Who Was Abigail Carter?

Abigail's Graduation

2011-11-11T23:00:00.000+10:30

"To Dr. Abigail Carter ..."

Samuel beams proudly as he holds up his champagne glass. The others in the room, which includes many relatives and many of my dearest friends, to the same. We are celebrating an important day. This afternoon, after many years of hard work, I graduated from university with a PhD in English Literature. To be honest I'm surprised at the number of people who took the time to be at the after-party that Samuel has thrown in my honour. Ursula and Richard are here, along with Gavin and Kate. In another corner stands cousin Wayne with his wife Marta and beside them is my best friend Carmel with her wife, Chloe. Billy is here, along with Bazza and Cheryl from next door and our friends Darren and Glad. Shannon holds the hand of Jason McAllister and keeps turning ad staring at my dad, as if she can't believe that a major celebrity is standing in my living room. Every is here, even my very young daughters who sit in identical (but for the colour coding) capsules beside me.

Even a year ago, I never would have dreamed that such a situation would be possible.

After the toast, there are many words of congratulations and lots of cooing over some very lovely little girls who everyone adores (myself included, though I wasn't quite so happy with them at four o'clock this morning). My Dad can't quite seem to get his head around the fact that he's a grandpa. "What's the problem?" I offer him a smile. "The media has been saying you look like a grandpa on stage for years."

"Yeah, but who cares what the media says ... You're as old as you feel."

"And having a daughter with a PhD and daughters of her own makes you feel old right?"

"Yeah Abby, but in a good way ..." Dad chuckles, as if letting me know that everything is all right. "Anyway, I heard from your Auntie Julie's lawyer the other day."

"And?"

"She could be out by Christmas." Dad beams. "It's about time Abigail. Fifteen years, she's been inside. That's long enough to pay for a moment of insanity. Especially when you consider the circumstances."

Mmm, perhaps. "But just don't tell her that, whatever you do." Dad lowers his voice. "I wouldn't like her to get to excited."

I'd like to ask my dad more on the subject, but I'm interrupted by Glad who wants to congratulate me on the PhD. Funny how she's not so jealous these days. I guess that might have something to do with the new job we lined up for her ... she's the receptionist at the Adelaide branch of my Dad's record company. "What are you going to do now?" She asks.

"I've picked up a small amount of teaching work at the university, but I suspect my hands might be full for the next little while." I stare down at my daughters. Little Charlotte is getting restless, as if ... Well let's just say that Mum has to leave her own party for a moment. I return a moment later, with a slightly cleaner and drier child in my arms.

I find Billy sitting on the lounge. It was good of him to come, considering all that he has been through over the past few months. I haven't blogged about it much, but it was a massive blow when Olive left him and an even bigger one when he discovered that he was not Baby Billy's biological father after all. (Incidentally, Baby Billy is now known as William and the name of his biological father - John Smith, better known as Bulldog - now appears on the certificate.) "Thanks for being here," I tell Billy.

"No worries." He shrugs. "I didn't have anything else to do. And ... it's not like she's here."

Olive now lives in Melbourne, along with Bulldog and William. They are both would have loved to come, and Olive is looking forward to meeting her nieces, but they're having too many financial worries at the moment, or something like it. Never mind. Olive will be back when she wants something, I'm sure.

But the best news is Shelby followed her Melbourne. Good riddance.

With baby Charlotte still in my arms, I keep walking through the room. Carmel is by the bookcase, talking to Samuel who is holding Emily. Carmel gasps as I walk toward her. "Wow ... they really are identical. How on earth do you tell them apart?"

I giggle. "We have ways ... Charlotte has a little mole on her cheek. Emily has a birthmark on her foot."

"Oh," Carmel nods. We both watch as Ursula walks toward us. "And Anne," I continue, staring at my other daughter, "Has more hair than her sisters."

"Red hair." Ursula sighs. "Identical red haired triplets. What on earth were the odds?"

"Sounds like the sort of stunt that only Abigail could pull." Carmel lets out a laugh. She turns to Samuel. "How on earth are you going to put up with three more rangas in the house."

"God only knows." Samuel offers me a smile. "Then again, after everything Abigail has put me through over the years, I'd say I've had some solid training."

"You'll need it."

"Gee." I let out a sigh. "Thanks."

Caesar Salad Blues

2011-10-18T21:45:00.001+10:30

Who would have thought you could burn a caesar salad? Then again, why should I complain. I'm too fat and tired these days to complain.

Thank God my thesis is over and done with. Right now I barely have the energy to type ...

Dinners

2011-10-18T17:29:00.004+10:30

Samuel is being a gentleman and has taken over with most of the cooking. Actually, Samuel is being a gentleman and taking over most of the housework. (Well, all the things that we don't employ someone to do.) With only a few weeks to go until our precious little daughters arrive, I'm finding it harder to move around. (Which is a polite way to say that I'm sore, bloated, covered in stretch marks and utterly bloody exhausted. To think of all the years I wanted to get pregnant and then I end up ...)

Samuel's cooking has never been great, but I appreciate all of the effort he has gone to in these past few months. He even made a bed for us downstairs, so that I don't have to keep walking up and down the stairs. (Which is really, really thoughtful of him.)

Due Dates

2011-09-05T21:49:00.005+09:30

Thesis complete and submitted. Now for the next important due date ...

Visits and Lunch

2011-09-04T16:08:00.000+09:30

Visited Auntie Julie at the women's prison today. Seeing as the weather was so nice (first time I'd seen the sun all week, yay!) I had lunch in Moseley Square. Which, naturally, after encoutering several, ants, flies and a pack of teenage girls in bikini tops and track pants who kept batting their eyelids at someone called Skylar and would take the Lord's name in vain every time they saw someone or something that didn't quite fit in with their idea of normality, reminded me exactly what it was that I preferred to eat lunch at home. "Oh. My. God. Did you see that?"

"Jesus Christ! I'd never own a scooter like that."

"He must be like, gay."

"He is a she."

"Oh my god!"

"It's a she who looks like a man."

"I wonder if she has a beard?"

"Bet she's a lezzo."

Riveting stuff. Not. I finish my lunch and waddle away, ignoring comments of, "Hey is she pregnant or what ..."

Thesis

2011-08-12T21:34:00.001+09:30

Edit, edit, edit, edit, must keep working on thesis ... babies due soon, PhD due sooner ...

Irish Stew

2011-08-06T17:02:00.000+09:30

Wow. I don't think that I've been this embarrassed since the time that a pair of tourist tried to crack onto me in Moseley Square and Samuel ended up teaching them several new words that weren't inside their phrase books. The source of my latest embarrassment comes in the humble form of a pot of Irish stew. I thought that it would be a nice idea to cook a little something for my friends Darren and Glad, as Darren hasn't been doing so well lately - he's been very sick and poor Glad has just about worn herself out looking after him. Also, it has been a few weeks since Darren got sick and most of their friends have more or less dropped off now. It's funny - when Darren first came home from the hospital practically everyone who had known him was around there, offering get well cards, casseroles and anything else that might make his and Glad's lives a little bit easier. Now that it's obvious that Darren's illness is an ongoing thing, most of their friends aren't quite so enthusiastic to help out. So anyway, I thought that I was doing a really nice thing by remembering them and taking a little pot of Irish stew around. Pity I didn't check first that Glad was a vegetarian.

"Of course, it was a lovely thought Abigail." Glad offers me a condescending smile as she forces the pot back into my hands. "I mean, since Darren is sick and all, I've completely forgotten how to cook."

"I just thought it would make things easier." Feeling a little awkward, I stare down at the pot. Bloody hell. I'd even brought my very second best casserole dish, the one that my mother-in-law gave me as an engagement present. It cost over three hundred dollars and came air freight from Paris. Or so she tells me at every possible opportunity. (Oh, who am I kidding. I hate that casserole dish. In fact, I'd been secretly hoping that Darren or Glad might break it, or at the very least forget to return it.)

"Well, perhaps you could find some other unfortunates who might like your charity." Glad more or less pushes me toward the door. "There might be someone out there who enjoys your pity. I don't."

What a bitch. I'm half tempted to tell Glad that I hope she starves to death and that it's no wonder that she can't find anyone to help her seeing as she is just going to be rude to them, but I bite my tongue. After all, that might upset Darren and he hasn't done anything wrong. Plus I don't want him to get stressed or any sicker. It was horrible enough just being there when he had his initial heart trouble and calling the ambulance.

"Did I hear something about Irish Stew? Hello Abigail."

Darren walks inside the room. I watch as he takes the pot from my hands and places it on the counter. "Careful with that," Glad's voice echoes through their tiny flat. "The doctor said not to lift anything heavy. And you have to be careful to avoid saturated fats. Irish strew is practically all fat. Ugh." Glad pulls a face.

"How are you Abigail?" Darren turns to me. "Got time for a cup of tea?"

"Mmm," I murmur, "I'm not sure ..."

"Wonderful!" Darren claps his hands together. "We'll all head to the kitchen for a cuppa. How are you anyway Abigail? How's Samuel?"

"Working as usual." From the corner of my eye I watch as Glad flashes me a dirty look. Wow. She really doesn't want me to be here.

"Pass on our regards. You heard from your mum recently?"

"Of course not." I roll my eyes.

"Glad doesn't hear much from her mum either." Darren nods as Glad switches the kettle on. "The two of you have more in common than you think."

"Shut up Darren." Glad slams a mug down on the counter.

"Just saying." Darren looks a little sheepish as he sits down at the table.

"Maybe I should go." I walk toward the door. The last thing I want is to cause an argument between Darren and Glad. "Thanks for the offer of a cup of tea but ..."

"You don't want to hear me and Darren have a domestic." Glad rolls her eyes. "Because, of course Abigail, people in your perfect little world don't have domestics. I bet you and Samuel never fight."

Glad obviously doesn't read my blog. "My life isn't perfect," I tell Glad.

"No." Glad rolls her eyes. "You've just got your big house and PhD, and your rich adoring husband. And that's not mentioning the rock star dad."

And Cedric. Glad had completely forgotten about Cedric. "What would you know about my life?" I asked Glad. "And what makes you think you're qualified to judge me. And why is it that every time I try and do something nice, you throw it back in my face."

"You're a bitch." Glad's eyes narrow.

"You're a bitch." I pick up my handbag. "See you later Darren, enjoy the Irish Stew."

"He's not eating any." Glad's voice follows me out of the flat. "Why don't you just take it back? Here."

And it is just then, as I am walking out the door, that an entire pot of Irish stew comes flying through the air and lands all over my new, cashmere sweater. Gee, thanks Glad.

Phone Calls & Jane Austen

2011-07-19T20:13:00.001+09:30

It really bugs me when dials the wrong number and then hangs up without apologising. Especially when it happens to be my number that they have dialed and I have gone to all the trouble of dropping whatever it was that I happened to be doing, just to answer their call. Like the time I was watching Home and Away and I had just got up to the interesting bit where Alf had just seen Ailsa walk through the diner, despite the fact that Ailsa had been dead several years. (Samuel keeps telling me that I should stop going on about that one, seeing as it was the season cliffhanger from several years ago and Alf has long been cured of the brain tumor that caused him to see dead people and in any case, we both stopped watching Home and Away some time back.) But, anyway, the point is, this is very annoying when someone has been disturbed from their daily routine, just to hear the sound of someone hanging up on them. Or sometimes, you might even be able to hear an ill-educated voice say something along the lines of "Shit" or "Damn" and then the sound of hanging up. And the worst part is, the call has come from a private number, so it isn't like you can call them back at some random time and do the same in return and see how they like that kind of rudeness. Which is a damn shame, because I'm sure a few of them would be horribly, horribly offended.

Anyway, I got three calls of my mobile last night, all from the same idiot who hung up as soon as I answered. Not sure what that was about, but ended up switching the phone off and letting the calls go straight to voice mail. Spent the rest of the evening reading an old dog eared copy of Jane Austen's Emma that I've now owned for so long that the Maripaninga High School Library stamp has just about worn off from the inside cover. Samuel keeps teasing me, saying that the overdue fines must have added up to several thousand dollars by now, but for some reason I've never been able to part with the book...

Then again, maybe it's time to give it back and get myself new copy. I'd hate for my daughters to pick up any of my bad habits.

Can't believe how quickly the time is going. Samuel and I haven't even finished setting up the nursery. So difficult when you have to buy more than one of everything.

Darren

2011-07-13T15:32:00.000+09:30

Wow. It feels like such a long time has passed since I last updated my little blog. So much has happened in the past month. Like the morning when I put the laundry in the washing machine and didn't realise that Cedric was sleeping in the sheets. (The poor little thing was looking so cross and seasick by the time I saw her through the washing machine window. The vet says that she'll be fine.) And then there was the weekend when I visited Auntie Julie at the Women's Prison and she tried to escape. (This time by clocking the guard over the head with the can of Lindt hot chocolate that I had brought her. She ended up with yet another stint in solitary. Samuel asked the guard why they don't just keep her in there all the time, and save all the shifting in and out. Then it was my turn to hit him over the head with the Lindt hot chocolate tin.) But all of that kind of pales in comparison to what happened one night when I was at the deli buying some milk. I'd just stopped by that new little place that calls itself something along the lines of "24/7 Open Yeah!" in Swindon Street and was feeling a little bit frazzled by their selection of milk (honestly, how am I supposed to decide between skim, light, skinny or spectacularly slender) when I heard this weird noise. It sounded a bit like someone choking. Then someone else called out to call an ambulance and that there was a man having a heart attack. Naturally I went running straight over there with my phone, just in case they wanted me to be the one to call the ambulance, or if there was something else I could do. And that was when I made a terrible discovery.

The man needing the ambulance was our friend Darren.

Well, actually, Darren is more of a friend of Bazza and Cheryl, our neighbours, but I have spoken to Darren on several occasions. I know his wife Glad and his daughter Tamsin as well. Glad is a lot younger than Darren - they married when she was twenty and he was in his late thirties. Tamsin is from Darren's first marriage. She's a funny kid. When I first met the family, she was fifteen years old, had neon pink hair and had a lot of Christian fundamentalist beliefs. (In fact, during the first conversation I had with Tamsin, she told me that I was going to hell, because at that stage, Samuel and I were living together without being married. Tamsin, for one reason or another, felt that was sinful.) Anyway, as she has grown up, Tamsin's religion has changed nearly as many times as her hair colour. At present she is learning as much as she can about Buddhism and her hair is this weird shade of grey. She is also studying theology at uni and is good friends with my sister Olive. (Olive thinks I'm the best sister in the world for introducing them.)

Anyway, I'm making light of the more serious subject of Darren. It turns out that the poor guy had been having heart problems for a while. He's home now, although on a lot of medication. He's had to give up his job, while Glad had to cut back on her shifts at the supermarket so that she can look after him. Am planning to stop by their place later today. Hope everything is all right.

Typical

2011-06-21T21:42:00.002+09:30

Typical. Bloody 27/4 is out of milk. Hey ... what's that sound?

- Blogged from blog press using my iPhone.

Milk

2011-06-21T21:36:00.001+09:30

Wondering if perhaps I was a little rash in throwing that carton of milk out, seeing as it was only one day past its expiry date. Might have to brave cold and drive down to shops, or else Samuel and I will have to have black coffee in the morning.

Afternoon at Bazza & Cheryl's

2011-06-20T19:15:00.000+09:30

Spent afternoon around at Bazza and Cheryl's place. Watching grass grow would probably have been preferable to listening to Cheryl and her best friend Mandy talk about their recent colonic irrigations, but seeing as Samuel wanted to talk to Bazza about some ... car related issue, I caved in and agreed to visit them. Cheryl is one of those people who is all right to me when she is on her own, but as soon as one of her friends is there (or in fact anyone she holds in high esteem,) I tend to be either ignored or subject to subtle little put-downs. And, of course, there were the little smirks that Mandy and Cheryl kept exchanging after every time that I said something. "Poor Abigail." Cheryl lets out a chuckle. "She just doesn't understand what it's like to have children."

Well, excuse me for believing that it was a good idea that sex education was taught at schools. If it had been left up to my parents, I would have grown up believing that all babies were born backstage at gigs and that their mothers were quite happy to leave their newborns in the care of a bumbling pub owner so that they could catch the final set.

I cannot help but feel relieved when Samuel walks inside the room with Bazza. At least now I can make an excuse to leave and go home. "But you haven't even touched your cherry slice." Cheryl points to the pink and sickly looking thing that is sitting on the plate in front of me. "Not like you to be knocking food back, Abigail."

"Perhaps she's watching her weight." Mandy stares at my stomach. "You're looking a bit chubby there, Love."

I don't know about chubby, but the smell of that slice is certainly making me feel ill. "No, just a bit crook." I force a smile. "Samuel and I should be going."

"Sounds like a good idea." Samuel nods his consent and within a moment, he and I are both out the door. "You still haven't told anyone," he says as soon we are safely home.

I shrug. I just can't get the words out. And in any case, there are more important people to tell than Bazza and Cheryl from next door. My dad knows, and so do Samuel's parents. As for everyone else ... I will tell them when the time is right.

Visiting

2011-06-19T17:43:00.000+09:30

"You're fat. Fat, fat, fatty, fat, fat."

Auntie Julie's eloquent voice echoes through the prison walls. Together, we sit inside the visitors area, her on one side of the table, me on the other. "Where did you get those jeans from? They don't suit you."

"Okay, so I'm having a little trouble finding things that fit at the moment. There's no need to be rude."

"You're having trouble finding clothes that fit because you're fat."

"I'm not fat."

"You're fat."

"Give it a rest."

"Fat."

"I'm not fat, all right. I'm pregnant."

Well, that shuts Auntie Julie up for a few seconds, anyway. Her eyes bulge, the colour drains from her face and she just sort of sits in her chair. Eventually she composes herself, stares long and hard at my stomach and then asks, "So how far along are you? You look ..."

"Big." I nod. "I'm almost sixteen weeks gone. First ultrasound this week."

"You sure you're not having twins."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"So you are just fat then." Auntie Julie cannot help but smirk at her own comment. I open my mouth to say more, but am interrupted by one of the wardens, who lets me know that it is time to go home ...

Ahh

2011-06-19T14:13:00.000+09:30

Ahh, is there anything better than the combination of coffee and chocolate?

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Tim-tams

2011-06-14T21:57:00.002+09:30

Samuel ate the last Tim-tam again. Must find a genie to grant me a packet of Tim-tams that never runs out.

Jesus and the Supermarket

2011-06-12T18:11:00.001+09:30

Jesus was inside Coles this week, or at least the woman who was in front of me started shouting his name when she saw the size of the queue. Personally, I couldn't see the good man anywhere, just a whole lot of senior citizens buying soup. I asked her where Jesus was exactly, just in case I'd missed him and was promptly told to fuck off. Obviously, it was far too much effort for her to say "My goodness, Coles really is busy today," and probably wouldn't have caused nearly as many people to turn and stare and wonder if she was suffering from Tourette syndrome. Anyway, after a wait of a whole five minutes, during which the woman in front of me repeated several times to the checkout operator that she was never going to shop there again and that the service wasn't nearly good enough and how come they didn't supply plastic bags free of charge anymore, that the operator could go stick a fly buys card up her arse and that anyone who worked or shopped or was in any other way even vaguely associated with Coles Supermarkets should be lined up and shot (okay, I made that last part up,) I finally got to the front of the queue. "What a rude customer," I remarked to the checkout girl. The girl merely shrugged, gave me a zombie like smile and muttered something about how that customer came in all the time. "She's always telling us that she'll never shop here again."

"Pity she doesn't carry out her threat then."

"Mmm, yeah." The girl sighed again as she totaled up my purchases. "Do you have fly buys?"

Being Abigail

2011-06-12T17:33:00.000+09:30

From now until midnight 13 June 2011 enter BAU-CORGI at the checkout to receive an extra 30% off your order from Borders Australia.

Buy Being Abigail Book by Kathryn White (9781450585057) at Borders with free shipping

Bazza

2011-05-24T11:45:00.002+09:30

Went to visit poor old Bazza in hospital this morning. He fractured his right leg after falling off the garage roof last night - the result of yet another unsuccessful planking attempt.

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Planking

2011-05-22T19:50:00.000+09:30

Well. Samuel's beloved Monaro has a brand new dent and for once, it isn't even my fault. Actually, it wasn't really Samuel's fault either. Or maybe it was. If Samuel had not insisted on driving me to Jetty Road so that I could have coffee with the girls, instead of letting me drive, then maybe the timing would have been different and maybe, just maybe, the Monaro would not have been backing out of our driveway at the exact moment that our neighbour, Bazza, fell off his roof after attempting to plank his television aerial. At least poor old Bazza wasn't hurt, which is something I suppose. "His pride might be dented for a while though," Samuel quipped, as Bazza wandered back inside the house.

"Perhaps." I could not help but smile as we listened to Bazza's wife Cheryl as she gave a long and loud lecture on the dangers on planking. "You know, you'd never catch me doing something so silly."

"Don't know." Samuel offered me a grin. "I was planning on going planking tonight."

"Where?"

"Bed." Samuel grinned again as he walked toward our front door. "Where I plank every night."

P.S.

2011-05-22T17:47:00.000+09:30

P.S. Really don't get this whole obsession with planking. Looks rather silly and dangerous to me.

P.P.S Oh, great. Now our neighbour Bazza is planking on his front balcony. In the rain. Well, that's just pure genius, not.

Sunday

2011-05-22T17:42:00.000+09:30

Wow. Seriously was not a good idea to bring some homemade treats with me when I went to visit Auntie Julie this morning. Don't know what the guard thought I might be trying to hide inside her scones or the little pot of jam, but I have it on very good authority that my auntie will be allowed to eat them when she gets out of prison. Which is at least another fifteen years away yet, sigh.

Other than that, not much news. Finally got over the dreadful cold that had been bothering me last weekend and for most of this week. Volkswagon at Rex the Panelbeaters after brief encounter with the tram on Jetty Road. Am going out for coffee with the girls tonight. Hope Samuel lets me borrow keys to Monaro, as it is looking awfully cold and wet outside.

Achoo!

2011-05-15T19:44:00.000+09:30

Achoo! Samuel can damn well have this cold he gave me back. The jerk had the audacity to come home from work sick with a virus during the week, and then got better just in time for the weekend. By which time I had caught his stupid virus. So while he was happily spending his weekend working on his beloved Monaro and going out on cruises with Bazza from next door, I was left sitting on the couch trying to balance Cedric and a box of tissues on my knee. Oh well. At least I managed to watch some of my Sabrina DVDs ...

Sabrina and Ratings

2011-05-08T18:17:00.001+09:30

Grr. Samuel is such a boring old stick in the mud sometimes. And that's not a term that I would ever dare use mildly. Seriously though, I wonder how I even managed to wind married to such a grumpy, boring old fart who has no sense of fun whatsoever. In fact, he's spent nearly the whole afternoon up in our bedroom, rearranging his sock drawer, because he's such a dull old-

Oops. Samuel just read that last part over my shoulder. He says that he hasn't been rearranging his sock drawer at all. According to him he has spent the afternoon trying to unblock the drain in the shower, which has become clogged with a series of long, red hairs. "If you bothered to clean the drain after you showered, this wouldn't happen," he adds as he tosses a pair of rubber gloves in the laundry sink.

Oh, whinge, whinge, whinge. Anyway the reason Samuel has proven himself to be such a boring old grouch on this occasion is because out of all the houses in our neighbourhood, ours has been selected to do the TV ratings. I, naturally, thought that this was a great opportunity to give a boost to some of the good programmes that quite often get overlooked because they just happen to be shown on a TV station that isn't cool, like those old movies that they show on Channel 31, or on at a really awkward time, like Home and Away: the Early Years or those shopping shows that they have on in the middle of the night. But no. Samuel put his foot down and told me that I couldn't go tampering with the ratings. According to him, we should only be turning our set on and off when we usually would. "It's important data that the television networks rely on," he sighs. "What if everyone tried to stuff around with the surveys. We'd end up with re-runs of Sabrina the Teenage Witch and M*A*S*H* in prime time."

"Well, at least they're more interesting than ..." My voice trails off as I stare down at the TV guide. "This is Your Day with Rev Dollar. Who has ever heard of that show?"

"That's on at seven-thirty am, you idiot." Samuel snatches the TV guide away.

Oops. Yes, so anyway, thanks to Samuel I've had to be all sensible all week about the TV ratings. So bad luck to me if I wanted Channel 11 to move reruns of Sabrina from 6pm to a later time slot, so I can watch it without having to make dinner at the same time. Thankfully, today is the last day of the rating survey. Just as I am thankful that Samuel has disappeared upstairs again. This time he probably really is rearranging his sock drawer.

Wait. Samuel has just returned. He has a big smile on his face and is holding a box. "I know you were annoyed about doing the ratings properly," he says. "But you went along with it and ... I bought you something."

I stare at the box. I don't believe it. Samuel has bought me the entire DVD set of Sabrina the Teenage Witch. So now I don't have to watch it while I make dinner. Or even put up with commercials. Sweet.

A Smurfy Credit Card Statement

2011-03-31T21:31:00.000+10:30

I sometimes wonder if Samuel was Ebenezer Scrooge in a past life. Well, not the Ebenezer Scrooge, considering that he was just a made up character in a book by Dickens, but you know, just some very rich person who was also mean and stingy and rotten.

I still can't believe Samuel made such a big deal over our latest credit card statement. I mean the whole thing was just bad luck. I didn't really mean to spend all that money in the iTunes store. It was just that I got really caught up in this new Smurf Village game that I downloaded on my iPad. It's this really cute little game where you get to build this entire smurf village, including all of the gorgeous little mushroom houses, and you can have crops and flowers and all of these other fun things. Anyway, in the game you earn all these gold coins, which you can use, along with smurfberries to buy cute things for the village. You don't get all that many smurfberries to start with, but you have the option of buying them. So, anyway, I assumed that you just used the gold coins that you were earning in the game to buy the smurfberries.

Turns out I was completely wrong about that. The smurfberries cost real money and are charged straight back to your iTunes account. Hence the massive credit card bill and the lecture from Samuel about reading the terms and conditions before I actually download something.

Grr. Oh well, at least I'm not the one responsible for downloading all of Shania Twain's greatest hits. Lets see how Samuel can justify that ...

Footsie

2011-03-06T14:45:00.000+10:30

Went to visit Auntie Julie in prison this morning, only to discover that she's being kept in solitary confinement at the moment, after a game of footsie with one of the other inmates went wrong and some toes got broken. Poor Auntie Julie. I'm sure that she doesn't mean to get involved in any of these little tiffs, it is just that prison life can get rather stressful. And when someone has been inside as long as Auntie Julie, well they're bound to get a little highly strung occasionally. Anyway, the upshot of it all was that I wasn't allowed to visit and that I had to take the chocolate caramels and copy of the latest trashy Virginia Andrews book that she requested home with me. The difficulty, of course, is going to be keeping the chocolate caramels for a whole week ...

Macbeth

2011-02-28T19:43:00.000+10:30

Am seriously, seriously pissed off right now.

My first day of uni wasn't exactly a success. Then again, who am I kidding? Any day that starts with me spending twenty minutes trying to wedge my bum and thighs into a pair of skinny leg jeans that just a month or so ago used to fit my body perfectly, probably isn't destined to have a favourable outcome. "Stupid, bloody ..."

Lying on the bed, I desperately try to zip my jeans. Meanwhile, my husband is watching my from the doorway and wants to know if something is wrong. "Only these stupid bloody jeans that don't fit."

"Wear something else." Samuel shrugs, like this is the ideal solution. Fine for him. He doesn't have a new class full of eighteen year olds that he needs to impress. I don't want the class thinking that I'm some kind of crusty old academic who spends her life stuck inside some cobweb infested office and only comes out for the occasional class or lecture.

"You've got plenty of clothes." Samuel opens the wardrobe. He tosses a random pair of jeans in my direction. Idiot. Surely he must know that no one wears bootcut jeans anymore, unless they're trying to cover up a fat bum. And even then, it isn't much good wearing bootcut jeans, because everyone who knows anything about fashion will know that you're only wearing them to cover up a fat bum. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the zip on the skinny leg jeans broke, meaning that I ended up diving inside my wardrobe and coming out with a skirt and a pair of high heel boots to wear instead. And because I was wearing a skirt instead of pants, I had to pick out a new top ...

And lets just say I was running well, a little late for the lecture. If not being able to find the right outfit was bad, not being able to find a car park was worse. Then there was the small but not insignificant issue of my hair being a mess due to the fact that I couldn't get the top up on my little Volkswagon. And, well, anyway, if I learned anything from the experience it was that running inside a lecture theatre in high heels, with my notes in one hand and a hair brush in the other probably isn't the best way to make a good impression with university staff or students. "Nice of you to join us Abigail." The head of department's voice is cool as I take my seat in the front row. Which I thought was rather mean of him, considering that he is my father-in-law after all. I mean, if you can't get a little loyalty from your own family ...

A moment or so later, Richard introduced me to the class. I have to admit, I was rather looking forward to this bit. It was about time someone acknowledged my academic credentials.

Instead, Richard apologises to the class that the resident expert on Shakespeare is unavailable. "Instead one of our PhD candidates will give todays lecture on Macbeth ..."

Didn't anyone ever tell Richard it's bad luck to say Macbeth in a theatre? Particularly when my notes were all on the Merchant of Venice?

Needless to say, it was a very long walk up to the lectern ...

Ugh

2011-02-26T15:54:00.000+10:30

Ugh. What a day. Spent most of the day at the library researching my thesis and trying to ignore a massive hangover, not to mention some very sore legs after I feel down the stairs at the Dublin last night. Should never have agree to meet Shannon for a drink. And I definitely should never have worn my new Jimmy Choos (the pink ones with the seven inch heel). The shoes are completely ruined, I spent way too much money on alcohol and now Samuel is mad at me because I don't have enough money in the bank to pay my phone bill and had to borrow his credit card.

Oh, and did I mention that on Monday I'm supposed to be teaching a group of first year English students about Shakespeare. Should probably get back to my copy of The Merchant of Venice ...

Valentines, Birthday and Anniversary

2011-02-15T19:19:00.000+10:30

Had a lovely birthday, Valentines and *almost* second wedding anniversary yesterday. As some loyal followers of this blog will no doubt be aware, Samuel's and my real anniversary is on February 7. We eloped overseas to get away from the grand plans that his mother had for the wedding. These plans didn't really suit either Samuel or myself, so we ended up making a quick trip to London, where my dad lives and got married over there. Then we came back to Australia and had a second wedding a week later - the big one that Ursula had been planning for us. I don't think that she has any idea about our other wedding. Or if she has, she most certainly has never let on.

No real news, except to say that I got spoiled completely rotten yesterday.

Abigail, xx

Visitors, Cats and Tomato Plants

2011-01-22T17:25:00.000+10:30

Had a visit from the mother-in-law this morning. Everything was going about as well as could be expected, with Ursula sitting out on the back patio, drinking my most expensive tea and rattling on about all of the things that Samuel and I were doing wrong. Well, actually, all of the things that I was doing wrong. Samuel is, of course, her darling only son and has only ever made one bad decision in his life. (And for some reason, Ursula always looks at Samuel's wedding ring when she mentions this one bad decision.) Anyway, Ursula was rattling on, when suddenly poor old Cedric came tumbling over the back fence, followed by a shower of apricots.

"Bloody cat." Bazza, the bogan from next door, appears at the side of the fence. He glares at me as I scoop Cedric up in my arms. Poor kitty. Bazza is always picking on her. "Reckon you could keep that thing out of my tomato plants?"

"Was it really necessary to throw fruit at her Bazza?" I raise an eyebrow. "She's only a cat."

"She's only a cat." Bazza puts on a high pitched voice that sounds nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, like mine at all. "Who keeps pissing on my plants."

"Rather odd tomato plant." Beside me, Ursula shakes her head. "Doesn't even have any fruit."

"Never does." I roll my eyes. I just hope that Ursula doesn't get it into her head to start making any rude comments about our neighbours. A couple of months ago Ursula caused all kinds of bother with Mrs Chan who lives on the other side of us, after attempting to speak to her in pidgin English. Which is just plain ridiculous as Mrs Chan, who is in her seventies, has lived in Australia all her life and can trace her Australian ancestry all the way back to the gold rush. I suggest that we walk inside, taking Cedric with us. "Now, what were you saying about the back patio, Ursula."

"Oh, I don't remember now." Ursula sighs. "Something about it being dreadful, I expect."

Wedding

2011-01-05T19:09:00.000+10:30

Just arrived home from Sydney, where I have been serving as the Maid of Honour at my best friend Carmel's wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony. Both she and Chloe looked absolutely gorgeous, very happy and in love. Just a shame that the marriage isn't legally binding, owing to Australia's archaic marriage laws. Still, very nice to see Carmel happy and settled. Her two year old, Emma Rose, looked absolutely gorgeous in her little pink flower girl outfit, though she didn't understand what the ceremony was about. Of course, she has no idea of all that her parents have been through, or that they broke up for a while, just before she was born. Carmel wanted children, Chloe didn't but went along with it because it was what Carmel wanted, then Carmel found out that Chloe didn't want kids, the pair fought broke up, Emma Rose was born, and as Chloe missed Carmel more and more, she learned to accept that motherhood was now a part of Carmel's life. Actually, I think motherhood is an equally big part of Chloe's life these days, she does seem to get awfully clucky around Emma Rose ...

Anyway, all in all it was a lovely ceremony and I'm glad that things worked out for two of my dearest friends. I'd write more but Samuel is cooking dinner and has just set the smoke alarm off yet again.

Prison Visit

2010-12-28T16:07:00.001+10:30

Went to visit Auntie Julie at the Women's Prison this morning, to give her a Christmas present and a nice little slice of that Christmas cake I baked. Poor Auntie Julie. It gets tough for her, being alone in prison. Not one of her own children bothered to come and visit her, or even phone or send a Christmas card, which I think it a bit rude. I mean, I know she didn't do a very nice thing to get put into jail in the first place, and I know that Uncle Cliff was their dad and all, but still ... all of that was years ago. And if Uncle Cliff hadn't of done a nasty thing first, then Auntie Julie never would have showed up at the police station with a stolen rifle, ready to dish out a harder form of justice than what the police could ever have provided. And-

Oh, forget it. I doubt I'll ever be able to convince my cousins that it might be nice to visit their mother in prison ever once in a while. Anyway, when I arrived at the prison, I found myself having the usual Christmas time argument with the guards about being allowed to bring in a homemade Christmas cake for Auntie Julie. (I baked a special one, just for her.) The mean old guards insisted on confiscating the cake, giving me some crappy reason why. (File baked inside, as if. It would ruin the flavour.) Anyway, I did get to give Auntie Julie her present, which she accepted with her usual grace.

"What the hell do I need a bath and shower set in prison for?"

"So you can smell nice?" I stare down at the little set I had bought for her from the Body Shop. I thought it was nice, anyway.

"Not much point in here." Auntie Julie snorts.

"Well it will at least make you feel pampered?" I suggest.

"What do I need pampering for? I'm in prison, not a bloody day spa." Auntie Julie sighs. "Besides, it'll just get pinched. There are thieves in here you know." She eyes me carefully.

Well, duh. It's a prison. It is likely that there are thieves here. But what would they want with Auntie Julie's soap? Besides, the last person that stole any of her personal belongings ended up with two black eyes. Neither of which were caused by Auntie Julie's mascara. She spent a whole week in solitary confinement and missed out on eating the special jam tarts I had baked for her. (Ended up giving them to Samuel's mother instead, who just sort of wrinkled her nose and muttered something about how she would serve them when Samuel's Aunt Emily came to visit. Which was a bit odd, seeing as no one likes Samuel's Aunt Emily.)

Anyway, I figured that it was about time that I changed the subject. "Did you have a good Christmas?" I ask Auntie Julie.

"Wonderful." Auntie Julie sighs. "Father Christmas came down the chimney and gave us all lollies and ginger bread biscuits. And there was an ever-so-nice roast turkey for lunch."

"I don't know why I bother visiting you, Auntie Julie." I roll my eyes. "You never say anything nice."

"Of course I do." Auntie Julie. "I just bloody told you Father Christmas came to visit. What more do you want?"

A normal visit for once, perhaps. Nah, that will never happen.

Triffids 4

2010-12-16T19:04:00.001+10:30

Damn Samuel hid the Triffids book again. Teach me to go outside & look at the garden.

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Triffids 3

2010-12-15T19:52:00.002+10:30

Found Triffid book out in the garden shed. Now, to see if Bill ever reunites with Josella ...

Phone Call From Gavin

2010-12-14T16:47:00.001+10:30

Well, that was a surprise. Just got a phone call from Samuel's brother, Gavin, to say that he and his wife and child are in Adelaide on an extended visit. Something to do with his work. Anyway, they have rented a house in Hyde Park and are hoping that Samuel and I will visit them later this week. Before he hung up, I asked Gavin if he had spoken to Ursula at all. He confirmed that he had and his mother was very happy to see them. "Which is good," he signs, "Considering ..."

Triffids 2

2010-12-13T20:59:00.002+10:30

I think it was very mean of Samuel to hide his copy of Day of the Triffids before I could finish reading it. Grr.

Triffids

2010-12-06T23:06:00.001+10:30

In retrospect, it probably wasn't a great idea to read Samuel's copy of "Day of the Triffids" just before bed.

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Samuel and the Incredible Hulk Boxer Shorts

2010-11-27T18:04:00.000+10:30

Had argument with Samuel this afternoon, after he arrived home from the supermarket. Stupid me, I went and asked why he didn't buy any cat food. And of course, Samuel looked a little surprised and said that he thought he didn't need to - seeing as I had just won that competition and all. So then I wasn't thinking and asked, "What competition?"

Then Samuel pulled out a can of cat food from his pocket, said that he knew the whole time that I had made the story up and why couldn't I just be honest with him?

"Umm ... maybe because I thought you would be angry with me?" I stare at the pile of groceries on the bench.

"Well, I'm thrilled now." Samuel lets out a sigh, like he thinks I am acting like an irresponsible child. I roll my eyes. Like he's so grown up and sensible. This is a man who spends most of his weekend playing with his toys. Okay, a vintage Monaro might be a sort-of grown up toy, but I don't think it's healthy to give it quite as much attention as Samuel does. And he wears Incredible Hulk boxer shorts to bed.

And ... I caught him watching Shaun the Sheep on Channel 2 the other day. Samuel the closet Shaun the Sheep fan. Ha!

Oh. Wait. That was while he was watching the cricket and the ads came on. And you know what men are like whenever they see a commercial. They always have to flick through every single TV station in a rather annoying fashion, so that everyone else will just start getting interested in the programme and then suddenly the image on the screen changes to something else.

Still, that doesn't explain the Incredible Hulk boxer short. "Super mature, Incredible Hulk boxer shorts Samuel," I mutter.

Samuel's eyes widen. "Huh?"

I fill Samuel in, giving him a good talk about how childish his boxer shorts. "Well, I'm surprised you think that." He grins as he puts a bottle of milk away in the refrigerator. "Seeing as you bought them for me."

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

Happy Feast Tastes Yummy to Cats

2010-11-25T21:26:00.000+10:30

Samuel was rather surprised when several large boxes turned up at the house today. I tried to act surprised about it too and muttered something about winning a competition with one of the cat food companies, and getting a years supply of food for Cedric.

"Don't know that's a good idea." Samuel frowns as I toss the boxes into the pantry. "You know what that bloody cat is like. She won't eat the same food twice."

"Well, we'll just have to give her one of each and then donate the rest to charity." I slam the pantry door shut. Hopefully Samuel will forget about the boxes soon and I'll be able to sneak them up to another part of the house.

"What charity would want cat food?" Samuel frowns.

"The RSPCA." I smile. Ha! Take that Samuel Andrews.

"Mmm." Samuel sighs. "So what cat food company was it?"

"Uh, Happy Feast." I can't think of a brand of cat food off the top of my head, so I make one up instead.

"And what did you have to do to win?"

"I ... wrote in twenty-five words or less why Cedric likes their cat food."

"That must have been some twenty-five words or less." Samuel grins. "What did you say?"

"Just that ..." Desperately, I try to think what I might say in twenty-five words or less about a fictional brand of cat food and why my cat might like it. "It tastes yummy. To cats," I add quickly, as Samuel's eyes widen. "Cedric likes Happy Feast cat food because it tastes yummy to cats."

"Right." Samuel nods. He walks toward the back door. "Very good. Just one other thing Abigail. How come all the addresses on those boxes were written in your handwriting?"

Extra Credit

2010-11-24T20:46:00.000+10:30

Well, humph.

Too bad if I had been expecting a few words of praise from my husband re: my ingenious idea of how to get all of the Christmas presents home. But no, from the moment that I walked inside the door, all he could do was rant and rave about how much money I had wasted by getting a taxi home from the city. I thought this was very unfair of him. I mean, it is hardly my fault that not all of my shopping would fit inside the Volkswagon. The backseat in that car is tiny. And so too is the boot, which can barely even fit the spare tyre. (Okay, I'll be honest. I didn't actually try the boot. I'd parked facing a wall, and with two cars either side of me, it was a little difficult to try and access the boot. Damn Volkswagon for putting the boot at the front and the engine in the back.) Anyway, I managed to fit whatever I could into the back, and then took the rest home with me in a nice taxi. Which I thought was the ideal solution. As for Samuel ... who would have thought that he could say "waste of money" so many times in one speech?

"You got a taxi home? What kind of a waste of money is that, not to mention paying it on a bloody credit card." Samuel's face is all red and huffy, as he watches me stuff the bag of toys that I had bought for Cedric inside the spare room. (Who would have thought that they would make Christmas toys just for cats? I found the cutest little wind-up mouse, which had a red Santa hat and a ribbon around its neck. There was a great wind-up mouse with an elf hat too ...)

"Do you realise we have to pay interest on top of the taxi fare now?" Samuel's voice continues. He frowns down at a Santa-shaped litter-box scoop that has fallen from one of the bags. "And what the hell is that? Cedric doesn't even use a litter-box anymore. She thinks the outdoors is one big toilet."

"Well, I thought it was cute."

"You didn't have to buy it." Samuel sighs. "And what happens when you go to collect the Volkswagon? Let me guess. You'll get another taxi into the city, pay that fare on a credit card and waste more money on interest. And then, the fees for the car park will be so phenomenally high that you'll have to put that on credit as well. Another fine waste of money."

Actually, I was sort of hoping that Samuel would drive me into the city.

"Grinch," I murmur. I look at Samuel. "What are you doing in my handbag?"

"This." Samuel reaches for my for my car keys, "I'm going to get the tram into the city and collect the car. And then," he adds, his voice growing more caustic, "I'm going to take a bank loan to pay off the credit card bill."

Jerk. Hate to think what he's going to do when he discovers I posted a whole lot of Christmas gifts home, because I got tired of carrying them.

Shopping

2010-11-24T18:42:00.001+10:30

Ooh, on my way home after doing a little secret Christmas shopping ...

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Visting Auntie Julie

2010-11-06T16:11:00.001+10:30

Wow. What a morning.

Went to the prison to visit Auntie Julie this morning, armed with a Woman's Day, the latest Monica McInerney novel and a box of Haighs chocolate caramels. I felt kind of guilty because it had been at least two weeks since I had visited my aunt. Poor Auntie Julie. It's not easy for her being shut up inside the women's prison. She never gets any visitors, apart from me. Even her own children don't go to visit her. Okay, I know it was a terrible thing that she did, but ... she had her reasons. And it wasn't like anyone liked Uncle Cliff much in the hours before he died. Not even the police, who were about to charge him with-

Never mind. The point is, Auntie Julie is in prison and no one apart from me ever goes to visit her. After suffering the usual interrogations at the door (the prison staff have cracked down on all of Auntie Julie's visitors after her prison escape several months ago,) I found my aunt waiting for me in the visitors area. As usual, she was in one hell of a bad mood ...

"What's this shit?"

Sitting in the visitors area, Auntie Julie stares down at the box of chocolates. "How many times have I told you I don't like caramel?"

"You like caramel." I frown down at the chocolates. "I bring them every time."

"And I don't like them." Auntie Julie pushes the box aside. "And what's the good of this?" she continues, staring down at the Woman's Day. "I've read this one already."

Ooh-err. Aren't we picky today? Oh well. I'll just have to try and make the best of things. "Samuel had some good news during the week." I force a smile.

"You're getting a divorce?" Auntie Julie stares back at me hopefully. Auntie Julie just does not like my husband. I think it has something to do with the fact that he was a journalist. And that years ago, he covered her trial in the press.

"No." I sigh. "He won an award, for one of the stories he did in London. He exposed a cabinet minister who was fraudulently using taxpayers money to pay for his personal travel expenses."

Auntie Julie snorts. "More naming and shaming. It's all gutter journalism if you ask me."

"I might be getting more teaching hours at the university." I figured it was about time for a change of subject.

"Teaching spoiled rich kids how to read books." Auntie Julie rolls her eyes. "What a rewarding career."

"Better than wasting away in jail."

"I read books in jail." Auntie Julie sighs.

"Only the ones I bring you," I retort. "With the money earned from my career, teaching spoiled rich kids."

A guard taps Auntie Julie on the shoulder. Times up, she must return to her cell. She opens the box of chocolates and pushes it towards me. "Chocolate?" she asks. I take one. My aunt turns and walks away with the guard.

William Hamilton Jr.

2010-10-30T16:50:00.002+10:30

I am now the auntie of William Hamilton Jr. Olive is doing well, apart from a slight argument with Billy of the name of their son. She wanted to name her son William, after his father, but also give him her surname. Needless to say, Billy was a bit unimpressed with the idea of having a son called Willy Allcock. It took some persuasion, but finally Olive agreed to let young William have the surname Hamilton. She and Billy seem to be working things out. (Poor Bulldog got his marching orders, after he fainted in the birthing suite.) Olive is also talking to Shelby again, which is probably a positive thing. (Thought Samuel seems to think that the only reason Olive is being nice to her mum is so that she can have a free babysitter for William.)

Samuel's Plan in Action

2010-10-17T21:15:00.001+10:30

Samuel drops both Kate and I off at the front of the Andrews mansion and insists that we walk straight in. "I'll be back in a minute," he says and walks to the boot of the car. He flashes a sister a teasing grin. "I'm sure Kate doesn't want to carry her own luggage in."

"Damn straight." Kate grins in return. She is every bit as tall as her brother and thin, with long dark hair. She has a pretty face, with high cheekbones and a little nose, and probably could have made it as a supermodel, had Richard and Ursula allowed it. (The story goes she was approached by an agent, but neither Ursula nor Richard would allow it. Ursula didn't think it was proper and Richard was worried that his daughter would be exploited.) Anyway, Kate and I ring the doorbell and Richard gets one heck of a surprise when he answers the door.

"Well," he says as soon as he has time to compose himself. "Isn't this nice ... Gavin and Madison are here as well."

Samuel will be loving this. Personally, I'm a bit worried about how everything will turn out. I really don't want anyone to get hurt, but I know that Ursula needs to stop playing such a dangerous game.

I walk inside, leaving Kate to hug her father and have a little catch up. I find the others inside the lounge. Ursula's make up is pale, which I suspect has been done on purpose. She sits on the chaise. Sprague stands in front of her, happily going through a rendition of "I'm a Little Teapot," which comes complete with actions.

"Her teachers say she has a beautiful voice," Madison tells me. "They want her to join the kindergarten choir."

That and lessons in nuclear physics. Wow, little Sprague is going to have a busy time at kindy. Anyway, Kate walks inside the room a moment later. It's all warm hugs and offers of cups of tea as she and Ursula greet one another. I sip on my camomile and wait for Samuel to walk inside the room ...

"Mum, how are you?"

Samuel is clutching the large bouquet of flowers that we purchased just before collecting Kate from the airport. Richard follows a few steps behind. His cheeks are white and he is glaring at his wife. I can only assume this means he has been informed of Ursula's deception.

Samuel greets Ursula with a kiss. He presents the flowers to her. "These are for you Mum ... I know the others promised not to say anything but-'

"I'm sorry it's my fault!" Madison lets out a gasp. "I didn't mean to ... but Samuel is your son too. Surely he had to know."

"That's right," Samuel says. "And I plan on doing everything I can to help my mother through this difficult time. I've spoken to a specialist. Doctor Ethel is renowned in her field for curing patients with epidermal cancer. In fact ... she's hear now."

I try not to smile as my friend Shannon walks in. She's even wearing a white coat. Cute. "Good afternoon." She greets Ursula with a nod. "After speaking with your son, I've decided to take you on as one of my patients. You've probably heard of me, I have a long record for curing patients with this type of cancer. Of course, my colleagues regard my methods as somewhat ... unorthodox, but there is plenty of evidence to show that it works."

Shannon is a brilliant actress. I love her!

"You'll need to stay at my clinic in the Blue Mountains, where be practicing the ancient art of hanga for three times a day." Shannon smiles. "This is where I will suspend you upside down from the ceiling three times a day, while you will remain for an hour at a time. This causes your blood to run to your head, where it will cleanse your epidermis of all cancers."

Ursula trembles. "Actually ... the doctor has yet to confirm the diagnosis."

"How does one get epidermal cancer?" Madison asks. "Gavin and I were speaking about it the other night. We couldn't figure it out."

"It's from secretly eating too much chocolate." Shannon nods.

Ursula's cheeks turn pink. "I have not-"

"Are you for real?" Gavin's face is bright red as he turns to confront Shannon. "Hanga ... getting cancer from too much chocolate?"

"No more ridiculous than the idea that someone could get epidermal cancer." Shannon shrugs.

Damn. I guess the game is over now.

"How dare you make fun of my mother's illness. Where did you find this woman?" Gavin turns to Samuel. "She's a nut. I bet she's not a real doctor."

"I am actually." Shannon smirks. "I have a PhD in English Literature."

"Which makes you one of her wacky friends." Gavin looks at me.

"I was also one of your dad's students." Shannon smirks again.

"Samuel employed Shannon as an actress." Richard lets out a sigh. "They were hoping to frighten your mother into giving up this terrible deception." Pausing for a moment, Richard glares at Ursula. "I find it difficult to believe that anyone would do something so cruel."

"I wanted to see my children again," Ursula murmurs. "Gavin and Kate wouldn't come and ..."

"You wanted them feel guilty." Richard sighs. "So Gavin had to go to the expense of moving back to Australia, along with his wife and child. And Kate had to take time off from her job."

"It's all right," Kate sighs. "I got fired and my boyfriend dumped me. I didn't know how to tell you. But, while we're all being honest ..."

"The bank I worked for got bought out by another bank," Gavin says. "I didn't know how to tell you either. We wouldn't have even been able to afford tickets back to Australia, or rent on the house if Mum hadn't paid for it all."

"That dinner we had was all paid for on a credit card." Madison looks at me. "We didn't want anyone to know we had no money."

"It's all right," Ursula says. "The important thing is I have my children here with me."

Gee. This all getting schmaltzier and sillier than an episode of Home and Away. Or perhaps the Brady Bunch. Or perhaps a special combined episode of Home and Away and the Brady Bunch. Which isn't really possible considering that the two shows were made in different countries in two entirely separate eras. But, anyway, my point was the scene in front of me was well and truly beyond the ridiculous.

The afternoon ended with a family meeting and a promise to put an end to all of the lies. Gavin is going to register with an employment agency, while Kate is considering a move back to Adelaide. It's all happily families. Well, for the moment, anyway.

Airport

2010-10-17T12:11:00.000+10:30

Have just collected Kate from the airport. She is full of stories about her life in Melbourne, but has not said one word about Ursula being sick. Neither Samuel and I dare mention it. In fact, I feel terrible talking to Kate at all, knowing that she has been lied to by her own mother.

Samuel's Plan

2010-10-17T09:07:00.011+10:30

Just got a phone call from Kate. Apparently she has just booked a flight to Adelaide and will be arriving later today. Are Samuel and I able to pick her up from the Airport?

Samuel nods. "Sure," I tell Kate. "We'd love to be there."

And then, Samuel is going to put his plan into action.

Conversation

2010-10-17T00:00:00.013+10:30

"Mum isn't sick."

Samuel confronts me with this piece of information just as I am signing off on my previous blog entry. He was silent for most of the trip home and, on arrival, sat himself down in the living room with Cedric and a bottle of beer. "She's in perfectly good health," he continues. "Besides she wouldn't keep it a secret."

"No," I murmur. I cannot believe that Ursula would do something so low as go through with her threat. Pretending to have a terminal illness was hardly a small, or honourable lie.

"And why would she tell Gavin but she wants it kept secret from me and Dad. Doesn't make sense Abigail."

I nod. And even though I don't really want to, I tell Samuel about my conversation with Ursula the other week at the cafe. "I thought I talked her out of it."

"Unbelievable ..." Samuel shakes his head.

"So what are we going to do? Gavin believes his own mother is dying. She's probably said the same to Kate."

Samuel nods. We both contemplate this fact. "Leave it with me." Samuel lets out a sigh. "I think I know a way to sort things out ..."

Gavin

2010-10-16T22:52:00.087+10:30

Visiting Samuel's younger brother and his wife rates as an experience that was about as enjoyable as having a tooth pulled. Slow, tedious and painful.

Before today, I had only ever met Gavin Andrews once, and that was when I was about twenty-one years old and attending the funeral of Grandmother Andrews. Gavin was about nineteen at the time - there is a ten year age gap between Samuel and his brother and consequently, the pair have never been close. By the time Samuel and I moved back to Adelaide (we lived in Sydney for several years and then did a stint in Perth,) Gavin had long graduated from university and had some high flying job in a bank in Hong Kong. He met an English girl while he was over there (the daughter of his boss, no less,) they married and now have a four year old daughter named Sprague. "It's an old English word. It's means quick one," Madison, Gavin's wife, explains as she leads us inside the house. The house is nauseatingly modern, a square two-storey joint with white walls that has been squashed onto a sub-divided lot. An identical house sits next door, with very little to separate them. Inside, the house is spartanly furnished with a few art-deco pieces that look like they were purchased from IKEA. Only one picture hangs on the living room wall - a photograph the size of a standard envelope that sits in the dead centre of a red feature wall.

"Sprague is very quick as well." Gavin beams as he joins us. He looks like a younger version of Samuel, with the same dark hair and blue eyes. "She's already been accepted into a program for academically gifted children at her new kindergarten."

"Really?" Samuel asks.

Madison nods. "She starts learning about Nuclear Physics next week."

Sprague, a little girl with blonde hair and a Hello Kitty t-shirt smiles up at me. "Hello," I say.

"Hello," she says. It is obvious that she isn't shy from the way she's been eying both Samuel and myself. "Do you know any jokes?"

"Why sure I do ..." Pausing, I try and think of a good joke. "Knock, knock."

Sprague beams. "Who's there?"

"Doctor?"

"Doctor Who?"

"That's right. Doctor Who on Channel Two."

Sprague frowns a little. She turns back to the My Little Pony toy that she has been playing with. "I guess she didn't get it." Samuel chuckles.

"Well, she is only four you know." Madison lets out a sigh.

The rest of the evening proceeds in much the same fashion. As we eat dinner, either Gavin or Madison brags about all of the important things they have been doing, or the important people that they know, only to trip themselves up later in the conversation. The best champagne and caviar are served, we eat our main course in the dining room and desert on the patio and are both offered the chance to use the spa. (We decline, on account of neither of us having brought a bathing suit.) When we leave, Madison insists in her posh English accent that she had a wonderful time and would love to do it again soon, but she has so many other friends to catch up with that she didn't think she would have time.

"You know a lot of people in Adelaide?" I ask.

Madison's cheeks turn slightly pink. "A few ... old friends who have moved out here mostly. Anyway, I don't suppose any of us will have much time for anything, with Ursula being ill and-'

Madison's hand slaps her open mouth. "Oh, Gavin I'm so sorry."

"They were going to find out eventually." Gavin shrugs. "Mum's sick," he tells Samuel. "That's the real reason we're back in Adelaide ... We weren't supposed to tell you."

Cleo Dress

2010-09-24T20:25:00.000+09:30

Bought the new issue of Cleo magazine today, which came with a free French Connection t-shirt dress, which they value at $49.95. From the moment that I opened the shiny plastic wrapper that contained this item of clothing, it was obvious that the editors of Cleo and I had very different ideas of what kind of clothing would be valued at $49.95 and what, exactly, constitutes as a dress. Unless it all really is very fashionable to wander around in a practically transparent piece of polyester that barely covers ones pudendum. Or maybe the whole this is my fault, as the dress is one size fits most, and I'm in the minority that the dress is not supposed to fit. Damn that Haighs chocolate frog I had for lunch! Now I'll never be able to look like one of those cute, skinny and fashionable girls that hang around the Moseley Square tram stop and buy skinny soy lattes from CBIOs.

Passports and Lunch

2010-09-23T16:11:00.000+09:30

Went to the Post Office with Ursula earlier this week, so that she could renew her passport. My mother-in-law is one of those smart, capable woman who can negotiate all kinds of business, but tends to go completely to water every time that she has to fill out a form. I think the trouble is that she is used to getting her own way all the time. And those passport forms (yes, even those little one page renewal ones,) have exact specifications. If mother-in-law doesn't like her photograph, or the colour pen that she has to use to fill out the form, then too bad. She does not get a new passport. "I don't know why they have such ridiculous rules," she sighs as she exchanges her trademark purple fountain pen for a plastic black biro. "Who do they think I am? A terrorist?"

"I think it's the same for everyone," I murmur, while the woman behind the counter wears what appears to be a very forced smile.

"Well, I don't like it." Ursula concludes the remainder of her passport interview in semi-hostile silence, giving the woman behind the counter only the most perfunctory of answers. And, of course, her usual question of, "Do you take Amex," which is really only an excuse to get her credit card out, which is made of solid gold. Personally, I was relived when the whole thing was finished and we could visit the nearby cafe for some lunch. This particular does this rather nice chicken baguettes, the kind that have the big, chunky pieces of chicken in them, instead of those tasteless little bits of shaved chicken and the salad component is always very fresh and actually contains something other than baby spinach leaves. (You know, those dark green things that everyone pretends to like when they know full well the only kind of salad leaves that are actually palatable belong to an iceberg lettuce, but no one would ever admit to this, because saying that you prefer iceberg lettuce is akin to saying that you have the sophistication of a primary schooler or worse still, that you like the same kind of food that your husband does. Which in turn suggests that you're not quite as feminine as other women and therefore lacking something and then ... Hell with it. Lets just say that admitting to enjoying iceberg lettuce is a major social faux pax.) The baguettes always have nice, thick sliced tomato, olives and ricotta cheese, which make for a tasty lunchtime treat.

Anyway, I was rather enjoying my baguette when Ursula asked if I had spoken to Gavin and Kate again. I shake my head. "Samuel said it wasn't a good idea. They'll come around when they are ready."

"Or when they want money." Ursula murmurs. "It isn't right you know Abigail. We gave our children so much and ... I'm worried Abigail. What if something happens. Richard and I aren't as young as we used to be."

"You're not that old." I flash Ursula a smile. "You didn't qualify for a seniors passport."

"I'm not interested in talking about that dreadful passport. What if something happens to Richard and I. We'll never get the chance to see Gavin and Kate again."

"They'll come around."

"Of course they will." A grin crawls across Ursula's mouth. It is as if an idea has suddenly occurred to her. "I'm going to force their hand Abigail. I am going to pretend that I have a serious illness and only a few short weeks to live. They'll have to come and see me then."

"That's disgusting!" I almost choke on my baguette. "You can't pretend to be ill."

"Only to Gavin and Kate." Ursula nods. "I'll tell them the truth as soon as they get here."

"Ursula, no." I sigh. "That's an awful thing to do. They'll never forgive you."

"I suppose you're right." Ursula stares down at her plate. She tries to look remorseful, but the grin that is still playing on the corner of her lips tells me otherwise.

Trip to Colonnades with Olive

2010-09-18T17:17:00.000+09:30

The bad news is that I have not been able to talk any sense into Olive regarding the baby. Samuel says, and I hope that he is right, that Olive will probably feel very different about things once her child is born. She will have a whole other person to think about then, whereas now most of her actions seem to be centered around annoying the people who care about her most - Billy and Shelby.

The good news is that Olive is talking to me. We went shopping together today, at Colonnades, which is quite close to the house where Olive is staying with Bulldog and his grandmother. (Fortunately, they have now also had a visit from a very good plumber, who managed to unblock the pipes and do something about the smell.) Anyway, we bought some nice little all in one suits and things for the baby - all of which had to be in neutral colours like yellow and pale green, because Olive does not want to find out the sex of the baby before the birth. Afterward, we stopped by one of the cafes, where I had a latte and Olive a peppermint tea. (Her favourite.) I did not mention Shelby or Billy and neither did she.

Talking Sense to Olive

2010-09-16T20:36:00.000+09:30

Went to visit Olive today, to see if I could talk any sense into her. Recently, she has decided that Bulldog is the man for her after all, and not Billy. Fair enough, it's her life, but she and Bulldog don't want Billy to have anything to do with the baby after it is born. Which is completely unfair, considering that Billy is the father and it is not like he has done anything wrong. Some men are denied access to their children because they are violent or alcoholics, etc. Billy will be denied access to his own child because he squeezes the toothpaste tube in the middle, instead of at the end and Olive doesn't like it. Samuel suggested that Billy could take Olive to court - the whole toothpaste thing is hardly going to stand up in court. Billy doesn't think this is a good idea and neither do I. Olive is just being a little brat, yet again. She'll probably have changed her mind in a week or so.

So, yes. A very awkward visit with Olive this morning. She wouldn't even allow me inside the house (some weak excuse about there being a problem with the plumbing and the whole house smelling bad). Nor would she open the screen door. (Apparently that was broken.) She told me that it was her decision to end the relationship with Billy and no one could force her back there. True, but it seems such a mean thing to do when there is a baby involved. As I tried to explain to Olive, I didn't know both of my parents when I was growing up and that hurt a lot. She just shrugged and said the kid would get enough love from her and Bulldog.

My sister is bloody weird.

Phone Calls

2010-09-12T20:19:00.000+09:30

Decided to phone Gavin and Kate last night. Figured that even if they didn't want to come back and visit, they still at least had the right to know that their father was in hospital, right? And it did seem to be quite important to Ursula. Pity no one else thought that it was a good idea.

Samuel was completely against the idea of phoning his brother and sister. I thought that perhaps it would be nice if he phoned them, seeing as he is their brother and all, but he didn't want to. "Why the bloody hell should I?" Standing in the middle of the kitchen, he slams a beer bottle down on the table. "If they wanted anything to do with this family, then they would make the effort to phone Mum and Dad occasionally."

"Samuel!"

"Well, it's true." He shrugs.

"And that isn't going to make things any more pleasant for your parents at the moment, is it?"

In the end, it was me who phoned Gavin and Kate, not Samuel. "Hey Gavin ... It's Abigail."

There is a long silence. "Abigail who?"

"Abigail Andrews." I rarely use my married name, but at the moment it seemed kind of appropriate. "Your sister-in-law."

There is another long silence. Then a sigh. "Has something happened to Samuel?"

"No ... Samuel is fine. Your dad had to go to hospital a couple of days ago. Gallstones."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that." Gavin lets out another sigh. "Pass on my regards to him and mum."

"Do you want to talk to Samuel." I figure that seeing as I have him on the line, I might as well ask.

"Nah ... I have to go Abigail. Look after yourself."

And that was that. I put the phone down for brief moment, and then pick it up again and dial Kate's number. The phone rings three times, before going to voice mail. A few moments later, I receive an SMS. Thanks for the call Abigail. Tell Dad to get well soon.

And that, is that. "Told you." Samuel sniggers as I put my iPhone down. "You can't force people to be interested in their family. You of all people should know that."

Ursula's Fear

2010-09-10T16:09:00.000+09:30

I never thought that I would say this, but right now I feel very sorry for my mother-in-law. Poor Ursula has copped more than her fair share of drama this week and not one bit of it is her fault. The whole thing started earlier this week when Richard started having chest pains and sensibly decided to get to a hospital. Fortunately, he wasn't having a heart attack (though it took several doctors, Samuel and myself to convince Ursula otherwise,) but he does need an operation to have some gallstones removed. "What if it had of been a heart attack?" Ursula asked me afterward, as I drove her home from the hospital.

"It wasn't, so you don't need to worry." As we slowed at a traffic light, I gave Ursula what I hoped was my most reassuring smile possible. Which was rather different from the smiles that I usually give my mother-in-law, which are usually rather forced and convey the message that I am only going along with whatever her current plan is in order to keep my husband happy. On this particular occasion, I had decided to drop the act. Ursula did not seem her usual boorish self. That much was obvious from the fact that she had climbed inside my Volkswagon willingly, without one word of complaint about the colour or lack of leg space.

"Yes, Abigail, but what if it had been?" Ursula sighs.

"Well they're hardly a matter of life and death these days." I struggle to find the right words to say. "There have been numerous advances in technology these days. People can have heart surgery or even transplants. It isn't an automatic death sentence. And anyway, Richard is strong and healthy."

"What if he ... died Abigail?"

"You shouldn't be thinking like that."

Ursula sighs once again. "Samuel was the only one of his children to contact him on Father's Day. Did you know that Abigail?"

I had no idea, but it does not surprise me. Samuel's younger brother and sister have not been home in years. In fact Samuel's brother, Gavin, did not even come to our wedding. His sister, Kate, came to the wedding but flew back to Melbourne the following morning.

"Well, Gavin does live overseas ..." I struggle to think of the right thing to say.

"Your father lives overseas Abigail and you visit him occasionally. And I know you're unhappy about the situation between your mother and yourself. You'd repair it if you could."

True.

"And Kate has no excuse. Melbourne isn't that far away. I would have happily paid for her airline ticket. But no. Not even a visit or a phone call. I don't understand how my children can be so selfish Abigail. I really don't."

Ursula reaches inside the glove box and pulls out a tissue. I watch, feeling slightly helpless, as she dabs her eyes. Mascara stains her cheeks. "What would you do in my situation Abigail?" She asks. "Is there anything you can do to fix this."

"Leave it with me and Samuel," I murmur. "Maybe there is something we can do."

MacBook 2

2010-09-09T23:02:00.001+09:30

Damn. Why would my MacBook be in the linen cupboard? Oh well, can't be buggered switching it on now. Have to update blog later. Nothing much has happened anyway. Well, apart from my heavily pregnant 19 year old sister eloping with someone who isn't the baby's father and leaving Billy in the lurch. And my Dad getting paranoid because the string on his guitar broke just before he was due to go on stage & almost bailed on his fans. (A stagehand nearly got punched out.)

And people wonder why I spend most of my days in the library working on my thesis ...

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

MacBook

2010-09-09T22:47:00.000+09:30

Damn. Where did I put my MacBook?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Tim-tams

2010-05-11T23:20:00.001+09:30

Was it unreasonable of me to get mad at Samuel & send him down to the 24 hour store because he ate the last Tim-tam? Oh well. Hope he comes back with double coat.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Family Meeting

2010-05-02T18:28:00.000+09:30

Samuel invited Shelby, Olive, Bulldog and Cousin Billy to our house this afternoon for a family meeting. Shelby was pleased to see her daughter again - in her own funny way. I don't think I've ever seen my mother shout or say the words "worried" and "ungrateful brat" so many times in the space of a few minutes. As for Bulldog ... amazing how quickly and easily we all misjudged him. It turns out that he is a first year medicine student, whose nickname comes from his lifelong love of the Central Districts Football Club. Apparently his brother even plays for them. Funny I don't usually connect people named Bulldog with the SANFL. He turned out to be a real sweetheart, who in his own misguided way, only wanted to help Olive stop using drugs. It turns out that Olive lied and told him that Shelby had kicked her out of home. He and his grandma thought they were doing the right thing by putting a roof over her head.

Anyway, it turns out that Cousin Billy is the father of Olive's baby. Fortunately the pair aren't related (Olive pointed this out to me numerous times during the afternoon,) as Olive and I are half-sisters and Billy is related to me through my father. It was still a surprise though, seeing as the pair have never really gotten along. And honestly, I thought Billy was more responsible than that. He's not at all happy about the situation and spent most of the afternoon muttering things about DNA tests, which made him the recipient of some very nasty looks from both Olive and Shelby. Olive has agreed to go home (yet again) to live with her mother, and to get help for her drug problems (again), so that has to be a positive thing. Bulldog says that he'll support her no matter what - a big ask for a 19 year old. And of course Samuel and I will do what we can.

A Trip to Bulldogs House

2010-05-02T14:24:00.000+09:30

Well.

That was certainly a revelation. As you know, Samuel, Billy and I all planned a trip to Bulldogs house yesterday afternoon to see if we could try and talk some sense into Olive. I have to admit, by the time Samuel parked his Monaro outside Bulldog's house in Huntfield Heights, I was starting to feel pretty damn terrified. Motorcycles and beer bottles littered the front lawn ... if you could even call it a lawn, there was no grass, just a few weeds. A woman with bleached blonde hair, leathery skin and plenty of tattoos sat on the veranda, eying us carefully as she smoked on a homemade cigarette.

"Is Olive home?" I offer the woman my politest smile.

"Olive?" Her eyebrows crease.

"Yeah." Beside us Billy chuckles. "You know Olive. Emo kid. Short dark hair. Pregnant. To Bulldog."

"Oh, that Olive!" The woman's eyes widen with recognition. "You've got the wrong house. They live across the street, along with Bulldog's grandma."

We each turn and look at the red brick house across the street. The front lawn is a shining emerald green and all six rose bushes have been neatly pruned. Frilly lace curtains hang in each of the windows. "Are you sure?" I can't help but ask the woman.

"I'm sure." She nods and returns to her cigarette.

I follow Samuel and Billy to the red brick house across the road. Billy rings the doorbell. A short, acne riddled boy of about twenty opens the door. He stares at us. "Are you Jehovah's witnesses?"

"Actually we're here to see Olive." Samuel's voice is firm. "And Bulldog."

"Olive is in the shower." The boy shrugs. "I'm Bulldog."

"You're Bulldog?" I feel my jaw drop. "The jerk who got my little sister pregnant and on drugs and then convinced her to run away from home?"

"I didn't get her pregnant!" Bulldog shakes his head. "And I didn't make her take drugs! I didn't do nothing of that stuff. She ran away from home and I said I'd help her ... I love her." He gives me a helpless shrug.

"So who got her pregnant then?" I ask, at exactly the same time as Samuel wants to know who was supplying Olive with drugs.

"He did." It is at that moment that Olive walks inside the door. She points toward Billy. "He's the jerk who got me pregnant."

Bulldog's Address

2010-05-01T17:25:00.000+09:30

Samuel was less than impressed when I told him the news about Olive. In fact, I think his exact words were something along the lines of her being a complete bloody idiot and wanting to hunt this Bulldog guy down so that he could tie his balls to a flagpole. Wow. And I thought that Samuel had never liked my sister. I guess she really grew on him when she stayed with us last Christmas.

Anyway, I've been talking to a few of Olive's old friends from uni. One of them, a short mousy girl called Lisbeth, passed on Bulldog's address. Samuel and I are going to go around there to see if we can talk some sense into Olive. Cousin Billy is coming with us as well, along with one of his friends. When it comes to guys called bulldog, I don't take any chances.

A Visit From Shelby

2010-04-29T20:51:00.000+09:30

Had a visit from Shelby today.

The visit from my mother came totally out of the blue. It was about three-thirty in the afternoon. Ursula and I had spent the morning in the city doing a little shopping and were back at my place, enjoying a nice cup of green tea and going over our purchases when the doorbell rang. And there she was. Shelby. My mum. She was just thinking of me and thought she would stop by. Well ... not quite.

"Where the bloody hell is she?" By the time Shelby made it through the doorway, her hair wild and clothes reeking of cigarettes and alcohol, it was obvious that this wasn't a social visit.

"Hello Mum." I pull the screen door shut. "Is everything okay?"

Obviously not. Within five minutes practically every piece of furniture in the house has been upturned, the contents of my wardrobe are on the bedroom floor and Ursula has my mother in a headlock. It seems that Olive has run away from home yet again and Shelby has convinced herself that she is hiding out here. "I haven't heard from her in weeks." Sighing, I help my mother up to her feet. "I thought she was with you. Now could you stop destroying my house please?"

Half an hour and another cup of tea later, I have the full story. Olive is back on drugs again, has dropped out of uni and is dating someone of no fixed address called Bulldog. Understandably, Shelby is worried and wants her back home again. "I don't think she's coming back this time," she murmurs.

"Why not?" I ask. "She always has before."

"It's different this time," Shelby mutters.

"How?"

My mother lets out a sigh. "She's pregnant."

Dinner

2010-04-22T18:39:00.000+09:30

Wondering what Samuel and I should have for dinner ... oh, who am I kidding? At this stage I am still wondering if Samuel is even going to be HOME for dinner. Being married to a journalist has some extreme drawbacks and this is one of them. It isn't a 9 to 5 job, meaning that Samuel tends to come and go from the house as he pleases. And half the time he doesn't even bother to answer my text messages, asking if I should save dinner. Arrogant jerk.

Other than that, have spent most of the day at uni trying to get a group of disinterested first year students excited about Jane Eyre. Poor kids, I could tell that most of them really couldn't care less about the Bronte sisters. I know that most of them are only there doing arts because they either couldn't get in to the course that they wanted, or because their parents are forcing them in to tertiary study. I think they spend practically the whole tutorial talking about what they were going to do down at the tavern later on and the best way to cultivate hemp plants. Meanwhile, my thesis is coming along nicely. After several breaks last year, I feel like I'm finally starting to get somewhere with it. I still think that Jane Eyre is interesting. Actually, I like Wuthering Heights better. Though I don't actually know why, considering that it is a miserable book and nothing nice ever seemed to happen to anyone. Especially Heathcliff. Then again, Heathcliff was the source of everyone else's misery, so perhaps it all evens out ... or maybe the whole book is a perfect example of how two wrongs don't make a right ...

Anyway, have just heard from Samuel. He should be home soon. Now what to have for dinner ...

Happy 101

2010-03-16T20:40:00.000+10:30

It seems that I, Abigail Vera Carter, am a very lucky girl. Not only has this little blog received an award, but I have been trusted with the all important task of choosing ten other blogs to pass it on to, and sharing ten things with you all that make me happy:-)

Now, before I begin, a big thank you to Annika from A Swede Abroad

Anyway, the ten people/blogs I would like to pass this award on to (in no particular order) are:

Amber from Thoughts of a Contemplative Daughter for her inspiring words and honesty.
Eliana from Pulling My Weight for sharing her journey with me - the downs as well as the ups.
Joanne from Joanne's Journey. Although the blog is not open to the public anymore and I completely respect that, I felt that she was deserving of the award, as Joanne gave me a lot of encouragement when I first started this blog.
Adele from Persnickerty Snark for a well researched and comprehensive look at Young Adult fiction.
droL from The Book of Salamat for the unique idea of a book written by many people across the world.
Wendy from A Home Cook in the City for sharing her passion about cooking.
Margot from Margot's Musings and Misadventures for her humour.
Jeff from Men are dumb and I should know. With that title, you just know it's going to be good.
C Beth The One Minute Writer a fantastic challenge. You have one minute to write about a given subject. (Or even just reading the other entries is fun).
Finally, this blog Love for Books. Because I do. And honestly, I enjoy the pictures on this one just as much as the words.

And the ten things that make me happy are:

Chocolate.
When Samuel offers to cook dinner, even if he's been working all day. Aww.
My family. (Eccentric as they may be.)
My in-laws. (See above.)
Cedric
Re-reading Wuthering Heights - it's like revisting an old friend
Catching up with a friend that I have not seen or spoken to for a long time
A sunny day
The beach
A drive though the hills.

RULES:
1. When you receive the award you must thank the person who awarded you this
2. Name 10 things that make you happy
3. Pass the award to 10 other bloggers and inform the winners.

Food

2010-03-05T12:12:00.000+10:30

Samuel angry with me again.

I kind-of, sort-of ... okay I just plain didn't realise that I hadn't put the plug for the refrigerator back into the socket after I cleaned the kitchen yesterday and didn't discover what I had done until nearly eight hours later, when Samuel opened the freezer and discovered that all the frost on the walls had melted and got himself rather a wet surprise. (Though I have to admit, I liked the sight of him in a wet white t-shirt, even if his face was red while he shouted at me that I was a bloody idiot.) And then he got madder when he discovered why I had taken the plug out - apparently it isn't a good idea to clean a dirty electrical socket with a sponge soaked in Spray and Wipe.

Loose Ends

2010-01-13T19:35:00.002+10:30

Phew!

Finally back home after a (warm) few days at Victor Harbor (grr, it should be spelled Harbour,) followed by two cooler ones. Was horrible driving down there in Samuel's Monaro, which has no air conditioning and got stuck in heavy traffic (seemed everyone was heading down south last weekend, to escape the stifling heat).

Anyway, where did I get up to the other day? That's right, Aunite Julie had escaped from prison and it turned out that Olive was driving the getaway car. It turns out that the pair (who are not technically related, as Auntie Julie is my dad's sister, and Olive is the product of my mother's second marriage,) had been secretly communicating these past few weeks, after Olive answered the phone one day when Auntie Julie rang our house. Olive was looking for a sort-of mother figure. Auntie Julie felt that Olive needed guidance. And so one thing led to another and they devised a plot where Auntie Julie would fake sick, clock the prison guard and escape. The pair of idiots were going to go to Queensland and become fruit pickers. Then Olive crashed the car on North East Road and they both ended up in hospital. Auntie Julie is going to get an extra year in prison for trying to bust out (that's on top of her original sentence by the way) and Olive is probably going to be in a bit of trouble as well. Anyway, Olive and Shelby have reunited, which is one good thing to come out of it all. And Auntie Julie is going to let me come and visit her again. (Apparently she didn't want me implicated in her escape attempt, in case I got into trouble ... I wouldn't have ratted on her, but I wouldn't have really been for the idea either). And Billy has moved out with some friends, meaning that Samuel and I finally have the house to ourselves once again. I think we're going to enjoy the quiet.

Auntie Julie & Olive

2010-01-05T16:29:00.007+10:30

Went to hospital to visit Auntie Julie this afternoon. Despite being pretty well out of it, she's still under heavy police guard. Good grief. Who would have thought that she'd try and escape out of prison after all this time? Or that she'd crash the getaway car and-

Or maybe I should just tell this story from the start ...

"She leaves today."

Standing in the door to our bedroom, Samuel shoots me a look that says he clearly means business. "I don't care that she's your sister Abigail. That business with the fire is the last bloody straw as far as I'm concerned."

To be honest, I wasn't exactly overjoyed about the fact that Olive had just set Mrs Murphy's front lawn (and half of her still to be-packed-away Christmas light display,) on fire either. I stare out the window at one very melted snowman.

"A forty-one degree day," Samuel continues. "Half the houses along this street could have gone up."

"I know."

"And all because she thought it would be clever to toss a cigarette butt out of the window." Samuel sighs and rolls his eyes. "You've given her enough chances Pussycat. More than what anyone should have. Olive has to learn that her behaviour is going to have consequences."

"She's already promised to help clean it up."

"Like she promises to help out around the house." Samuel sighs. "Look. Whatever help Olive needs, it's beyond us."

I nod. Samuel is probably right, as much as I don't want to admit it. Olive is one troubled kid. I love her, but that doesn't mean that I'm the right person to help her. She seems so angry all the time, but so desperate to be loved. And I don't have the first clue on what is best for her. She stopped seeing the counselor the hospital recommended after her overdose and she treated NA like it was a joke and stopped going after about the second meeting. Neither Samuel and I can convince her that these are good and nobel things. It's like Olive wants to be hurt and angry all the time.

God only knows how much this must all be hurting our mother. She must want to help Olive too. As much as she hates me, and for whatever reason, she's never hated Olive. And Olive might just take more notice of her mother than a half sister that she didn't even know a year ago.

"I'm going to talk to Shelby," I tell Samuel.

His eyebrows crease. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"She's her mother."

"She's your mother too," Samuel says gently.

"It's different between those too. She gives a damn what happens to Olive."

After saying good-bye to Samuel and Billy, and then to Olive who stayed in her room with the door firmly closed and who refused to speak at all, I drive to Shelby Allcock's house at Mitchell Park. She gave me one of her usual heartfelt greetings.

"And what the hell do you want?" A voice echoes from behind the screen door. The stench of cigarettes is overpowering. "I suppose the bleeding heart society has come to invite Pearl to live with you too."

"It really is lovely to see you again, Mum." I offer her a sarcastic smile. "And you'll be pleased to know that Olive is having a wonderful time at our house setting the neighbour's front yard alight and crying herself to sleep every night because she wants her mother."

"She can come here any time she wants." Shelby shrugs. "What's stopping her?"

"Well, she doesn't seem to think so. She doesn't think you care about her much at all. Which you and I both know isn't true."

Shelby pauses. She takes a long drag of her cigarette. "And what makes you an expert on what I feel?"

"Because I'm not an idiot. You had just as many chances to abandon Olive when she was a kid, as you did me. Only you chose to keep her."

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes."

"Then you are an idiot. Tell Olive I'll throttle her for starting the fire."

And with that, the front door slams shut. Lousy bitch. I turn and start to walk to the car. Then, suddenly, I pause. I wasn't here to talk about my own relationship with my mother. I was here to help Olive.

"Do you want to swallow your damn pride and actually help your daughter?" I pound on the front door. "You're pathetic, you know that? I don't give a fuck what you think about me, and I haven't given a fuck for a long time. But Olive cares what you think. And she needs your help. And we both know she's too stubborn to ask for it."

The door remains closed. Sighing, I turn and walk back to the car. I am just opening the driver's side door, when Shelby walks outside, purse in her hands. "Mind if I scab a ride?" She asks. "Mine's out of action at the moment."

Shelby does not speak for the entire journey. As I arrive home, both Samuel and Billy are surprised to discover that Shelby is with me. Billy gives her a nod. "You'd have to be Cliff Hamilton's son," Shelby greets him.

He nods. "Yeah."

"How is your dad?" Shelby asks. "I haven't heard of him for a long time."

"Dead." Billy shrugs, like this is a simple fact.

"Dead? I'm sorry to hear that." Shelby shakes her head. "He was a good man."

"Mum shot him," Billy continues. "After she found out he-"

"If Shelby wants to know that, she can google it," Samuel cuts in.

Shelby shakes her head. Her eyes are as wide as saucers. "Why on earth would Julie Carter want to shoot anyone? She was always such a sweet little thing."

"Well, everyone was pretty angry about ..." I find myself chipping in. "Though I don't think anyone else actually contemplated shooting him."

"I'd just like to know what he did." Shelby's eyes remain wide.

I whisper the facts quietly. And hope that Billy doesn't overhear too much. Good grief, I don't even know how much he knows. Shelby stares at me. "You mean your bloody father left you in the care of a murderer and a-"

"I'd left home by the time all of that happened." I shrug. "Anyway, Olive's room is upstairs, first on the left."

Shelby walks upstairs. She taps on the door. There is silence for a moment. Samuel turns to me and smiles. "Good," he murmurs. "Maybe we can start to get this whole thing sorted."

"Maybe." I smile in return.

And then Shelby appears at the top of the stairs. "Olive isn't here," she says. "She's left a note. Something about going to the prison to see Julie."

Two minutes later the phone rings. Auntie Julie had just escaped from jail. And Olive, it seemed, had been driving the getaway car that crashed.

Pot

2009-12-31T17:23:00.002+10:30

Samuel just found Olive smoking pot in her room.

Admittedly, it's not the worst thing that the girl has done in her life, but it is starting to seem more and more like helping her is beyond us. Samuel tried to talk to her, but she just threw a fit and chucked him out of her room. I really don't know what to do next.

A Dent in the Occasional Table

2009-12-27T16:53:00.005+10:30

I really don't know what to do about Olive.

Her antics are still completely over the top. Even now that Billy has laid off of her, she keeps trying to find excuses to start fights with each of us. This morning she put a massive dent in the occasional table, after Samuel reminded her that it was her turn to wash the dishes. (We've made it a rule that as long as Billy and Olive stay here, they have to pitch in around the house. Billy is cool with that. Olive isn't.) I want to help her, but I'm starting to wonder if perhaps the whole thing is beyond me.

In other news, Billy has found a job pulling beers at one of the local pubs and seems to be making more friends his own age and is hardly ever home. One of the guys he works with has a spare room that might be available to rent soon and Billy is considering moving in. It's been great having him around, but I think he might be happier around people his own age. Meanwhile, I don't think Olive is really coping with moving out of home. She needs to sort things out with our mother. I spoke to Pearl today and asked what she thought. She said that Shelby hasn't said much about Olive moving in with us. "But then again, your mother never really comments on you much at all Abigail," Pearl adds with a sigh.

"That's because she doesn't like me."

Pearl sighs again. "I don't know that she doesn't like you ... she was very young when you were born. And then you were taken away because she couldn't care for you properly. It must have affected her Abigail."

"Sure." I sigh. "But I still think she doesn't like me."

"I think you'll find that the person your mother dislikes the most is herself." Pearl's voice is firm. "Seeing you again is a reminder of all the mistakes she made, and the innocent child she hurt."

Email

2009-12-22T21:09:00.003+10:30

Mrs Moore's Christmas display is attracting up to two hundred visitors per night, thus making it completely impossible for me to sleep. The flashing lights and sound of cars pulling up (as well as a few loud conversations and cries of "Look at Father Christmas! Look at Snowman!) is driving me insane. I don't see why she has to have such a big display when there is already a good one nearby, at the brewery. Which, I might add, is in a public space and not near any houses.

Anyway, after a good couple of hours of trying to sleep and being constantly woken by loud noises last night, I gave up and walked down to the study. I had an email from my dad, wishing me a Merry Christmas, which was nice. A bigger surprise, however, was the email I had from Matty, Billy's twin brother. He wanted to know what was going on between Billy and Olive. They're not getting along very well, I write back. Clash of personalities, I guess.

Matty's reply came through a few moments later. Could have fooled me, he wrote. Whenever Billy goes on about a girl that much, it usually means that he likes her.

Billy likes Olive? The email made me smile. Nothing, I am sure, could be further from the truth ...

Billy

2009-12-20T14:09:00.003+10:30

Olive and Billy are still are not getting along. Over the past two weeks, we've gone between periods of loud arguing, followed by hours and sometimes even days of sulking. And then they'll just start antagonizing one another again. Like on Friday, when Billy decided that it would be funny to hide Olive's toothbrush. She retaliated by throwing Billy's toothbrush inside Cedric's kitty litter tray, tossing the content of his underwear drawer off the balcony (which really wasn't much, that boy is so untidy,) and deleting the number of an attractive girl Billy had met the other night at Red Square and was eager to call from his phone. "No offense Abigail, but your sister is a psycho," Billy told me, as together, we began to collect his socks and underwear from around Mrs Moore's Christmas display. A pair of boxer shorts with Mr Funny on the front sit on top of Frosty the Snowman. (And if you think that's bad, never mind the half empty box of condoms that was in Father Christmas's hand ... despite the fact that Samuel and I had both asked Billy not to bring strange girls inside our house.)

"She's just a bit messed up ..." I tell Billy. "She's had a hard year."

"She's had a hard year?" Billy's eyes widen slightly. "Abigail, she fucking killed your baby."

"She didn't." I sigh. "I tripped and fell. She couldn't have known that was going to happen."

"I still don't know how you could just forgive her though." Billy stares at me. "Or let her live in your house. Abigail, that's massive."

"I know." I follow Billy back to our front veranda. We both sit down on the step. "I still grieve for my son," I tell Billy. "I think I always will. But ... Olive never laid a finger on me. I was just ... startled when I saw her in the hallway. I tripped and fell. It was a horrible thing to happen to me. The worst thing that's happened to me. But it wasn't her fault."

Billy shakes his head. "You're too forgiving. I'd hate her, if I was you."

"How could I?" I ask. "She went through hell afterward. First she had to go to court for break and enter. Then she ended up overdosing from drugs. And ... from what I can gather, our mother doesn't like her much more than she ever liked me. She's my sister. I just can't hate her. Even if sometimes, I've wanted to."

"I still think you're weird," Billy tells me, before climbing up from the step and walking inside.

War!

2009-12-04T23:14:00.003+10:30

If you are reading this, then there is a good chance that Olive and Billy haven't sent me completely around the twist yet. Who would have thought that two teenagers living under the same roof could possibly cause so much trouble? Okay, apart from Samuel, who was opposed to the idea of letting Olive stay and felt that she should be working out her problems with her mother, and has subsequently been proven to be right like he always is, because he's so clever and sensible and perfect and knows exactly the right thing to do and say in every situation - but I really think that I'm getting off the subject now, so maybe I should stop and take a deep breath and ...

... Ahh ...

So, yes, where was I again? Olive and Billy are causing a lot of trouble. They are about the same age, so I thought that maybe they would be good company for each other. Turns out I was wrong on that score. Initially, they were a bit wary of one another. Then things spun out of control into a full scale war. And it's all thanks to some emo band called I Killed the Prom Queen. It seems that Olive lost her copy of their latest album (downloaded from iTunes and burned onto a CD - have these children never heard of a CD shop ...) Anyway, Olive searched the house high and low before eventually locating the CD in Billy's room. She accused him of stealing it. Billy became angry and said that he had no idea how it got into his room as he never listened to, as he put it, that shit. He then went on to call Olive a gothic weirdo. Then Olive became angry and called him a thief and well .... the pair have been enemies ever since. Every time they are in the same room they'll take a swipe at each other. Samuel tried to call a house meeting to get the whole thing sorted out, but that ended pretty badly - Olive threw a glass of water at Billy and stormed out after he told her that her music sucked.

Can hear another argument going on upstairs. Better try and split them up yet again.

Full House

2009-12-01T21:15:00.002+10:30

Samuel arrived home from Sydney today. I surprised him at the airport this morning. He seemed happy to see me, shouting out, "Pussycat!" and scooping me up in his arms, while Ernie, one of his colleagues stared at us and made vomit noises. "Bloody hell," Ernie remarks as we break apart. "How long have the two of you been together? You should be sick of the sight of one another by now."

Samuel and I both laugh. Together, we watch as Ernie's wife, Esme greets him with, "Damn and I was hoping the plane would crash."

"Better luck next time woman." Ernie chuckles in return.

Together, Samuel and I walk through the airport. He tells me a bit about his trip and I tell him a bit about what has been happening at home. "Olive stayed over for a few nights."

Samuel frowns and asks me if I am sure that is wise. I shrug. "I've kind of enjoyed having her around. It's been good to get to know her. Besides, she hasn't been getting along very well in her sharehouse."

Samuel sighs. "She's put you through a lot Pussycat. Don't forget that."

We continue to walk. We almost reach the doors when a voice calls my name. Spinning around, I am shocked to find Cousin Billy, Auntie Julie's son, staring at me. Two years ago, as a boy of sixteen, Billy had left Maripaninga Valley to go backpacking with his twin Matty. I was shocked by just how much he had grown - he was taller, his shoulders were broader and there was a deep five o'clock shadow beneath his chin. In short, my little cousin was now a man.

"How are you?" Billy continues, in a voice that was deeper than I remembered.

"Great." I smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Decided it was time to come home." Billy shrugs.

"Is Matty here as well?"

Billy shakes his head. "He's back in Hong Kong. With his wife."

"Matty got married?"

"Yeah, shotgun arrangement. I said he should have legged it out of the country, but his father-in-law said he'd have us arrested at the airport."

Charming. "So do you have anywhere to stay?" I ask.

Billy looks from me to Samuel. "Do you know a good hotel."

"Yeah, our place." I turn to Samuel. "That's okay, isn't it?"

"Course it is." Samuel nods.

Together, we walk out to the carpark. It take practically forever to get both Samuel's and Billy's luggage to fit inside the Volkswagon. Samuel spends the entire trip home admonishing me for not driving the Monaro to the airport. "You banned me from driving the Monaro," I remind him.

"Since when?" Samuel looks surprised.

"Since that time in Woolies carpark, when that shopping trolley drove into the car."

"I think you mean when you drove into the shopping trolley."

"So you do remember!" I let out a laugh.

Samuel sighs. "Yeah well I think under the circumstances ..."

Eventually we arrive home. Samuel and Billy take their luggage out of the car and I open the front door. And there, sitting inside the living room, surrounded by bags and boxes, is Olive. "Abby." She stares at me, her cheeks stained with tears. "They kicked me out of the sharehouse ..."

Houseguest

2009-11-30T21:13:00.002+10:30

Olive stayed over last night as well, and is going to be staying over again tonight. I don't mind - actually I quite enjoy the company while Samuel is away. The house is far too big for one person, and it is nice to have another female about the place. It's also been great getting to know my little sister a bit more. We had such different childhoods and yet, there are funny little things that we both have in common. Like me, Olive likes her toast to be crisp and golden - she can't have any white. And she hates getting up early in the mornings.

Still, I cannot help but worry about the poor kid. Things do not seem to be working out for her at the share house, and she flat refuses to move back home with Shelby. She says that she hates our mother, which I find quite worrying. I might have a right to dislike Shelby for all that she did to me. But I cannot find any evidence to suggest that she wasn't a good mother to Olive. And now Olive won't even talk to her. I really don't understand what the problem is. And Olive won't tell me. Oh well. Maybe if I give her enough time, she will open up on her own.

Olive

2009-11-28T20:29:00.004+10:30

Samuel is away for the weekend, working on a story. Olive is staying over to keep me company. Funny how we have become friends in such a short space of time. She left home recently, and I don't think she is getting along very well with the girls from her sharehouse. (She keeps calling someone called Kim a boyfriend stealing slut.) She also doesn't seem to have a lot of money for food - she's looking very thin and she hasn't stopped eating since she got here.

Oh well. We're about to start watching a DVD - Confessions of a Shopaholic. I'd better get the popcorn and hot chocolate ready.

Coke Can

2009-11-26T16:59:00.002+10:30

Someone tossed an empty coke can on our driveway. And stomped on a geranium. I just knew the people coming to see Mrs Moore's light display would cause trouble.

Mrs Moore

2009-11-25T17:22:00.002+10:30

Aaarrrggghhh!

My neighbour is driving me crazy!

No, I am not talking about Bazza and Cheryl, the very nice but slightly boganesque couple that live to our left. I mean Mrs Moore, who lives on the right. I don't think that I have ever mentioned Mrs Moore on this blog before, possibly because she is so annoying. A retired school teacher, she is forever making the somewhat unlikely claim that she can remember back when there were only fields in the spot on Moseley Square where the heritage-listed Post Office building now sits. In fact, I'm kind of surprised that she cannot remember back to the days of Cobb & Co's mail coaches, but I am fast getting off the subject here.

The problem with Mrs Moore is that she loves the countdown to Christmas. She absolutely loves it. Far more than her other two favourite passtimes, which are staring at Samuel and I from her back patio and knocking on our door to offer advice on how Samuel and I should run our lives. (Like I don't already have a mother-in-law who meddles in my affairs.) Anyway, as usual, Mrs Moore has the Christmas spirit, and has spent the past four evenings (ever since the Glenelg Pageant) on her front veranda, giving her son instructions on how to set up her special Christmas light display. Her front lawn now boasts a fine selection of light-up candy canes, a snowman, Christmas Tree and Santa's sleigh, which is being towed by Rudolph the Reindeer, who has a big blinking red nose. A selection of fairy lights cover her front veranda.

It all looks very pretty. Annoying, but very pretty. I'll give Mrs Moore credit for that.

Pity that from now until Christmas, Samuel and I are going to be subjected to strangers stopping their cars outside of our house, trampling our lawn and possibly even leaving litter in our yard, while they come to look at the display. Or that all throughout last April, Mrs Moore was so into the idea of earth hour (where you're supposed to turn the lights off for an hour, to think about all the ways you can save electricity and reduce carbon emissions) that she gave both Samuel and I repeated lectures on how we should participate in this event and all the things we could do to save electricity. She even knocked on our door at eight, when earth hour was supposed to commence, to remind us to turn out the lights.

A major Christmas light display seems like a huge waste of electricity to me.

Oh well. Better go and enjoy the few surviving hours of daylight before Rudolph makes his grand debut tonight. Would it be mean of me to put a brochure about reducing carbon emissions in Mrs Moore's mailbox?

Olive's Visit

2009-10-05T00:08:00.004+10:30

Olive came to visit me this morning.

The visit was something of a shock. Seeing as Auntie Julie wants nothing to do with me (she still hasn't snapped out of her weird mood,) I did not bother to make my usual Sunday morning visit to the prison. Instead, I was out the front, sweeping sand from the veranda (seriously, if you ever buy a house near the beach, be prepared to do a LOT of sweeping,) when suddenly, Olive appeared on the lawn. She just ... stood there for a moment or two, not really saying or doing anything.

Finally, I spoke. "Hi Olive."

"Hi." Olive turns her head. She stares down at the ground. I almost feel sorry for her. It must be hard for her to come back to the house after everything that has happened.

"How are you?" I continue.

Olive shrugs.

"How's Pearl?"

Olive shrugs again. Okay. This was really awkward. I put the broom down. I walk across the lawn. "Why are you here Olive?"

"I'm not. I was just walking past, okay?" Olive spins on her heel. She charges up the Esplanade away from the house. And then comes the really strange part. Even though I still hate everything that she did, I find myself following her up the road. I tell her that it's okay. That she can visit if she wants to. "I don't hate you Olive."

It is only as I speak the words that I realise they are true.

Meanwhile, Olive just stares in return. "But you hate me, don't you?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Maybe. I still ... I can't believe mum never told me that I had a sister." Olive flashes me a dirty look, as if Shelby's problems with the truth are somehow my fault.

"Well, I never knew that I had a sister either."

"What do you care?" Olive's voice becomes bitter. "You already have everything else. Your dad was a rock star, mine was a truck driver who died before I was even born. And you've got a big house and a rich husband and ... I bet that Auntie of yours was always nice to you." Olive spits out this last part, as if it was made from poison.

"Wasn't Shelby nice to you?"

Olive shrugs. "She never told me that I had a sister."

"And if that's the worst thing she did, then you're very lucky indeed Olive." My voice becomes brittle. "At least she loved you."

Olive stares down at the road for a moment. "I'm sorry she was mean to you," she whispers. "That day when you came to visit. And ... I'm sorry for everything else, for breaking in to your house and for ... for ... your baby."

Olive stares up at me. Tears roll down her cheeks. "I never meant for that to happen. I never thought that you'd fall down the stairs, or that ..."

"I know." I wrap my arms around my little sister's shoulders. Poor thing. The past few months have been hell for me. But they have been equally hellish for her. "I know that Olive. Come inside." I lead her toward the house.

Awkward & Awful

2009-09-18T21:38:00.005+09:30

You'll never believe who I just saw at the shops.

Drove down to the Coles at Edwardstown about an hour ago just to pick up some milk and some very yummy (and reduced, bonus!) English muffins for Samuel and I to share for breakfast tomorrow. I know that I could have gone to a closer supermarket, but the Edwardstown one always has such good bargains at closing time on a Friday night. There was hardly anyone about, so they only had the one checkout open - that big one that is joined to the service desk, where you can buy cigarettes. I walked straight up to the checkout ... and you know those awkward moments, when you get there just at the same time as someone else? Particularly when that someone else is someone that you don't like and really don't want to see?

The other person was my mother.

I froze. I just stood there, watching, while she glared at me and gave the operator some bullshit story about how she had left her purse in the car and needed to go back and get it. The operator nodded, offered to look after Shelby's groceries and then turned to serve me. "Hi, how are you today?"

I managed to murmur a reply, pay for my groceries and walk out to the carpark. By the time I got there, Shelby's shitty blue laser was gone.

Westfield

2009-08-08T17:22:00.004+09:30

Drove to Westfield Marion today to do a little shopping. Samuel's birthday is coming up later in the month and I wanted to see if I could find him a nice watch. Then I sort of changed my mind when I got there - once I stopped and thought about it, it did seem awfully insensitive to buy my husband a watch, when he's been so insecure about turning another year older. He got rather cross the other day when I pulled a grey hair from his head. (He says that I probably put it there.)

I purchased a new pair of shoes for myself from David Jones, before lunching in the food court. I don't often visit shopping centre food courts, as I find the whole concept a little tacky - multiple fast food restaurants all squashed in together, around sets of plastic tables and chairs. Still, the ravioli I bought from JJ's was pleasant enough. (Even if I did get tomato sauce on my jeans.)

Cemeteries and Prisions

2009-08-01T15:17:00.006+09:30

Put some flowers on Grandma, Gramps and Auntie Beth's graves today. I cannot help but wonder what they would all think, about Uncle Cory being a dad. I wonder if they would be pleased, shocked or just pleasantly surprised. I hope they would be pleased. Now that I've gotten over the surprise of Uncle Cory being Baby Emma's dad, I have to admit I am happy for them. If it is what both Carmel and Uncle Cory want, then what's the problem? Sure, it may be a little unconventional, but I just know that they'll be the kindest, most loving parents that Baby Emma could ever want or need.

Auntie Julie was a little surprised at the news. Sitting in the visitors area at the women's prison, she gave me such a look. And then she lowered her voice. "Do you think they did ... it?"

I shake my head. Honestly, my aunt can be so ignorant sometimes. "IVF."

"Oh ... right."

Auntie Julie and I continue to talk for a moment more. I leave her with a box of chocolate caramels, as well as a couple of paperback books to read. My aunt had requested yet again that I bring her in the Twilight series, despite the fact that she has already read them three times and I had to download the first 12 chapters of Midnight Sun from the internet (an unpublished book from Edward Cullen's perspective - apparently the author stopped writing it after it was leaked on the internet). "Thanks Abby." Auntie Julie smiles down at the folder that contains Midnight Sun. "I'll enjoy this."

"No worries. See you next week."

"Sure." Auntie Julie nods. I climb up from the table. "Abby." Suddenly, Auntie Julie takes my hand. "I've been meaning to talk to you. They're thinking about transferring me to another prison. Lower security."

"They are?" This is a surprise. As a murderer, convicted of shooting her husband and yet to show any kind of remorse, Auntie Julie has been in a high security prison for a very long time.

Auntie Julie nods again. "It'll be good. I'll be able to get outside more. Work in the gardens."

"You'll like that."

"I will."

"I hope it all works out." I smile and kiss my aunt good bye.

Emma Rose

2009-07-29T21:18:00.006+09:30

Samuel and I are now godparents of Emma Rose DuBois.

Well, not officially. Baby Em will not have an official Christening for a few weeks yet. Emma Rose's mother, Carmel who has been one of my best friends since high school, gave birth early yesterday. I spend the day in Sydney visiting them both. Emma Rose is healthy and absolutely gorgeous, just like her mum, but I have to admit, it hurt seeing Carmel holding a baby in her arms and smiling down at it, like she thought that her daughter was the most amazing thing in the world. I was happy for Carmel, truly happy, but at the same time, I kept thinking about Ethan and all the things that I have missed out on.

"It's okay Abigail." Carmel's voice is gentle as she placed Emma Rose back in her tiny crib. "I know it must be hard for you."

I nod. "I am happy for you."

"Duh." Carmel rolls her eyes. "I know that, you twit."

I nod. "I was just thinking ... Em being a girl. If Ethan had of ... We would have joked about the two of them getting married one day."

"Except that it would have been like, incest." Carmel wrinkles her nose just a little. "Gross, Abigail."

Incest? Huh? I stare at Carmel. What the hell is she talking about? "What do you mean? You and I aren't related."

"You and Emma Rose are." Carmel shrugs.

"What are you talking about?" Carmel has really lost me now. What did she mean, I am related to Emma Rose?

She sighs. "I thought Chloe told you. I know full well the two of you have been chummy ever since she moved to Adelaide."

"Chloe hasn't told me anything."

"Em's father ..." Carmel sighs. "I wanted it to be a man who didn't already have a family. One who would be happy to be a part of her life, even if not full time. So I found a man, a gay man, who wanted to have a child of his own. And that man was-"

"G'day Carmel. How is the little anklebiter?"

A little surprised I watch as Cory, my gay uncle who runs a bar in Darlinghurst, walks inside the room.

Toaster

2009-07-16T20:20:00.004+09:30

Yesterday Barney, our reliable old toaster, (yes, I know, it's so pathetic, Samuel and I gave our toaster a name,) blew a fuse and went on a one way trip to kitchen appliance heaven. And seeing as neither Samuel nor I can possibly start the day without a slice of toast and vegemite, we decided that we needed to buy a new one straight away.

Big mistake. It turns out that in the past ten years, toaster technology has moved ahead at a rapid pace. Gone are the days where toasters were a little stainless steel appliance that you set to 3, pushed down the handle and waited two minutes for a nice piece of golden brown toast to pop up. The modern toaster has vast array of lights and buttons, and different settings depending on whether you want to toast bread, crumpets or old English muffins. The saleslady had me completely confused. (Samuel, meanwhile, found the whole thing fascinating.) Two hundred dollars later and poor old Barney has been replaced by a computer.

I think I'll have weet-bix tomorrow.

Prison, Get Plucked and Swine Flu

2009-06-14T15:37:00.003+09:30

Off to the women's prison to visit Auntie Julie this morning, along with my usual booty of some Haighs chocolates and some chick lit novels to read. Oh, and Breaking Dawn, the final book in the Twilight series. For some reason my fifty year old aunt seems obsessed with reading stories about virginal teenage vampires who don't kill anyone. Oh well. If it makes her time in prison a little easier, then it can only be a good thing. (Even if personally, I do think that Edward Cullen looks like a poof in the movie.)

Went to Hyde Park afterward for an appointment at Get Plucked the Beautician. I thought that seeing as Samuel has been in such a weird mood lately, I would surprise him by getting a Brazilian wax. (Not a full Brazilian, the kind where they leave the, ahem, landing strip.) Hurt like hell, as did my new french manicure with the pretty white tips. I had no idea that they would file my nails away to practically nothing before they started the procedure. Or just how bitchy some beauticians can get. I've had a slight cold the past couple of weeks, which is in my chest and is making my voice a little funny. The beautician, a short chubby girl called Nicky must have commented at least twenty times on how she felt like she was coming down with a chest infection and she hoped that she hasn't caught it from one of the customers. "Not that I'm talking about any one customer in particular," she adds, whilst glaring at me from the corner of my eye.

Note to Nicky. Infections are not viral. You cannot catch them from other people. Anyway, got my own back when Samuel came in to collect me. "Quite over the swine flu yet Abigail?" He asks, as I pull a vicks vapour drop from my handbag. "You want to be careful with that coughing, you might spread it around."

Needless to say, Nicky took the rest of the day off work. (To think, I trust that bitch with my pubes.) And at least Samuel hasn't completely lost his sense of humour. He's been so down lately, I'm really worried about him. Oh well. Hope it cheers him up when he discovers that I had a Brazilian done, instead of my usual bikini line wax.

Samuel

2009-06-10T21:13:00.004+09:30

Samuel read yesterdays post. He says that if I am so worried about a new poster in the office and am obsessing over something that happened at primary school, then this is further proof that I should not be returning to uni. I do not think this is true. Sure, maybe my reaction yesterday was a little over the top. It was a stressful day. And I do not think it matters when I go back, whether it is today, next month or next year. The fact is, the whole thing is still going to stress me out. Weird memories are going to surface. And I am going to worry about crap like a stupid poster.

But to be honest, right now, what is worrying me more is Samuel. He's been so against the idea of me going back to my PhD. In fact, he's been kind of against the idea of me leaving the house at all lately. I missed visiting Auntie Julie at the prison on Sunday, because he insisted that the engine on the volkswagon was playing up and he didn't want me to drive all the way out to Northfield in an unreliable car. And last Friday, he wouldn't let me go out for a coffee with Chloe, because Ursula had mentioned something about how she might be stopping by. (She didn't.)

Sigh. I really don't know what is going through his mind lately.

Return to Uni

2009-06-09T20:12:00.003+09:30

Returned to uni today.

I felt kind of like ... I don't know, a bit like when I was a little kid and I would return to school after being off sick for a few days. I always used to hate that. I used to worry. Would I be okay? Who was going to play with me? What if I'd gotten too far behind in my work and I could never catch up?

You know, I remember when I was in grade five, back at Maripaninga Valley Primary School, I got a bad case of the flu and had to stay home from school for an entire week. When I returned, I discovered that Alice, my best friend at the time, had moved on and made friends with two other girls from our class, Marie and Jane. Marie and Jane didn't want me to be a part of their group. So Leanne ditched me. On my very first hour back at school, I was made to give back the best friend charm that she had bought me and put up with hearing, "Abigail Carter's got no friends!" shouted out in the schoolyard for the next two weeks, followed by a series of giggles, and occasionally being kicked and punched. To make matters worse, our class teacher had been busy organising the end of term concert. And because I wasn't there to audition, I didn't get a part, while all the other kids did. Instead, I had to be an understudy, in case one of the other kids got sick. Needless to say, no one did.

Since then, I have always hated returning to school after a sick day.

Of course, no one at uni said my name and giggled. Nor were their any concerts that I had missed out on. In fact everybody was very nice. But it was still hard. Hundreds of little, tiny things, that you wouldn't even normally notice were different. In the plaza, one of the shops had gone, while in the PhD office, someone had moved some of the desks around and put up a horrible poster of a gorilla. The desk by the window, the one I had occupied for the last three and a half years was now being taken by someone else. The radio was set to Nova, instead of Triple J. All little, unimportant things. But scary, when the thing I needed around me most was security.

I hated today.

Maybe Samuel is right. Maybe I have made a mistake by returning so soon.

Friday Night

2009-06-05T20:23:00.004+09:30

Am snuggled up in the living room, with the heating on. Cedric is by my side, happily purring away, while Samuel is busy making each of us a cup of hot chocolate. It's really too cold to go out or do anything tonight, so we are just enjoying a quiet night in.

Mmm. It's so warm and cozy in here ...

On Tuesday, I am returning to university to resume working on my thesis. Samuel is worried that it might be a little too soon for me to go back, but the timing feels right for me. I don't want to spend the rest of my life feeling sorry for myself. I will never forget what happened, or Ethan, but I cannot let the past control my future. And so, most of this weekend, I will be going through my notes and digging up all my old books, the ones with the highlighted and underlined passages and dog eared pages. In a funny way, I am looking forward to it.

Budget Meals

2009-05-25T20:18:00.003+09:30

I found THE best cookbook at the library today. It was all about how to cook on a budget. It turns out there are literally hundreds of different great recipes for tasty and nutritious casseroles, stews, soup and even pasta dishes that you can cook from everyday food items that can already be found in the kitchen. It turns out that to make a good casserole, you don't have to worry about going to a gourmet food shop for sun dried tomatoes or basil leaves, you can get equally good results by planting your own herb garden and using regular tomatoes. If you want to, you can even make your own sun dried tomatoes. I cannot believe I had never thought of having my own little herb garden before. Or making my own dried tomatoes.

I've spent most of the afternoon making plans for my garden. It's not really the right time of year to be planting very much, but I can buy a few herbs and keep them in the kitchen window. And, I have discovered, it is much cheaper to buy fresh fruit and vegetables from the markets, instead of at the corner shop like Samuel and I usually do. Samuel was dead impressed when he came home and found a delicious shepards pie cooking in the oven for dinner. He didn't believe me when I told him that the whole thing cost me less than five dollars to make.

Wow. Who would have thought that saving money could actually be fun?

Court

2009-05-09T17:02:00.007+09:30

Last Wednesday, Olive, my half-sister, was sentenced to 100 hours of community service for breaking and entering our home. And that was it. The judge took into consideration her age, the fact that it was a first offense and the fact that she did not steal anything. (Oh, and there was some crap about a suspended sentence. WTF? Suspended? Either someone goes to jail or they don't. What's the bloody point of sending her there if she doesn't even have to go? I'll never understand our legal system ...)

Of course, the judge gave Olive a good telling off about why it was not appropriate to go breaking inside my house, but, he concluded in his speech, she could not have possibly known that her actions would result in my fall down the stairs or, as the prick termed it, my miscarriage. (That "miscarriage", Your Honour, was my son. His name is Ethan.) The court did, at least, let me read out a statement on how the crime had impacted on me. I broke down a couple of times - it was really hard to read the statement out, almost like I was living the entire day over again. So many feelings got stirred up, ones that I thought I had dealt with. I truly believed that I was past those stages of grieving.

I guess one truly never does "get over" losing their child.

I was glad that Samuel and Ursula were in the court with me. Less welcome were Pearl and Shelby Allcock, my mother. She was older than I remembered, her face haggard and wrinkled from a few too many cigarettes. She avoided looking in my direction and I did my best to avoid her. It was Ursula, my mother-in-law who was there to offer me hugs and tissues afterward. It was Ursula who I affectionately called "Mum". It is Ursula who tells me how brave it was of me to read out my statement.

"I don't feel very brave." Standing by the road near Victoria Square, I stare down at the ground.

"You were brilliant." Samuel takes my hand. "No many people could have done what you did today. Especially not in front of ... that woman."

We are all just in time to see ... that woman leave the courthouse. She stares at me. "Disgusting ..." I hear Ursula murmur. "How any woman could forget her own child?"

Shelby's eyes linger for a second or two longer. A part of me wants to walk straight up to her and ask why the hell doesn't she take a picture, it might last longer. But another, bigger part of me feels cared. She's still my mother. The woman who gave birth to me, neglected me and finally, rejected me. I hate her. And yet ... I want her to come running up to me and say how sorry she is for what she did and how she has thought about me every day since she left. I want her to meet Samuel, and see my house and read a copy of my little book. I want her to see the photographs the wedding and tell me how beautiful I looked in my dress. I want her to share in the secret of how Samuel and I eloped a week before the big wedding.

I want her to tell me how much she still loves me.

Finally, she looks away. She turns to Pearl. "Split image of her bloody father," she murmurs, before linking arms with Olive. Together, the trio turn and start to walk down the street.

"And thank God for that!" My voice cracks just a little as the words echo along the city street.

Pearl Returns

2009-04-27T20:27:00.005+09:30

Pearl came to clean the house this morning.

This was something of a surprise. She had called in sick the past couple of weeks and the agency had sent someone else. Actually both Samuel and myself had thought it best that Pearl not return at all. Samuel was supposed to call the agency and organise this, but I guess he just forgot. Or more likely, he just didn't feel up to making the call.

Not that I have really felt up to doing anything like that recently either.

I was hoping that Pearl would not mention anything about recent ... events at all. In fact, I just sort of let her in the house and said that I would be upstairs and did not want to be disturbed. No need to clean the bedroom or en suite this time. She nodded, as if she understood this. That was perfectly fine by me. I just shut myself up in the bedroom, where I watched half of a mind numbingly boring DVD about some guy who falls in love with three different women or ... something, when Cedric started howling at the bedroom door, wanting me to let her out. I opened the door just in time to see Pearl walking out of the upstairs bathroom. Her face turns white as soon as she sees me.

"I'm ... very sorry Abigail," she murmurs.

I don't know if she is apologising for seeing me, or if she means something more by that. Her next sentence leaves no doubt.

"It isn't how I wanted things to work out ... I really am very sorry. Olive is sorry too."

Brunch

2009-04-13T13:25:00.003+09:30

Samuel surprised me with a picnic brunch this morning.

I wont kid you, getting out of the house is tough. But I think I'm at the point now where I'm tired of being indoors all the time. Auntie Julie told me once that when I was a little girl, she always had trouble keeping me in bed when I was sick. At boarding school, I always had a lot of trouble with "lights out". (And Keira, who'd always quite happily dob on me for sneaking outside, unless she wanted something in return.)

Anyway, brunch was very nice. Samuel and I didn't discuss Ethan once. Not because we were too scared too or anything. But because for the first time, we were too busy talking about other things. The assignments that Samuel has been doing at work, whether the Boat that Rocked would be worth paying $15 to see at the cinema, how my dad got stuck in an elevator on his way to a concert in London and his fans had to wait two hours before he got there. It was nice, just to be able to talk.

When we got home, I found my copy of The Alchemy of Loss an autobiography by an American woman who shares my name. I bought it mostly because of the coincidence of our names being the same. But as the book is on grieving, it has helped me a lot these past few weeks. I wont pretend that my emotional responses were exactly the same, but is comforting to know that various stages of grief are normal. Anyway, I recommend the book to anyone who is grieving for a loved one or for them to check out her website.

I really don't want to end this blog on a down note, or by discussing grief, I've done that far too often lately. So, I'll end by wishing lots of love and goodwill to whoever may be reading this latest entry.

Abigail Andrews (nee Carter)

Jetty Walk

2009-04-06T19:50:00.004+09:30

Went for a walk along the Jetty this afternoon.

Such a little thing ... and yet such a big thing too. It was the first time I had voluntarily left the house since what has become known in our house as that Sunday. I did not really want to go outside either, but Ursula, my mother-in-law, insisted that it would do me the world of good to go outside.

I wonder if she knew how stressful the walk was for me.

It was a cold afternoon. The first grey, almost winterish day that Adelaide has experienced this year. Mosely Square and the Jetty were practically deserted. That didn't stop me from thinking that everybody who we passed was not only staring at me, but somehow they knew what had happened. There she is. Abigail Vera, the girl whose child was stillborn ...

The only person who spoke to us on the Jetty at all was a tourist. Speaking with a thick, German accent, she wishes to know what time the next tram departs for the city.

"Every fifteen minutes."

"Thank you." She walks away.

Ursula and I walk home. She makes us each a cup of tea and I find some biscuits. Life may be crap, but it still goes on.

Dark Days

2009-04-03T21:11:00.003+10:30

Every morning starts the same way.

I wake, thinking that perhaps the events of the last two weeks were just a dream. For a few blissful seconds, I lie in bed, listening as the nearby ocean rolls into the shore. Seagulls squawk.

And then reality comes crashing back. It was not a dream. My life has changed forever.

"You must get up."

It is always Samuel who opens the curtains. It is always Samuel who pulls me out of bed. This is his way of coping. He is the strong one. He always has been. His entire philosophy, whenever life throws anything bad at him is to say, "Screw you," and then get on with things.

"Staying in bed for another day isn't going to help." His voice is gentle, but firm.

"You're not the one who had a stillborn."

"No. I just had to watch." Samuel's voice becomes momentarily bitter. "Up, Abigail."

"Fuck off."

"No."

Samuel cooks breakfast. He leaves for work. I donate my breakfast to next door's dog. I spend most of the day in my pyjamas, in front of the television. Chloe comes to visit me during her lunch break. She tells me about her new yoga class. "You'd love it. Give you something new to think about."

Yeah right. My son has died and Chloe thinks all my problems will be solved if I take up yoga.

I tell her that I will think about it.

Get dressed at five, just before Samuel arrives home. No need for him to know that I've spent the day in my pyjamas, in front of the television. That is my little secret. My body looks awful. Purple, spider-like stretch marks on my tummy and breasts. They are like battle scars, a constant reminder of all that I have been through. Thank God my breasts have finally stopped producing milk.

Samuel arrives home. I let him cook dinner. Pretend that I am looking forward to seeing a psychologist tonight. Samuel drives me to the clinic. I sit in the waiting room. I try not to look at the piles of NewIdeas and Women's Days that are on the table, all bursting with paparazzi snaps of celebrities with their babies. Today, I do not want to gush over Brad and Angelina and their beautiful rainbow family.

At seven pm, a small lady with blonde hair leads me inside her office. She tells me that her name is Mandy. She asks me how I feel. I tell her the truth. I don't know how I feel.

Mandy tells me this is okay. That there is no right or wrong way for me to grieve. She asks me to tell her more. I refuse. So she asks me something else. And then another something else. Until I crack.

I tell Mandy everything. The thing that surprises me is that she is cool with it. She doesn't tell me off for spending the day in front of the television. She doesn't speak to me like I'm a child. She does not treat me like I'm some tragic woman who has just "lost her baby". (Lost it where? The supermarket.) She talks to me like I am an ordinary person whose child was stillborn. An ordinary person who is grieving. "You probably don't believe me right now Abigail," she says, "But things will get easier. Your hurt wont go away. But it will become easier to live with."

I hope so.

A Difficult Post

2009-03-27T12:23:00.006+10:30

Our child has died.

Please understand that I am unable to write more at this time.

Sunday

2009-03-22T19:37:00.005+10:30

Wow, Sunday night and this is the first time I have been able to sign into my blog all weekend. Every other time that I have tried, the server has always dropped out. Argh! Talk about frustrating ...

That said, there is no important news to post.

Went to visit Auntie Julie in prison this morning. I told her all about meeting Olive. She was very surprised (like I was) to discover that my mother had a teenage daughter. "Do you think Olive passed on the message?" Auntie Julie asked afterward.

I shrug. "Don't know."

Auntie Julie sighs. "Well, I hope that you're not expecting too much from your mother. She hasn't been exactly fair to you in the past."

"I know."

Later in the day, Samuel and I went for a drive in the hills. We stopped by a plant nursery to see if we could find anything for the back garden. (The back garden being one of those projects that we're always meaning to start. So far we've got a few trees, several pot plants and a barbecue area that we inherited from the previous owners. Thank God the front garden is too small to really have anything other than lawn and a little fence, or else everyone would know what a pathetic black thumb I am.) Anyway, we were on our way back from the nursery, when we found one of those church table sales. One of the tables was selling all this gorgeous hand knitted baby wear. I bought a couple of gorgeous jackets and a pair of booties for the baby. And speaking of the baby, Samuel and I finally came up with a name last night. Ethan. Ethan Andrews. Every time I say that, I cannot help but touch my stomach. I wonder if Ethan knows how much his mum loves him?

Other than that, not much news. Samuel is next door - he and Bazza are on the shed doing some repairs to the Monaro. They've got some big idea about entering it in the Bay to Birdwood next September. Whatever makes them happy, I suppose.

Actually, I think I can hear someone outside. I might give Samuel a ring on his mobile and ask if he'll pop his head over the fence and check. It's probably just Cedric, but that crash was awfully loud ...

Abigail Carter

2009-03-18T17:48:00.004+10:30

I googled my name today. Just ... you know to see what came up. My blog was number three on the list, which, I have to admit, made me feel pretty good. (Blush, giggle.) Then I clicked on one of the other links to see who shares my name. And I found something really, really interesting ...

Not only does she share my name, but Abigail Carter of Seattle, USA is famous for her autobiography, The Alchemy of Loss. She wrote the book after her husband died in the World Trade Centre on September 11 2001, to examine the stages of grief that she went through and to offer some kind of hope for people who have faced a similar, sudden loss of a loved one. The book has recently gone on sale in Australia. I bought a copy from Dymocks this afternoon. (And totally embarrassed myself walking first into another customer and then when I tried to duck out of his way I knocked over a bookmark stand and the salesgirl commented that I was a dunce, but that's a whole other story.) I've only read the first few chapters, but the book is really interesting so far. This Abigail Carter also has a blog, which I have found quite interesting. The address is http://www.alchemyofloss.blogspot.com

Funny what you can find on Google, huh?

Interfering Pearl

2009-03-16T17:28:00.003+10:30

That Pearl is one interfering old ... woman. Would you believe that Samuel has just found an entire box of imported (and extremely expensive) Sri Lanka fine black tea mixed with soiled kitty litter and stuffed in the bottom of our outside bin, along with a note in Pearl's handwriting, reminding me that consuming caffeine products when pregnant can be dangerous.

Well, humph. I only drink one cup of tea a day. The rest of the tea was for when I had people to visit. I don't want to look like a cheapskate or anything.

Then again, I'm damn sure I'll only be giving Pearl Black & Gold tea when she comes around. For a whole week, at least.

Seriously, you have no idea how much of a headache this woman gave me when she visited this morning. This time, at least, I was home and she was able to enter the house via a more conventional method (i.e. the front door). And I was able to show her through the house and tell her which parts of the house we wanted cleaned and what could be left alone. "Samuel doesn't like you to touch anything on his desk," I tell Pearl as I lead her through the house. "In fact, you don't really need to clean the study at all. Samuel may as well do it himself, he's so particular."

Pearl tutted. There was something rather disapproving in her tone. Oh well. Probably back when she was my age men didn't do housework, or something. Then again, over the course of the morning, I kind of got the impression that she didn't really approve of Samuel's and my lifestyle. I got a big lecture on all the foods that I should and shouldn't be eating while I'm pregnant and a list of exercises that I should be doing. "It's no longer just your body Abigail," she reminded me, watching disapprovingly as I poured what was to be my last cup of expensive imported tea. "How can you even think about yourself at a time like this?"

Well, my mother was a selfish cow. Maybe it's genetic.

Anyway, Pearl eventually left after about an extra two hours of overtime which she refused to take payment for. I was kind of embarrassed about that to be honest. I mean I didn't expect her to clean the house quite that thoroughly. So thoroughly in fact that I cannot find the TV remote or this mornings edition of The Advertiser. Perhaps they're in the bin too. Nope. Samuel just found the remote in the cupboard underneath the TV. (Huh?) And The Advertiser in the magazine rack.

That woman is mad.

Weekend in Melbourne

2009-03-15T16:47:00.005+10:30

Touched down at Adelaide airport a little after midday. Good to be home after such a busy weekend! I don't think that I will ever get used to giving lectures - it's too scary standing behind that tiny lectern while a group of two hundred people all stare at me and scribble down notes. Actually, I hated the lectern so much that I ended up walking around rather a lot and pointing to various things that were on the little powerpoint presentation that I knocked up to go with the presentation. And then I got through the lecture about 10 minutes earlier than expected, so I let the students ask me questions. I was surprised at how enthusiastic they were about the topic - I thought that the Jane Eyre lectures I attended when I was in my first year of uni was dead boring. Afterward, Victoria Reynolds, the head of the English department at Federation University said that she wasn't surprised that the students were so keen to learn. "You made the topic come alive," she explained afterward. "These kids are used to seeing someone standing in the centre of the room, reading straight from their notes."

Considering who Victoria Reynolds is, that was high praise indeed. Anyway, she and I bought a coffee from this gorgeous little cafe they had on campus. (Great coffee too! Good bye Gloria Jeans obsession! Oh and yes, due to my pregnancy I did have decaf!) Anyway Victoria and I were seated in the corner quite happily dispelling the popular myth that the Bronte sisters were all murdered (you'll be amazed how many people think they were poisoned,) when ... How do I describe Olive? A seventeen year old kid with an emo haircut, skinny jeans, multiple piercings and a black and white plaid hoodie. And, she has quite possibly the most annoying voice ever, as she approached the table uninvited and babbled on and on about how much she enjoyed the lecture without pausing long enough for me to say, "Thank you." Apparently she does this all the time. Victoria and everyone else in the English department call her "the English Groupie".

But none of that is what I really noticed about Olive. She looked ... familiar. Like I had seen her face somewhere recently. And then it clicked. She was the teenage girl. The one in the Facebook picture with my mother. My mother who, according to Facebook, was now living in Melbourne.

"Is your mum Shelby Allcock?" As I asked the question, I could not help but eye Olive carefully. She had the same blue eyes and funny, button nose as my mother.

"Yeah." Standing in the middle of the cafe, Olive looked a little surprised by the question. "Do you know her?"

"I used to." I did my best to look cool even though, secretly, I was terrified. "A long, long time ago. When you see her next, tell her that Abigail Carter says hello."

"I will," Olive promised. And then she was gone. I did not see her for the rest of the weekend. On Saturday, I attended several other Bronte-themed lectures and took the opportunity to sneak off to the library to work on my thesis. Shelby did not come running to the university to claim me, not that I really expected her to. I don't know what I would say to her if I saw her again anyway. Something horrible, probably. Or maybe not. These days, all I want from her is the answer to one simple question.

Why?

Federation Uni

2009-03-12T21:18:00.006+10:30

Off to Federation Uni in Melbourne tomorrow. The uni is having a series of lectures over the weekend on Gothic Literature. I have been invited to give a lecture on Jane Eyre. Victoria Reynolds, who the head of the English department at Federation Uni saw this little article (it was nothing, just a filler, really) that I had published in Women's Gothic Literature back in January on how Jane Eyre's approach to feminism was shaped by her childhood and thought that it would be an interesting topic to include over the weekend. Plus, I think they had a couple of lecturers drop out or something. I mean it's not like my argument was that great, or

universities normally contact me out of the blue and want to give lectures or-

Samuel just read that over my shoulder and laughed. He says I'm not being totally honest.

Great. Now he's trying to steal the keyboard. Well, that's mature. It's my blog and I can tell my readers as much or as little as I kuhjolbhjokljbn-

Victoria Reynolds the head of English at Federation University saw an article Abigail had published in Women's Gothic Literature. Ms Reynolds was deeply impressed by Abigail's argument that in Jane Eyre, the protagonists childhood was responsible for her later attitudes toward feminism that she has invited Abigail to give a guest lecture on the topic. Needless to say, I am very proud of Abigail's achievements and think that she ought to be as well, instead of repeatedly putting herself down ~ Samuel.

I did a dumb, dumb thing ...

2009-03-11T20:12:00.005+10:30

I guess the title kind of gives it away, but I did a really dumb thing today. It happened this morning, when I was waiting for Ursula to come around. The daughter of one of her acquaintances runs a high class lingerie store in Norwood and Ursula decided that it would be nice if I went there to be fitted for a new maternity bra. And well ... I suppose you know by now what Ursula is like when she decides that I should do something. (Sigh. At least we get along a little better these days.)

Anyway, like I was saying, I was waiting for Ursula when I decided to check my email and also facebook. I'd put the scan of the baby on facebook for some of our friends/relatives to see and had just finished reading through a beautiful message from Lily (Dad's girlfriend) when I did something I know I shouldn't have.

I typed my mother's name into the friend finder. Her maiden name, not Carter. And sure enough her picture came up. Shelby. My mum. In the photograph with her was a teenage girl who looked not unlike her. My mother has another daughter. I have a teenage half-sister, who I have never even met. One who she actually bothered to keep. One who she, quite clearly, actually gives a stuff about.

By the time Ursula arrived at the house, the tears were streaming down my cheeks pretty fast. Of course, Ursula asked me what was wrong. I told her. She made me a cup of herbal tea. And then she asked me what I thought about my mother. My answer was simple. "I hate her."

"Do you really want someone who you hate back in your life, Abigail?" As she sips on her own cup of tea, Ursula raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose not ..." I sigh. "I guess what I really want is ... I want her to acknowledge what she's done. I'd like her to know that she's hurt me."

"You could." Ursula nodded toward my laptop. "I'm hardly an expert on Facebook, but I understand that you can send a message to anyone else who is on there. You could write to her and tell her how much she has hurt you."

"I could ..." I sigh.

"But you don't want to?" Ursula asks.

I shrug. "I don't know ..."

"Then it's best to leave it." Ursula's voice is firm. "Forget her, Abigail."

I wish I could.

It's a boy!

2009-03-10T20:32:00.005+10:30

It's a boy!

I know that I said I wasn't going to find out the gender of the baby until it was born, because I wanted it to be a surprise, but when I had my scan earlier this evening and they asked us if we wanted to know the sex of the baby ... well I just couldn't help myself. I just HAD to find out then and there.

It's a boy!!!!! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! I'm so excited!!!!! I, sorry Samuel and I, have to start thinking about names. Apart from deciding that it would be a really bad idea to call the little chap Andrew Andrews, we haven't been able to come up with anything yet. I'd sort of like to include Langston, my dad's name, seeing as he helped us get hitched and all, but Samuel got a bit funny about that. Okay, I know in a lot of ways Langston wasn't really the ideal parent, but he's still my dad. I still love him.

Just as I already love my son. I love him so much already, even though at the moment, he is just a tiny little bump, still months away from being ready to come out into the world. Whatever he looks like, whoever he grows up to become. I know already that I love him. Is there anything more pure than the love a mother feels for her child ...

Did my own mother ever feel that way about me?

I doubt it. Actually, it got very awkward the other day, when the doctor started asking me about any possible family illnesses. I had to explain that I had not seen my mother since I was seven years old. Her side of the family never bothered to stay in touch. I know nothing about them a

Sorry. Samuel just walked inside the room. He wanted to know why I was crying. He says that I shouldn't waste too much time worrying about Mum. I've got a baby to plan for and think about, and a whole other family to think about. And, really, isn't that more than enough?

Pearl

2009-03-09T20:47:00.005+10:30

Damn nice weather for a long weekend.

This morning, Samiuel and I pulled his old jetski out of the shed - well, actually Samuel pulled it out of the shed on account of me being pregnant and not really being supposed to push heavy objects, I just waited until it was on the lawn and dusted it down for cobwebs and then shrieked a couple of times when a spider when scuttling across the seat. (Samuel laughed and called me a chicken. I reminded him that I wasn't the idiot who'd gotten myself bitten by a redback a couple of months ago and surely he'd know by now to never, ever taunt a spider.) Anyway, we had a lot of fun down at the beach riding on the jetski and acting like a couple of bogans. I only fell off three times and Samuel once. Fantastic morning.

Anyway, when we arrived home, I wasn't really expecting visitors, so I was a bit surprised to find this grim-faced old women (you know the type, if she smiled, her face would probably crack,) who immediately started going off at us for getting sand on the veranda after she had just swept it. After a short introduction which included phrases like, "Sorry, but who the fuck are you?" and "Who do you think owns this veranda woman?" It turned out that the old woman was Pearl, our new cleaner. I guess I wasn't expecting her to start work on a public holiday - Myrtle always took the public holidays off.

Samuel decided to make the best of things and invited Pearl inside to see the house. She certainly wasn't impressed by the level of cleanliness (there was something about wanting to take Samuel's favourite coffee cup, the one with the Superman icon on the front that he won't ever let me touch or clean in case it spoiled the flavour of his next coffee, outside and giving it a proper burial,) but she did win us over a little when she mentioned that she came from Maripaninga Valley. "That is where my fiancee is from." Samuel beams as he places a hand on my shoulder.

"Of course." Pearl nods, as though she already knows this. "Godfrey Carter's granddaughter. I remember you quite well Abigail. You and that DuBois girl ... Carmel ... always smoking in the toilets and writing on the walls."

Actually it was Carmel who always smoked in the toilets and wrote the graffiti on the walls. I just got the blame for it.

"It left me a terrible mess to clean up." Pearl lets out a sigh.

"You were the cleaner at the high school?" The memory slowly comes to me. Some eccentric old woman who was always trying to tell me about her granddaughter, who was named Olivia or Olive or something like it. Never really understood why she thought I would care.

"For twenty-two years." Pearl nods. "Then of course, my daughter decides to move to the city, taking my granddaughter with her. I had no desire to live alone, so ..."

"You followed them, lovely." Samuel's voice has a slightly condescending tone. He always does this when he's trying to wrap up a conversation. I sometimes wonder what the people he interviews think about this. "Thank you for stopping by and looking at the house Pearl. We look forward to you starting next week."