Marla said she always thought of Janie whenever she saw a rainbow. And Rachel said, ‘Why?’
The empty road unfurled in front of her and the sun brightened. She squinted and lowered the sun visor. She always forgot her sunglasses.
There was somebody out and about after all.
She grabbed hold of the distraction. It was a man. He was standing on the sidewalk holding a brightly coloured balloon. It looked like a fish. Like the fish in Finding Nemo. Jacob would love that balloon.
The man was talking on a mobile phone, looking up at his balloon.
It wasn’t a balloon. It was a kite.
‘I’m sorry. We can’t meet you after all,’ said Tess.
‘That’s all right,’ said Connor. ‘Another time.’ The reception was crystal clear. She could hear the very weight and timbre of his voice, deeper than in person, a bit gravelly. She pressed the phone to her ear, as if she could wrap his voice around her.
‘Where are you?’ she asked.
‘Standing on a footpath carrying a fish kite.’
She felt a flood of regret, and also plain, childlike disappointment, as if she’d missed a birthday party because of a piano lesson. She wanted to sleep with him one more time. She didn’t want to sit in her mother’s chilly house having a complicated, painful conversation with her husband. She wanted to run around her old school oval in the sunshine with a fish kite. She wanted to be falling in love, not trying to fix a broken relationship. She wanted to be someone’s first choice, not their second.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
‘You don’t need to be sorry.’
There was a pause.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘My husband is on his way here.’
‘Ah.’
‘Apparently he and Felicity are over before it’s even begun.’
‘So I guess we are too.’ He didn’t make it sound like a question.
She could see Liam playing in the front garden. She’d told him that Will was on his way. He was racing back and forth across the yard, tipping first the hedge and then the fence, as if he was in training for some life and death event.
‘I don’t know what’s going to happen. It’s just that, with Liam, you see, I have to at least try. At least give it a go.’ She thought of Will and Felicity sitting on the plane from Melbourne, hands gripped, faces stoic. For f**k’s sake.
‘Of course you do.’ He sounded so warm and lovely. ‘You don’t need to explain.’
‘I should never have –’
‘Please don’t regret it.’
‘Okay.’
‘Tell him if he treats you bad again, I’ll break his knees.’
‘Yes.’
‘Seriously, Tess. Don’t give him any more chances.’
‘No.’
‘And if things don’t work out. Well. You know. Keep my application on file.’
‘Connor, someone will –’
‘Don’t do that,’ he said sharply. He tried to soften his voice. ‘No worries. I told you, I’ve got chicks lining the streets for me.’
She laughed.
‘I should let you go,’ he said, ‘if this bloke of yours is on his way.’
She could hear his disappointment so clearly now. It made him sound abrupt, almost aggressive, and part of her wanted to keep him on the line, to flirt with him, to make sure that the last thing he said was gentle and sexy, and then she could be the one to put an end to the conversation, so that she could file these last few days away in her memory under the category that suited her. (What was that category? ‘Fun flings where nobody got hurt’?)
But he was entitled to be abrupt, and she’d already exploited him enough.
‘Okay. Well. Bye.’
‘Bye, Tess. Take care.’
‘Mr Whitby!’ shouted Polly.
‘Oh, my god. Mum, make her stop!’ Isabel lowered her head and hid her eyes.
‘Mr Whitby!’ screeched Polly.
‘He’s too far away to hear you,’ sighed Isabel.
‘Darling, leave him alone. He’s talking on the phone,’ said Cecilia.
‘Mr Whitby! It’s me! Hello! Hello!’
‘It’s out of his work hours,’ commented Esther. ‘He’s not obliged to talk to you.’
‘He likes talking to me!’ Polly grabbed hold of her handlebars and pedalled away from her father’s grasp, her wheels wobbling precariously along the footpath. ‘Mr Whitby!’
‘Looks like her legs have recovered.’ John-Paul massaged his lower back.
‘Poor man,’ said Cecilia. ‘Enjoying his Good Friday and he’s accosted by a student.’
‘I guess it’s an occupational hazard if he chooses to live in the same area,’ said John-Paul.
‘Mr Whitby!’ Polly gained ground. Her legs pumped. Her pink wheels spun.
‘At least she’s getting some exercise,’ said John-Paul.
‘This is so embarrassing,’ said Isabel. She hung back and kicked at someone’s fence. ‘I’m waiting here.’
Cecilia stopped and looked back at her. ‘Come on. We’re not going to let her bother him for long. Stop kicking that fence.’
‘Why are you embarrassed, Isabel?’ asked Esther. ‘Are you in love with Mr Whitby too?’
‘No, I am not! Don’t be disgusting!’ Isabel turned purple. John-Paul and Cecilia exchanged looks.