The Wrong Door by Bunty Avieson Page A

was Mum, Dad and their two perfect children, Susan and Billy. The Lee home was orderly and clean, not like the bedlam of the Dalton household with Peg’s dressmaking strewn all across the lounge room, her jigsaws taking up the dining table and Marla being either hysterically happy or completely morose. Dalton meals were eaten in the kitchen or, more often, in front of the television on the nest of tables. Peg had the biggest table, Marla the second biggest and Clare the small one.
    The Lee family lived around the corner but it could have been a hundred miles away, so different was their life. Or so it seemed to a teenage Clare. Mrs Lee was twenty years younger than Peg and so much more hip. She took the girls to see the latest movies and wore a bikini at the beach.
    Every year the Lee family spent all of January at Noosa, renting the same house near the beach. From the age of thirteen, Clare had been invited along. Billy always invited a playmate, usually his best friend Alan, and the four teenagers spent a carefree month splashing around the waves together while Mr and Mrs Lee baked themselves in the sun. For young Clare it was heaven. And if Mr Lee was occasionally a little sharp with them all, she thought that must be what dads did. She still thought Susan was terribly fortunate to have one.
    In the Lee home in suburban Summer Hill, everything was always neat and clean. Plastic covered the carpet, they ate at the dining table and MrLee said grace before each meal. Manners were very important and Mr Lee would scold Susan if she made a noise scraping her knife and fork against the plate. Clare learned such things from Susan’s family and felt the better for it. They knew what was proper and conducted themselves accordingly. When she was out at dinner or feeling intimidated by her surroundings, she modelled her behaviour on what she thought the Lees would do.
    For that to fall apart was inconceivable. Clare was aghast. ‘I don’t believe it.’
    ‘I know. I’m still in shock.’
    ‘But your parents were always so happy.’
    ‘Apparently that was a huge charade for our benefit.’
    ‘Oh Susan, I’m so sorry. How’s your poor mother?’
    ‘Poor mother nothing. She is as happy as a lark. She says she’s hated Dad for years and can’t wait to see the back of him. She reckons it’s about time she started having some fun of her own.’
    ‘No.’ Clare shook her head. She didn’t know what to say. The idea of Betty Lee kicking up her heels in middle age was too hard to imagine. Poor Susan. Clare felt for her friend.
    Susan had been her best mate since year 5. They attended the same primary school, went on together to the local high school and now were at university, albeit in different faculties – Clare studying veterinary science while Susan was doing psychology. They were blood sisters, slashing their thumbs in primary school and letting the blood mingle.
    ‘Friends for life,’ they had vowed. And so they were.
    Susan shared Clare’s passion for knowledge. They were considered the least cool in the class and they didn’t care.
    ‘I always envied you your family,’ said Susan.
    Clare looked at her friend with disbelief. ‘You’re joking. Why?’
    ‘You were always having so much fun. We had to be so proper at home. I always felt like I was in trouble. I couldn’t use Dad’s stereo because I’d be sure to break it. If I borrowed his binoculars when I gave them back he said the lenses were dirty. It was like we always had to be on our best behaviour. I couldn’t wait to move out on my own. But your house was always so relaxed. You could eat in front of the ΤV. You had takeaway fish and chips for dinner. And no-one yelled at you if you dropped something on the floor.
    ‘I remember the first time I stayed over at your place and your mother brought us tea and toast in bed. Then Marla came and got in too and told us all about her date from the night before. Remember she had gone out with that TV actor and