by Bree Darcy
“Aaah, this is the life.” Andy cast his eye over the Esplanade where hordes of people were soaking up the sun, watching their children amuse themselves on the playground shaded by giant pine trees.
“You should have brought Caprice along,” Dawn said, nudging Andy with her foot. “I totally dig your cousin.”
Caprice was the same age as Andy and with her living next door, we’d become good friends. A few weekends back, I invited her to join our group of girls at a city rally to stop violence against women.
Caprice had been tentative at first but soon became as fired up as the more seasoned protesters. She got talking to a woman who volunteered at a women’s shelter and the last I heard Caprice, who was doing a hairdressing apprenticeship, was planning to talk to her boss about offering free haircuts there one morning a month.
“I think she was worried that some rabid feminists would make her burn her bra,” Dawn laughed after I explained to Andy how she knew Caprice. “She was wearing her favourite Elle Macpherson red polka-dot one too.”
Andy grimaced. “Too much information about my cousin’s underwear, thanks.”
“I think it’s great she wants to make a difference,” Dawn continued. “You must have been to some wicked rallies in San Francisco? Gay rights, PETA, anti-war?”
“Nope,” he replied. “Never been to any. But let me know if ever there’s one about legalising marijuana. That’s the only cause I believe in.”
Dawn shot me a bemused look, before cajoling Corey into making the long trek back to his car with her picnic hamper.
Dawn and I stayed stretched out on the lawn, while Nikki and Andy rushed over to the playground. They raced each other down the dual slides, before challenging each other to see who could go highest on the swings.
Finally Nikki plonked herself back down next to us. “So what do you think of the Shrimp?” she asked Dawn.
That was the question I’d been dying to ask.
Dawn looked up from her delicate daisy-chain-making operation. “Well, his accent is annoying and his political views are questionable. He desperately needs a haircut. He’s got so many piercings he looks like he’d spring a leak in the shower. And he’s certainly no Dan.”
We all looked over at Andy, who was hanging upside down on the monkey bars, chatting to some little girls with his curtain of hair trailing on the ground. He was certainly nothing like Dan.
“But I’ve never seen you happier. So I guess I’ll have to learn to like him.” Dawn smiled before sadistically adding: “But if he hurts you, I’ll kill him.” She yanked a knot too hard and the daisy chain broke apart.
* * *
Roadhouse Blues was playing as Andy placed his hand on my thigh. With the hot wind tunnelling through the car, we rolled further into the countryside, passing grazing sheep and boulders scattered around as if giants had been playing marbles. As Jim Morrison continued to croon in the background, only the occasional car passed us now. I trailed my fingers up Andy’s leg, playing havoc with his ability to concentrate on the road.
“Should I turn around and head back to mine?” he asked.
I leant over and nuzzled his earlobe. “I don’t want to wait until we get home.”
At the next crossroads, Andy steered the car down a bumpy track. Once we were far enough away from the main road, he pulled over to the side, a cluster of eucalyptus trees shading the car.
I slid off my seatbelt. Andy unbuckled his too and turned to me, desire glinting in his eyes. I clambered over the gear stick and straddled his lap. Our kisses became more urgent, and I fumbled with his belt buckle. Andy moaned as he sucked in his stomach, my hand yanking down his fly, releasing him from inside his jeans.
Without a word we both squeezed over the front seat into the back of the van.
Jammed inside a baking-hot car was not how I’d envisaged my first time. Far from it. And since meeting Andy I’d imagined our first time, many times, fuelled by all those well-choreographed love scenes I’d seen in movies.
Andy finally collapsed on top of me, breathing hard. “You all right?” he murmured.
I hugged him tight in reply.
“I love you, babe.”
“I love you too,” I replied, kissing his sweaty forehead.
As we drove home that afternoon, I realised all those sex ed classes had been for nothing. In the heat of the moment we totally forgot about condoms.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Have fun with my mother,” said Curtis, giving me a peck on the top of my head.
I watched him from the bedroom window as he strode to his black Lexus. My husband hadn’t changed much over the years, not in looks anyway. His sandy hair had receded slightly but all that cycling and his tad-over-six-foot height meant he still cut quite a statuesque figure.
Curtis carefully draped his jacket along the back seat and then, with a frown, tapped a message into his phone. Seven-thirty and the work day of a pharmaceutical sales director had well and truly begun. He was wining and dining some Singaporean clients tonight so I’d be lucky to see him again before eleven.
One thing was for certain, I thought, hanging up a new bespoke suit from his Hong Kong tailor Roy Chan, Curtis was definitely better dressed now than when I first met him. Back then I was a reporter for the Sunday Gazette doing a stint in Canberra for the May parliamentary sitting, shadowing the legendary bureau chief Lance Frame. Behind his charming Scottish brogue was a real caustic personality and “wee lasses” just starting out, like myself, were sitting targets for his barrage of criticism.
I had booked to stay on for an extra week of sightseeing. When I mentioned my holiday plans to my colleagues, they scoffed. You didn’t need a week to see the capital city, they told me. It was boring – full of public servants and academics from the Australian National University. Plus it would be freezing this time of year.
That night, I’d taken up the offer of a guest pass to a screening of the movie everyone was talking about, Pulp Fiction, at the ANU Film Club. As the lecture theatre filled up, I pulled a copy of Rolling Stone from my bag. I’d bought it at the campus bookstore after spotting some familiar faces on the cover. The article, entitled Danger Ahead, talked about the band’s recent troubles and the upcoming release of their new album.
I only glanced up again when two men claimed the seats next to me. The blond one closest to me accidentally elbowed me as he made himself comfortable, letting his long legs sprawl out. What was it with guys having no concept of personal space, I thought as I angled my body away from him.
“Popcorn?” He waved the container in my face.
“No thanks,” I replied.
“Music fan, are you?” he said, nodding at my magazine. “I always thought that band over-rated.”
I smiled tightly and continued to read.
“Have you seen Reservoir Dogs? Tarantino is quite something,” he continued, cramming a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“No. I’m only here to see John Travolta. I’ve watched Grease forty-nine times.”
That shut him up. But I couldn’t help but eavesdrop as he chatted with his friend, who definitely ticked all the nerd boxes. Grey cardigan, check. Thick glasses with cord attached, check. Conversation about saliva samples, yuck.
My neighbour turned back to me. “So do you come here often?”
Now that’s an original line. Even his geeky mate sniggered so I decided to take pity on him. “No, first time. Have you been over from England long?”
“Aah, you detected my accent. Since January.”
“Studying what?” I prompted.
“How do you know I’m a student?” he asked.
“You look like a student.” Jeans, corduroy jacket and grubby sneakers were not the look of a public servant who had just logged off for the night.
But he didn’t get a chance to reveal his area of study, as the lights dimmed and the movie started. My neighbour tapped my arm, indicating he’d made space for me on our armrest. The room didn’t have the most effic
ient heating, so it was kind of nice to have some warmth as our arms nestled together. I felt a ripple of electric charge between us – corduroy must give off static.
At the end, he invited me for a coffee. His friend had left partway through because he didn’t like violent movies – I’m not really sure what he expected from a movie about hitmen!
“Don’t forget your magazine,” he said, gesturing at the copy lying on the floor.
“Nah, it’s okay,” I said, stepping over it. “There’s nothing in there to interest me.” Instead I took the hand held out to me.
And that’s how I met my husband.
The next day Curtis showed me the sights of Canberra by bike. The day after we did the National Gallery, then a cruise on Lake Burley Griffin. I couldn’t have asked for a more charming tour companion.
Curtis was two years older than me and came from Kent in England. He was working on his PhD in molecular pharmacology (don’t ask me to explain what that involved) and was aiming to get into clinical research. He was into sci-fi shows, new-wave bands like Blondie and Eurythmics, and lived on roast beef and gravy rolls from the cafeteria.
On our final night together, we shared our first kiss on the deck of the Black Mountain tower, with the shimmering city lights in the distance. Warm lips on a frosty night – a location scout for the next Meg Ryan-Tom Hanks rom-com couldn’t have found a more romantic setting.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you,” Curtis said as he stroked my cheek.
My heart melted a little. “Really?” I cocked my eyebrow. “Because I actually had my eye on your friend in the cardigan. But now I’ve got to know you better …”
I silenced Curtis’ laughter by pressing my lips against his again, and as he wrapped his scarf around me to keep me warm, my heart melted a bit more.
The next morning, I caught the shuttle bus to the airport, disappointed to have only made tentative plans to catch up if Curtis ever decided to swing by Perth.
But then fate interceded, with my boss informing me a spot had opened up on the Canberra team and Lance Frame was more than happy to have me aboard. My first call was to my mother, who was ecstatic to hear my news. My second call was to Curtis, who invited me to move in with him.
It was an intense six months, with Curtis working on his research and me immersing myself in the world of politics. Having someone to come home to at the end of a hard day in a strange city was so gratifying – someone to massage away the tension of hours spent hunched over a computer; someone to wipe away the tears after Frame’s latest insult; someone who was happy to lull me to sleep talking about his thesis.
But we both knew our relationship was never meant to last. With Curtis’ student visa expiring at the end of the year, he was already weighing up his options. His older brother, Ewan, was getting married the following year, so his family was keen for him to return to England straightaway. That became the definite plan when Curtis was offered a post-doctoral researcher position in Sheffield and a chance to work on a trial drug that targeted stomach tumours.
For our last week together we booked a holiday at a Thai resort. Then on the last night of our trip Curtis surprised me by proposing. And I totally surprised myself by saying yes.
And all of a sudden – diverting right off my five-year plan – I was handing in my resignation and winging my way to England. Where I was to meet my future mother-in-law. And discover my partner was from a stinking rich family.
* * *
I stretched out my legs beneath the table and took in a deep breath of sea air. Bondi’s Icebergs was the perfect spot to while away a gorgeous spring day watching the lifeguards race into the surf to rescue drowning backpackers.
But I couldn’t let myself get too comfortable. I had to be on guard for Delia’s ulterior motive. It was not every day she invited only me to lunch – over all these years I could count the similar occasions on one hand, actually make that one finger.
I ordered an antipasto plate, while Delia tossed up between fettuccini chilli prawns or Thai salt and pepper squid as the waiter pretended to wait patiently for her order.
“The chilli prawns sound nice, Delia.” My suggestion was sure to prompt her towards the other option and sure enough my mother-in-law finally settled on the squid.
The sea breeze was in but Delia’s short, ash brown hair was lacquered to withstand tornado gusts. She took a sip of her white wine before unleashing her first dig of the day. “I didn’t get a chance to mention it before but I caught Ciara watching the most inappropriate musical videos at our house. I insisted the TV be switched off immediately.” Delia fiddled with her cutlery, moving her dessert spoon and fork into silver service position at the top of her plate. “I know you’re often preoccupied so don’t notice what she’s up to. But these impressionable young girls shouldn’t be exposed to that … that filth. Who knows where it might lead?” Delia furrowed her brow as she was no doubt imagining her granddaughter dancing to a raunchy video clip one minute, gyrating in a strip club the next.
I’m sure if we switched off Ciara’s access to the music channels, she would only find a way to intravenously hook herself up to YouTube. Thank goodness Delia couldn’t access her Tumblr account. Some of the images on there even had me blushing.
Delia didn’t wait for a response as she continued her barrage. “And has Ryan had a haircut yet? I offered to take him to Thomas’ barber but he refused. He can hardly see with all that hair in his eyes. Holyoakes won’t take too kindly to such a scruffy look. The last thing you want is him being judged poorly by his teachers.”
I couldn’t let this one slide. “That’s how a lot of boys look these days. If a teacher judges Ryan according to his hair style, then they’re not much of a teacher in my book.”
Thankfully things had settled down with Ryan. Curtis and I had a long talk with him about the bullying and he swore it was all an over-reaction by the teachers. That it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. I certainly had no intention of discussing the matter with my mother-in-law. She would no doubt find a way to blame it on his hair. Or on me.
Delia pursed her lips to signal her disapproval before whipping out photos of her other grandchildren visiting some stately home and car museum in England. I noted all of Curtis’ nephews had their hair neatly clipped into a short-back-and-sides.
After our waiter served our meals, Delia finally raised the purpose of our little tete-to-tete – to discuss my plans for Curtis’ fortieth birthday, which fell two weeks before Christmas. Still two months away.
“I haven’t asked him what he wants to do yet. Night out at the casino?” I suggested.
Delia winced.
“Barbecue at home?”
She winced again. “This has to be our little secret but Ewan rang last week. He’s flying over with Felicity and the boys to spend Christmas with us and is planning to arrive in time for his brother’s birthday. Isn’t that simply marvellous news?”
Delia clapped her hands together in delight. Her oldest son, Ewan, had always been the apple of her eye and his wife, Felicity, was like the daughter she’d never had.
“So we thought it would be lovely to throw Curtis a proper party. From my preliminary guest list, we’re looking at about three hundred people. I was thinking two marquees on our back lawn, with one cleared away after dinner for dancing. Caroline Heytesbury-Wickes’ daughter has offered to do the floral arrangements – she’s simply the best in the business. Her flower wall at the spring fashion show was stunning. It featured in Vogue – did you see it?”
Delia broke off momentarily to greet a couple of matronly ladies who stopped by our table. “For food,” she continued, “I haven’t decided yet between the people who put on that divine luncheon for the Save the Loggerhead Turtle Society or the caterers from the Coleman wedding. Matilda Grinsted has promised to put aside some Perrier-Jouet champagne for us at a special price.” Delia patted the napkin against her lips. “I didn’t think you’d mind me handling the ar
rangements. I mean, you are so busy with work and of course you’ll be away next month…”
I hesitated for a split-second. Springing a Delia-staged extravaganza on Curtis would be bad enough. Having it all happen under his brother’s smug watch – he might never forgive me. But I realised it was futile to resist.
“That sounds lovely,” I told Delia, plastering a smile on to my face. “I’m sure Curtis will be thrilled. Just let me know what I can do to help.”
“We wouldn’t want a repeat of his birthday two years ago, now would we?” Delia tittered.
I swear this woman was never going to let up about this. Two years ago I had booked us in for a birthday dinner at Curtis’ favourite restaurant – and after some not-too-subtle hints dropped by Delia, extended the invitation to his parents. But that day I was struck down by a vicious stomach bug so I insisted the birthday boy go ahead without me. In the midst of all my puking, I had forgotten to ring up to confirm the cake order, so Curtis didn’t have any candles to blow out. And Delia basically blew a gasket. If he was eight, I could understand her concern. But a thirty-eight-year-old was hardly likely to be traumatised by a missing birthday cake, were they? When my own birthday rolled around the following month, I blew out my candles wishing I had a different mother-in-law.
As the lifeguards’ blue buggy trundled towards the southern end to advise swimmers to move back between the flags, Delia summoned the waiter to order coffee.
“Curtis has been looking pale lately, don’t you think? Are you sure you’re feeding him enough red meat? He has terrible dark circles under his eyes. But then he has to work so hard, doesn’t he? Such long, long hours. Maybe he can take some time off when his brother is here. Ewan works long hours too but it’s not the same, is it? He has Felicity at home to keep everything running smoothly.”
I’m pretty sure Curtis came home to find everything running smoothly too. He’d crack open a beer and watch TV, or go for a run, or retreat to his study. I’d yet to see him come home from work to cook tea, bung on a load of laundry, head out again to pick up Ciara from swimming, cajole Ryan into doing some homework, and sort through all the household bills. No. That would be my life.