of these events was obviously as fresh as yesterday. They were crucial to the way her life had turned out.
“Magpie Creek!” Beverley grasped for the year, to clarify . . . “196– ?”
“Seventy-two, Andy was two.” They both looked at me, expectantly. I’d been through this with Andy already. I had never heard of a TV series called Magpie Creek. It was before my time. This glorious glow from Hal’s past was entirely non-existent to me. He had no shimmer.
“It was a little fifteen minute thing they used to put on before the news on the ABC.”
“Oh but it was so popular.”
“And when they killed him off . . . ”
“He played the young constable character, you know, meant to be the heart throb.”
“The howls of outrage from the audience.”
“He’s never gotten over it,” Maude said quietly. “He was just so taken aback that they’d . . . ” She did the slitting throat mime.
“Oh, but what could they do?”
“It was so violent though, I mean . . . ”
“Decapitated,” Beverley clarified for me. “In a car crash.”
“He was so shocked when he got the script,” Maude laughed. “He was just . . . so crestfallen. It was a terrible time.”
“You reap what you sow,” Beverley said and took a pointed sip of her champagne.
“He had no idea. I mean, his mother used to dote on him.” Maude then did a little impression of Hal’s elderly mother. “‘Oh, isn’t he a larrikin’ she used to say when he was running round the neighbourhood putting bungers in people’s letterboxes.”
Beverley clocked my blank look. “Bungers, you know, they were little firecrackers. It’s a wonder no one was hurt.”
“And then the police would ring up Mrs Straw and she’d just . . . ” Maude affected a wide-eyed dotty old lady smile, “‘Oh, they’re just boys having some fun.’ I don’t think she was quite right in the head, to be honest. And she’d trot him around to all the radio talent quests. I mean, he couldn’t sing or anything. He was just . . . bold.”
“Anyway, after the Magpie Creek thing, he landed on his feet in the real estate business.”
“Yes, the Bingham and Straw thing.”
“Greg was good to go in with him,” Maude said vaguely. “And they did well for a while.”
“What was the slogan?” Beverley said.
“Oh yes: Call Hal he’s your real estate pal!” Maude could barely hide her smirk. I guffawed.
“Well he was still quite well known, so there he was in his suit. He was very handsome.”
“How did you meet?” I asked Maude, who pointed an accusatory finger at Beverley.
“He was a friend of my brother,” Beverley said with a tinge of guilt.
“Bev’s brother was in radio.”
“He was always having these big parties.”
“And Hal would strut in, you know, the big TV star . . . ” Maude rolled her eyes. “I was just . . . ” she looked at Beverley. “We were just so young.” There was a pause, a brief regret. Then it passed. “He was a wonderful father,” Maude said, reassuring herself again. “You know, just always so good with the boys.” She looked to Beverley again, who did not dispute this. “It was just when they started to talk back that he . . . ”
“You couldn’t have stayed,” said Beverley.
“Oh, for my own health, I know,” said Maude. They seemed now to be on a tangent of their own. I had become a mere spectator.
“The real estate thing went under. It was just so stressful.”
“Then you had Tom.”
“Yes, but Tom was so wanted, so loved,” Maude protested. “I always tell him that, he wasn’t a mistake, I was just thrilled when I found out I was pregnant.”
This was intriguing. I kept out of it hoping for more information.
“Eight years was a big age gap.”
“Yes but they’re so close, Andy and Tom,” said Beverley.
Then they remembered me sitting there. Maude turned to me. “And what about Helen?” she asked with affected nonchalance. “Have you met her yet?”
I got the sense this was another skills-based test. Beverley sat to attention, at the ready for any titbit of goss they could garner from me on this topic. It seemed of particular interest to both of them. And I chose my words carefully.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve met her.”
After our initial meeting, Hal had been relentless in pursuit of more contact. Perhaps to get the jump on Maude. Everything was a competitition to Hal, even knowing more about Andy’s new girlfriend was a way to score points. We’d had dinner at the Glebe terrace, the former family home. There was no trace of Maude there, just the ill-fitting clutter of the woman brought in to replace her. In the presence of his second wife, Hal had been more subdued. It was a stilted evening where everyone had struggled to hold their real selves inside.
Knowing this meeting had taken place, I could see Maude struggling to stay neutral, but desperate for more information.
“Oh? Is she a nice woman?” she asked, popping a biscuit with brie into her mouth.
In truth, it was hard to say whether or not Hal’s second wife, Helen, was a nice woman. All I could think whenever I saw her was, Why on earth did you marry this man? I couldn’t say that to Maude though, because the same question could be put to her.
“I haven’t warmed to her,” I said carefully. Beverley snorted. Maude decided to dig a little more.
“Tom says she’s very odd.” She picked at the snacks’ plate as if that was of more interest to her than my opinion on Helen.
“She is,” I confirmed.
“In what way?” Maude ventured.
“It’s like . . . she’s not really there. She’s kind of like a Stepford wife.”
Maude kept her poker face on and dug a bit more. “Is she a good looking woman? I mean, I’ve seen photos but . . . ”
“Um . . . she’s not unpleasant . . . ” I confirmed diplomatically.
The last time we’d seen Helen, Andy had remarked later at the inappropriateness of her sheer white linen pants, through which her large white underpants could be seen.
“I mean, I don’t need to see THAT,” he had remarked as though she had turned
