She’s a smart kid. She knows that her stuff is lying around, too. She can assume that I can’t identify ownership, or she can assume that I’m not trying to embarrass her in front of Miri.

“Come on - just a few minutes,” she said to Miri, flicking the device.

They were off. I can head things off to the dining room, I guess, so that there’s no interference. I hope there’s more than a biscuit on offer, just to reward the workers.

Madeira is just biscuit waiting to harden. It’s lovely when you open the plastic, nice & soft & moist, but I find it disgustingly stale on day two, no matter how well sealed it’s been. This one is fresh.

“Sit down, Megan. I’m sure someone will do fetch & carry …”

“Nonno - we’re done!”

“See? Cake shall be provided as fair compensation for those who offer their services … doing what, Mum?”

Megan grinned at me.

“Linny, could you …”

The short list of things was met with an eye roll, but she’s happy to be paid for it.

Wendy’s been a little quiet, her eyes darting to me occasionally. Finally, she reached out & took Megan’s hand. She didn’t say anything. Years of teaching has given her the skills to see when someone needs help. She’s just never had Julian or Megan ask for it. That’s the consequence of being all that Wendy has for family here. For me, I apparently just assume I can interfere, & people get used to the idea of not needing to ask. I consider it a privilege, bordering on entitlement.

Julian & Gus nearly missed out on cake. Julian didn’t mind, because they’d had a doughnut. Gus did, because it’s cake. He picked up a piece on his way to getting a hug, then scampered off.

“OK, planning committee, give me some ideas for making dinner.”

Julian looked slightly horrified.

“Eight of us - Miri’s staying tonight. Nothing too … adult. I don’t know if Miri does spicey,” Megan thought out loud.

“Hang on - you can’t cook as a guest!” Julian spluttered.

“Are you going to try to stop me?” I asked with a raised brow.

“Let him, Jules - he doesn’t have his own kitchen, now. He needs to prove his self-worth.”

Ouch. Is that true? No, surely.

“Is that why … he’s living with you?”

“Oh dear - you are out of touch. You didn’t tell them?” she asked me.

“Sorry, my domestic arrangements had been so settled that I forget to tell people when they change. Your mother & I …” & I grinned.

“Pan!”

“Sorry. I’ve never had to do that, so I thought I’d try it. No, I lasted in that spare cupboard of hers for … two weeks? It was obvious that I was cramping her style …”

“Dad!”

“Pan!” but she was on the verge of laughing now. “Fine, don’t tell them. It’s a small flat, let’s face it, & your father going out onto the balcony every time he wanted to call Cindy was wearing a bit thin.”

“Every time?”

“Well, you know, apart from when I had to hold the phone for you while you were cooking. I’ve never held a phone while someone blew kisses into it before. Anyway, I was putting on weight on a daily basis - & I will not take up jogging!”

“Right. It was a bit weird when Chrys told me about it. But, then you’re here together anyway.”

“Oh, well, that’s a part of the problem to be honest. We get along too well, by far. I couldn’t risk ruining that friendship if romance happened to come her way & she needed … her privacy.”

“Pan, just stop it. You’re terrible. There is nothing for you to get in the way of.”

“You never know …”

Julian is somewhat gob-smacked. Megan is enjoying herself. I think it’s the fact that there’s an adult conversation happening at her table.

“So … you two discuss your love lives?”

“Mostly hers. Mine is a constant ….”

“Pan! Good grief. Who wound you up today?”

“I was just going to say that fifteen years of being married doesn’t give me much to discuss, because I’m sure you’ve all heard it before. The only recent change is that I don’t have Cindy curled up against me every night, or holding my hand at the table.”

Sympathy. Is that going to work? We’ve held back some truth, so it’s time to redirect the conversation.

“How are you holding up? It must be hard.”

Megan reached out & rubbed my shoulder. She’s reliably sympathetic. We can even skip over the euphemism of it being hard. Adult conversation.

“I was there last weekend. I don’t know who misses whom more. It’s weird to visit your own family. You have to make connections again. We went roller skating.”

“You didn’t tell me that! Do you still skate?”

“I haven’t done it in years. Cindy’s never done it, apparently, so I had to hold her hand.”

“You poor thing!” from Wendy.

“We should try it!” Megan stated, turning on Julian.

“Err … I’ve never skated.”

“I used to do it all the time as a teenager. Challenge accepted!”

Indeed. Family time takes eight wheels per person. The kids will love it.

Wendy wants to say something, but I don’t think she has a clue what it is.

“This doesn’t get us any closer to making dinner. I think we’ve still got time to do a roast, if you don’t mind it being a little late.”

“A roast!”

No objections.

I took Megan & Tayla with me. Obviously, I could have done without Tayla, but she seemed to think she had the right to follow her Mum. I’m leaving Wendy to talk to Julian. She’ll broach the topic of ‘something wrong’ & wheedle it out of him. It will be good for both of them. 

Meanwhile, we have a trolley to push.

“This is not really not trying to solve my problems, Dad.”

Megan knows exactly what I’m up to.

“Not just yours. Julian does come to me to talk, sometimes, but I think that might be harder for him if I’m not around.”

“Will he go to his Mum? I always thought … they don’t talk like that.”

“I’m sure you had the same problem with your own parents at some point - I don’t know if you still do. I’m an outsider relative to Julian’s youth, but he can trust me as his father, his next closest relative. That has always put me in a unique position. At some point, though, as an adult, you realise that your parents - the ones who brought you up - can be trusted to help you anyway.”

“At some point.”

“If you learn that, as a parent, then you’re better equipped to help your own kids when the time comes.”

“Handing down the wisdom of the ages.”

“Survival of the chattiest. I’m not saying I was smart enough to listen when I was young, but I worked out eventually that my parents - in their old age - weren’t complete idiots. I also had over-protective - or nosy - older siblings.”

“So, I’m getting my lesson for the day, am I?”

She touched my arm, so I knew she wasn’t taking offence.

“If you like. Maybe it’s just a consequence of me never knowing when to shut up.”

She pursed her lips. No argument.

There isn’t any difference, when you think about it. When an older person spouts their words of wisdom, there is no test afterwards. In a way, it’s polite to listen, but they don’t really expect you to. They’re reinforcing their own knowledge, perhaps reflecting on how they’ve used the wisdom that was passed to them, too often ignored. They’re not looking to be judged or to judge you, necessarily, they’re just doing the natural social thing that has kept communities thriving around the world, where generations live in close proximity. We lose that in Australia, & in big cities. I think it’s a shame. That’s why I like the idea of Cindy just slotting in with her relatives somehow. I don’t actually care if she achieves it, but I think it’s a good thing in general, even the effort is a good thing.

Have you noticed how we don’t tell our stories about the modern era of estrangement from family, except to say that someone is lonely? We don’t express it much better than that. Vid calls & phone calls don’t make for exciting visuals, so movies & TV keep the human contact, the face-to-face interaction, to the fore, & we pretend that it’s normal, that this is how it is & how it should be. We don’t express familial love, well, either, because it is so hard to express. It’s easier to express loss. It’s easier to fake tears than it is to fake that you care for someone. It’s easier to fake a punch than a kiss that looks like a genuine kiss, not someone covering someone else’s mouth entirely. Actors have limitations. Script writers have limitations. Your imagination, as you read a book, does a better job of taking a writer’s hints & filling in the gaps. With movies, you’re not supposed to leave gaps. You have to show that fake kiss & convince people that this is how real people kiss. You have to show a group of actors who look nothing like each other & only met a few weeks before filming, & say that this is a functioning family that have spent their lives together - a multi-generational family that feel a love for this one place that some immigrant built long ago. You can’t give the full story with actors. You can’t tell the real story of how we live now. 

If our stories don’t represent our now, then have stories ever represented a now of then? Let’s get metaphysical: can a story only ever be an escape from truth? My truth, too. I paper over the bits I don’t want to talk about, the things I don’t know how to express. Things happen around me that are essential to my stories, but I can’t include them because I’m just not that good a writer, not clever enough to capture or convey that moment.

“Tayla - come here for a second.”

She’s off dancing & singing down the aisle.

“Nonno?”

“I have some favourite songs, & I wonder if you know any of them?”

I reeled off a few standard hymns, avoiding anything Christmassy.

“I know that one!”

“You do?” Megan asked with genuine surprise.

“We did it in school!”

I’m not going to delve into Julian’s push for regular church attendance, but all of his kids were put into a Catholic school because that’s just what you do. It’s a cultural thing, if you like, that Megan simply accepted. She didn’t have much of a religious upbringing, herself. She knows that I’m a regular church go-er, & that Wendy has strong connections to the church, so she probably assumes that it’s always been that way for Julian.

You can’t dance to a hymn - well, a Catholic hymn, that is. You can’t sing it very loud, as a kid, because the range is all wrong. It’s a vast improvement. It makes her walk in front of us at a steady pace.

“OK, you definitely win that round. How did you know it would work?”

“No idea. I just had to try something, because she’s not looking where she’s going when she dances.”

She’s singing for me, now, still not looking where she’s going, as such, but moving slower, so other people can avoid her in time.

Greengrocer. Butcher. Wine supermarket. We’re done. Let’s minimise where the singing & dancing occurs.

“Wait! I forgot to get something for dessert! Stay with Nonno.”

Megan’s darting into the supermarket that I had managed to avoid. I have no idea what she’s getting, but there’s a perfectly good patisserie in the opposite direction.

Tayla is standing just in front of me. Yes, I’ve taken a bench. She’s still singing, but softer, like she’s forgotten words & wants me to think my hearing is defective.

Megan’s going to make a pav by the look of a square box in her bag. Well, that’s a nice change, because it’s been ages. She has the base, some cream, & some questionably sourced fruit. How traditional!

We got back to find Julian sitting forward on the lounge, not quite reaching out to Wendy, who was telling him something she didn’t feel she needed to hide from us.

“... & that’s why I’m still convinced that communication skills are the most important thing taught in high school.”

He nodded wisely. Preaching to the choir, I’m sure, but it shows how she’ll take an interest in Lin’s education.

“Hello, Meg. Did he keep his advice to a minimum?”

Julian got up & slowly approached his wife. She didn’t back away, but she wasn’t moving forward, she simply let him come to her, put his hand on her waist, & bump heads. Was there any affection when he came home before? I might have missed it.

I’m going to the kitchen, & I can hear the rapid feet of Wendy behind me.

“Helping,” she muttered. “Hey - are they OK?” she whispered after tapping me on the shoulder in the safe space formally used for cooking, rather than gossip.

“They’ll be fine. It’s nothing they haven’t overcome before.”

“Before? How many times? What exactly?”

“If I had to put it in words, Julian seems to … slip away from his family, & he has trouble working his way back. I don’t know why, because Megan is very patient. She’s more likely to get frustrated because he’s so tentative when he does finally reach out. She knows full well it’s not because he’s done anything wrong - you know? It’s just that … they need better communication tools, I guess, still.”

You see, there’s being able to express an idea, & then there’s being able to express a feeling to someone in particular. You can be good at one & still be rubbish at the other.

“Like whistling before you open a door?”

“Exactly! Don’t do it after.”

“Don’t …? Stop that, Pan. You & your stories. You were dishonest before.”

I got a swipe on the arm for that.

“I wasn’t fully truthful, let’s say.”

“It’s probably for the best, anyway. Can you imagine what he’d say?”

“No, I can’t. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Wendy snorted in that unladylike way she has.

“What are you two gossiping about?” Megan asked.

It’s her kitchen, she should be allowed entry whenever she likes.

“Laying bets on who would offer to help me.”

“I’ve got a pav to … decorate.”

You have to blush when you say that. A pav takes five minutes to put together: whip the cream, cut the fruit, chuck it all on top. I’m going to roast a boneless leg of lamb. I love this - they cut the bone out, basically leaving it as a flip-top roast, so you can stick whatever you like inside. It’s going to be fun.

“Looks like it’s you & me putting something in the oven yet again, Gwen.”

She shook her head. Megan’s eyes lit up, but she should concentrate on stirring her cream.