Tracy Buchanan - The Lost Sister

‘Wonderful!’ My boss turned back to the rest of the room. ‘So, about the milk that was stolen …’

The rest of the week was miserable; the weather was moody and the atmosphere in the house reflected it. Mike was having a tough time in his job, working long hours to prove his worth in the face of more redundancies. He was clearly growing more and more resentful of the fact I worked part-time. I usually let his irritation wash over me, but that week was different. Maybe it was the cave and the encounter with that silly girl … and the fact I wasn’t writing much. Maybe the girl was right. Maybe that cave was a haven for writers and all I needed was a few hours there?

It was certainly attracting a lot of attention in town – in particular the mysterious Idris, with more and more rumours circulating about him. According to one woman, who I’d overheard at the café one lunchtime, he was a millionaire from Canada who’d turned his back on his fortune after his wife died. Monica reckoned he was an Australian artist on the run after forging masterpieces. Perhaps my favourite rumour was that he was a rock star from New Zealand.

When the morning of Haley’s son’s party arrived, Mike took Becky out so I could focus on the cake I’d promised to bake. I stared at the recipe I’d found in a library cookbook. A cake in the shape of a monkey, for God’s sake. What had possessed me to offer to do it? I looked at the clock. I had four whole hours before Mike was due back with Becky. Four whole hours of baking … or four hours of writing?

‘Screw this,’ I said out loud.

I grabbed my keys and ran outside, jumping into the car. I’d seen a gorgeous cake shop a few towns down with lots of children’s cakes on display. I headed straight down there, and when I stepped inside, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The first cake to greet me was in the shape of a monkey face. No monkey body but it was close enough. In fact, it was fate!

When Mike and Becky got back, they were amazed when they saw it.

‘Oh my gosh, Mummy, this looks amazing,’ Becky declared.

I smoothed down my apron, the flour and chocolate I’d scattered over it earlier falling to the floor.

‘It does,’ Mike said, brow creased slightly. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘It was easier than I thought actually,’ I said, wiping the sides down.

‘Then you’ll have to do it more often,’ Mike murmured, wrapping his arms around me as Becky skipped out into the garden. I froze. He rarely touched me nowadays. Clearly the domestic goddess vibe turned him on.

I peered at the clock. ‘We better start getting ready, the party’s in an hour.’

‘Wear something sexy for me,’ Mike said.

I looked at him in surprise. ‘What’s got into you?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess you’ll find out tonight if Becky goes to sleep on time.’

I smiled but, inside, I felt nothing. Shouldn’t I feel something for my husband? A thrill, or some millimetre of warmth? There was nothing.

I squeezed out from his embrace. ‘I’ll go and transform from domestic goddess to sexy fox then.’

Half an hour later, I stood staring at myself in the mirror. I was wearing a crimson lace dress with a plunging neckline. It wasn’t quite right for a child’s party but I didn’t care. It would give the other parents something to talk about!

I stepped closer to my reflection, putting my fingers to my eyes and pulling at the delicate skin around them. I was getting wrinkles. The odd grey hair or two under my dye job.

I thought of the young girl I’d encountered by the cave a few days ago, so young and smooth with those pert nipples of hers. I lifted my breasts, noticing the fine lines between them. I knew I was attractive, had been told it all my life, just as my mother had. But lately, I’d been less confident of it.

I suddenly got a flash of my mother staring at herself in the mirror with the same disappointed look on her face.

No. I’m nothing like her.

I grabbed a patterned scarf, winding it around my neck to cover the fine lines on my cleavage, then I smeared some red lipstick on and twisted my long dark hair into a bun at the nape of my neck, pulling some locks down to frame the front of my face.

‘Gorgeous,’ Mike said as he walked into the bedroom. He wrapped his arms around me. I resisted a moment, then leaned into him. He loved me, found me attractive. Wasn’t that what mattered?

‘What if we just forget about the party?’ I said. ‘Get Julie and Greg to look after Becky, go on an impulsive weekend away like we used to?’

Mike laughed. ‘What about the cake?’

‘What about it? Julie can come and collect it. We’ll say we’re ill. Food poisoning …’

Mike shook his head, unwinding his arms from my waist and turning around to check his checked shirt in the mirror. ‘You’re being ridiculous. Come on, we’ll be late.’

I felt disappointment roar through me. ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I said.

When Mike walked out, I looked at myself in the mirror again, saw the smile drop instantly from my face. For a moment, I was sure I could see the four walls of the room behind me shifting inwards.

‘Trapped,’ I whispered to myself. ‘I feel trapped.’

‘Why are you trapped, Mummy?’

I jumped, putting a hand to my chest as I noticed Becky standing in the hallway, watching me. I walked over to my daughter and pulled her into a hug, burying my nose in her soft sweet hair and drawing comfort from her.

‘No, darling, Mummy’s not trapped. Come on, let’s go to this party.’

Ten minutes later, we were at the village hall, the monkey cake held up at my chest as Becky looked on proudly.

Haley jogged over when she saw us, blowing a wisp of hair from her eyes.

‘Stressed?’ I asked her.

‘Organising a library event for a hundred dignitaries was less stressful than this.’ She looked down at the cake in my hands, her pretty face lighting up. ‘But so what, I have a monkey cake! You are a genius , Selma!’

‘She is, isn’t she?’ Mike said proudly.

‘My mummy’s very clever!’ Becky added, jumping up and down in excitement. So this was how it felt to be the wonderful mother and domestic goddess Mike wanted. Why did it make me feel so empty?

‘Oh Selma, how do you do it?’ I peered up to see Cynthia approach, looking at the cake in awe as she elbowed Donna out of the way. ‘Working, writing … and cake-making! I’m pre-booking you for Elijah’s first birthday.’

So now suddenly I was flavour of the month. What measures these people judged success on!

‘Sorry but I’m never making a cake again,’ I declared, forcing myself to be jolly. ‘I’m still emotionally scarred from this experience.’

‘So’s the kitchen,’ Mike said with a laugh. ‘It looks like a bomb hit it.’

Other mums jogged over, cooing over the cake, but I felt numb. I was hoping I’d enjoy it, the secret deception. But I felt nothing, not even guilt. In fact, as I watched Haley carry the cake over to the large food table, I hoped she’d slip over, and that the cake would tumble through the air before landing face-down on the hard floor, sickly sweet monkey skull caving in, sugar bananas flying everywhere.

Music started blaring from some speakers as a sprightly-looking woman in a ‘Monkey Fun Children’s Entertainment’ T-shirt bounded into the room. Behind her, Julie and Greg walked in. My stomach sank at the sight of Greg. I’d hoped he wouldn’t be there. I wasn’t sure I could take much more of that man.

‘Gather around, children!’ the entertainer cried out as the children rushed over.

I retreated with Mike to the back of the hall as the party games unfolded. Over the next hour, I gulped down warm wine, growing hot in the stifling hall. I went to unwind my scarf but Mike put his hand on my arm. ‘Best keep it on.’