Free Maxine by Claire Wilkshire Page B

her parents’ offer of points to fly her to Vancouver Island to spend Christmas with them—this year was supposed to be about being frugal and finishing the book. It feels as if she’s scarcely started the book, though, and being frugal is all very well but it doesn’t create money; it only stems the flow.
    Maxine is typing at her desk, head tipped to one side and a shoulder hiked up to wedge the phone into place.
    Hi, I’m looking for a gift, can you tell me if you have the Conquest VI expansion pack for PC?
    Warlords?
    Beg pardon?
    You’re looking for the Conquest VI expansion: Warlords ?
    ...Sure, I’ll have some. I mean, um, I’ll have it with warlords.
    Maxine leans forward over the bathroom sink, peering into the mirror and running her tongue all over her teeth in search of furriness. Her face does not look completely symmetrical. She notices this without wanting to and quickly tries not to think about it. Maxine’s face looks to her sometimes symmetrical, sometimes a little off-kilter, and the thought that the off-kilterness might gradually—or, worse, not so gradually—increase gives her a surge of cold dready feeling in her gut, a feeling she tries breezily to brush aside. When you are Maxine you are often engaged in attempting not successfully to brush aside thoughts that make you feel that cold damp whooshing somewhere in your upper intestines. Maybe it’s normal. Maxine is never quite sure about normal, what it is and whether she is it. Her teeth have felt much cleaner since the dentist recommended the electric toothbrush but it’s still easy to miss a patch. Maxine pulls on her purple flannel pyjamas. In the bedroom she opens the window but only half an inch. She rolls herself up in her duvet so only her face and one arm remain exposed, and with that arm she reaches for the paper. She decides to have another look at today’s cryptic crossword, just until eleven. Then the phone rings, jerking her up on her elbows. She swats frantically around on the far side of the night table until she has gripped the cordless.
    Maxine.
    Gail?
    Come for a drive?
    Are you OK?
    Yeah.
    Gail does not say she’s worried about Ted. Gail mostly doesn’t think about Ted a lot when he’s away, but is pleased to see him when he comes back. She’s not given to worrying. Every now and again, though, she’s possessed by thoughts like how small is a rig and how large the ocean, or she’ll hear Ron Hynes singing “Atlantic Blue” on the radio, or a helicopter will run into trouble somewhere. One thing, or nothing at all, and it’s the passivity, the waiting, that drives her cracked—she’s got to move, get out of the house, jump in the car and go. Sometimes this means Maxine has to jump in the car too.
    (Who’d have pegged Gail as one to marry at all, let alone marry the mild-mannered guy she went to her high-school grad with, and stay married to him? Gail worked front desk at the Hotel while Ted got himself qualified as an engineer. At staff parties, people were surprised to meet this quiet fellow with square, wire-rimmed glasses and the kind of hairline that wasn’t going to stick around. From what Maxine can see, though, it works. Ted is pleasant and agreeable, fundamentally a serious person. He’s very serious about his work and he travels a lot, so when he’s travelling he can work all the time, and when he’s at home he can do more things with Gail. Gail has a similar kind of determination but a shorter attention span. She requires change to stay interested in something. Ted’s frequent absences mean that she’s always happy to see him at home, and that she doesn’t have to think about him when he isn’t. It’s not that Gail doesn’t love Ted. She does, very much. But she’d be bored if she thought about him all the time. This strikes Maxine as perfectly reasonable.)
    Where they go this time is