Open Writing

The last day of the school term brought with it a welcome respite from the week of hot weather. The netted field was shrouded in mist and the scent of rose blooms mingled with the sharp odour of krawl manure. A fine drizzle called for boots and a raincoat, but it wasn't cold enough to be uncomfortable.

Ingrid spent the morning preparing an end-of-year celebration lunch for the girls. With two chickens roasting in the oven, the house smelled warm and inviting. Tracey came into the kitchen, rolling her eyes hungrily, but Ingrid shook her head firmly.

"Oh, well," said Tracey, turning away. "I'll be in my room if you need me. Luke's just fallen asleep so I thought I'd paint my nails."

"Go ahead," Ingrid told her. She was happy to be left alone. The discovery that Alice wasn't Tracey's real mother had made her edgy around the girl. Besides, going through the familiar motions of chopping, peeling , mixing and spreading gave her subconscious mind a chance to process her conflicting feelings about her husband's betrayal.

At noon, Alice and Vernon came over to the main house, gripping umbrellas and bearing a freshly-made apple pie and a bowl of whipped cream. Immediately, Tracey reappeared with her nails painted luminous orange. Resisting the urge to tell her that she looked like a warning beacon for ships in the night, Ingrid asked her to put Caroline's Westlife CD into the player while she lit the candles on the table. Minutes later, there was the sound of loud hooting, announcing the arrival of her friend Beth's beaten up Volkswagen Beetle in the driveway.

Debbie's voice could be heard yelling, "No more school! No more school!" Tossing her bag under the riempie bench, she rounded the corner into the sitting-room, panting loudly.

Alice was upon her with a hug in an instant. "Isn't it wonderful, Debbie? You deserve a good holiday after doing so well in your tests!"

Debbie's freckled cheeks glowed. She bounced up and down so hard that her pigtails bobbed on either side of her round face. "No more school, Granny! We can ride all holiday, morning till night, and even sleep under the stars!"

"What's this about riding all holiday?" asked Ingrid as Caroline, her placid elder daughter, ambled through the doorway.

Caroline, whose mousy hair hung in swaths down the front of her school dress, shrugged. "Amy's got a new horse but they can count me out. I'll be catching up on sleep for the first week."

"You have the youth camp on Monday, remember," Ingrid told her gently.

Caroline winced. "Oh no, I forgot that. Fiona's having a sleepover and she invited me to go."

Just then, Beth entered. She tottered uncertainly on high heels, having put on at least fifteen kilograms since her husband Barney walked out on her eighteen months earlier. "Sorry we're a bit late, Ingrid. The girls wanted to say goodbye to all their friends. They were playing last touch at the car. You know how excited they get."

Amy's pixie-like face appeared from behind her mother's chubby elbow. She said brightly, "Hello, Auntie Ingrid. Can Debbie come and see Pepper after lunch?"

Ingrid looked down into Amy's fine features. "Pepper?Is that the name of your new pony?"

The child's small face became grave. "Actually, Pepper is a proper horse. He's fifteen hands. But you don't have to worry about Debbie falling off him because he's very well trained."

"I see," said Ingrid with equal gravity. "He sounds very special. I expect Debbie can come over and visit him if your Mommy says it's all right."

Amy gazed apprehensively at Beth, who smiled agreeably. As the child ran off to join the others, Ingrid squeezed her friend's puffy hand. "Thanks for bringing Caroline and Debbie home. It was lovely having the morning to cook. I had such fun. There's this new salad I tried with cous cous, and I even had time to make melon kebabs for starters. You will stay, won't you?"

Beth's blue eyes lit up. "Thanks, Ingrid. It will be a treat for Amy."

Ingrid nodded. "Good." Beth seldom went out these days. From being a woman with a lively, outgoing personality, she had become excessively withdrawn. Her friends complained that she never wanted to visit them anymore, and Ingrid suspected that the only reason she continued to visit her was because Warren had been admitted to Dunmore with a nervous breakdown.

Tracey inquired with exaggerated nonchalance, "Are we ever going to eat? I'm starving."

"Of course." Ingrid led the way into the dining room where the chicken, salads and bread rolls were laid out on the oregon pine sideboard. For the first time in weeks, their eight-seater dining room table was full. Noticing that it was left to her to assume Warren's customary place at the head of the table, Ingrid experienced a sudden internal tremor. Was this a sign of how things were going to be from now on? The image of Warren's vacant eyes flashed before her, filling her with dismay.

**

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