Page 10 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

There’s a pause. ‘Your sister called you? That never happens.’

I cry out, ‘I’m not that bad.’

But Naya isn’t listening, because Leonard is asking her, ‘How much antiseptic cream is too much antiseptic cream?’

When Naya suggests he go to a doctor if he’s so worried about it, he says he couldn’t possibly drive himself there and could she please do it for him?

‘Who will watch the kids? I’m not dumping them on Mum again. Jesus. Sorry, Charlie, it’s mayhem around here. I forgot you were on the line.’

‘Do you want me to call back later—’

‘ No , it’s fine. Really. Leonard, stop looking at your hand. Stop peeling back the band-aid, the cut is not that bad. Honestly, you and these injuries. Charlie left her husband for less than this – maybe I’m due.’

It’s meant to be a joke, but the implication that I left Dave for insignificant reasons does pinch.

Leonard grabs the phone. ‘Don’t give her any ideas, Charlie! You know I’d never survive on my own.’ He means it as a joke and I feel compelled to laugh out of obligation.

Naya snatches back the phone. ‘Sorry, sorry. I’m escaping outside again. This house is too small for six people, I’m telling you. I daydream about being alone all the time .’

‘You daydream about being alone? Really?’ My face scrunches.

‘Wait until you have kids, and you’ll get it, Charlie, you really will. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d been fantasising about going to prison. It’s a genuine concern that the next time you hear from me, it’ll be from a holding cell.’

She pauses. ‘Actually, hold on, I’m going to look it up. Offences that carry short prison terms,’ she says, and for a couple of minutes, her end of the line is silent. ‘Top result is … not stopping a boat when ordered by law enforcement. Damn, now I need to buy a boat.’

I steer the conversation somewhere else. ‘Why are you seeing a doctor?’

‘Prescription renewal, nothing exciting.’ She plonks down on something. One of her outdoor lounges, probably. I’m imagining her left leg is now crossed over her right, and she’s resting an arm up above her head, fingers deep inside her frizzy, chestnut hair.

‘So why are you calling me?’ she asks. ‘Real answer only.’

‘Do I need a reason?’

‘Yes.’ She clears her throat. ‘I’ve got four kids and a Leonard and you always seem busier than me. Thought I was hallucinating when your name popped up on my phone.’

‘Am I really that bad?’

Naya says nothing.

‘Sorry.’

‘Everything okay?’

In my chair, I swivel around and around. Let the purple walls dizzy me. ‘The ratings came out today, and we’re fourth.’

‘Is that bad?’

Oh, bless. ‘Yeah, it’s bad.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘You’ll get it back, don’t worry.’ It’s such a flippant comment, and coming from someone who has no grasp of what we do or why this fall in results is so devastating, it doesn’t reassure me. I should try Genevieve again, after this. She’d understand.

‘We will. I know.’

‘And what about you,’ she says. ‘Are you okay?’

I can’t say it feels natural to open up to my sister. ‘I’m fine, I promise. Just wanted to hear a familiar voice.’

A moment passes before she speaks. ‘You should come home and visit. The kids haven’t seen you in over a year.’

The kids haven’t seen me in eighteen months. I last visited just after the twins were born, and every time I remember that I feel like a horrid person. But I think of that house – of what it was like living there, after our dad died – and I just can’t compel myself to go back.

‘How’s Mum?’ I ask.

‘Why don’t you ask her? When was the last time you called?’

‘Yeah, all right. A while.’

‘Has she messaged you about the anniversary yet?’ Naya asks.

‘Oh god, no. Why?’ The anniversary, a mere few months away. Twenty years since Dad’s death. Just like the fifth, tenth and fifteenth anniversaries, I was hoping to ignore the milestone completely. Melt into the floor and pretend everything is fine.

‘I’ll let her chat to you about it. Just, call her, okay? Promise me.’

‘I promise.’

Someone starts screaming from their naughty chair and Naya apologises and puts me on mute again. My mind starts to reel. What could my mother want to chat about? What is it about the forthcoming anniversary that—

‘Okay, okay, I’m here,’ Naya says, returning. ‘Sorry.’

‘Do you need to go? I can call you back later.’

‘You won’t though,’ she says. ‘Once it’s after nine, you’re in bed.’

‘My alarm goes off at three.’

‘And? Try having four kids, Charlie.’

Time to bite my tongue. Time to stop myself from blurting out that she chose to have those four kids.

There’s a scuffle on her end of the line, a muffling sound, and then she’s back. ‘Hold on one second, it’s Leonard again.’

It’s intended as a whisper, but Leonard’s voice carries through the phone with surprising clarity. ‘I just think I’d feel more comfortable if we take a quick trip to the doctor. Get this hand checked out. I don’t want the kids to worry—’

‘They’re way too young to worry about your hand, Leonard. The twins aren’t yet two and you’ve got a cut. Antiseptic cream and band-aids are all that’s needed. It won’t get infected, I promise. Just because Dad died suddenly doesn’t mean every man dies suddenly.’

That makes me jerk upright. Loss, sadness, heartbreak – it hits me in waves, even after all these years.

All it can take is a comment like that and I’m floored.

Forced to self-soothe. It stings to hear Naya speak so flippantly about our father’s death.

As if it wasn’t the most traumatic thing to happen in our childhood.

She returns to the phone call. ‘So how much do we think boats cost?’

‘Too much.’

We might be laughing off Leonard’s eccentric behaviour, but I envy Naya a little. A house full of people, always chaotic, always busy. I think of how small my world feels right now and my throat constricts.

‘I should go,’ she says. ‘If I don’t take Leonard to the doctor, he’s going to talk about that cut all night and I won’t get any sleep.’

‘Just chop it off.’

‘Don’t tempt me.’