The First Year

by Genevieve Gannon

  ‘Better?’ he asked.

  She nodded and sniffed loudly, pretending to search for something among the mess on her work bench.

  ‘Here.’ He pulled a tissue from the box on her drawing table.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She looked up just in time to see Seth’s face coming towards her. She began to say, ‘stop’ but her voice was muffled as he pressed his lips to hers. His hand went to the back of her head, and the surprise, combined with the pressure, meant their lips were locked together for a second, maybe too, before Saskia withdrew and said hotly, ‘Seth! What the hell was that?’

  ‘I thought—’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ she muttered, rubbing her lips with the back of her hand.

  ‘Sorry.’ His tone was defensive. ‘I just—’

  ‘I think you should go.’ She pointed to the door.

  Seth ejected a puff of air.

  Her cheeks burned as she watched him leave. She snatched the box containing Andy’s present from her desk and put it in her bag. Regret was pooling in her belly. She would go to Andy’s now and she would beg him to forgive her for her stupidity and her stubbornness. She would beg him to give them another chance, and if he asked what had brought this on she would tell him the truth. Seth had woken her up. If she wasn’t careful, she would lose Andy for good.

  *

  ‘I’m impressed with Saskia taking on that big fashion label,’ Hugh said as a tendril of smoke unspooled from the tip of his cigar. ‘She must be pretty confident. What evidence does she have?’ He blew a jet of blue into the air.

  ‘I don’t know anything more than you,’ Andy said, refilling his champagne glass.

  ‘What?’ Hugh sat forward. ‘I assumed you were running it for her. I figured you’d offered to take on the case pro bono. How else could she possibly afford to fight an operation like Fetch?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Andy said. ‘She’s . . . very determined.’

  ‘Ando,’ Hugh fixed Andy with a stare, ‘how long are you going to let this go on?’

  Andy hunched forward on his chair and didn’t speak as his mind replayed the scene at Tiba’s for the hundred thousandth time.

  ‘I went to her restaurant,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Her restaurant?’

  ‘It’s a long story. But I went there and she threw me out. I think I have to leave it to her to let me know when she’s ready to talk.’ He ran his finger around the rim of his glass.

  This was as much as Andy was willing to admit to Hugh. What he didn’t tell him, was that he felt like she was in the wrong too. And she was punishing him, even after he had tried to smooth things out.

  They fell into a pensive silence, then both jumped a little when the doorbell rang.

  ‘Speak of the devil?’ Hugh said hopefully.

  The bell rang again. And again and again, as if a child was pressing it.

  ‘That will be Alberto,’ Andy said, getting to his feet.

  A moment later Hugh heard ebullient Italian. ‘Andy! Tanti Aguri.’ Followed by the pop of a champagne cork.

  Alberto swaggered into the lounge room with a woman under each arm.

  ‘Alberto, you remember Hugh?’ Andy said.

  ‘Yes, yes!’ Alberto shouted and laughed. ‘This is Natasha and Penelope.’

  Hugh looked at his watch. ‘I think my curfew’s about to kick in. Sorry, Ando. Wish I could stay.’

  ‘Of course, of course. Go, say hi to Tilly. And good luck. Let me know any news as soon as you’re able.’

  ‘Thanks, Ando, thanks.’

  It was not usual for the men to hug, but the occasion seemed to warrant it. In all likelihood, the next time Andy saw Hugh he would be a father.

  ‘You’re leaving so soon?’ Alberto, as always, spoke at a volume several levels louder than everyone else.

  ‘’Fraid so. It was good to see you again, Alberto,’ Hugh said.

  Alberto poured Moet into Andy’s wedding crystal. ‘One more, one glass before you go!’ he hollered at Hugh, who was already standing.

  ‘Next time, Alberto.’

  ‘I’ll show you out,’ Andy said.

  ‘One glass, just one glass,’ Alberto followed them up the hallway with the crystal glass held aloft and the two women trotting behind him on stilettos.

  *

  As Saskia drove towards Toorak with the small box on the car seat beside her, thoughts whizzed around her mind like hummingbirds. She was going to throw all pride aside and state plainly that she regretted her part in their rift, and tell Andy that she loved him. She wanted to touch him as she said the words. Perhaps putting her hand to his chest, or taking him by the hand. The thought of skin-to-skin contact with Andy again warmed her heart as her draughty Datsun motored towards Toorak. How had she let things go this far? Because she was stubborn and stupid, that’s how. She cursed herself and pressed her foot down harder on the accelerator.

  Soon she was pulling up outside the flat on the far side of the road. The light was on. She exhaled. Andy was home. She had been prepared for the possibility he would be out. She had also been prepared to wait for him. She rubbed her lips vigorously to remove any trace of Seth. Just as she was unclipping her seatbelt, Andy’s front door swung open. She saw Hugh Delahunty step out, then Andy appeared in the doorway. She felt a rush of love and longing. They seemed to be saying goodbye, meaning Andy would be alone. She sunk down in her seat, deciding she would wait until Hugh had driven away. Just as Hugh was turning to walk down the steps, he stopped, as if called, and she saw someone appear beside Andy. Alberto. He was holding a glass of what looked like champagne, and yelling garrulously. She saw a woman hanging off Alberto. And then a second face came into view, this one framed by long blond hair. Now Saskia’s pulse slowed, and she had the sensation of being able to hear each one of her heart’s tortured beats. ‘It wouldn’t be,’ her brain said. ‘It couldn’t be.’

  For all that had happened between them over the past few months, she knew, she just knew Andy would not be fooling around with another woman. They would be Alberto’s friends, she told herself. Andy couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

  And yet, she very nearly had that afternoon.

  The door closed and Saskia could no longer see what they were doing.

  Her face flushed. She keeled forward and threw open the car door to let in some air. She felt like she was going to vomit.

  She sat in the darkness, alone, for an hour, maybe more, trying to process what had unfolded before her. She studied the outside of the house for clues of what could be going on. It gave away nothing. She looked at the box on the seat beside her.

  Her courage had cooled and it was getting late. She scooped up the box, climbed out of the car and crossed the street. She stood in front of the subdivided mansion where she had lived with Andy, unsure what to do. The letterbox presented an alternative. She lifted its lid and placed the present inside. The noise of men laughing penetrated the double-glazed windows and floated across the front lawn. She turned around, hurried back across the street to her car and drove home to Randa’s.

  Day 338, Tuesday, September 15

  Saskia tingled with nerves as the court security guard waved his metal detector over her body.

  ‘Jewellery?’

  ‘I’m sorry what?’

  ‘Are you wearing any jewellery?’

  He held the wand over her chest, causing it to peep wildly.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Dazed, Saskia pulled on the chain around her neck that held a thick silver pendant concealed behind her jacket.

  ‘That’d be it,’ the guard said. ‘You can go through.’

  She gave a vague smile and stepped into the hallway. Her mind was running in a hundred different directions at once: all the work they had done, the trial, the outcome, what it would mean if she lost, and what it would mean if she won. And of course, what had happened the week before at Andy’s. There had been no word from him since she’d left the gift. It was over then, she thought numbly. It was over.

&nbs
p; ‘Sas!’ Annie’s voice pulled Saskia from her reverie. ‘I can’t believe this day has finally come.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ She hugged Annie, who was the first witness Paddy was going to call. ‘Nervous?’

  Annie narrowed her eyes. ‘Not even a little bit. I’ve got an answer for every question that barrister could throw at me. I wrote them all out of cue cards and drilled them all night.’

  This settled Saskia’s own nerves. ‘Sounds like exam prep.’

  ‘You know I was dux of my high school, right?’

  They wished each other good luck and parted.

  Saskia pushed open the courtroom door and was met with hundreds of eyes. Having read about the trial, large sections of Melbourne’s art community had turned out to watch the legal battle. The public gallery looked like it was in bloom. The seats were filled with a riotous bouquet of pink hair, glittery hats, red glasses, orange lipstick, patterned stockings, purple Mohawks and sequinned shirts.

  The assembly murmured as she entered. Saskia could feel the eyes follow her as she made her way towards the bar table. A woman seated near the entry grabbed Saskia’s arm as she passed.

  ‘Thank you for doing this.’ She was wearing a dress composed of blue toile panels, which Saskia recalled from artists’ markets gone by. ‘This happened to me in 2010,’ she whispered. ‘A homewares chain copied one of my original patterns. I spoke to a lawyer. She said for a $35 lampshade I shouldn’t even bother trying to fight it.’

  June Rein was seated in the front row, wearing one of her cockroach-in-glass-bulb pendants. ‘Good luck,’ she mouthed to Saskia. Beside her was Luna Portman, who nodded her head of rainbow dreadlocks and pounded her chest with a balled fist of solidarity.

  A few seats over was Catherine Wolfe, a graphic designer Saskia recognised, but didn’t know personally. Catherine gave her two thumbs up and said, ‘I’m so glad you’re doing this. One of the big department stores took one of my drawings and printed it on a tea towel. When I wrote to them they offered me five thousand lousy dollars. Everyone said I would be mad not to take it. Then they exported my design all around the world.’

  Others around Catherine murmured.

  ‘I wish I’d had the guts to do this,’ a man with blue hair said. ‘Fetch has been ripping off my ideas for years.’

  Behind them Saskia saw her father waving and grinning. He nudged someone beside him and her mother poked her face out from behind a tall top hat.

  Saskia felt a rush of emotion.

  ‘Mum,’ she mouthed. ‘You came.’

  Lorna was wearing a periwinkle-blue hat she had bought for Queen Elizabeth’s visit to Melbourne. She untucked a lace handkerchief from her pocket and waved it at Saskia, like she had for Queen Liz in 2000. Saskia nodded back, feeling like she was about to perform at a recital.

  And then someone called from behind her. ‘Sas.’ She knew who it was before she turned, and when she faced him she could barely speak.

  ‘Andy.’

  He was wearing his best blue suit and holding a large yellow envelope. The courtroom around them seemed to melt away.

  ‘Sas,’ he said again, softer. ‘I got your present.’ His fingers brushed the fine silver tiepin clipped to the blue and red stripe Versace tie Saskia had bought him for their anniversary.

  They stared at each other for a moment until he said, ‘I love it.’

  Saskia was stunned. ‘I hoped you would.’

  The pin was curved, like half a victory laurel; the leaves were intricate and cut with infinitesimal care. It matched the wreath on the ear cuff Saskia was wearing today. The one she was there to defend.

  ‘I wanted to say thank you,’ said Andy. ‘And, I wanted to be here to support you.’

  ‘Thank you . . .’ Saskia stammered. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  Everything that had happened hung between them, as present and tangible as fog. Saskia looked over her shoulder. Paddy was at the bar table. Well-dressed minions were unloading suitcases of paper at the Fetch end of the court. Saskia turned back to Andy. ‘I’d really like to talk later but I assume you’ll have to get back.’

  ‘No, I took the day off.’

  ‘Oh.’ Joy surged through her veins.

  ‘Saskia!’ Paddy beckoned her to the bar table.

  ‘Here.’ Andy handed the envelope he’d been holding to her. ‘I should have thought to get it to you weeks ago.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s the judge’s ruling in the Foxy Frocks matter. Your lawyer might find it useful.’

  ‘Andy . . .’

  But the man in green had gotten to his feet and announced, ‘All rise’. The sound of his ceremonial voice bouncing off the vaulted ceiling stirred up the nervous butterflies in Saskia’s stomach. Judge Flower entered the courtroom. She hurried to her seat as he bowed to the congregation.

  ‘Mr Kirkpatrick,’ Judge Flower said. ‘You may begin.’

  *

  Paddy spoke well, Saskia thought. He only stumbled a couple of times, and recovered all but seamlessly. He spoke passionately about originality and what he called ‘the flame of creativity’. Low cheers rippled from the back of the courtroom. Mr Lawler was less engaging. He tossed around a lot of names of cases and said hardly anything about the Hero cuff at all.

  As a witness, Annie’s performance was faultless. At Paddy’s behest, she explained when Saskia had first shown her the cuff, how she’d seen the design develop, and how its popularity had gained momentum with each passing day. She had dressed in a pin-stripe suit and looked impeccable, unflappable. Credible, was how Paddy described her. She almost seemed to relish Mr Lawler’s cross-examination, anticipating the questions before he completed them.

  When Saskia and Paddy stepped outside of the court building at the end of the first day, Cecilia Carmichael was waiting at the base of the steps with her notepad and a photographer, along with a camera crew from the ABC.

  ‘Miss Hill, how did it go? Do you want to comment?’ Cecilia asked, thrusting her digital recorder in Saskia’s face.

  ‘I don’t want to say anything while the case is running, but I’ll do an interview afterwards,’ Saskia said.

  ‘I’ll comment.’ Catherine Wolfe appeared over Saskia’s shoulder. ‘Big brands like Fetch have been ripping off independent artists for far too long.’

  ‘Do you claim Fetch has copied your designs too?’ Cecilia asked.

  ‘I can prove it,’ said Catherine.

  ‘And what’s your name?’ The journalist began to write.

  Paddy guided Saskia towards his car. ‘We can go back to my office and take a look at that Foxy Frocks judgment.’

  Saskia’s head swivelled, searching. ‘Paddy, can we just hang back a bit for a moment?’

  The technicolour crowd was spilling out of the court onto the street. Saskia looked for blond hair and blue eyes. She couldn’t let Andy leave without speaking to him. She spotted his raised hand. He elbowed his way through the crowd.

  ‘I found you,’ he said.

  ‘Patrick Kirkpatrick,’ Paddy offered his hand.

  ‘Andrew Colbrook. I thought you did a fine job today, Mr Kirkpatrick.’

  Paddy beamed and rocked and forth on his heels. ‘Well, thank you, very kind of you to say. You obviously have an interest in this sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes. This is a matter very close to my heart.’

  ‘Andy’s the lawyer who ran the Foxy Frocks case I showed you,’ Saskia explained.

  ‘Did you now? We’re going to my office, I don’t suppose you’d care to join us?’

  Andy turned to Saskia. ‘May I?’

  ‘Of course.’ Her heart soared.

  ‘You’d be most welcome,’ Paddy told him. ‘Sounds like you might have some insight.’

  Day 355, Friday, October 2

  Fetch called every designer in their company as a witness, plus a good portion of senior management. There had been a delay when one of the witnesses got sick. Then another delay. Andy had not been able to co
me to court every day but he had often joined Paddy and Saskia in the dingy arcade office of Kirkpatrick and Co to eat takeaway and discuss the progress of the case.

  He would arrive around 7 p.m. then leave around nine. Saskia had to stay and help Paddy review the day’s evidence. She and Andy never had a moment without Paddy present. And he remained disappointingly professional throughout, arguing over points of law with the Irishman.

  Saskia told herself it was a good thing that she wasn’t being distracted, and that when it was all over, they would talk.

  In the meantime, Andy was proving invaluable.

  ‘If we could only find some evidence that someone at Fetch had seen the cuff,’ he said over and over.

  *

  It was the last day of the trial. Andy had come, and was sitting just behind Paddy. The defence’s last witness was finally in the stand. She was a Fetch designer named Amanda Fyfe. Mr Lawler had led her through her evidence and she had performed superbly.

  Elinor Durchenko was perched at the end of the bar table, with a smug grin on her face.

  ‘There’s no evidence anyone from Fetch has ever even seen the cuff,’ Mr Lawler said. ‘For all of her posturing, Ms Hill hasn’t sold that many items. A mere couple of hundred.’

  Saskia’s stomach acid boiled. Insulting her was an hourly habit of Mr Lawler’s.

  ‘It’s a tactic,’ Paddy kept telling her. ‘Don’t let it rile you.’

  She nodded, but still fantasised about a sink hole opening up under the arrogant barrister’s feet as he continued his monologue. ‘Fetch itself moves more than ten times that amount,’ he said. ‘And as we’ve already discussed, the item itself is a copy of an iconic Roman wreath. It may be expressed differently, but you cannot exclude the possibility that a Fetch designer came up with the very same idea as Ms Hill at roughly the same time, given there is no evidence to the contrary.’

  At this Paddy slowly turned to Andy, who had been ducking in and out of court. Andy gave Paddy and thumbs-up signal, and Paddy nodded in return, a small smile on his lips.

  Next it was Paddy’s turn to cross-examine the witness. But it was Andy who stood.