She was relieved when she saw the girls skipping towards them, hand in hand. Not to have to speculate anymore, gossip anymore about Clara Black. She made her excuses to Pam about being in a rush to get to teaching. She had classes starting shortly but she returned to the house and while Liv was drinking her milk and eating a biscuit on the back step, she got down on her hands and knees and pulled the clothes she’d discarded last night from under Liv’s bed. The red gloves, the red hairclip. The shoes. Would they find Jean’s dusty old shoes stuffed under the seat out the front of the hotel? She touched her lips. She had been wearing Clara’s lipstick. She remembered the beautiful silver cigarette case. Where was that now? Had she been the last person to ever see Clara Black? She squeezed her eyes shut. The poor woman’s husband.
She gathered the gloves and shoes and stuffed them into an old pillowcase. Were they some kind of evidence? Of what? She hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? What good would it do to tell the police that she’d seen this woman? She would look entirely guilty to have put on this woman’s shoes and make-up and gone into a dance where she hadn’t belonged. And how would she explain why she was there in the first place? That the music had drawn her? That it had called to her over the valley and made her sneak out of her own house? That the music had bewitched her body and taken her back to a time when she had everything before her? When dancing had been her life? Her very soul. That a man with an impossible name had seen what she used to be? That she had lied about her name? No. It all looked completely suspicious. They would think she was somehow involved when all she’d been was a spectator. She went to her wardrobe and used a chair to get to the highest shelf, where she stuffed the pillowcase in the back. She would need to forget about Clara Black, forget about Serpentine Rose. It was her name, but from another life. That life wasn’t hers anymore. That person no longer existed.
CHAPTER 10
Nathalie
December
The glass of wine sat sweating into the still, warm air. Nathalie ran her fingertip around the rim, just to feel the moisture, just to appreciate the quality of the crystal. She took a slow sip and felt the liquid dissolve into her body like a balm. She felt everything relax, lulled by the soft rush of the waves meeting sand. The evening was turning purple at its edges as the sun slid below the clouds at the horizon. She had chosen seats that overlooked the ocean. She swept her hair back, hoping to feel a sea breeze on her neck. It licked at her nape and she closed her eyes.
The ever-social Alexandra had insisted that they all catch up here for a pre-Christmas drink before their week away together in January, but now she wondered if the trip was actually going to happen. Amanda O’Neil had texted to say that recent heavy rains up the coast had caused a significant leak in the roof and now the house had water damage. She wasn’t sure it would still be available for their dates. Nathalie had meant to pass this onto the others when the text came through, but she’d been mid vomiting bug with the girls, and she’d completely forgotten. And now, here they were ostensibly meeting ahead of a holiday that might not be happening. She felt pathetic to have completely blanked on this, but it was hard to project a few hours, let alone a few weeks into the future. It felt like she was on a sand dune that kept shifting, and it was all she could do to stop herself being scattered by the wind. She took out her phone and texted Amanda, asking for an update. The response was almost immediate.
Sorry hon, it’s not looking good. I was just going to talk to the builder before confirming with you, but I think it’s going to be safer to postpone until Feb.
No. I needed this holiday, she thought. The others are going to be so disappointed.
She took a large sip of her wine. Dammit. She wasn’t going to let this spoil such a rare mid-week escape. She had lied outright to Mike, to make sure she got a half hour to herself. Didn’t self-help books for mothers always talk about taking time for yourself? Well, these 30 minutes were hers and she wasn’t going to feel bad. She sensed the eyes of others slide over her body and she luxuriated in the feeling. She wore a cream sleeveless silk shift, and bare legs. She finished the glass and poured herself a second. Sometimes, after a few glasses, she imagined that she too could have an affair.
She wondered when Mike had made the decision. Had it been as soon as he’d met the woman? Had her beauty been so astounding that he’d felt his whole body react? She’d seen a picture. She’d made him show her. She was attractive, but not a great beauty as far as Nathalie was concerned. Their counsellor said that it was part of her need to know and process the affair; that he needed to answer all her questions. How often did they have sex? Every time they met. Had he given her oral sex? Yes. Had they used a condom? Not always. Each word had felt like a sharp slit into her skin. Wounds that she didn’t know would ever heal. Yet he’d answered her questions with a deep, earnest look in his eyes, as though he was the most honest person alive. But there was one thing she hadn’t been able to ask him. When was the exact moment you decided you would jeopardise our children, our family for another woman? She couldn’t bring herself to ask, because maybe some part of her knew that it would push him over the edge, and she was scared of what would happen.
She took another luxurious sip of wine and closed her eyes. No, she wasn’t going to spend her precious moments to herself going over this again. She searched her mind for something positive to think about. Findlay had received a merit award in assembly, Sim was happy at preschool. Something positive about myself, she thought. But all she could come up with was this moment. Alone. Softening from the warmth of the wine inside her.
‘Hey, girl.’ Alexandra gave her shoulder a quick squeeze from behind. ‘Yay! No bedtime routine! Did you get out of bath as well?’
Nathalie gave her the thumbs up, even though she had bathed and fed the kids early so Mike didn’t have to do it. She felt suddenly teary and wiped the moisture from under her eyes, hoping Alexandra hadn’t seen.
‘Ah, sweet freedom.’ Alexandra flung one of the designer leather bags she was so fond of onto a stool and made a gesture towards the bar.
‘I’m already on my second glass,’ Nathalie indicated to the bottle. She felt her face colour, partly from the wine, partly from her confession about the wine. Alexandra waved her hand as if to say, ‘that’s nothing’, but Nathalie suddenly felt self-conscious.
‘Hey, I’ve got bad news. Amanda’s house has water damage. We can’t go away in January. It won’t be available ’til February.’
Alexandra’s face fell. ‘What the hell? What’s the good of February? The kids will be back at school.’
Nathalie winced, feeling somehow like it was her fault. ‘I know. Shame. I’ve been dying for a break. And with Christmas on the horizon and all the shopping and cooking . . . it was going to be the calm after the storm.’
‘Shit. Exactly. The next two weeks are going to be insane. I haven’t even started my present shopping.’ Alexandra rubbed her temples. ‘The kids will be sad, too. And now here we are getting together with Emmie and Pen, who frankly . . .’
‘What? We usually wouldn’t be having drinks and going away with?’
‘Well, yes. No. I don’t know. We hardly know them. But I guess it is technically Emmie’s prize. It just feels like yours, ’cause you know Amanda.’
‘It’s totally her prize. Emmie seems nice. I like her,’ Nathalie said.
‘You like everyone. Bugger it. Oh well, we’re out. We’re never out mid-week. It’s nearly Christmas. We are doing this, holiday or no holiday. Rosé good for the second bottle?’ Alexandra stormed off through the crowd to the bar.
Nathalie studied her half-empty second wine glass. Alexandra treated this as a blowout, a one-off but the truth was, it was a constant. Nathalie tried to locate the last night she hadn’t had a drink. She was surprised by the relief she felt when she realised it was a few weeks ago when she had been sick with a cold. She told herself that it was normal to have a few glasses at night. Richie took a bottle of formula overnight, and after that
last afternoon feed, it was her treat. Her one thing for herself. So, they had big wine glasses. They were Waterford crystal and part of the joy was the beautiful glasses, the ceremony. That first sip. Sometimes it was the only thing getting her through the day.
Alexandra returned with the wine and a buzzer for sweet potato fries, salt and pepper squid, and prawn pizzas.
‘How many glasses do you have a night? Of wine?’ Nathalie asked with a breezy, casual note in her voice.
Alexandra snorted. ‘Depends how shit my day has been.’
‘How about a seven out of ten. Seven and a half. That’d be most of your days, right?’
Alexandra gave her a reproachful look. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘You’ve got the studio, famous husband, your boys . . .’ Nathalie’s voice trailed off as she watched Alexandra’s face contort in disbelief.
Alexandra twisted the stem of her glass. ‘Truly. Does anyone have a seven-out-of-ten life? I mean, in real life. Not on social media.’
‘Well, clearly I do,’ Nathalie laughed darkly. My life is a joke, she thought, but it felt good to laugh.
‘Well, clearly. That’s why we’re all not-so-secretly jealous of you.’ Alexandra put her hand on Nathalie’s arm. ‘How are things with you anyway? I feel like we haven’t talked in ages.’
Nathalie took another sip of wine. Alex knew nothing of the affair. She hadn’t told a soul and she intended to keep it that way. Part of her wished she had the courage to tell her closest friend. Why was it so hard? My husband had an affair. It’s over now. He said it didn’t mean anything, not really. I haven’t kicked him out. He’s in therapy. We both are. He’s sworn he’ll never do it again. I’m shameful and weak. She poured more wine into her glass. ‘Oh, same old,’ she said. ‘Surviving. Just. Thank God I’m not pregnant again.’
‘What have we missed?’ Emmie and Pen arrived, giving shy little waves. New friends. They weren’t quite at the kissing on arrival stage yet.
‘Our holiday’s off. Boo,’ Alexandra said, frowning dramatically before brightening suddenly. ‘So, we’re drinking all the wine. Come and commiserate with us.’
‘No! What? How? It’s mine, I won it. I never win anything,’ said Emmie, effecting faux horror.
‘Yeah, well your luck has run out, lady. Nat has been texting Amanda and the place has water damage and won’t be available ’til February, which is pointless because school’s back.’
Emmie made a face. ‘Damn. That really sucks. Sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Nathalie said.
‘What a shame,’ said Pen. ‘My holidays just got approved, too.’
‘Look, it’s not ideal, but we’re being grown-ups and rolling with the punches because there is fried food and carbs on the way . . . and wine,’ Nathalie said, raising her glass.
‘If you say so,’ said Emmie, looking uncertain.
‘I do. Sit, sit. Drink.’
‘This place is nice,’ said Pen.
Night had snuck up on them and candles lit the tables, a string of bare bulbs illuminating the deck. Things spun pleasantly. Nathalie knew she shouldn’t have any more wine but she poured the others’ glasses before topping up her own.
She’d seen Pen around the school. She had the cool mum thing going on. Short dark hair, wet, as though she’d just stepped out of the shower, a piercing in her nose, bright lipstick. This was a woman who said it like it was. This was the kind of woman who would kick a cheating husband to the kerb.
‘Nat’s nearly three glasses in so you’ve got some catching up to do.’ Alexandra held up her near-empty glass.
Emmie laughed awkwardly and mimed a drinking gesture. She was more dressed up than usual, in a floral dress that showed off her curves. Nathalie was always envious of that body shape. Women with boobs and a butt looked so amazing and yet her own skinny, tall waif-like body was considered somehow aspirational.
‘You ladies look gorgeous,’ she said.
Emmie’s cheeks blushed to a shade of high crimson.
‘Hi, I’m Pen.’ Pen extended a hand as she sat down. ‘I don’t think we’ve met properly.’
‘You did Sophia Smith’s wedding, didn’t you?’ Alexandra nudged Nathalie. ‘Pen’s an amazing photographer from what I’ve heard.’
Pen worried a small hoop earring in her lobe. ‘That’s great to hear she liked the photos. She was an ace bride. Very laid-back. My favourite type. I don’t do heaps of weddings. I’m really a news photographer but, sometimes, I’ll do them if I know the couple aren’t going to be a nightmare.’
‘You mean not all brides are laid-back?’ Alexandra raised an eyebrow sarcastically and they all laughed.
‘Oh my God, the stories I have to tell, you wouldn’t believe,’ said Pen.
Alexandra moved towards her conspiratorially. ‘Oh, do tell.’
‘I think I’m going to need a bucket of wine first,’ said Pen.
‘On it,’ said Emmie, leaving for the bar.
CHAPTER 11
Emmie
Emmie made her way back to the table with a bottle and four fresh glasses. She’d ordered the most expensive bottle of prosecco on the list, which was something she’d never normally do. But she felt bad, as though it was her fault; her bad luck had rubbed off on their holiday. Who won a holiday and then lost it? Pathetic. It had all seemed a bit too good to be true. Who knew if it would even end up happening now? They were all so different and now there was no reason for them to go away and Alexandra didn’t seem that keen to reschedule. A thick wave of disappointment moved through her. But Nathalie was right, they were out, and she was going to try to enjoy herself. The bar buzzed with the allure and anticipation of the long stretch of summer holidays and Christmas. Everywhere the glint of sun-licked skin, bejewelled limbs and painted nails. It was as though the night-time had unleashed this gorgeous tribe that Emmie had almost forgotten existed – young people.
Of course, Nathalie and Alexandra fitted with this crowd. Was it their clothes, their nonchalance? The fact they didn’t look like ‘mums’? And why was it an insult to actually look like a mum anyhow? ‘Mumsy’ was a derogatory term and yet she knew that she embodied what it was to look mumsy: a little soft, a little boring-looking. She wasn’t sure why this bothered her. Maybe it was being in the proximity of yummier mummies. She thought of a newspaper article she had read about how the people you socialised with informed the way you thought about yourself. If you hung out with richer, more beautiful people your self-esteem would suffer. But on the plus side, you would be judged as better-looking yourself if your friends were good-looking.
As she excused her way through the crowd she observed her new friends – were they friends now that the reason for them getting together was gone? Alexandra and Nathalie were laughing at something Pen was saying and Emmie felt a spike of . . . what? Was she jealous? How infantile, she thought. Friendship isn’t a competition.
She placed the bottle carefully in the middle of the table, self-conscious of her low-cut dress as she bent over. Dave had made a low whistle when she’d walked into the lounge room wearing it and she’d felt a surge of confidence at his appreciation. Why was it that all that disappeared the moment she went out into the real world?
‘And then she – I kid you not – threw the bouquet at the groom’s face.’
‘Noooo,’ Alexandra and Nathalie cooed together.
Emmie proceeded to pour the prosecco, trying to pick up snatches of this dramatic wedding story. Now she really felt like the mum, slightly on the outer, doing the practical stuff while everyone else was having fun. Oh God, she thought to herself, pull yourself together. She was so prone to overthinking social situations, and victim mentality. She really didn’t like herself at times like these. She handed around the glasses and got out her phone to take some shots. It was a beautiful night. Light still hovered just where the horizon met the sky, as though the seams of the earth were on display.
‘Cheers. Smile everyone,’ she said. ‘Let me take a selfi
e. For the Mum’s Gone Wild Holiday Club that isn’t happening anymore,’ she said. ‘Ugh. Sounds like a lame movie I’d like.’
They all laughed, leaning in together as Emmie took a quick snap.
She snuck a look at the picture. It was impossible to get past how Nathalie looked. She was in a giggly mood, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. Emmie had already noticed the attention she commanded in the bar. People’s eyes lingered over her in a way that she didn’t even seem to register. What would it be like to hold that much power? thought Emmie. It was so easy to look at someone beautiful and believe that they had no problems. Or that if they did have problems, they would somehow be softened by everyone’s constant adoration.
Nathalie was describing a funny moment at her own wedding now and Emmie detected a slight slur to her words. She was obviously making the most of time away from her family.
‘We had like, 300 people, Mike comes from a big family. Italian heritage. His great-uncle was cracking on to me the whole time. It was hilarious.’
Emmie would have secretly loved to have had a big wedding. Instead she had pretended to be the kind of person who wanted something small and intimate. That’s what Dave had wanted and the shy part of her was relieved, but there was somewhere in her that longed for a bigger life, a brighter life. She imagined Nathalie before having kids, in a wedding dress. She wondered if her husband was insanely good-looking too.
‘Well, at least you didn’t have the paparazzi at your wedding. Maxwell insisted on selling ours to the trash mags. I was mortified,’ said Alexandra. ‘And I’m not just saying that for false modesty. It ruined our wedding day. Everywhere I looked there was either a camera or a white umbrella in my face.’
‘Oh, to stop the other media from getting the pics?’ asked Pen. ‘Yeah, I’ve done some high-profile weddings and it takes away from the intimacy. You can almost see how it’s setting the marriage up to be a certain way.’ Pen nudged Alexandra’s arm. ‘Oh, I don’t mean yours, sorry.’
The Valley of Lost Stories Page 7