A Pretty Mess

by Carla Caruso

  Celeste reached for the wet towels, slinging them in the crook of her elbow. Finding the laundry should be a cinch. She paused at the bathroom sink, noting a few errant facial hair clippings near the plughole, before her gaze was caught by his electronic toothbrush and the build-up of grey scum at its base. The type of bachelor-style things she didn’t have to see at Mitchell’s, because she never stayed over.

  She ran the tap hard so that the clippings washed down the sink, and gave the toothbrush charging station a good scrub with a baby wipe she found. Satisfied, she glanced up, catching proper sight of herself in the mirror up-close. Oh dear. Talk about a mess.

  Her natural-looking hairstyle had gone south since it had dried, frizzing around her ears. And her cowlick had cut loose, madly curling in the opposite direction to the rest of her strands. Then there was her dress, which looked in urgent need of a wash and iron. And even worse was she’d left the house like that. She’d obviously been temporarily blinded by the forgiving morning light and bout of mad lust.

  Shaking her head to herself, Celeste headed back down the hall, still holding the towels, catching the tail-end of the radio news. … And power has been restored to Astonvale after residents woke to damage overnight from severe wind gusts. The strong winds followed yesterday’s unprecedented extreme heat for late spring …

  Celeste stopped short, the towels squelching in the crook of her elbow. Suddenly, it hit her, like the home-security systems and automatic sprinklers flicking back on all over Astonvale. Lenny wasn’t expecting her to be there when he returned. That was why he had given her plenty of time to pack her things and get herself sorted. He was just trying to be polite, not to make things awkward by saying what didn’t need to be said when they still had to see each other at work. It had been less than twenty-four hours, but already her time was up. The power was back on and the hint in the air was to get in her trusty Astra and drive back home. Face the music, alone.

  Maybe she’d even scared him off by letting her guard slip. Although he’d already said in so many words that he wasn’t in a place to commit to anything right now. He’d just taken pity on her, given her a quick thrill as a sort of bandage for her pain. His kind words, tenderness, were part of his playboy act for the night — and one night only. Plus, he was so out of her league it wasn’t funny. He dated models for crying out loud.

  Feeling like a total fool, she raced to dump the dirty laundry where needed and hook her tote strap over her arm. At least she’d been organised enough to stash the few items she’d brought with her in the thing already. The possibility of facing her dad actually seemed preferable to seeing Lenny right then.

  Outside, she put her foot to the pedal, her Astra behaving for once. Muggy rain had begun to fall, the soupy, grey clouds overhead perfectly matching her mood. Some traffic lights weren’t working, but the roads were fairly quiet being a Sunday anyway, so it wasn’t too difficult to navigate. On one footpath she passed, State Emergency Service tape had been used to cordon off a gum tree’s hefty broken branches, which were lined up like fallen soldiers.

  The traffic light ahead turned red and she had to press down on the brake, having half-expected it not to be working. The bark of a dog and a faint police siren wafted through her opened window. Then a yellowed page, torn from a novel, flew in front of her windscreen and became skewered on one of her wipers. Words like ‘moist’ and ‘throbbing’ swam before her eyes. A sexy romance novel. Go figure. She revved the car as the light turned green and the page, thankfully, fluttered off again.

  Her heart thumped as she drew into her street, but the feeling began to subside as she pulled into her empty driveway and blipped the garage remote. Inside the garage was also empty. Parked, she sagged with relief in the driver’s seat. Facing her dad and Dolores could wait for another day — that was, so long as they weren’t planning to return anytime soon. Well, she wouldn’t be opening the front door even if they were.

  A quick check of the house revealed that her dad’s things were gone, with no sign of him coming back. The place almost looked tidy, too, as though he and Dolores had never even been there. Celeste fished out the Glen 20 cleaning spray and gave the couch a liberal dousing, feeling markedly better. A folded-up bit of paper caught her eye on the coffee table. She approached it with caution and opened it, her breath held. In her dad’s all-capitals handwriting, it simply said WE SHOULD TALK. WHEN YOU’RE READY. She released the breath.

  Well, she hoped he wouldn’t mind waiting five thousand years. Slumping on the couch, she turned her head in time to see a chocolate-and-cream shape hobbling into the room.

  ‘Custard!’ she screamed, jumping to her feet. The cat seemed to be having difficulty moving his hind leg … or possibly his tail. Far out. The one time she’d abandoned the animal, he must have been hit, amid the crazy weather, by an unknowing driver. She felt worse than ever. Even as snooty as the cat could sometimes be.

  The cat looked up at her with sorrowful eyes, before collapsing on the rug with a yowl. Kneeling beside him, she fumbled for her mobile, scrolled through her contacts for ‘Vet’ and listened earnestly as it dialled.

  17.

  ‘So what do I owe you for your troubles?’ Mr Pretty turned to Lenny as Russ, Lenny’s mechanic friend, turned up the bus’s air-conditioner to show that it was back in business. Cool air and the hum of the motor suffused the cluttered space.

  From the state of Mr Pretty’s property, it was clear he and his daughter were poles apart in the organisation stakes, which had been a bit of a surprise for Lenny. Although perhaps not so astounding when you considered how long Mr Pretty had been unattached for and how old-school he was. Lenny could only imagine what his own dad would live like without his mother picking up after him. Which made him glad to be of some help to the poor guy.

  Lenny answered Mr Pretty by putting up his hands in the air. ‘Don’t worry about any of that. Russ and I will sort things out. We owe each other a few favours business-wise. I was just lucky to catch him on a Sunday and that he had the parts you needed.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Mr Pretty looked between him and Russ.

  Lenny nodded briskly. ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Well, thank you. I’ll have to tell the place I went to to cancel their parts order. This has been a much quicker turnaround. And one that’s much appreciated.’

  Lenny raised a wry eyebrow. ‘If only we’d made it here before the heatwave.’

  For Mr Pretty and his daughter.

  Thankfully, Celeste’s dad hadn’t been hard to find when Lenny hit on the idea of helping him — he’d found the guy in the phone book. Lenny hadn’t told Celeste his plans, because he knew she was still upset with her dad. But at least this way, her old man would stay out of her hair for a while.

  Unfortunately, things had taken a little longer than Lenny had anticipated that afternoon, as was often the case with repair work. Celeste would be climbing the walls right about now. He knew she liked to keep busy. He had to hide a smile just thinking about her and her little quirks. It was strange. He’d never felt this way about a girl before, and, in truth, he’d been with his fair share. But there was just something about Celeste that continued to intrigue him — beyond being between the sheets together. Not that he wanted to think about it all too much. He might ruin things in his head.

  Lenny focused again on Mr Pretty. ‘You were saying you’ve moved to the bus because your house needs some repairs done. Mind if I take a look around the place? I could give you my professional opinion as a builder. Things might not be as dire as you think.’

  ‘Oh they definitely are, but I’d be happy to show you around if you’re really interested. Of course, if I was still a fit, young man like yourself, I would’ve gotten to the repairs yonks ago and perhaps things wouldn’t be quite so bad.’

  ‘Okay, well, I’ll just have a quick chat to Russ outside, then let’s do the tour …’

  Half an hour later, Lenny stood amid the junk in Mr Pretty’s kitchen — which looked more
like a worksite, in actual fact — and tried to hide his shock at the state of things. Dust clogged his nostrils as he watched a spider climb down a silvery thread, hanging from a retro light-fitting.

  He wondered what Celeste would think of him being there at her old family home. Maybe the place was her private shame. He couldn’t exactly imagine her as a young girl skipping down the halls there, with ribbons in her hair — not in the state it was in. Nor could he imagine her, in her adult years, not bothering to try to help her dad. Obviously Mr Pretty was a stubborn sort and had dug in his heels. Or maybe he’d been too proud to let on just how bad things had gotten.

  ‘Aside from the leaky plumbing,’ Mr Pretty continued, ‘some of the floorboards have gone rotten and need replacing, which is a real bugger. Won’t be cheap to fix, I imagine.’

  As if on cue, the old guy took a step towards the sink and his boot sank right through the floor, creating a fresh hole in the wood. A curse echoed off the grubby, neglected walls. Lenny hastened forwards, helping Mr Pretty free his foot and steering him by his elbow to a safe section — well, safer.

  Perhaps if he tried reasoning with him, his words might be easier to swallow not coming from a relative. ‘Look, Mr Pretty, I have to tell you — you can’t keep leaving this place like this, especially if you still need to come in and grab the odd item. It’s a danger zone and it’ll only get worse. For you and any unsuspecting visitors. You could get sued. As an older fellow, I understand there’s no way you can do the work yourself, but being a builder, I can’t just look away. It would be going against my sense of duty.’

  He figured he may as well use his occupation as a playing card — it was all he had. Lenny continued, ‘And as a … a friend of your daughter’s, I want to help. Will you be around over the next few weeks? Because if it would be okay with you, I’d like to send some workmen up to get a few things sorted, help you out a little. They could spare a few hours.’

  Mr Pretty, looking slightly faint, steadied himself by holding onto what looked to be the kitchen counter, albeit buried beneath stacks of yellowing newspapers, old train set parts, and bottles for recycling. ‘I understand some things are … are not good here, but I’m a retiree. I can’t afford to get much done. Which is why things have run a bit away from me.’

  Lenny stood firm. ‘I’m sure we can work out some sort of arrangement, which doesn’t have to involve money changing hands. Maybe you have a few hard-to-find tools around the place that you could pass my way. You’d be helping me out, in fact.’

  ‘Well, yes, that could work … Although I wouldn’t want any of my things gotten rid of when you’re fixing up the place. You never know when you might need something. It would just be repair work?’

  Lenny nodded solemnly. ‘Of course. Only if something looked well past its use-by date or posed a threat would I consider moving it on. We’ll just … rearrange things.’

  Looking like two tonnes of rubbish had been lifted from his shoulders, Mr Pretty extended a meaty hand in Lenny’s direction. ‘I guess I could agree to that.’

  Moments later, Lenny was home again, but Celeste was not there, her Astra having vanished from his drive. Maybe she’d had errands of her own to do. He hadn’t realised exactly how much time had passed, how the shadows had lengthened. But it meant that he couldn’t share his little coup with her, see what she thought of how things had panned out.

  He figured she might be angry at first about him going to her dad’s without telling her first, but imagined she’d then be relieved. That something was being done to help her father and revive their old family home. At least Lenny hoped she would be. He wouldn’t want her to be embarrassed in any way about how overrun Mr Pretty had let things get. Lenny could only imagine what the pain of losing a loved one could do to a man. It’d be the kind of pain that might never heal. Hey, he had his own moments of sloppiness when he was rushed for time, but then any mess soon started to bug him—

  Shit! A sudden thought hit Lenny. Celeste, being the kind of person to overthink things — okay, and female — might have imagined Lenny was delaying his return for a reason. As though his absence were giving her space to discreetly leave, no questions asked. In the past he had dropped the odd subtle hint to girls in similar circumstances, but with Celeste it was different. He didn’t know exactly what he thought about her — about them — but he wanted to at least try to find out. In bed, it’d been like fireworks between them, but he liked that she also turned him on mentally. And he’d loved seeing her let her hair down, be herself. Unguarded.

  Reaching for his mobile, he dialled Celeste’s number, but quickly discovered the line was engaged. Crap. After watching some dodgy television and doing a bit of pacing of the lounge floor, he swiped up his car keys. It wasn’t the time to shy away from things, to leave things left unsaid. They only became toxic then. And they still had to work together, where things were on shaky grounds as it was.

  It didn’t take too long to drive to Celeste’s house in his ‘weekend car’: a black Audi RS4, which he liked for being discreet, but fast, where it was legal. He had to pull up behind another car in the drive — Celeste already had another visitor. A visitor with a chocolate-coloured, boxy Volvo XC70, the exact opposite of Lenny’s style. Well, he was here now, so he may as well get out, praying he wouldn’t raise any eyebrows by being there. He wanted to talk to Celeste first about what had happened between them before, well, the rest of the world.

  As he walked up the concrete path, he could hear laughter echo through the front window and saw the glow from the lounge room light. And there, as clear as day, illuminated in the window was Celeste’s ex, Mitchell. Standing by the couch with a wineglass in his hand, while Celeste sat, looking up at him, smiling. It was like a kick to the groin. He should have known Mitchell would drive a bloody Volvo.

  To think Lenny had thought Celeste might actually care about his whereabouts, that she might be agonising over things between them. It was plain to see: as soon as the power had been restored and her dad had scarpered, the status quo in her life had returned. Which included being back in the arms of that twat, Mitchell.

  Obviously she’d considered her dalliance with Lenny a mere fling, a one-time occurrence in the heat of the moment. A quick-fix to numb her pain. Lenny had been a fool to think anything more of their night together. Which was so unlike him, and why relationships weren’t for him at that stage of his life. They just wasted valuable time. Celeste had almost swayed him from keeping his eye on the prize, from the path he’d planned: career first, love-life second. He’d let animalism take over.

  Naturally, he’d still help Celeste’s father. His word was his word and he liked the guy, felt for him. But as for Lenny and Celeste? The divide between work and play could never again be crossed.

  Ducking into the shadows, Lenny headed back to his Audi, slid into the driver’s seat and put the car in reverse, vowing never to return to her home again.

  The last person Celeste had expected to see sitting on her doorstep on her return from the vet’s was Mitchell. But there he’d been, in a pale pink shirt with the sleeves rolled up and navy shorts, despondently bouncing a tennis ball back and forth on her concrete path. Beside him was a bulging shopping bag, emblazoned with the name of her favourite Chinese takeaway restaurant, and a bottle of mid-range-looking plonk.

  ‘I thought you might be hungry, although it’s a little early for dinner,’ Mitchell had said sheepishly. ‘And the food might have gotten a bit cold while I waited for you.’

  Trust Mitchell to just presume she’d be home, that she wouldn’t have anything important to do without him on a weekend. He could be such a … a boy sometimes. Then again, men of Lenny’s ilk weren’t much better to deal with.

  ‘Nothing a zap in the microwave won’t fix,’ she’d said cheerfully, steadying the handle of Custard’s carrier in her hand.

  It was hard to be angry with Mitchell when she’d proved herself to be no better than him, leaping into bed — or on a sunlounger, at
least — with another man at the first sign of things going astray. Besides, her relationship with Mitchell had always been a casual affair. No (tennis) strings attached, as she used to joke to herself. Which was how she had liked things up until then.

  Mitchell had nodded at the orange-and-grey carrier. ‘Is Custard all right? Did something happen to him?’

  ‘Yes, well, nothing as bad as I expected. He was moving funny earlier on and I thought maybe he’d been run over, so I took him to the vet. Not cheap, last-minute on a Sunday, I can tell you, but obviously worth it. Anyway, the poor thing’s got a urinary tract infection. It’s not due to any … you know…. extracurricular activities. Apparently it’s quite common in male cats. He had to get an antibiotics shot and a Valium injection. And I have to give him half a tablet of Valium, crushed into his food for a few days, so he’s relaxed enough to, well, pee out any crystals blocking him up. I also have to give him special cat food and keep him inside for a few days. Make sure he uses his kitty litter and all’s back in working order.’

  ‘Sounds quite complicated,’ Mitchell had replied, sounding understandably lost for words.

  Of course, she hadn’t meant to tell him quite so much, but she’d felt so bad for Custard after deserting him that she’d had to share the news with someone. Celeste sighed. ‘Custard didn’t like the vet’s much either. A street cat someone brought in sniffed him.’

  Which might have even been funny in different circumstances. Now, the cat sat on the couch between them, looking all dopey. He’d fallen over his paws a few times to get up there — probably sitting right where Celeste’s dad and Dolores had been. Shudder. Normally, Celeste preferred Custard to stay off the leather, but she felt sorry for him. The effects of the medication almost made him seem friendly. Was it bad to find Custard’s company more pleasant while he was on Valium? Probably.