Flying the Coop by Ilsa Evans Page B

bath, Chris let her head fall back and closed her eyes. It had been a very relaxing afternoon and she had been marginally successful, at times, in dragging her mind away from the whole Healesville situation and, specifically, Garth’s reaction to it. Now that she was back at home though, and facing another meeting with him soon, the problems came trickling back. She wasn’t taking the custody threat particularly seriously, because she knew Garth well enough to know that although he loved his children fiercely, he didn’t really want them living with him. He was smart enough to know what it meant – curtailed freedom, sulky teenagers, broken crockery, scattered toys, phone calls from the school, extracurricular activities, endless transporting and the legally sanctioned requirement for regular meals. Not to mention the extra washing and ironing and cleaning. And the effect two resident children would have on his sex life. Chris narrowed her eyes and let herself sink slowly beneath the surface. But what was she going to do if he didn’t agree to put the house on the market? If that happened, how did she stand legally?
    Chris popped her head back up again and took a deep breath. Then she wiped the froth from her eyes and flicked it towards the tiles, where it slid obligingly down the smooth ceramic and slithered back into the bath. Perhaps she should have a word with Virginia on Monday to explore her options. But also, why didn’t he want to put the house on the market?She would have thought he’d be thrilled at the very prospect. Thrilled enough to even come to terms with the children moving further away. Chris mulled over this morning’s conversation for a while and finally decided that Garth’s resistance was a knee-jerk reaction. It was obvious that he hadn’t really taken the whole idea seriously at all, and was quite shocked to realise that she herself was deadly serious. If there was one thing Garth hated it was to be wrong-footed, to relinquish control. So of course his natural response had been to thwart her in any way possible. Because that’s basically what he was – a thwarter.
    Chris ran this word around her mouth for a while, and then said it out loud: ‘Thwarter’. It had a lovely robust sound with a slightly ludicrous edge that, she decided, suited her ex-husband perfectly. ‘Damn thwarter’. Chris grinned and, closing her eyes, let herself slide under the water again, where she tried to relax the way she had once been taught during yoga, starting at the toes and working her way gradually upwards. By the time she reached her armpits, her lungs were starting to crave some air so she lifted her head slowly until just her mouth was clear and took a deep breath, keeping her eyes closed.
    â€˜Um, Mum?’
    Chris sank like a stone and took a mouthful of strawberry-scented water before she floundered her way back up and, coughing, stared at her daughter with astonishment. Grace was standing just inside the doorway, her hand ostentatiously over her eyes.
    â€˜Mum? We’re back. And Dad wants to talk to you.’
    â€˜Happy to come in there if you like,’ Garth’s voice came from down the passage, sounding remarkably more cheerful than it had this morning.
    â€˜Gross,’ said Grace with disgust.
    â€˜Why’re you back so early?’ Chris sank underneath thebubbles protectively, keeping a watchful eye on the door. ‘I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour.’
    â€˜Oh, we went to this restaurant in Fitzroy and there was this pond inside with all these fish and –’
    â€˜Michael fell in,’ finished Chris. She grimaced, partly because of her son, and partly because the strawberry bubblebath had left a foul taste in her mouth.
    â€˜Yep. He’s dripping wet.’
    â€˜Okay, give me two minutes and then send him in here. He can jump in this bath.’
    â€˜And don’t forget Dad wants