The girl smiled a dreamy smile as she twirled her hair around her fingers. Was she stoned? ‘I write poetry,’ she said, ‘Idris let me write a line on the cave. I live there now. My friend came too but I think she’ll go home tonight, she doesn’t like the fact there’s no shower.’
‘Can’t blame her.’ I looked the girl up and down. She was small-boned. Tiny. Face of a child. But something told me she wasn’t as young as she looked. ‘How old are you?’
‘Seventeen.’ She bit her lip, still smiling. ‘My dad’s gone ballistic.’
‘I bet he has.’
‘Mum’s living with us in the cave now though, and my little brother too. Can I have some?’ the girl asked, gesturing towards my cigarette.
I took a final drag then handed it over to the girl. ‘Finish it. How old’s your brother?’
‘Eight.’
The same age as Becky.
The girl leaned against the rock right next to me, her arm brushing against mine. She put her bare foot up behind her and took a drag.
‘Maybe I’d like to write a novel one day,’ the girl said. ‘Idris told me I need to grow first, mature.’
‘Plenty of people publish novels at your age. Mary Shelley came up with the idea for Frankenstein when she was eighteen.’
The girl rolled her eyes. ‘He meant spiritually, not literally. People are so obsessed with age, with numbers full stop. If people stopped fixating on numbers and statistics, the world would be a better place. I mean, take this recession. All this obsessing with money and numbers, and we’re back to square one. All we need to do is to get into the current.’
‘The current? You mean like the sea?’
The girl smiled mysteriously and shook her head. ‘Nope.’
‘What do you mean then?’
‘You’ll need to come to the cave to find out. Idris explains it best.’
I suddenly felt an irrational anger at the girl, at her dreamy expression, her big nipples and free-living. ‘Might be worth you formulating some of your own thoughts before believing every word of some stranger,’ I snapped.
The girl frowned.
I looked at my wrist for the time. ‘The numbers on my watch are telling me I should go. But enjoy the ciggie!’
I went to walk away but the girl ran after me and grabbed my elbow. ‘Why do you have to go? Come visit the cave! It’s a haven for writers. Maybe you’ll end up living there like me?’
‘Let me think,’ I said, pretending to ponder things. ‘I have a mortgage to pay, a child to support. Plus my husband might have a heart attack at the prospect of no second income.’
The girl let my wrist go, looking at me with sympathy. ‘All numbers. Don’t you see? That sentence you just uttered is all numbers. What if you just left it behind, came to the cave with me right now?’ She put her hand out to me again. ‘Come.’
I hesitated; something inside me was tempted. Then I took in the girl’s stained dress, the dark circles under her eyes. ‘No thanks. The numbers beckon.’
A few minutes later, I was back at the office. It was time I stopped dreaming and faced reality. I was thirty-eight, for God’s sake, not eighteen. I couldn’t just bunk off work.
‘Did you forget something?’ Daphne asked as I walked into the meeting room.
‘Mike turned up in the end so I could come back.’
‘Wonderful!’ My boss turned back to the rest of the room. ‘So, about the milk that was stolen …’
The rest of the week was miserable; the weather was moody and the atmosphere in the house reflected it. Mike was having a tough time in his job, working long hours to prove his worth in the face of more redundancies. He was clearly growing more and more resentful of the fact I worked part-time. I usually let his irritation wash over me, but that week was different. Maybe it was the cave and the encounter with that silly girl … and the fact I wasn’t writing much. Maybe the girl was right. Maybe that cave was a haven for writers and all I needed was a few hours there?
It was certainly attracting a lot of attention in town – in particular the mysterious Idris, with more and more rumours circulating about him. According to one woman, who I’d overheard at the café one lunchtime, he was a millionaire from Canada who’d turned his back on his fortune after his wife died. Monica reckoned he was an Australian artist on the run after forging masterpieces. Perhaps my favourite rumour was that he was a rock star from New Zealand.
When the morning of Haley’s son’s party arrived, Mike took Becky out so I could focus on the cake I’d promised to bake. I stared at the recipe I’d found in a library cookbook. A cake in the shape of a monkey, for God’s sake. What had possessed me to offer to do it? I looked at the clock. I had four whole hours before Mike was due back with Becky. Four whole hours of baking … or four hours of writing?
‘Screw this,’ I said out loud.
I grabbed my keys and ran outside, jumping into the car. I’d seen a gorgeous cake shop a few towns down with lots of children’s cakes on display. I headed straight down there, and when I stepped inside, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The first cake to greet me was in the shape of a monkey face. No monkey body but it was close enough. In fact, it was fate!
When Mike and Becky got back, they were amazed when they saw it.
‘Oh my gosh, Mummy, this looks amazing,’ Becky declared.
I smoothed down my apron, the flour and chocolate I’d scattered over it earlier falling to the floor.
‘It does,’ Mike said, brow creased slightly. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘It was easier than I thought actually,’ I said, wiping the sides down.
‘Then you’ll have to do it more often,’ Mike murmured, wrapping his arms around me as Becky skipped out into the garden. I froze. He rarely touched me nowadays. Clearly the domestic goddess vibe turned him on.
I peered at the clock. ‘We better start getting ready, the party’s in an hour.’
‘Wear something sexy for me,’ Mike said.
I looked at him in surprise. ‘What’s got into you?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess you’ll find out tonight if Becky goes to sleep on time.’
I smiled but, inside, I felt nothing. Shouldn’t I feel something for my husband? A thrill, or some millimetre of warmth? There was nothing.
I squeezed out from his embrace. ‘I’ll go and transform from domestic goddess to sexy fox then.’
Half an hour later, I stood staring at myself in the mirror. I was wearing a crimson lace dress with a plunging neckline. It wasn’t quite right for a child’s party but I didn’t
