A Pretty Mess

by Carla Caruso

‘You know, I always imagined seeing your mum on the television one day,’ her dad said quietly. Obviously, Marilyn reminded him of her mother, too — she hadn’t just overestimated the resemblance in her mind over the years. ‘I’d see other actresses on the TV, but didn’t think half of them were a patch on your mum.’

  ‘You did always tell me she was a good actor,’ Celeste agreed, though discomfort prickled on her skin. They rarely talked about her mother. Maybe it was her fault, always brushing the topic aside. A learned response. She’d had to rein in her emotions, be adult about the tragedy, when her dad had been a mess. Not much use as a father. This time, she wrestled the temptation to change the subject as usual, forcing out more words, even if they sounded forced. ‘Going backstage at her theatre shows was always fun as a kid — all the sequins and feather boas and frills.’

  Her dad smiled. ‘You know, I thought you might wind up like your mother, too. A queen of the stage.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ A blush crept up Celeste’s neck. ‘I don’t even like public speaking.’ Which reminded her of the upcoming library talk she’d agreed to do on Thursday. Yikes. And, embarrassingly, Lenny could attest that Celeste’s singing sounded worse than when Custard whined for his food. ‘I think I’ll stick to the professional organising … Um, is chicken okay for tea? I bought some at the shops.’

  And that was as far as she could go in discussing her mother right then. Not exactly one for the record books, but it was something at least.

  ‘Whatever you’re having is fine with me, or I can buy something myself. No need to do anything special. Please just go about your business as normal. I really don’t want to get in your way.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got a Donna Hay recipe for a lemon and garlic roast chicken I wanted to try anyway, so it’s no trouble. Besides, we don’t get to hang out very often, with my work and all — it’ll be my pleasure.’

  ‘The chicken sounds marvellous. Now I understand you have other things to do in the meantime, so do what you have to do. We can reconvene at dinner. It’s fine really.’

  ‘Well, okay then.’

  As the afternoon dragged on, despite her dad’s very best intentions, he did get in her way. Leaving tell-tale signs of wherever he’d been in the form of empty drink bottles, discarded reading material, and scrunched-up tissues. Which meant double the usual housework for Celeste — housework that seemed to need doing again just when she’d gotten one area sorted.

  Perhaps it was good that things hadn’t gotten more serious with Mitchell. She didn’t think she could bear living with a male. Anyone, in truth. Maybe she’d lived alone too long, but she preferred her sanctuary pristine.

  In between cleaning up, she also had maddening, circular thoughts about Mitchell and Imogen cosying up, along with running over again in her head the whole episode with Lenny and Natalia’s fiancé. Suffice to say, she practically leapt on her phone when Betty-Lou’s name flashed onscreen. She ducked into her bedroom to take the call.

  ‘Celeste! I’ve got a date. Tonight. Help!’

  This was news. Massive, headline-grabbing news. The last time Betty-Lou had been on a date Craig David had been top of the charts.

  ‘What? How? I mean … well, you know what I mean!’

  ‘It’s a blind date. The son of a lady from the cake decorators’ association,’ Betty-Lou quickly filled her in. ‘You know I wouldn’t usually go on such things, but this guy actually sounds quite sweet and I just thought, well, why not? He works in IT, owns a place — not still living with the parents! — has a border collie, and loves chocolate. Plus, I’ve seen his picture and he doesn’t look like a sabre-toothed tiger. Slightly chubby-cheeked, but you know I don’t mind that, and cute.’

  ‘Can you set me up with him?’ Celeste teased.

  ‘Finally sick of Mitchell?’ Betty-Lou returned.

  ‘Actually we’re officially over, you’ll be pleased to know. I would have told you earlier but I’ve been busy picking up after my dad all day — Dad’s crashed at my place temporarily as the air-conditioner on his bus has packed up.’ After Celeste had delivered the low-down on Mitchell and Imogen, silence stretched on the other end of the phone. ‘Betty-Lou, are you still there?’

  ‘Sorry,’ her friend breathed, sounding down for the count, ‘it’s just a little too much to take in for one morning. Mitchell. Imogen. Your dad. I was going to ask you to come over and ply me with alcohol before my date, but sounds like you might need a good dousing of it yourself.’

  ‘I’m still reeling you’re going on a hot date, which it will be quite literally in this weather.’

  ‘Do you think you can you come over?’

  Betty-Lou was always the hangout initiator in their friendship and Celeste the accepter.

  ‘I promised my dad roast chicken for dinner, but he usually eats early being an oldie — about five-thirty. Would after that give you enough time to get to your date?’

  ‘It’s for cocktails at The Collins Bar. In full lighting, in case the guy’s a murderer — I figure it safer. I’ll have time.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll be a murderer if you know his mum.’

  ‘Cake people can be weird — too much time spent messing about with fondants and piping.’

  Celeste laughed, feeling better already. ‘See you at seven?’

  Her dad would likely be happy to have a break from her, too.

  ‘Done.’

  14.

  Celeste was in good spirits as she fumbled with her keys in the front door later that night. She’d only had one wine, an hour before driving home, but it was enough to take the edge off. Mitchell Scmitchell. He and Imogen deserved each other, whether or not anything happened beyond the tennis net for them.

  She tried not to think about how cute Mitchell could look when he got all pink-faced exerting himself at tennis or how preppy he appeared in a Lacoste V-neck jumper with a crisp white shirt underneath. That was all in the past now. She had to look to the future. Funny that Betty-Lou might be leaving the single sisterhood just when Celeste was officially entering it. Still, it was her friend’s time to shine.

  Tiptoeing inside, Celeste shut the door carefully behind her in case her father was asleep on the couch. She could still hear the TV on. She didn’t know why she’d been so down on him being there earlier. His air-conditioner going on the fritz was actually a stroke of luck — a good opportunity for them to spend some quality time together. Maybe they could do something special tomorrow: have a pub meal, or peruse a secondhand bookshop as he tended to like to do. She should be soaking up her time with him. He was her only parent left, after all.

  She would just check he was okay in the lounge — that he hadn’t nodded off, face-planting the TV remote — then hit the sack herself. She crept closer. Oh, that was weird. It wasn’t the TV she could hear, but music. Marvin Gaye specifically. Who knew her father was a soul music fan? Unless her digital radio was still tuned to LoveLand … Cringe. A strip of yellow glowed beneath the lounge room’s door. The lamp, she presumed. Gently, she twisted the doorknob, pushing it open.

  And screamed.

  A confronting image tainted her vision: a zebra-print-clad bottom wiggling atop her father’s lap as he sat on the couch — Celeste’s pristine beige leather couch. A zebra-print-clad bottom that could belong to only one person. Said person whipped around to stare at Celeste in the candlelight — not lamplight — red lipstick streaked across one cheek.

  ‘Celeste! This is a little uncomfortable. We weren’t expecting you home so soon.’

  Putting up a hand, Celeste tried to shield herself from the horrifying scene. ‘Clearly,’ she ground out. She couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d caught Mitchell and Imogen in the act.

  ‘This isn’t how it looks …’ her father attempted, trying to push Cousin Dolores from his lap, while the divorcée attempted to go the other way. Yes, Cousin Dolores was in his lap. It was a total mess. A totally sick, twisted mess. Celeste didn’t care how long-distance a cousin Dolores might be. Did
her father really have to be that desperate?

  Squeezing her eyes tight shut, Celeste barked over the top of them. ‘I’m going to stay somewhere else tonight. The place is yours. I-I can’t be here. Don’t wait up.’

  And she spun on her heel, clutching on her tote strap with purpose as she headed for the hall again, her pulse racing. Her father tried calling after her, but she heard Dolores say, ‘Leave her be, Clive. She’ll come to you in time.’

  Celeste hated hearing the woman call her father by his first name like that. Hated it. Hated Dolores, period. So much for her dad missing her mother. Why the hell would the pair do that? In her house? When they knew she would be back any minute?

  Cripes. What would Flip think? Celeste felt strangely protective. And now it made sense why Dolores was at her dad’s place so often, why the desperate divorcée was willing to overlook his filthy bus. Obviously she’d preyed on him.

  In her Astra again, Celeste sat, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel in the dark, barely noticing how stuffy it was with the windows wound up. Where to now? She couldn’t call Mitchell. That was definitely out. And she didn’t want to interrupt Betty-Lou’s sizzling hot date. Plus, no doubt, Araminta would be enjoying her rare free time away from running the salon with Ken, like loved-up couples did. Yes, clearly everyone else was getting some action that weekend but Celeste. It would be weird, too, to check into a hotel alone on a Saturday. Like she was a lady of the night.

  All of a sudden, she had a solution. A slightly mad alternative, but one nonetheless. And she was feeling just mad enough to give it a shot. Good thing, too, she had an automatic feeder for Custard, who liked his food on demand, so she wouldn’t entirely be abandoning him that weekend. She scrambled in her purse for the business card she was looking for and punched in its digits.

  ‘Lenny? Hi, it’s Celeste. Sorry to call you out-of-hours, but something awful has happened and I was just wondering if that offer of your spare room was still up for grabs?’

  ‘Wow, this place is incredible. It’s like you’re floating in the clouds up here.’

  Lenny followed Celeste’s eye-line across his front deck to where Astonvale and beyond put on a light-show for him every night, the dark sky making a velvety backdrop. It was a show he could see from every room in his ‘fifties architecturally-designed abode — a medley of wood, stone, glass and mirrored surfaces. Soaking in the views up there was his ideal way to unwind after work, particularly from the vantage point of his infinity pool. He was a builder, so it was a given he knew how to make his home a home.

  Elbows resting on the deck’s ledge, adjacent to the pool, he fingered the stem of his wineglass and quirked an eyebrow at Celeste. Star jasmine perfumed the air. ‘So what were you expecting? A full-on bachelor pad?’

  Even in the dim lighting he could tell she was blushing. The flush matched the prettiness of her flowery, button-front, summer dress. ‘Oh, I don’t know, it’s just that this place is so amazing. Then again, you are a builder, so I suppose it’s to be expected. Did you do it up yourself or buy it like this?’

  ‘I have tweaked it a bit.’ Massively, he didn’t add. As a builder, he couldn’t help himself when he saw potential. ‘Now it’s all very self-sufficient and eco-friendly, with solar power, double-glazed windows, rain-sensor louvres, underground rainwater storage, you name it. Mostly, though, I just love the peace and tranquillity up here. Having lifestyle and location.’ He smiled teasingly. ‘And being that little bit away from the riffraff.’

  She elbowed him in the ribs and he couldn’t say he minded the momentary touch. ‘Haha.’

  ‘Plus, there’s a bit of acreage, too, for the kids to run around on one day.’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Kids?’

  ‘Yes, definitely one day. Far off in the future.’

  ‘Huh. Well, there you go then.’ Staring out at the view again, Celeste sipped from her wineglass. ‘So I guess I was lucky you were free tonight …’

  In truth, he had had something else lined up that evening. Someone. But he decided to spare Celeste the details. It didn’t seem gentlemanly. And maybe it was having a sister — he could never turn away a damsel in distress. ‘It’s been a busy week, coupled with working Saturday. I needed a quiet one.’

  ‘Oh … I hope I didn’t ruin your plans.’

  He smiled. ‘It can still be quiet.’

  She ducked her head. ‘Sorry to have crossed the “work divide”, too. I just didn’t know where else to turn.’

  ‘It’s fine. I think our lives have become a little more entwined since the whole blackmail thing with Natalia,’ he admitted. ‘I’m just glad to see you’re not hurt, at least physically. Your call worried me. So is this about you and Mitchell? I know there hasn’t been a blackout in town — yet — and you didn’t offer much detail on the phone. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to keep it that way.’

  She winced and vehemently shook her head. ‘It’s not about Mitchell.’

  Was that relief he felt that her breakup with the preppy twerp hadn’t affected her so much? There was just something about the guy he didn’t like. Lenny nodded at Celeste encouragingly. ‘O-kay, go on.’

  ‘Oh gosh, I don’t even know if I can tell you.’ She pounded the ledge with her free hand. ‘It’s too terrible … But I have to tell someone, get it off my chest somehow.’ It was almost as though she was arguing with herself. She whipped around, her eyes ablaze. ‘Okay, here goes. Do you remember the older blonde in the Ballet-Tastic T-shirt last night? The one who kept talking about her parakeet?’

  Lenny nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I remember her. Dot, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Dolores,’ Celeste spat out.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, my dad is staying at my place tonight because his air-conditioner broke. Anyway, I went out for a few hours and when I came back I found him Dolores — his cousin and Flip’s grandma, I might add — cavorting on my couch. Which is why I hightailed it out of there, leaving them to it.’ She put a hand to her mouth and bent over, as though the memory had just come flooding back. ‘Oh, gosh, I still can’t believe it. And I really shouldn’t have told you! It’s so, so embarrassing.’

  Lenny digested the information. Thank heavens his parents had been married for forty-five years and were still going strong, despite his dad’s workaholic ways. He would hate to see either of them with anyone else, especially, God forbid, a relative.

  ‘That couldn’t have been pleasant,’ Lenny offered evenly. ‘Although I can understand your father, being without a partner for so long, wanting female company on occasion.’

  ‘Gross!’ Celeste exclaimed, sounding all too much like her young assistant. ‘We’re talking about my father, remember? I get that he might be lonely, but a cousin? And someone as tacky as Dolores to boot? My mum had style, verve; Dolores does not.’

  Lenny cleared his throat. ‘If it’s any consolation, my great-great-grandparents were kissing cousins.’

  A corner of Celeste’s mouth quirked upwards. Just a fraction. ‘That explains a lot, then.’

  He grinned, pointing a finger at her pretty lips. ‘Did I just detect a smile? See, you’re feeling better already. A problem shared is a problem halved.’

  ‘I’m still traumatised,’ Celeste said a little dramatically. ‘But, yes, it has been good to talk it out. And you can see now why I was desperate to get away. I definitely don’t want to talk to them. I don’t know how I will ever be able to again. The whole thing with Mitchell positively pales in comparison.’

  ‘You know what will make this evening better?’

  ‘More wine?’ Celeste guessed, holding out her now-empty wineglass.

  ‘That, yes.’ Lenny nodded. ‘But how about some homemade peach and almond crumble, too? My mother taught me how to make it the traditional Maltese way. You can keep me company while I throw it together.’

  ‘You cook?’

  ‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘No one else is around here to do it.’

  In his whit
e and timber kitchen, Celeste insisted on helping cut the peaches he’d got from the farmers’ market into thick slices and removing their stones. Midway through the task, she looked around expectantly. ‘So where’s your recipe? The one handed down by your mum?’

  ‘I don’t need it.’ Lenny smiled, tapping his temple. ‘It’s all up here.’

  ‘But what if you miss an ingredient or get the quantities wrong?’

  Lenny waved his free hand in the air — the one not wielding a knife of his own. ‘Nah, cooking’s not about meticulously following every step. You’ve got to feel it.’

  ‘If only you were so laissez-faire about your life goals,’ Celeste sniffed. ‘Sounds like you have a ten-year plan or something.’

  ‘Twenty years,’ Lenny offered mildly.

  ‘Twenty years?’ Celeste yelped, throwing down her knife. She really was quite delectable when she got herself in a tizzy. ‘I don’t even know what I’m doing next month, let alone in two decades. Don’t they say sometimes the best laid plans are best left abandoned? Why so — I don’t know — regimented?’

  ‘Because pursuing dreams mean sacrifices. I would compare running a business to being a bit like an Olympic athlete. I have to be selfish for a few years. But once I’ve got my company to the level I want it to be, I can take a step back, delegate some more, which will, in turn, free up time for other things. Like having a family of my own.’

  ‘You know, they also say a balanced life is the true measure of success.’

  ‘That’s true, but sometimes this type of balance can only be found in stages. If you want to talk about fathers, I’ll tell you about mine.’ He stopped what he was doing to wipe his hands on a tea towel. ‘He was in the property game, too, before he retired; and he worked hard. But all I knew of him as a kid was the back of his shirt, leaving for work in the morning. Sometimes seven days a week. He never picked me up from school. He didn’t even take a full day off when I was born. We rarely had a family holiday. He provided for us financially, but not through the giving of his time. One thing I don’t want to do is make the same mistake as him.’