A Domestic Eisenhower

By the time the traffic started moving again, the lights up ahead flashed amber, then red.

‘Fuck,’ hissed the driver.

‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ echoed the gleeful voice of little Peter, in the toddler seat in the back.

The woman in the passenger seat inhaled deeply.

‘Don’t say that Peter,’

‘Daddy said it.’

‘I know, it was a mistake. Sorry darling. It is a bad word, please don’t say it.’

‘Then why did Daddy say it?’ The voice of the elder child. Oscar, eight. He spoke with a note of exasperated resignation.

‘It was just a mistake, sweetie. Everyone makes mistakes.’

‘How many minutes?’ chimed in Peter.

‘We’ll never get there at this rate.’ grunted the diver, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

At length, the lights changed to green, and they were moving.

‘We have time my darling.’ Her knuckles too were white, clutching the blackberry crumble that lay in her lap.

‘Listen you two,’ continued the driver, ignoring his wife. ‘I do not want to be embarrassed by you today. You will say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. No squabbling. No tantrums. Do you understand me?’

There was no reply. Like wilted flowers, slumped in their chairs, both boys were staring pensively out of their respective windows.

‘Do. You. Understand. Me?’ he hissed again.

‘Yes.’ affirmed Peter enthusiastically.

‘Yes.’ affirmed Oscar, absentmindedly.

‘I hope so.’

No-one spoke for the rest of the journey.

Eventually, with the crumpling sound tyres make as they drive over stones, the blue Honda Jazz pulled into its destination; a large detached bungalow. It was one of a small row of properties that sat in isolation amongst a sprawl of green and yellow; of fields and little woods.

‘Belts off,’ smiled the woman in a vaguely forced cheery tone, still clutching the crumble that she had made with Peter earlier that morning.

An older couple emerged from the bungalow. The woman was dressed in a white chiffon dress. Her glossy hair was preened into a perfect brown bob, and she carried with her a faint hint of perfume, like a soft, invisible breeze that followed her. The man wore a blue shirt, tucked neatly into his jeans. They waited, side-by-side, smiling politely as the family clambered out of the car.

‘Paul, Julia,’ smiled the woman graciously. ‘It is so nice to see you.’

There was a muddle of cheek-kissing and hand shaking. The crumble was handed over; a string of niceties exchanged.

‘Oh, how thoughtful!’

‘Good to see you son,’

‘Is that really the boys? Look how they’ve grown!’

Oscar and Peter, with their inevitable build-up of energy after the long drive, were engaged in a game of chase and were bolting around the car.

‘Get over here you two and say hello,’ hissed Paul, through gritted teeth.

‘Oh, let them play,’ laughed the older woman kindly. ‘Would you boys like to come through to the garden? I think I can find you a Frisbee, and a football.’

With this, the six of them naturally gravitated to the gate that led into the expansive garden. The boys grabbed the toys eagerly and ran onto the lawn.

Julia felt her husband seethe beside her, upon noticing their lack of thanks.

The four adults took their places on expensive-looking chairs around a wicker garden table.

‘Coffee?’ smiled the woman.

‘Yes please,’

‘Mhm, lovely,’

‘Thank you darling,’

The boys screamed and ran about the lawn.

‘So, Dad, did you have a nice time last weekend?’ asked Paul, trying to ignore them.

‘Oh, it was excellent, excellent. We stopped to meet Michele and Geoff for a coffee on the way back down too. Haven’t seen them in ages. The shop is doing well apparently.’

‘That’s good, it’s not easy at the moment.’

‘No, no… I was very pleased to hear that. Good for them. Good for them.’

‘Will the boys drink apple juice Julia?’

‘Yes, thank you Bridget. That would be perfect.’

The coffees appeared, the conversation continued in the much the same stilted vein, and for a while it seemed as though the morning would pass by without incident.

Suddenly, however, there was a shriek from the lawn. Both Paul and Julia jolted into life at the sharpness of the sound.

‘Muuuuuummmmmyyyyyy,’ bellowed Oscar, ‘Muuuuuummmmmyyyyyy!’

Julia felt Paul tense beside her.

‘Muuuuuummmmmyyyyyy!’

‘I’ll go and see what the matter is,’ she laughed meekly, half rolling her eyes as if to say, what are they like?

‘I’ll go.’ Replied Paul.

His wife, father and step-mother averted one another’s eyes as he stalked onto the lawn.

‘What on earth is the matter?’

‘Peter won’t give me the frisbee. It’s my turn.’

Paul’s heart was pounding.

‘Look, Osc. You can’t shout like that when we’re at Grandad’s. Grow up will you?’

At this the child began to bawl.

Paul panicked. In a desperate move he scooped Oscar up and started turning in circles wildly about the lawn. It worked. Oscar started laughing.

Peter toddled over. ‘Me next, me next!’ he chimed.

The three of them engaged for a while in this manic new game.

The others watched on in palpable silence. Bridget went in to make more coffees and to prepare some cream for the crumble.

Inadvertently, Julia caught her father-in-law’s eye.

‘And I suppose you’re Eisenhower in all of this?’ He asked, with a vaguely apologetic sparkle in his eye.

She raised her eyebrows knowingly and for a brief second, flashed him a wicked smile of acknowledgement. In that moment transpired the only speck of honest communication that would take place that day.

‘I think I need to lie down,’ sighed Paul when the four arrived home that afternoon.

‘Yes, go.’ Julia replied softly, almost managing to conceal the terseness with which she wanted to retort. ‘I’ll sort the boys out.’

He shuffled off upstairs.

The two boys, tired, immersed themselves in the blare of some bizarre, flashing cartoon while Julia went to the kitchen to prepare them some dinner.

Momentarily, she put her hands on the edge of the kitchen counter and sighed, catching a glimpse of herself in the glass door of the microwave. She stared into her own eyes for a second, took in a breath and proceeded to open the fridge.

She looked in on Paul. He was frowning as he slept. Sadly, she bent down and kissed his forehead before sweeping back out again to serve up dinner.

While Oscar and Peter ate, she sat with them at the table. Then she drew them a bath and sat on the bathroom floor as they splashed senselessly in the water.

‘Listen, quiet voices OK? We don’t want to wake Daddy. He’s feeling poorly again. Shhhh.’

Peter put a knowing finger to his lips.

Julia looked at them both and deep within her, felt a sharp twinge of pity – guilt, even.

‘I love you two so much. My beautiful boys.’

She kissed both of them on the head.

Then the nightly routine. Towels. Pyjamas. Socks for Oscar, none for Peter. Stories. Water for Peter, milk for Oscar. Cuddles; gravitating skilfully between two beds.

Until finally - they were asleep.

The house was perfectly quiet. Julia relished the silence. She sauntered slowly downstairs to wash the dishes and after she had finished, walked out into the garden and lit a cigarette.

She put her head back on the swing seat and dragged deeply. A moment’s peace. She smoked slowly, deeply. After she had finished, she lingered for a few minutes longer.

Upstairs, she undressed.

When she climbed into bed next to Paul, he jolted awake.

‘What time is it?’

‘About nine.’

‘The boys?’

‘Asleep.’

‘How long was I - ?’

He slumped back down into his pillow.

Julia crawled up beside him and kissed his neck. He melted into it.

With a proficiency that naturally comes with ten years of marriage, Julia made love to her husband.

‘Ugh, God. Why didn’t we do that earlier?’ Paul remarked afterwards. ‘That always makes me feel better.’

‘Are you hungry? I can make you something.’

‘What do we have?’

‘I have a couple of steaks in the fridge. It won’t take long – if you’re hungry.’

‘That sounds good.’

In the kitchen, over the sound of hissing oil, fizzing over the two, pink steaks, Julia looked at Paul.

‘You know,’ she said tentatively, ‘you really don’t need to be so afraid of your father.’

‘I just don’t want him to think I’m incompetent,’ he sighed, ‘or that we’re raising the boys wrong.’

‘He did have you and Mark, you know? He’s aware of what children are like.’

‘But Bridget never had children.’

‘Yes, but still.’

The steaks were ready. She placed them carefully on two plates and drizzled them with garlic butter then took the potatoes out of the oven. She had already put the salad on the table.

Julia carried the plates through to the dining room and they sat down. She took a sip of wine.

‘Thank you – this looks amazing.’ Paul said.

She could tell that he meant it.

‘You’re welcome.’

They both cut into their steaks.

‘Anyway – your dad does understand what it’s like,’ Julia continued, ‘he said the funniest thing to me today, while you were playing with Osc and Pete. He compared me to Eisenhower.’

‘What on earth did he mean by that?’ Paul replied.

‘I don’t know – he was kidding. I guess he drew the comparison because Eisenhower was a strategist, a diplomat – you know - a negotiator. He was kidding.’

In seeing his quizzical look, Julia knew that Paul did not understand. Then it occurred to her that he would probably never understand. So she took another sip of wine and changed the subject.