The Weekly Implosion of the Horneshaw House

Us behaving relatively normally

On Friday nights, Tom and I come back from the farm and I head round to Mum and Dad’s for dinner.  Most of the time, the night proceeds according to the following itinerary:  1. Arrive, greet one-another.  2. Drink wine, talk about things.  3. Drink more wine, talk loudly and laugh.  4. Eat some food.  5. Descend into hysterics.  Argue.  Someone storm out.  Everyone cry except Dad who tells everyone to calm down.  6. Recalibrate, return to laughing and telling stories.  Drink whiskey. 

I am accustomed to this itinerary and although obviously I dream about one day sailing through a drama-free evening, I realise at this point that’s a fairly unrealistic ambition.  My only hope is that we might someday refrain from enacting section (5) when I invite a friend to join us.  So far this hope remains just that.

The last time I invited Caitlin for dinner, things were progressing so smoothly I actually allowed myself to think: ‘well, save for some ridiculous blow-up, I cannot see what could possible go wrong.’  See where I’m going here?  In the end it was an old pair of jeans that spelled our un-doing, in that my sister emerged in them, and they were mine, and my observation of this fact must have sounded slightly on the bitchy-side, because before long all of the requisite components of section (5) had been enacted.  My sister and I have a habit of regressing back to childlike maturity levels when we argue.  It’s like a really un-cute time capsule.  

After the event I was embarrassed enough at my family’s lack of collective control to not invite Caitlin around for a long time.  But last weekend, both of us having run out of cash, the lure of free food and grog was too strong.  ‘Don’t worry,’ read the text to Caitlin, ‘we all get along really well now.’

Charlotte and Will, the adorable spawn of my oldest friend, Katie Rose, were at the door to great us.  Mum looks after both of them on a regular basis, but this was the first time she’d tackled the double whammy and together, they were a buzzing behemoth of loudness, falling over each other to impress the new arrival. 

‘I WANNA SIT NEXT TO CAITLIN!’  Screamed Charlotte as we positioned ourselves around the tiny kitchen table.  By the time the first drinks were poured, the scene had taken on a jungle-like vibe, both kids clamouring all over my obliging friend as music played, Anna rapped and Mum and I shouted our news over the din.  Propelled on by the bleating children, the night’s excitement had built to a stunning crescendo when Mum yelled, ‘Right, kids, time for bed!’

Even I felt my bubble bursting.  For their part, the kids panicked, instantly entering negotiation mode.  ‘But what if we don’t brush our teeth?’  Eventually, a deal was struck.  William would forgo story time in favour of some extra Caitlin-time.  Charlotte caved, and trotted out after Mum to the bedroom. 

‘I need you to look at some furniture I found in the hard rubbish!’  Dad announced as soon as they had left.  So out we went to the garage, drinks in hand and conversation rattling on. 

‘Do you like this?’  Dad enquired, shining his head-torch at many things.

‘What?’  I asked.

‘Hey Katie!’  Anna yelled from behind me.

‘Yeah?’

‘KATE!’  Dad again.  ‘Pay attention!’  Now holding a big white table.

‘Ummmmm… yeah I think I-’

‘Katie,’ Anna now, ‘I have an idea for how I can make lots of money from my raps!’

Suddenly, a shoeless William shot out from inside the house, slamming the door and screaming ‘Wooooooooooo!’

‘Catch him!’  Yelled Anna, and all of us flailed to trap the feral-child.  At exactly this point, Mum emerged, close to tears.  ‘WHAT IS GOING ON?’  She blurted.

Utter confusion reigned.  What was going on?  Mum glared at me and with Dad’s head-torch shining in my face, I was literally a dear caught in the headlights.

Now Mum really was crying.  ‘What are you guys doing out here!?’

Under pressure, we seemed to have forgotten the original reason for our mission.  William had ceased dashing around and was bawling, confused.

‘You were supposed to have Will in bed by now!  He’s been tearing around disturbing Charlotte!’  As Mum berated us, Dad scooped up the sobbing child and fled the scene.  It was on me.

‘I didn’t know!’  I said, hard done by.  ‘You should have told me if you wanted me to put him to bed!’

‘I thought I did!’  Blubbed Mum.

And so, with Caitlin standing awkwardly beside us, Mum and I whined at each other in the dark, neither of us willing to accept blame for the wayward child.

From there the scene played out as it always does, with Dad absconding, Anna trying to remain as quiet as possible, and Mum and I relating our feelings to each other until all the feelings have been purged.  The eventual conclusion was that Mum had been at the end of her tether, and that there should have been a clearer decision on Will’s bed time.

But as I emerged back to the lounge room to find Caitlin chatting politely with Anna, it dawned on me.  We’d done it again!  ‘Are we too crazy to keep it together for one fucking night?!’  I moaned aloud, reverting back to tears.    

Caitlin, realising I was genuinely distressed by my family’s penchant for imploding, giggled as she came to hug me. 

‘I don’t think you’re crazy.’  She reassured me.  ‘I always feel very welcome here!’

And for some reason, I knew she was telling the truth about the second part.  I guess from now on, I’ll just have to forward the itinerary to guests before they come over.

The kids in question