The checkout woman rolls her eyes at me, but I don’t care. And while she’s busy scanning everything, I whip out my cell once more.
‘Alexa?’ I say. ‘Meet me at Yaffa’s in twenty. It’s an emergency.’
Having ducked back home in super-quick time and dumped the milk and ice-cream there (managing to avoid Dad and Susannah in the process), I then run, huffing and puffing in the heat, all the way to Yaffa’s. I’m almost melting during the last few steps.
I see Alexa waiting for me, sitting at one of the sidewalk tables underneath the café’s distinctive red awnings, its name spelled out in large yellow letters. Breathless, I slide into the seat next to her and wait to die. Running on a day like today is not a good idea at all.
A waitress approaches us. ‘Iced tea?’ she asks.
I nod.
‘That would be great,’ Alexa replies, and nods as well. ‘Um, are you okay there, Nessa?’
I shake my head, then realise I’m not actually dead after all, and nod again. ‘Give me a minute,’ I say, holding up one finger.
‘Did you want something to eat?’ Alexa picks up the menu in front of her.
I shake my head again. No way. I don’t feel like looking at the menu at Yaffa’s today. Toby and I came here on a date once. Coincidentally, the menu choices are named after Hollywood stars. Of course, Toby had the Bette Davis – grilled shrimp with avocado slices and mango salsa. He also had a side – a fight with the waiter because they’d spelt Bette’s name wrong on the menu (‘Betty’). I had the Marilyn Monroe – grilled marinated chicken breast with Roquefort and avocado. I’d really wanted the Brad Pitt – house club sandwich with grilled chicken breast, bacon, lettuce and tomato – but felt like I’d be being disloyal. Plus, every girl wants Brad Pitt, and I didn’t want to look like a cliché. Needless to say, it wasn’t much of a date.
The waitress brings our iced teas and I slurp half of mine back thirstily, before stopping for a quick brain freeze.
Alexa watches me, shaking her head. ‘Do I want to know what this big emergency is?’ she asks. ‘Should I be worried, very worried, or very, very worried?’
I reach up into my T-shirt and pull out the magazines, slapping them down on the table. I had to stuff them inside my clothes in case Dad and Susannah noticed – in fact, they barely even glanced my way as I entered and exited the apartment. (Sociology, it’s so fascinating, you can’t take your eyes off it.)
‘Nice,’ Alexa nods. ‘Sticky.’ But then she notices what sort of magazines they are and exactly what’s on the covers. ‘What are you doing?’ she says suddenly, her eyes widening as she looks up at me. ‘You know you’re not supposed to read those. Holly’s warned you about them.’
I take another sip of my tea before I answer. ‘I know, but –’
‘But nothing. Holly herself doesn’t read them. You know they completely freak her out. Remember that time she almost convinced herself that she’d had triplets as a teenager?’
‘Yes, but …’ I start to form a million different endings to this sentence in my mind. About how the magazines claim that Kent said this and that Holly said that. And about how their engagement was only called off because Kent did this and Holly did that. But, in the end, I can’t get the words out of my mouth. They sound silly. And wrong. Kind of like all the stuff with Susannah. ‘It’s just that …’ I start again. ‘I have this … kind of … gut feeling.’
Alexa groans.
‘No, it’s not like that,’ I try to assure her. I’ve had gut feelings before. And sometimes they haven’t been quite right. And I’m not exactly surprised that Alexa’s groaning. In fact, I’m surprised she’s not groaning louder and running away from me at top speed. ‘I know I’ve been wrong in the past, but …’
‘Wait.’ Alexa holds up one hand. ‘A gut feeling about what, exactly?’
I shrug. ‘I’m not sure. Just that something’s wrong.’ More like everything’s wrong – Susannah, Kent, the wedding. I pick at the edge of a menu with my fingernail.
‘Ness?’
I glance up at my best friend.
‘I know things are a bit weird for you right now,’ she says calmly, ‘but try to think about it logically.’
‘Think about what?’
‘Okay …’ Alexa takes a deep breath, then picks up a magazine in each hand. ‘Like I said, I know it’s weird, but so what if your dad has his gorgeous research assistant living with him while his fiancée’s away? And so what if Kent wants Holly back?’ At this, she points at one of the tabloid headlines. ‘And so what if Kent and Holly are having lunch together every day, and gymming, and driving around LA?’ Now she looks at the third tabloid, which is still lying on the table, and shrugs. ‘I know it’s freaking you out, but your dad has a whole lot of work to do. And it’s hardly surprising that Kent and Holly are having lunch and going to the gym and driving around if they’re working together – though if Kent wants Holly back that’s his problem. What it comes down to is this: Holly loves your dad like crazy and he loves her like crazy, and they’re getting married in eight days’ time. This time next week she’ll be a couple of blocks away getting her hair done, Susannah and Kent will be history, and everyone will be all set to live happily ever after. Trust me, that’s how it’s going to happen. As long as you don’t go crazy.’
I don’t say anything, but simply look from one of Alexa’s hands to the other. From one tabloid to the other. ‘But –’
‘Like I said before, but nothing. Think about it logically. Holly loves your dad. Your dad loves Holly. You know what? It’d be my guess that what you’re worrying about isn’t even about these …’ Alexa waves the tabloids again. ‘Do you want to tell me what you’re really worried about?’ she continues. ‘Because I think you already know the tabloids aren’t going to report the truth – that Holly’s going to get married and have a great day, and everyone’s going to have a fantastic time and eat cupcakes and way too much Italian food.’
Again, I don’t say anything.
‘Ness?’
I shrug.
‘Come on, Nessa …’ Alexa puts the tabloids down. ‘I don’t want to sound mean, but you’ve got to shake yourself out of this.’ She reaches forward now to touch my arm. ‘What’s really wrong?’
I shrug again. ‘I don’t know. It just … Things don’t feel right.’ Nothing feels right at the moment. Nothing at all.
Beside me, Alexa sighs. ‘I think you’ve got cold feet,’ she tells me. ‘And you’re not even the one getting married.’
I laugh slightly at this. ‘Maybe.’
Alexa looks at her watch. ‘Damn. Sorry, but I’ve really got to go. I promised my parents I’d go to this stupid archaeology benefit. They’re trying to raise money to buy some dusty old dead thing. I’ll see you tomorrow. At the final bridesmaid fitting. Okay?’ She digs into her pocket and leaves a couple of dollar bills on the table for her iced tea.
I nod.
‘Are you really okay?’ she asks again as she gets up to leave. ‘Did you want me to walk you home or something?’
I shake my head. ‘No, I’m okay. Like you said, I think I’ve just got cold feet.’
‘You are crazy. You adore Holly. And Holly adores you. And Holly and your dad adore each other. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ness.’
‘I know.’ That’s what doesn’t make sense to me. How can I be freaked out by something that’s just so right? ‘I’ll have a think about it tonight.’
Alexa pauses. ‘Maybe it’s about …’ she pauses again, hesitating, ‘your mum.’
My eyebrows raise at this. Alexa doesn’t know too much about my mother. I mean, she’s seen pictures of her and knows that she died when I was six, of a heart condition, but that’s about it. I know Dad still thinks about Mum a lot, and he tells me things about her from time to time – how I look a little like her, and things like that. But as for me, I don’t remember all that much about her. I remember smells, like her favourite perfume, and special days we all spent togethe
r, like when we went to Taronga Zoo in Sydney, and my first day at school, but not exactly what she looked like or how she’d say my name. The little things that somehow seem more important in the long run.
‘Do you think it’s about that?’ Alexa asks me. ‘Do you think it’s really about your dad getting remarried?’
I look up at her, standing above me. ‘I don’t know,’ I reply. The truth is, it would make sense if it were about my mum, but I don’t think it is about that at all. Dad asked me about it when he and Holly got engaged. I told him what I really thought, which was that I’d always be sad that I would never know my mum, but that I loved Holly and she was the best thing that ever happened to us. In a way, I wish Alexa was right, though. I wish all the strange feelings I’ve been having were about my mum, because at least then I’d have an answer to this. An answer to why I’m losing the plot.
‘Well, like you said, have a think about it.’ Alexa bends down and gives me a quick hug. She keeps holding my shoulders with her hands when she pulls back again. ‘And remember, life is short. You’re capable.’
‘What?’ I frown.
‘It’s a quote.’
‘Shakespeare?’ We did Romeo and Juliet last term at school and Alexa was forever quoting from it.
Alexa sighs. ‘Gwen Stefani. I’ll see you tomorrow, huh?’
Shakespeare. Honestly, Nessa. With my brain the way it is, I’d better not cross the road without adult supervision on the way home.
Having left the tabloids on the table at Yaffa’s, that evening, at home in my room, I try to work out what the problem really is. Maybe it is about having cold feet, like Alexa said. Maybe it’s that whole ‘pre-wedding jitters’ stuff I’ve been reading about in my bridal magazines. (Note to self: stop buying any and all magazines, Nessa; they’re the work of the devil.)
I think about calling Toby for a chat, which just makes me more depressed. I haven’t spoken to him since I saw him at the library on Thursday. I haven’t had a text, or an email. He hasn’t even IM-ed me. Marc has, though …
What do you get when you cross a blonde and a gorilla?
Who knows, there’s only so much a gorilla can be forced to do.
Go away, Marc!
I ignore his IM and, to cheer myself up, decide to pull out my collection of Marilyn DVDs, which Toby has now returned. And, strangely, when I open up the little silver cabinet I keep them in, one of them falls out onto the floor – The Seven Year Itch. I take it as a Marilynism, pop it into my DVD player and settle back on the bed, safe in the knowledge that my dad is busy, busy, busy with Susannah in the lounge room and will never know that I’m having a Marilyn-fest in the next room.
‘Hi, Nessa!’ Susannah says brightly, from the far end of the kitchen bench. It’s the worst possible thing to see first up on a Saturday morning – something washed, juiced (Juicy Coutured, that is), make-upped, bright, chirpy and all’s-well-with-the-world friendly. It’s like looking directly at the sun. Like being tied down to a chair and having to listen to the Celine Dion collection. Like having to watch Doris Day movies back to back.
Bleh.
I look away quickly in case her blondeness (is that a word, or should it be ‘blondity’?) blinds me. ‘Hi.’
‘Your dad’s just popped out for some croissants,’ she continues, stuffing some papers back in a folder.
But wait. Hang on. My sleepy eyes suddenly wake up. They’re not just any papers she’s stuffing there. And she’s not stuffing them into just any folder. They’re my papers. And my folder. The wedding folder. Susannah is going through Dad and Holly’s wedding folder …
‘What are you doing?’ I take the five steps over to her quickly.
‘I know. I’m sorry,’ she replies. ‘It was right on the edge of the bench and I brushed past it and it fell off. The papers kind of went everywhere. Don’t worry, though, none of them seems to be dirty or anything. They look fine.’
I take another two steps closer, right up to her now, and watch in disbelief as she places the papers back in the folder in completely the wrong order. ‘Here,’ I tell her, holding out my hand. ‘I’ll do it.’
Susannah hands over the papers still left in her hand and the folder. ‘I’m sorry. I’m doing it all wrong, aren’t I?’ She laughs slightly as she says this.
I bite back my ‘Yes’ and start flicking through the papers, placing them in the right order. Florist, restaurant, hotel …
‘Ooohh, Nico’s,’ she says, handing over the last piece of paper – a menu. ‘I’ve been there. Isn’t it just the best?’
I glance up for a second, before going back to sorting my papers. I’ve got most of them in the correct order now. All of them except one. I take a quick step back, then to the left, then to the right, looking at the surrounding floor area. Finally, I look back up at Susannah.
‘Is there something missing?’ Her eyes widen, all innocence.
My teeth grind together. ‘The marriage licence,’ I say. ‘The marriage licence is missing.’
Susannah’s eyes widen further. ‘You can’t find the marriage licence?’ She runs around to the other side of the kitchen bench, back again, then gets down on her hands and knees.
I watch her little show and, slowly, cross my arms.
‘Have another look,’ she says, looking up at me from the floor. ‘Only a couple of things fell out and they fell out right here, on the floor. It must be here somewhere.’
‘I’ve already had a look. It’s not there.’
Slowly, Susannah stands up. ‘It must be.’ When she’s finally standing again, she goes to reach for the folder. ‘Maybe if I have a look …?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I say, pushing the folder away.
Susannah takes a step back. ‘Maybe you –’
‘Maybe you took it out,’ I interrupt. My heart is racing at a million beats per second.
She takes another step back, frowning now. ‘Sorry? Why would I take it out?’
My heart pummels against my chest. It’s now or never. ‘Because you’re Eve.’
‘Eve?’
‘Eve and The Girl all rolled into one,’ I tell her.
There’s a long pause. ‘Eve? And what girl? I’m sorry, Nessa, I don’t understand.’
Standing my ground in front of her, I don’t say anything.
‘Nessa, are you all right?’ Susannah asks after a while. ‘Did you want me to give your dad a call perhaps?’
I wake up to myself now. ‘No.’ Definitely, definitely no. I have just accused Susannah of being like a nameless character in a Marilyn Monroe film. I definitely, definitely do not want to give my dad a call right now. Maybe watching The Seven Year Itch last night was a mistake after all … I try to calm myself down. Especially when I catch a glimpse of Susannah’s expression. She’s looking at me as if I’m kind of … weird. I shrug. ‘I guess I’m just a bit stressed.’
Susannah pauses, then nods understandingly. ‘Planning a wedding is hard, huh?’
I shrug again.
‘And I guess me being clumsy doesn’t help.’
I don’t look at her.
‘Is there, um, something I can help with? I might be able to squeeze a bit of time in with you today when I’m finished with your dad.’
My back goes up again at the sound of this. That’s all I need – Susannah in on all my wedding plans. Not likely.
‘No thanks,’ I mumble, then glance at the time. If I don’t hurry I’m going to be late for Alexa and my bridesmaid dress fitting in the West Village. But I still can’t see the marriage licence anywhere. ‘I’ve got to go,’ I say, as I head back towards my bedroom. ‘If you find the licence, or any other papers, give me a call.’
I have the fastest shower ever, throw on any clothes I can find, and then spend the last ten minutes I have before I’m really going to be late combing through my bedroom, the wedding folder and the kitchen for the marriage licence. I can’t find it anywhere. It’s simply gone. I saw it yesterday, when I was at the florist, at the Mercer
and at Nico’s, and I even saw it just before I left the folder on the kitchen bench at home, so I know I didn’t lose it somewhere along the way.
By the time I hurl myself in and out of the subway and get to the dressmaker, I’m distraught.
‘Hey, Ness,’ Alexa greets me outside the dressmaker’s studio, and it’s all I need to set me off. I burst out crying. ‘Ness! What’s the matter?’
‘Marriage … licence … gone.’ I manage to gulp out the few words.
‘What? What do you mean “gone”? Gone where?’
‘Gone.’ My hands are flailing around and people are beginning to stare as they walk past. ‘Disappeared.’ I burst out crying again.
Alexa sits me down on the front step of the studio and pats my back until I calm down. Eventually I’m able to tell her about what happened this morning.
‘Wow. That’s strange,’ she says when I’m done. Her eyes flick sideways to meet mine. ‘But do you really think Susannah took it? I mean, why would she do that?’
‘I don’t know. Because she doesn’t want Dad and Holly to get married maybe.’
Alexa gives me a ‘Really?’ look.
‘All I know is it’s gone,’ I tell her. ‘It was there yesterday, at home. On the bench. And this morning it’s gone and Susannah was fiddling around with all the papers.’
Alexa frowns. ‘It does seem like a bit of a coincidence,’ she admits.
‘Girls?’ A head pops out of the door behind us. It’s Jacqui, the dressmaker. Holly recommended her to us, as she’d worked with her on a film once and thought her ideas were great. ‘We really need to get going with those fittings. Nessa, if I could have you first?’
‘Sorry, Jacqui.’ I jump up, giving the occasion the urgency it deserves. With all the marriage licence fuss going on, I’d completely forgotten about the fitting.
Alexa looks up at me from the front step. ‘Here, give me the folder while you’re inside,’ she says.
The Seven Month Itch Page 6