The Newcomer

by Laura Elizabeth Woollett

  Someday, Judy would run out of department stores. Someday, she’d have to start retracing her steps, hoping there’d be different girls; or, if they were the same girls, that they wouldn’t remember her. Most likely, they wouldn’t. Fifty-two-year-old women aren’t memorable. But the thought that they might was so shameful, she chose to drive further out.

  Today, she drove all the way past the airport.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a plump girl in a smock with the name tag ‘Charly’ asked brightly.

  ‘No.’ Judy blinked quickly. ‘Thank you.’

  Judy walked past the Yves Saint Laurent counter three times, just to make sure. This one was very good: skinny, dark hair bundled atop of her head, laughing and chatting in a twangy voice as she applied shadow to another customer’s lids. When she was done with that, she walked straight up to Judy in that bold way Paulina had with strangers.

  ‘Wanna try that pink lippie?’

  ‘Oh …’ Judy faltered. ‘It’s probably too bright for me.’

  ‘Never know till ya try.’

  Judy’s eyes drifted to the girl’s name tag: Bella.

  ‘Oh, well.’ She smiled shyly. ‘Why not.’

  Bella sat Judy in a high chair before a movie-star mirror smudged with fingerprints. Judy avoided looking at her reflection. When Bella came close, uncapping the lippie, her senses sharpened.

  ‘You’re lucky, you’ve got that English rose complexion.’ Bella tickled Judy’s lips with a tiny brush. ‘Pinks always look so pretty.’

  Judy laughed. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yeah! For sure!’ Bella smacked her lips together. ‘Smooch!’

  Judy smooched her thin upper lip against her thin bottom lip.

  ‘Gorgeous!’ Bella moved out of the way so Judy could see.

  ‘Oh, maybe twenty years ago.’ Judy averted her eyes. ‘If I was young and pretty like you. You young girls can wear anything.’

  ‘You should see me in green eyeshadow. I look like Kermit the Frog.’ Bella surveyed Judy with interest. ‘You know what’d suit you? Coral!’

  Judy’s breath caught in her chest. ‘Oh? Why not.’

  As Bella went to fetch and sterilise the coral, Judy breathed deeply, tried to calm her nerves. Even so, Bella noticed.

  ‘You’re just like me.’ She touched Judy’s goose-bumped arm. ‘I get so cold in here, too. It’s like Antarctica.’

  When Judy got home that evening, she put her new lipstick in the drawer with all the rest of them.

  CLIFFTOP

  It took Paulina two hours to get dressed for her job interview at Mutineers’ Lodge. The bloke interviewing her wasn’t even wearing shoes.

  ‘Can you clean?’ asked Bazel Stevens, crossing his smooth brown legs.

  ‘Yeah.’ Paulina crossed her own legs. ‘My ex was a surfer. If I wanted clean sheets, I had to change them myself.’

  ‘I can see why he’s an ex.’ Baz skimmed her resume. ‘Sydney, eh?’

  ‘Yeah. Northern suburbs.’

  ‘My partner’s got a property in Mosman.’

  ‘We’re not that swish. We’re way up in the hills.’ Paulina laughed. ‘My aunt’s in Mercy Cove, though. I always begged Mum to buy lotto tickets so we could win big and move there.’

  ‘I’ve tried. I always end up back on the rock.’ Bazel set aside her resume with a flourish. ‘Foodfolk. How’d you like working with Rita?’

  Paulina faked a smile. ‘She’s a lovely lady!’

  ‘She’s changed since she was “Mrs Tarita Stevens”, then.’

  ‘You were married to her?’

  ‘God, no!’ Baz shuddered. ‘My brother, Sam. Rest his soul.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that. The Rita part, and the other part.’

  Baz sat back. ‘Is there a reason you’re leaving Foodfolk? Besides Rita?’

  Paulina shrugged. ‘I had a miscarriage while I was stacking shelves last month. Can’t stand the place.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that.’ He glanced at her left hand. ‘You’re not married.’

  ‘It wasn’t planned.’ She smiled wanly. ‘Never again. Kids are overrated.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I’m the youngest of nine.’

  ‘Bloody hell! Are your folks Catholic?’

  ‘Just dutiful Fairfolk Islanders, keeping the Stevens name alive.’ Baz lifted his chin, gold earring flashing. ‘Listen: this isn’t Westpac. I can pay you five dollars for every cabin you clean. There’re twelve cabins, but we’re lucky to fill half of them in down season. Do the maths.’

  Paulina winced. ‘It’s not Westpac.’

  ‘My sister Gayle manages the bistro. That’s Gayle with a G-A-Y … as in “happy”.’ He smirked. ‘On a good week, we do breakfast and early-bird specials: seven to ten, five to eight, seven days a week. Bad weeks …’

  Paulina swallowed.

  ‘I usually winter on the mainland.’ Baz re-crossed his legs. ‘We’re closing for renovations, May to June. I’d recommend getting a side gig. You got anything on the side?’

  ‘Just a boyfriend.’ Paulina reddened. ‘He takes care of me.’

  ‘He taking you out for Valentine’s tonight?’

  ‘We’re having dinner at The Clifftop.’

  ‘Let him pay.’

  ‘He always pays.’ She toyed with the paua-shell bangle Rabbit had given her that morning. ‘I just need something to keep me occupied. Something that isn’t Foodfolk.’

  ‘I wouldn’t hold it against you if you told me to shove this job and caught the first flight back to Sydney. I’d call that pretty sensible, actually.’

  ‘You sound like my mum.’ Paulina grimaced. ‘She thinks I’m wasting my life here.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s my life to waste.’

  ‘Guess what?’ She set her handbag on the counter at Camilleri’s. ‘I’m moving up in the world!’

  Jesse looked up from the chops he was pricing. ‘You mean I can finally buy choc-milk in peace?’

  ‘Choc-milk, Camels, not my problem.’ Paulina stole a glance at his tattooed forearms. ‘Oi, wanna get drunk tonight? Celebrate my new career in hospitality?’

  ‘The old man’s not putting the moves on you for Valentine’s?’

  ‘Ugh.’ Paulina palmed her face. ‘We’re having dinner at The Clifftop.’

  Jesse wiped his gloves on his apron. ‘Fancy.’

  ‘As if I’m not fat enough already, I have to sit through a three-course meal.’

  ‘Most chicks go crazy for The Clifftop.’

  ‘Why don’t you take Brooke, then? Double-date?’

  ‘Nay. I don’t celebrate Valentine’s.’ He smiled. ‘I’m too busy celebrating the anniversary of Captain Cook getting stabbed to death.’

  ‘What, you can’t celebrate in style? Cheapskate.’

  ‘Did Brooke say I’m cheap?’

  ‘Mate, she’s from London. As if she’s gonna stick around for steak on the porch every night.’ Paulina swanned around to his side of the counter. ‘Where’s your phone book?’

  ‘Hey.’ Jesse grabbed her. ‘You can’t be back here without a hairnet.’

  ‘Don’t put your bloody hands on me!’

  The door dinged and in walked Rita. Jesse dropped Paulina’s arm and ruefully approached the counter.

  ‘Yorana. You here for those orders?’

  ‘Aye.’ Rita’s eyes drifted to Paulina, who was dabbing a bit of meat-juice off her arm with a tissue. ‘If you’re nay too busy.’

  Jesse ducked into the cool room.

  Paulina got out the phone directory and dialled The Clifftop.

  ‘Hey, can I get a table for two tonight, seven pm? Nah, not for Valentine’s. Killing Captain Cook.’ She caught Rita staring. ‘Nice one. The name’s Jesse Camilleri. Cheers, babe!’

  Hanging up
, she turned her back on Rita and examined her reflection in the metal sheen of the slicer.

  Jesse bore a box out of the cool room. ‘Need help carrying it to Foodfolk?’

  ‘Nay.’ Smirking, Rita accepted the load. ‘Looks like you’ve got your hands full, already.’

  After Camilleri’s, Paulina took a gulp of the vodka in her glovebox and drove to Fergal Wotherspoon’s honey farm, where Brooke was in her protective gear, helping Fergal smoke and lift the bee frames. Paulina squatted under a pine tree and drank from her flask till it was time for Brooke’s smoke break.

  ‘You look nice, luv!’ Brooke exclaimed. ‘New skirt?’

  ‘Nah.’ Paulina stroked the flowery fabric. ‘I just haul it out for job interviews.’

  ‘Mutes’?’

  ‘Yeah! They loved me. Starting next week.’

  Paulina offered up her flask.

  ‘I wish! I’ll probably knock over a hive and get stung to bits!’ Brooke sniffed the cap. ‘Vodka? You’re starting early!’

  ‘Celebrating.’

  ‘Is Ric taking you out tonight?’

  ‘We’ve got a dinner-date at The Clifftop.’ Paulina swigged and cringed. ‘And we’re not the only ones.’

  ‘God, he’s not bringing that spoiled little brat, is he?’

  ‘Nah! I mean you, babe. Camel’s upping his game.’

  ‘Jesse’s taking me out?’ Brooke got a dopey look on her face. ‘Cute!’

  ‘Act surprised, okay?’

  ‘How’s this?’ Brooke rounded her eyes and gasped.

  ‘Pfft! Is that your O-face? Save it for later!’

  They laughed. Brooke got out her smokes, tossed her long bronze hair. ‘I’m so sweaty and disgusting. I wish he’d given me some warning.’

  ‘Yeah-hh, that’s why I’m here.’ Paulina rolled her eyes. ‘Wanna borrow an outfit?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll just wear my white halter. He’s mad for my shoulders.’ Brooke caught sight of her new bangle. ‘Pretty! From Ric?’

  ‘Yep.’ Paulina spun it on her wrist. ‘Earning my keep.’

  ‘You giving him anything?’ Brooke blew smoke sideways.

  ‘Blow-job, probably.’

  ‘Classic. Want some honey to kink it up?’

  ‘Blergh. Too many calories.’ Paulina lifted her shirt. ‘I’m getting a gut.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘I can’t get rid of this weight I gained over Christmas.’ Paulina lay back on the grass and shielded her eyes so Brooke wouldn’t see them watering. ‘I wish I was your age.’

  ‘God! You’re not that much older.’ Brooke stubbed out her ciggie and buried it. ‘Try wearing one of these bee-suits all day. It sweats everything out.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll join the gym. Wanna be gym buddies?’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t have the energy!’ Brooke stood and stretched. ‘They work me so hard … most days all I want to do is curl up with Jess and have a bevvy on the porch.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Paulina sat up. ‘Back to the hives?’

  ‘Ciao, bella!’ Brooke air-kissed her. ‘Give me a bell if you change your mind about the honey. It’s an aphrodisiac!’

  Paulina laughed. ‘Later, babe!’

  Watching her friend sashaying back to the hives, somehow looking sexy in her white overalls, Paulina drained her flask and muttered, ‘Stuck-up pommy bitch.’

  It was school pick-up hour. She had to pass the school to get from Fergal’s to Rabbit’s, and the little kids just reminded her. Reminded her of things she hadn’t known she wanted, like chatter in the backseat, and cutting the crusts off sandwiches, and helping with homework, and most of all being a different kind of woman; the kind who wasn’t pissed on glovebox vodka at three in the arvo. And then it hit her: she was really pissed.

  So pissed. The sun suddenly seemed too strong, the roadside pines all wonky, and their shadows on the road — bloody hell, those shadows — like nets she could trip over. Then she looked up, and the blue Subaru that once seemed no more than a wandering cloud on the horizon was right there, and, ‘Shit!’, she’d rear-ended him.

  Paulina blinked. A long blink, like a glitch in time.

  When she opened her eyes, a red-faced bloke was banging on the window.

  ‘Sorry.’ She rolled it down. ‘I’m really sorry, hey.’

  His mouth was working, spit flying, saying things: mainie bitch, watch where you’re going, how didn’t you see?!

  ‘Sorry,’ Paulina repeated, head in agony. ‘I’m r-really … reallllly sorry.’

  There was smoke furling from the hood of her Corolla. She started crying.

  ‘Sorry, sir. Gawd, I’m sorry!’ Paulina peered at him blearily: a bloke, just a normal bloke with a beard and a belly and wraparound sunglasses. ‘Ssssorry? I’ll p-pay? Wannasee … wannasee my wallet?’

  Her wallet. She fumbled, dropped it.

  ‘I don’t want your wallet — drunk cunt!’ the bloke snarled. ‘This is a school zone!’

  ‘Um.’ Paulina was blinded by tears. ‘I’m really sorry. Please? Maybe … we can work something out. You and me.’

  She didn’t mean for it to sound dirty. But he stopped shouting, and she felt a rush of relief; his eyes on her lips, her legs — she could handle that.

  ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he said.

  Watching his fat arse wiggling as he trekked back to the Subaru, Paulina wondered if she’d reached an all-time low. A little boy in a school uniform hopped out of the car, ran down the road. The bloke walked back to her, hitched his pants. She fought the urge to spew.

  ‘The cops’ll be here in five,’ he spat. ‘Don’t try anything.’

  Paulina nodded. Stared at the blue blanket of the sea beyond the cliffs and wished she was under it.

  Paulina’s vomit was acid-green, like she’d been munching on grass. The sergeant, Hank Turner, was stern and disappointed like a dad.

  ‘I can see you’re sorry,’ he said. ‘But we take this sort of thing very seriously after what happened to Tiffany King. That girl had her whole life ahead of her.’

  ‘Please don’t tell Ric. Please? I’m s-sorry.’

  A woman with hair like yellow lambswool kept shoving a bucket in Paulina’s face, cups of water and Marie biscuits. Paulina couldn’t touch them; she could hardly breathe.

  ‘Please don’t tell him. Please? I wanna die.’

  She threw up one more time, near the lady’s shoes. Then she tried to go to sleep on the cot, but the lady kept shaking her awake, making her lie in a less comfortable position.

  ‘Let me die. I wanna die. Don’t tell him. Please?’

  Later, Paulina became aware of men’s voices, grumbling in Fayrf’k. Men shuffling papers, shaking hands. She prayed her heart would just stop.

  ‘He’s here.’ The lady batted her cheeks. ‘Time to go.’

  Paulina’s face was sticky; her hair stuck to her face. Everything ached.

  ‘Are you angry, babe?’ she asked Rabbit, taking his arm but unable to look at his face. ‘Please, don’t be angry. Please, I’m sorry. Please — are you angry?’

  The muscles in his arm were tense. He didn’t say anything till they were inside the car, the doors slammed.

  ‘Yes, I’m angry.’ His voice was clipped. ‘You had a blood alcohol level three times the legal limit. I just paid a three-thousand-dollar fine. You have no idea how angry I am.’

  ‘Ric! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—’

  He struck her; so abruptly she couldn’t believe he’d done it — that he’d meant to do it and hadn’t just caught her face while shooing a fly.

  ‘Put your seatbelt on, Paulina.’

  They drove in silence past Tiffany’s shrine, the sun setting over Cookies. It was almost dark when he pulled into the driveway. Paulina sat very still. The sky got darker. She started trembling.

>   ‘Come on,’ he said after a while, pulling the keys from the ignition.

  ‘I love you, babe,’ she whimpered. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Rabbit climbed out of the car, walked around to her side and hauled her out.

  ‘I love you,’ she repeated. ‘I love you so much.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it, Lina. Not today.’

  The house was cold and dark. ‘Where’s Bunny?’ Paulina quavered.

  ‘She’s staying at Hine’s,’ he reminded her. ‘This was our night, remember.’

  She started crying again; she couldn’t help it.

  ‘Stop it,’ he commanded. ‘Just stop it.’

  Paulina missed her mum, badly. When Rabbit tramped upstairs, she followed. In the bedroom, she had trouble standing. She steadied herself against the headboard and began undressing.

  ‘No.’ Rabbit averted his eyes. He stalked out of the room; came back with towels and a bathrobe.

  ‘Clean yourself up.’

  ‘I love you,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He walked her to the bathroom and repeated, ‘Clean yourself up.’

  Paulina nodded, shut the door. Then she slid to the floor and bawled like a baby.

  After, she crawled to the cabinet, took out her spare shampoo bottle full of Johnny Walker, and guzzled. Her face in the mirror was so swollen from crying, she couldn’t tell if he’d left a mark.

  Rabbit was frying onions when Paulina came downstairs, all clean and minty-breathed in her terry-towel robe. She sat at the table and watched him cook. He didn’t look at her. After a while, a glass of water appeared in front of her. She lowered her eyes and sipped.

  A little later, there was an omelette. It had bits of onion and zucchini inside, herbs sprinkled on top.

  ‘It looks good, babe.’ She did her best not to slur.

  He sat across from her; watched her chop it into tiny pieces and eat a bite.

  ‘It’s really nice,’ she said. ‘It’s just what I needed. Thanks, babe.’

  Silently, Rabbit took up his own fork and started eating.

  ‘I love you,’ Paulina ventured. ‘I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.’

  Rabbit ate another mouthful.