A Pretty Mess

by Carla Caruso

  Celeste’s voice was unexpectedly quiet, understanding. ‘You know, that actually sort of makes sense. My friend Betty-Lou is a nanny, and she says it’s sad when she sees parents put their little babies in childcare from six in the morning to six at night, or kids in Out of School Hours Care every day, or-or leave the grandparents to raise them during the week — when they could just earn a bit less for those first few years. Budget a little, change their lifestyle. Otherwise, it’s as though their offspring are just weekend accessories. She’s a nanny, so she sees these things first-hand. And it does seem a bit wrong.’

  Lenny nodded. ‘Exactly — that’s why I want to keep certain stages of my life separate.’ It was something they could almost agree on, at long last. He moved to combine the peach slices with apple juice in a saucepan and place it on the stovetop. Then in a big bowl, he added almond meal, flour, olive oil, sugar, vanilla extract and baking powder. He began mixing it all together by rubbing the contents with his fingertips.

  Glancing up, he found Celeste watching him. ‘Do you need help?’ she finally asked. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to get your hands dirty, and it feels like the day for it.’

  He shrugged. ‘Go ahead.’

  So she washed her hands and, from the other side of the bench, dipped her fingers in, too. They worked together quietly. Even though their fingertips brushed occasionally, it felt strangely comfortable, cathartic, not at all weird. He was first to break the quiet, his voice gentle. ‘Do you remember much about your mum?’

  ‘Not as much as I feel I should,’ Celeste said glumly, her shoulders slouching. ‘Some things it’s hard to know if they actually come from my memory or just the photos I’ve seen of her or the stories I’ve been told. I do remember her as being quite glamorous. Much more than me. She had dyed blonde curls and a flair for fashion, even when money was tight with her health woes and Dad caring for her. She used to do amateur theatre and she could sing — I mean, really sing — not like me. Sometimes I wonder who I take after or where I came from.’ A headshake rustled Celeste’s bob. ‘But she’s always there, at the back of my mind.’

  ‘You know, you can do genetic tests for things like ovarian cancer these days, can’t you?’ he asked gently. ‘I know they’re not a hundred per cent guarantee of anything, but it’d still be worth doing — just so you know if you need to look out for any signs.’

  Their fingers brushed again and Celeste pulled back, as though coming back down to Earth. Wrenching her hands out of the mixing bowl, it was her turn to reach for a tea towel. ‘I’m well aware, but some things you’re better off not planning for. I don’t really want to know what I can’t control in the future. I’d rather live for today, however orderly I might seem elsewhere in my life … Anyway, I might go freshen up.’

  ‘No problems,’ he said quietly, the conversation obviously closed. ‘The bathroom’s just down the hall to your right.’ Ducking her head, she disappeared in that direction.

  Celeste hated to admit that Lenny’s peach and almond crumble (no recipe required) was exceptionally good. If she’d done it in such a way, it would have flopped, but his relaxed approach to cooking seemed to work perfectly for him. She couldn’t help from licking her spoon as they sat under the stars side-by-side, legs dangling in his very Astonvale-esque infinity pool, the balmy night air caressing their faces. She’d since recovered from their earlier clash — he wasn’t to know how touchy she was surrounding the topic of cancer. Thankfully, they’d since moved on subject-wise.

  Kilojoule-counting could also wait for tomorrow. Buttery vanilla ice cream made the perfect accompaniment to the dish. What would Natalia think? Actually, in light of Natalia’s chocolate drawer and her other secret vices, the ‘real’ Natalia would probably grab a spoon and hoe in herself. Funnily, any work niggles felt like a distant memory now.

  Celeste tapped Lenny’s bowl with her spoon as he tucked into a second helping, crickets chirping in the background. ‘I didn’t realise you had such a sweet tooth.’

  His eyebrows danced. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

  Celeste swallowed another mouthful. ‘I bet there is.’

  ‘Pretty good dessert, huh? And it tastes even better the next day. Like pizza.’

  Celeste rolled her eyes. ‘What is it with men and pizza?’

  Lenny turned and she resisted the urge to press her finger into the cleft of his chin, the moonlight turning it into a cavern. ‘Speaking of the male population, one thing I’d like to know is what you ever saw in that Mitchell guy.’

  Celeste returned her gaze to the twinkling night lights beyond the glistening water. ‘The truth?’ She let out a lengthy sigh. ‘He represented everything I thought I wanted. Everything Astonvale is about. A privileged life. I know it sounds shallow, but I guess I wanted to experience a bit of that through him. Sometimes it’d be nice to feel like one of them — to have gone to the elite school with the designer grounds, swimming pool and star tennis coach, instead of the crappy state school I did go to. I lied about where I went once at a work function and got found out. It was so embarrassing! The girl asking me would have been in the same class. I’ll never do that again, much as I hate how people automatically put you in a box as soon as you say you’re a state school kid.’

  Lenny set down his spoon with a clink. ‘Don’t buy into all of that. Looks can be deceiving, you know. A lot of people go broke trying to keep up with the Joneses. It can all be a façade. That’s one thing I really admire about my parents: how unassuming they are. They’re self-made and they’ve worked hard — my mum helping my dad with the business when she could — but you’d never know how successful they were unless you pulled up at their posh house. Property’s my dad’s thing, but they don’t have the flashy clothes or cars or go to the flashy restaurants. They don’t need the status symbols or to impress anybody, because they don’t have to. They have nothing to prove. You’ll often find the ones who flash it don’t really have it. My parents have been without, so they don’t want to waste a dollar and they know how to be creative with less. The Mitchells of the world could learn from them.’

  Celeste set aside her plate with a sigh. ‘Unfortunately, the likes of Mitchell and Imogen do really have a lot, even if they haven’t had to work for it, only inherited it.’

  ‘Then they’ll never appreciate it. I’ve never been handed anything on a silver platter by my parents, even when they earned more. There’ve been no handouts. It doesn’t instil the right values.’

  Celeste shot him a sideways look. ‘Then I think your parents brought you up quite well, even if your dad wasn’t always there.’

  His lips pulled up slightly at the corners. ‘Maybe.’

  Another sigh escaped her lips. ‘Sometimes it feels as though I never left school, and I just want to move somewhere remote and hide away from nasties like Imogen.’

  ‘Then you’d never challenge yourself or grow as a person. You know, did you ever consider someone like Imogen might be jealous of you?’

  ‘Of me?’

  Lenny nodded. ‘Look at you. You’re in her world, making your own name, and you haven’t had to rely on your family or their connections to prop you up. Surely that’s got to irk her. You pose a real threat.’

  Celeste sat back, dumbfounded. ‘I guess I never thought of it like that. Though it still doesn’t give her the right to pounce on my boyfriend. Well, sort-of boyfriend. Mitchell and I were never really that serious. Not that the thought of them walking down the aisle together, as the perfect couple, doesn’t make me want to hurl.’

  Lenny shot her a small smile. ‘I’m pleased to hear you weren’t that mad about him or I would have had to seriously question your taste. You’re worth a million of him.’

  ‘Thanks!’ She knew Lenny was only being so kind because she’d had a rough night, but it was still nice. A yawn ripped through her before she could stop it. She was too late in covering her mouth. ‘Pardon me.’

  ‘I should show you to your room.’ Lenny’s vo
ice was deep. ‘You’ve had quite the night.’

  Celeste raised her eyebrows. ‘Thanks for helping me forget about … the earlier part. It’s been good to talk you about something other than our worries at work. You’re easy to talk to when you’re not being overly opinionated.’

  ‘Maybe we’re not actually so different.’ With a splash, Lenny pulled his muscular legs from the water, grabbed their empty plates, and headed for the house. Celeste didn’t mind the chance to enjoy the back view of him, unseen.

  15.

  Celeste could never sleep when it was a full moon. Even if Lenny’s air-conditioning was top-notch and the bed in his spare room was generously-sized and covered in high-thread-count sheets. Which was why she’d moved back to the sunlounger on the front deck, alone. Though she couldn’t just blame the giant golden orb hanging above her for her insomnia.

  She’d also been tossing and turning about her father and Dolores, and contemplating the weirdness of laying her head a few doors down from Lenny, of all people. She’d only known the builder a short time, but somehow he’d already become a major feature in her life.

  Footsteps sounded behind her. Speak of the devilishly handsome. She twisted to look in the direction of the glassy, lit-up kitchen, and there he was. As though imagined into life.

  He was wearing a black T-shirt and loose, grey check shorts. Somehow, on him, the look was even sexier nightwear than designer boxers. Not that she should be thinking such thoughts about him. It was just the romance of the moonlight playing tricks on her. She’d since slipped back into her summer dress, not having grabbed an overnight bag in her haste to leave home. Wrestling in his sheets in her underwear had been plain weird. At least her tote was well-stocked with makeup supplies for the next morning — although, right then, she was bare-faced and didn’t care.

  He paused in the doorway. ‘Can’t sleep either?’ His voice had a gravelly, just-got-out-of-bed timbre.

  ‘Barely a wink,’ she admitted.

  ‘Pity you didn’t bring your bathers. A couple of laps can be a good way to blow off steam and ensure a restful night.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’

  ‘Want a drink? Coffee?’

  ‘No, it’ll just keep me up longer, but thanks.’

  ‘How about an iced chocolate then? I actually wouldn’t mind one myself.’

  ‘Wow, the service around here is impeccable,’ she joked. ‘Well, if you’re making one, all right then. And don’t hold back on the whipped cream. Skinny lattes be damned.’

  Good grief. Was she flirting? The full moon and sleep deprivation had clearly turned her into a raving lunatic.

  Lenny disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two chocolatey drinks, piled high with cream, as requested. She tried not to blush for the millionth time that night as she thought of what else the condiment could be used for.

  Lenny handed her a glass, his fingertips scraping hers for a moment, and sank onto the cushioned black wicker sunlounger adjacent. His touch sent a tingle straight down her arm to her stomach … and beyond. She really was sleep-deprived. As handsome as Lenny was, all bathed in the moonlight, he should really come with a warning label: Caution, contents hot. She knew what happened when you played with fire. You got burned, irreparably.

  She fiddled with her spoon, focusing on the moon. Anywhere but on Lenny. The night lights seemed to have lessened since much of the city had gone to sleep. She spoke first. ‘You know how you asked me if I remembered much about my mum? Well, I do have a few really strong memories, even if the most of the rest is hazy.’

  ‘Yeah?’ His voice was quiet, encouraging.

  ‘Yeah. I remember really vividly one night seeing my mum giggling away like a schoolgirl when I was a kid. It was bedtime, but I’d gotten up for a loo visit and spied her through the archway into the lounge. She had a colourful headscarf wrapped around her head after another bout of chemo, but she’d never looked so happy. She and Dad were eating these chocolate brownies she’d made earlier, which for some reason I could only share from one tray. Now, it totally makes sense that the second batch were hash cookies to help her get through the chemo nausea, not that I knew it at the time. Dad just obviously wanted to help Mum deal with her pain any way he could. And I fell asleep with a smile on my face, seeing Mum happy like that for the first time in a long time.’

  Lenny shook his head. ‘I can’t imagine what it would have been like to see a loved one going through hell like that — for you and your dad.’

  ‘I know,’ Celeste said softly. ‘Which reminds me of another night. A not so happy one. I remember seeing my parents having a whispered conversation in the kitchen. I don’t know about what exactly, but it didn’t take long for things to get quite heated. My dad wound up crying, which was a strange thing to see as a kid. It was also one of those pivotal moments when I realised my parents couldn’t stop bad things from happening in life, that even they weren’t that strong.’ She rested her iced chocolate on the little table between them, untouched, the once perky cream melting into a gloopy pool. ‘Not long after that, Mum died.’

  Her lower lip betrayed her by wobbling, so Celeste pushed herself to standing and marched to the edge of the deck. A hot wind had picked up, ruffling her hair. She felt moisture on her cheeks, burning like acid rain. Light rain perhaps — at last — mingled with her own salty tears.

  She sensed movement behind her and turned, too far gone for embarrassment. Lenny. He was extending a blue handkerchief her way, the strands of his hair blowing as the wind now gusted.

  ‘I swear it’s clean,’ Lenny promised, tenderness shining in his coal-black eyes. ‘My grandpa always taught me to keep one on hand.’

  Her heart flip-flopped as she accepted it. ‘I think the last time I used a proper hanky was at my mum’s funeral. A white lace one from my great-aunt, which itched my nose. She helped look after me that day while Dad was a mess.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘I hardly saw her again after that. Probably a good thing, because her breath smelled like the sour milk Dad put on my cereal that morning. Understandably, his mind was elsewhere.’

  And just like that, she was fully blubbering. The whole bit — her shoulders shaking, eyes bawling, and her face squashed into the freshly laundered handkerchief, which faintly carried Lenny’s scent. So soothing and familiar.

  His touch on her shoulder was feather-light as he pushed a spaghetti strap back into place. The movement stole her breath for a moment. She paused, peeking up at him over the handkerchief, knowing her eyes would be red-rimmed, glassy.

  Then as another gut-wrenching sob escaped from deep within, she felt him crush her against his chest, welding her form to his hard ridges and planes, his soft arm hair skimming her bare skin. He was built, appropriately, like a brick house, and smelled of manliness, laundry powder, and cologne. If she could sum up the feeling of burying in the crook of his arms, it was like that of a boat pulling into a safe harbour. The tears continued like a torrent.

  At long last, she pulled back, scraping the handkerchief beneath her eyes and stared up at him unflinchingly. The sprinkle of rain — probably only a millimetre — had dried up along with her tears, although the hot wind still whipped about them. His gaze trained on hers was solemn, searching … reluctant?

  She ignored the latter, suddenly grabbing the front of his T-shirt with both hands. Even if her skin was likely blotchy and her nose red-tipped. After exposing herself, her vulnerabilities, to him, she felt strangely empowered. She’d never been able to talk about such things with Mitchell. Heck, Lenny had even seen her Trunk of Shame, heard her sing. And she’d seen a different side to his usual sardonic, career-driven playboy persona — a softer, compassionate side.

  ‘It’s now or never, Leonardu. Not every risk has to be calculated.’

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath tanned skin. ‘I thought, when you rang, you said no funny business.’

  ‘I lied.’

  ‘What about the iced chocolate?’ It was a weak attempt to delay thin
gs on his part.

  ‘You might have to make another one,’ she said unrelentingly.

  His voice dropped to a murmur. ‘Guess I’ve never been one to leave a movie before the credits roll …’

  Celeste seized the moment, pressing her lips against his, enjoying the sweet sensation of his mouth’s velvety softness merging with her own. The low growl in her mouth. His hot breath. Teasing tongue. The mingled taste of tears and desire. Savouring the moment she’d imagined since they first met, if she were honest with herself. Then his hands were tangling in her hair, cupping her face, and running up and down her arms, setting off mini fireworks everywhere they went. He was as passionate in intimacy, it seemed, as he was at work.

  In seconds, they’d moved to her sunlounger, sitting in a side-by-side embrace, her mind squelching out any thoughts of who else he might have entertained right there. So desperate she was to stay in the moment. As crazy as it felt to be tussling with Lenny himself — and as right.

  Then Lenny was gently leaning her back against the cushioned backrest and moving her legs to straddle his torso, his mouth still on hers. The flimsiness of her summer dress felt heaven-sent. Every inch of him felt imprinted onto her skin — her being — as her small breasts jiggled under his strong chest and the promise of what lay between his legs made her tingle. His measured authority, masculinity, took her breath away.

  Her spaghetti strap tickled the edge of her shoulder again and she fumbled to put it back in place as they kissed. At the movement, he broke away from their clinch, plucking up the strap between his thumb and forefinger, his dark eyes on hers as though in question. Then slowly, deliciously, he slid the strap down again and bent to trail moist kisses along the curve of her bare shoulder. She wiggled and shivered in delight.

  He gazed at her again, the tinge of hesitancy back in his eyes. ‘Celeste, should we really—’

  She put a finger to his lips. ‘Talking is what gets us in trouble.’ Then she grabbed the sides of his T-shirt, pushing the fabric up towards his armpits. He leant back to finish things off, swiftly tugging the top over his head, any uncertainty seemingly gone.