Kelly has a plan

Doug Jacquier

Kelly had contacted him out of the blue. On a patchy line she said ‘Saw you were the keynote speaker at that conference that’s going to change the world. Come and visit me for a few days. There’s something I need you to do. I’ll text you the directions’ and then she was gone.

Adam hadn’t seen her for ten years but they’d been close colleagues once. Not lovers but close. And no time for small talk.

So nothing had changed on that score. He briefly entertained the thought of not going but always knew he would.

…

As he drove, Adam wondered what had happened to Kelly over the intervening years. She’d obviously recovered from the seemingly unflappable Kelly that he’d found in a foetal position on the couch in her tiny inner suburban cottage all those years ago.

She’d suddenly stopped turning up for work, didn’t answer calls and didn’t respond to knocks on the door. Adam trusted his instincts and levered open the lock on her never very secure back door and that’s how he found her.

Her eyes were open but vacant and she didn’t tell him to piss off as she would normally have done in no uncertain terms. He heated up a can of soup and she sipped some of it before beginning to lie down again on the couch.

‘Oh, no you don’t, madam. It’s off to bed with you.’ It was the first words spoken between them and she seemed surprised to hear his voice. She stood unsteadily but gathered strength as she walked down the hall to her bedroom, which Adam had checked for pills and sharp objects earlier. He left the door open before returning to the lounge to gather his thoughts.

The fridge was bare but there was enough food in the pantry to last a couple of days, so he wouldn’t have to leave her alone for a while. He knew that she would never forgive him if he called anyone else in to help. That façade of invincibility had to remain, no matter what.

He called the office and told them Kelly’s mother had suddenly become seriously ill and she’d rushed off to be with her. Kelly’s habit of brushing off discussion of her past and her vagueness about where she’d come from made it an easy lie to sell.

Over the next few days, Kelly recovered physically but spoke rarely and her eyes had disturbing deadness to them. She gave Adam enough snippets to piece together the story.

The wheels had fallen off when she got word that the farmer she planned to marry one day had announced he was getting married. And not to Kelly. All he could gather was that they’d both agreed to wait while she pursued her career for a few years before they settled together on a farm. When that rug was pulled from under her, everything unravelled and she found herself on the couch, unable to move.

She posted her resignation ‘for personal reasons’ to the office. Adam would have suggested she go home for a while but he knew the thought of facing the local community would simply be more humiliation for her.

The only place she could think of to go was her grandfather’s shack in the mountains, where he’d become a virtual recluse after a family feud. What she was going to do after that she had no idea.

Confident that she was coping well enough, Adam retreated to his own place and his own life. He knew how much she appreciated his help but he also knew she’d never say so and there would be no tearful farewell.

…

Adam packed some clothes and supplies and set off. Kelly’s directions took him to a location in deep bushland on the side of a mountain. He overshot the track to her place twice before he nailed it and inched his ancient sedan up the steep rutted incline until he emerged into a clearing. A small timber house, showing signs of renovation, sat at the edge. To one side was a large galvanised iron shed with its doors open and showing the rear of an ancient Land Rover.

She emerged from the cottage and said ‘I suppose you think you deserve a cuppa after your epic odyssey’ before turning back into the house. No hugs. Just gentle mockery. Nothing new.

Inside was ordered chaos. Boxes mixed with the bare necessities. A bed. Dresser. Small kitchen table with two chairs. A sink. Fridge. Stove. Potbelly heater. The bathroom had been re-plumbed but remained unlined, had no door and no shower curtain. An extra bedroom was at little more than frame stage, with tarpaulin walls, and filled with the materials needed to finish it.

They sat at the table with mugs of instant coffee. He said ‘I think I see through your cunning plan. Free labour to finish before winter.’

‘That’s part of it’ she replied.

‘Why do I suspect chopping enough wood for the pot belly is Part B?’

‘That’s another part.’

He smiled and said ‘So how many moving parts does this exploitation machine have?’

‘All will be revealed on a when to know basis, as and when necessary.’

‘And the length of my servitude is required to be what?’

‘Until you’ve met all the requirements. What does it matter? You’re not working anyway and you’re not attached, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’

‘Mind like a steel trap.’

For the first time, her face softened and she said ‘I’ve missed you.’ She stood. ‘I presume you’ve brought meat, salad and wine. The meat you’ll want to barbecue so you can pretend you can cook. So, first task. Build a barbecue. You’ll find whatever you need scattered around the place. In the meantime, I’ve got work to do’. She stepped into the would-be bedroom and picked up an electric drill. Anticipating his question she said ‘Generator’ and picked up a sheet of wood paneling. That explained the constant low hum he’d heard when he arrived

He stepped outside to explore the possibilities. He gathered enough rocks to build a C-shaped framework and put them together in a fashion he regarded as artistic but workman-like. In the shed he found some steel mesh and cutters and made a grill. He set paper and kindling underneath it and stacked sufficient wood for the evening, as the sun began to set behind the gumtrees.

She called from the house ‘Bring your stuff in. I’m going to have a shower before we eat.’ From his car he gathered a box of food, an overnight bag and a swag for sleeping.

When he walked in, she was still standing under the running shower. She was tall, muscular, big-hipped and small-breasted. She said ‘When you’ve seen enough, can you hand me a towel please.’

Later, dinner consumed and wine glasses in hand, they sat in director chairs in front of the barbecue fire. She stretched out her long denim-clad legs and rested her well-worn elastic-sided boots on the rock wall he’d assembled. She slowly shook her head when he lit up a cigarette but didn’t say anything. They both stared into the fire, comfortable in their silence.

When he’d finished his smoke, he threw it into the fire and said, smiling, ‘So, we’ve covered free carpentry and wood chopping. What are madam’s other requirements?’

She seemed to be mulling over how to put it before she said ‘I want you to get me pregnant.’

Nothing witty or profound sprang to his mind so he settled for ‘Want to fill me in on the prequel?’

‘I’ve always wanted a child. The bloke who was supposed to be part of that buggered off and now I don’t trust anyone. I still want a child but I’m 32 and my clock’s ticking. You’re smart and funny and half-way human for a man and you don’t want to be married either. You tick all the boxes. Besides, you’ve always fancied getting into my knickers.’

‘Guilty as charged on the last bit. But you do know there are sperm banks where they screen for axe-murderers, congenital idiots and the like, don’t you?’

‘Yes but it’s like dating sites. Everyone lies. And these days the kid has the right to know who the donor was when they turn 18. I don’t want her saying “How could you have picked that guy?”’

‘And you know you’re going to have a girl because …..’

‘That’s what I’ve decided.’

‘Oh, well that clears that up then. Here was I thinking there might be some element of chance involved.’

She chuckled. ’You can still make me laugh. Another good reason to want you in the gene pool.’

He didn’t speak for a while, pretending to be busy stoking the fire and adding more wood.

Seemingly composed now, he said ‘I’m not sure I have the language for this situation, so forgive me if I’m indelicate.’

She waited.

‘Apart from the obvious, how did you imagine this might work? Will you summon me when the stars are in alignment or do we just go at it like rabbits until we win the lottery.’

‘Something along the lines of the former I was thinking, only aligned to cycles and not stars.’ She took her eyes from the fire and said ‘Don’t worry, tonight’s not one of those days. You can sleep without fear of being ravaged.’

He didn’t laugh and shortly after said he was turning in, been a long drive, too much wine. She watched him go and, by the time she came in, he was seemingly asleep in his swag in the corner.

…

Far from asleep, Adam was remembering Selena. They met in art school. Adam was in his third year of social work and was allowed to choose an elective subject offered anywhere in the college. He chose film-making and that’s where met her. Selena. The moon goddess. She had long, straight, jet-black hair, a crooked smile that hinted she was in on any mystery you could think of, a deep-throated, uninhibited laugh and clothes that instantly said art school but somehow seemed more stylish, more carefully assembled.

Over the next few weeks, he did his best to engage her without scaring her off. No staring, no lame jokes, half-way intelligent questions to the lecturer, the occasional brief nod and smile in her direction.

Finally he summoned the courage to ask her if she’d like to go out for a meal and then see a movie he’d heard her fellow students discussing. She said ‘Is it OK if we skip the movie? I’ve heard it’s crap.’ Then she laughed. That laugh.

So the meal happened, inviting him back to her place for coffee happened, drinking red wine happened and the seemingly inevitable happened next. As the weeks unfolded, they decided they wanted to be seriously together. After a couple of hilarious weekends house-hunting while pretending to be a fastidiously clean and responsible couple in a long-term relationship, they found a house they could afford on their meagre stipends and settled in.

One night she announced that she was changing her name from Selena to Simone and that she was now a sculptural artist. Like most men from the working-class outer-suburban dustbowls, Adam knew nothing about art. Selena/Simone had gone to a private school and her parents, from the wealthy, leafy inner suburbs, took her to art galleries regularly as she grew up. Adam, of course, was suitably enthusiastic about this change of direction from film to sculpture, without having a clue as to what it meant. He loved her.

He found out what it meant when she was invited to exhibit a piece in a group collection at a gallery. Her ‘sculpture’ consisted of ‘found objects’ from the local tip, including a rubbish bin and several burnt out electrical appliances, and a number of pieces of gauze material wafting over them driven by a functioning electric fan.

She called it “The Ephemera of the Universe”. Adam told her he found it deeply moving but elusive (a phrase he’d filched from one of her art magazines, not knowing what that meant either). She glowed. Unfortunately, a red dot indicating a sale was elusive and one rainy Saturday afternoon she asked him to recycle it where it had originated.

A week later, after they went to bed, she suddenly sat up and exploding out of her body came ‘I’m pregnant’. Her anger was visceral and palpable. She threw off the arm he had draped across her belly and said ‘The idea of sleeping with you just makes me want to vomit’ and she stormed off to sleep on the couch.

To say the least, this was not how Adam had imagined the conversation would go. He wanted to go to her but instinct told him that would be a bad move. He lay awake all night, wondering about what he had just experienced and what he should do next. He had an early class the next day, so he sidled out the back door, without breakfast.

When he returned in the afternoon, she announced that the lounge room was now her bedroom. A glance through the door suggested what he could only imagine was her idea of an artist’s studio. The wafting flimsy fabric had returned. She said ‘You need to give me money.’ To his quizzical face she said ‘For your half of the abortion.’ He could feel his face had gone grey and clammy and his heart was racing.

He regained enough composure to venture ‘Can’t we at least talk about this? I think us having a baby could be great but it might not. Let’s at least talk about …’ She cut him off savagely and said with a coldness he’d never heard from her before ‘It’s not ‘us’ having a baby it’s me. And it’s my body and it’s my decision. Just get the money!’ The door slammed in his face.

And he did. On the day of the deed, she came into the kitchen to say the friends who were going to take her to the clinic had let her down and he was going to have to drive her. They’d barely pulled up when she dove from the car without a backward glance. Some hours later she returned, pale and distressed. That night she returned to their bedroom for the last time, seemingly to ensure that he experienced the full agonies of her pain and her regular vomiting over the side of the bed.

The next day, he packed up his modest possessions and went to sleep on the floor of the spare room at his brother’s place. Their entire conversation consisted of ‘What happened?’ ‘We split’. ‘Bummer’.

He wondered about what you say to people that doesn’t re-live the pain of losing what you imagined was the love that had eluded you thus far, of losing your first child when its existence had barely began, of telling the basics of the story and hearing ‘Well, she has a point’ from women and ‘Ah, better off out of it, mate’ from men? So he learned to say nothing. Besides, the grapevine of mutual friends told him that she was telling anyone that would listen that he was an oppressor of women.

Some years later, at a loose end one Sunday afternoon, he decided he’d check out the fair that had been organised by a nearby upper class school. He’d barely entered the grounds when he heard the laugh. That laugh.

She was seated behind a table under a marquee, selling raffle tickets to fund-raise for a sculpture for the kindergarten playground. A couple of blonde moppets interrupted her briefly for more spending money and then she was joined by someone he presumed to be her husband.

Some would have called him stocky but it was apparent that he was already running to fat. He went to kiss her and she turned her face aside and seemingly good-naturedly shooed him away.

And then she looked up and saw Adam. Her face froze. Her husband followed her gaze to Adam. They looked into each other’s eyes for a few moments. The husband blinked first and sidled away, while she pretended to take great care to ensure her name badge was perfectly straight. It was too far away to see if it read Selena or Simone.

…

Adam woke barely rested and disorientated until he could focus on being at Kelly’s cottage and her making coffee.

Over breakfast, she said ‘I didn’t mean it to sound so cold and mechanical. I want it to be enjoyable for us both. I do care for you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked. It’s just … I just don’t want it to be all … lovey-dovey and kissy-kissy.’

He nodded and replied ‘Speaking of mechanical, what happens if I, um, can’t rise to the occasion?’

She smirked. ‘Given your history, Casanova, somehow I doubt that’s going to be a problem.’ She stood, cleared her dishes into the sink and said ‘I’ve pinned a list of your building jobs to the wall over there. Top priority is the weatherboards. They’re recycled so you’ll have to strip them first.’ She paused briefly. ‘Please.’ Picking up a hammer she said ‘I’ll be lining the bathroom if you need me.’

…

They made steady progress on completing the cottage, working well together without the need to for a lot of conversation. One evening after dinner Kelly said ‘It’s time.’ She went to her bed, undressed, threw back the covers and said softly ‘Let’s do it, lover boy.’

Adam went to her, somewhat surprised that he was instantly aroused. He was even more surprised when they climaxed together and, for a fleeting instant, Kelly’s face radiated satisfaction tinged with the emotional vulnerability he’d only seen there once before.

…

Two months later, over morning coffee, Kelly said ‘Your work here is done.’

Adam said ‘I’ve still got a couple of things on my list. There’s the …’. He stopped when he realised what she meant. He knew it was pointless to ask if she was sure. ‘Well, am I allowed to say congratulations?’ She laughed and said ‘Yes. To us both.’

After breakfast, he said ‘I’m off for a walk to the waterfall? Do you want to come?’

‘No’ she said. ‘You forget I can see it anytime I want.’

Hours later, Adam returned and said ‘I’ve been thinking we need to talk about this a bit more.’ Kelly smiled and said ‘No thinking needed. Job’s done, Adam.’

Adam didn’t smile back. ‘No, the problem is we haven’t thought about this enough.’

‘How so?’ said Kelly suspiciously.

‘I want to know what happens next. Now you’re pregnant, where do I fit in?’

Kelly scowled.

‘Not to put too fine a point on it, Adam, you don’t fit in at all. I get on with having my child and you go back to saving the world. I won’t be asking for money if that’s what you’re worried about. Grandpa left me this place in his will and enough money to not have to work if I don’t want to.’

‘I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about what sort of relationship I’ll have with … our child.’

‘Adam, this is my child. You won’t have to see her, or him, or remember birthdays and all that crap. You’re as free as a bird.’

Adam locked his gaze on Kelly’s eyes and said ‘I don’t want it to be like that. I want this child to be our child.’

Kelly’s voice rose as she said ‘But that’s not what we agreed.’

Adam said ‘I don’t recall agreeing to anything. True, I didn’t say no but …..’

‘But what?’

Adam was angry now. ‘You’re not the only one in the world who regrets not having children’ he shouted.

‘Well, stop walking out on perfectly adequate relationships and have some. That’s not what we’re about here. This is about my life.’

‘Exactly. Your life. What about the life of a child growing up fatherless? What about my life, having a child I’ll never know? What if this is the only child I’ll ever have? What if this is my only chance? What if something happens to you? Who’ll look after the child?’

Kelly’s face was cold. ‘Questions, always questions, and always after the fact, always second guessing. That’s the difference between me and you. I have plans. You just have impulses. That’s why I don’t want you hanging around my neck and having to solve your problems all my life, as well as raise a child?’

Adam’s felt like he’d been slapped and his face was ashen. ‘No. Obviously not.’

He stood, put on his coat, picked up his car keys and walked towards the door.

Kelly said ‘Adam, it was always going to end like this.’

As he drove away, his mind wandered between hating and loving her for what she was and for her knowing what he was. And he wondered how quickly 18 years would pass.