like this casual intrusion into her private life. She’d revealed far too much over dinner last week and was now regretting it. If she hadn’t opened her big mouth, they wouldn’t be making this trip in the first place. And she’d cried! That was unlike her. It must have been the dessert wine.
She regarded Annie as if she were an errant snail in her whitlof and pear salade belge. ‘I don’t care if he drinks that vile wheatgrass juice or Bollinger—everything tastes better out of Fabergé crystal. And, in the end, it doesn’t really matter what their taste is. It’s about good taste. I’m not going to give them some revolting earthenware mugs, am I? Now where’s the safest place to put this?’
Nina led the way down the stairs to the side of the van. The gift box was stowed in a corner of the storage bin with the camp chairs and picnic table. As she turned the lock Nina thought, with weary satisfaction, that at least this was the last of it. There was so much stuff in the van that if they were ever to meet with a natural disaster—stranded by floodwater, say, or lost in the desert—they would be able to survive for months . . . years. Start a new civilisation. Probably even manufacture a range of durable household items. There was not one thing she could think of that they might require that wasn’t on board. Saffron strands? Check. Deck of cards? Check. Caramel-scented candle? Check. They were ready for take-off.
Stepping back inside the van, Nina and Meredith were alarmed to see Annie tearing the golden foil from the top of a bottle of champagne. ‘This one’s cold. I thought we could have a celebratory drink before we head off.’
Nina and Meredith both glanced at the van’s wall clock. It read fifteen minutes past three.
‘No thanks, I have to drive,’ said Nina.
‘And I have to navigate,’ said Meredith.
‘Well, I have to sit here in the back, and I’m not doing it stone cold sober.’ Annie popped the cork. It thwacked into the front windscreen. She upended the bottle into an earthenware coffee mug which she’d found at the back of a cupboard and chosen precisely because she knew it would annoy the hell out of Meredith. ‘Cheers!’ She raised her mug. ‘Here’s to life on the open road!’
Nina saw Meredith’s fists slide up to her skinny linen-swathed hips. ‘Yes, yes! Let’s get going!’ she blurted. ‘I’ll just say goodbye to the boys and then we’re off.’
As she walked through her front door, Nina heard the familiar drone of a televised football game coming from the lounge room. She could scarcely recall a time when her life wasn’t punctuated by the exclamations of hyperactive footy commentators: ‘Oooh! It’s a goal! Millimetre perfect! Richmond ten points in front, going into the third quarter!’ Or: ‘The Tigers need to score here to even have a chance of staying in the game! Oh, no! He’s dropped it. Aaaarggh!’
The only time she noticed the football soundtrack was when it wasn’t playing. Last week she’d heard classical music and had raced in from the kitchen to make sure Brad hadn’t had a heart attack and expired, remote control in hand, right there in the recliner. Brad had looked up in surprise as his wife flew into the room. Looking at the TV, Nina realised that what she’d heard was an edited montage of the game’s all-time greatest marks set to Stravinsky’s Rites of Spring.
‘Did you see that? Absolute screamer!’ had been Brad’s comment as Nina leaned against the wall with one zebra-striped oven mitt clamped over her racing heart.
This afternoon, as Nina slid open the lounge room door, she found a scene as intensely comforting as it was utterly irritating. The TV was blaring with the usual pre-game blather. Tigers v. Bombers. Brad was in the recliner, boots up on the coffee table. Anton and Marko were lying on the floor pinging buttered popcorn at each other, and Jordy was curled up on one end of the sofa cradling his mobile.
‘Right then, I’m off,’ Nina stood at the doorway and announced, half hoping they would all leap to their feet and beg her to stay.
‘Shit! Coughlan’s gone for the season!’ Brad threw the remote across the room.
‘Piss off, Marko! Stop it.’
‘You started it, you dickhead!’
‘Can everyone just shut up? I’m on the phone!’
Nina took a breath and tried again. ‘I’m going . . . RIGHT NOW!’