The Wrong Girl

by Foster, Zoe

  ‘I know Jack deserves better than an MIA party girl. But I’m just . . . I’m me, you know? I’m ten years younger than him, I love going out, and having fun, and he’s not into that. Doesn’t get it at all. Our vibrations are on such different levels sometimes. We’re different. Maybe we’re too different . . .’ She shook her head slowly.

  Lily sipped on her drink and found herself silently agreeing. She flopped on the sofa, spilling water on her jeans as she did so, like a true lady. There was a gentle knock at the door. Lily’s eyes shot up to Simone.

  ‘Oh, Jack’s coming for dinner. Did I not mention?’ Simone breathed deeply, closed her eyes for a moment, then smiled. She skipped over to the door and threw it open, planting a huge kiss on Jack’s lips. Lily marvelled at her rapid mood change. And the fact she didn’t bother to change into Actual Clothes before he arrived. They hadn’t been together that long, had they? To be essentially in undies for dinner?

  ‘Hi, sexy. Oh, you brought wine! Nawww, that’s so sweet, thank you . . .’ Taking it from him, she gave him another kiss then walked back to the stove to stir something, placing the bottle on the bench.

  ‘Woodward, it’s been what, hours?,’ he said, placing his coat on the hook by the door which Lily had never noticed until now. He looked freshly washed and shaved and cosy in jeans and a bottle-green long-sleeved polo. Unable to help himself, he wandered straight over to the kitchen to oversee the carrots Simone had chopped and see what she was up to.

  ‘Whoa, whoa, where’s your muscle tank?’ Lily said, sitting up straight on the sofa.

  His head flopped to one side and his lips formed a straight line that wordlessly expressed: Oh, very funny.

  ‘That was wardrobe’s fault, not mine.’

  ‘Hey, it’s fine. You work hard for your body and you want to show it off, I get it.’

  He crossed his arms and shook his head at Lily, smiling.

  ‘You know Jacqui is always trying to make me look like the cover of a Gold’s Gym magazine, what am I supposed to do? I bring my own shirts which disappear from my office and are replaced with these . . .these . . .’

  ‘Gun wraps.’

  ‘What are you two ON about?’ Simone interrupted, obviously feeling left out. She had arranged the naan in a small bowl and was now finishing off her homemade yoghurt sauce at the bench, bustling Jack out of the way as she did so. He moved to the side of the bench, leaning against it as he often did in the fake kitchen at work.

  ‘Your boyfriend insists on wearing one-size-too-small tight T-shirts under his apron. He’s trying to broaden his appeal, I think.’

  ‘You SHOULD be wearing tight tops, babe, your body is heaven . . . Lil, we went to this incredible new CrossFit gym in Paddo last week, you should come one time.’

  ‘That might mean she’d have to put down her salt and vinegar chips, and I can’t see that happening,’ Jack teased Lily, grinning at her widely.

  ‘Excuse me, they were Alice’s.’

  Lily saw a flicker of annoyance in Simone’s eyes and realised that maybe she and Jack were carrying on a bit much. She stood up and walked over to the table to start setting it.

  ‘Anyway, I’d rather drink metho than do exercise. That’s why you two are such a great match, because you can bore each other stupid with fitness facts and nutrition chat.’

  ‘She’s right, hun, we’re perfectly boring and perfectly suited.’ Simone leaned over to kiss Jack on the cheek and beamed her famous smile at him. This from a girl who had just declared how different they were, and how much she adored clubbing. Lily happened to look at Jack’s face just as he was being kiss-attacked and saw he was looking directly at her. She immediately dropped her head and focused on laying out placemats, napkins and plates.

  ‘Oh, shit. I left the thyme in the car.’

  Simone rustled through her handbag looking for her keys. Finding them, she headed out the door, hollering that she’d be back in a second.

  ‘Can I help?’ asked Jack. ‘Come on, don’t treat me like one of those useless guests whose expertise ends at grating cheese.’ He grabbed a pile of cutlery that Simone had already pulled out, laying them out next to the three settings Lily had created. She got the jug of filtered water out of the fridge, bringing it and three fancy glass tumblers back to the table. Of course, as was bound to happen, one of the glasses slipped and smashed on the floor.

  ‘Shit,’ she said, shaking her head and carefully unloading the other two onto the table. Jack immediately came around, bent down and started picking up the shards.

  ‘I’ll do that. Stop, stop it.’ She bent down to take over.

  ‘You’re too clumsy to be handling unbroken glass, let alone smashed glass,’ Jack said in a friendly tone. As he spoke, a large jab of pain shot through Lily’s index finger.

  ‘Ow! FUCK!’ She dropped the glass fragment and turned over her finger, which was already red with fresh blood.

  ‘See! Woodward, what did I tell you?’ Jack snatched a paper napkin from the table and, after a quick inspection, grabbed her hand, pressing the napkin onto the cut tightly.

  Lily could smell his aftershave, his skin, his hair, all of it, and whether from the shock of the cut or the fact Jack was holding her hand, her heart rate started hammering and her breath quickened. This kind of intense personal space was reserved for wrestlers, family or lovers, she noted, trying desperately not to notice it.

  ‘What are we gonna do with you, Woodward.’ His voice was soft, and Lily’s eyes looked up to meet Jack’s. He gazed down at her, his face just centimetres away, a caring, affectionate expression on his face. Neither dropped their gaze.

  The door swung open and Simone barrelled in bellowing, ‘I’m ba-ack!’

  Her eyes immediately flew down to the two people crouched on the floor looking into each other’s eyes. Lily snatched her hand away from Jack and quickly stood up, but she did it too fast and her head swam with dizziness. She reached out for one of the dining chairs to steady herself, and Jack shot up and grabbed both her shoulders.

  ‘Jesus, take it easy, you look like you’re about to faint.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Simone asked in a tone tinged with suspicion, her forehead creased in confusion. She’d stopped dead in her tracks, keys and herbs in her hands, the door still open.

  ‘Your housemate almost cut her finger off on a piece of glass,’ Jack said, pulling the chair out gently and easing Lily down onto it.

  Simone’s eyes raked over the scene. Seemingly satisfied with the evidence, she kicked the door shut and walked over to the kitchen. There was an awkward silence while every person unknowingly processed the same question: did something just happen between Lily and Jack?

  ‘I’ll get you a bandage, you poor sausage.’ Simone dumped the thyme on the bench and headed upstairs to the bathroom.

  Lily kept her head down for fear of locking eyes with Jack again. It was far too risky.

  ‘It’s bleeding through, keep that pressure on it.’ His voice its usual loud, cheerful tenor. He finished picking up the glass and walked to the kitchen to dispose of it. And just like that, everything was back to normal.

  26

  Lily rubbed her eyes with her hands. She had been in this fucking food-tour meeting for two hours and was hungry, exhausted and flirting dangerously with delirium. Nikkii had cancelled at the last moment – via text – because she was at a lunch that had run over and had to stay. Lily, obviously, was devastated.

  Dale was his usual chatty self, speaking up every forty-five minutes or so when he had a fact to contribute or a made-up Lily fact to correct; otherwise he focused on typing up the confirmed call-and spreadsheet as they locked down the final itinerary. Jack, who had insisted on attending the meeting, was yammering away about the country fair they’d be going to as their closing stop, which happened to be very close to his hometown. He’d been going to that fair since he was a kid, and his grandma used to win the scone-baking contest year after year. In Jack’s three years of trying, he had nev
er even cracked the bronze. To say he was determined this year was like saying Dubai was warm. Lily thought his exuberance and energy regarding scones was, quite frankly, preposterous; although she had to concede she liked the idea of seeing where he’d lived and grown up, and which restaurant he’d worked in. Should they have time. Which they definitely would not.

  Planning the tour, getting the appropriate budget for it, dealing with pedantic small-town councils for approval and organising transport and accommodation had all been incredibly stressful, but it did feel like they were about to head off on school camp. On the road together, travelling around, staying in a selection of Australia’s tackiest, most suicidal motels from Monday through to Friday before returning to Sydney to assume some semblance of a normal life over the weekend before the tour resumed for the second and final week.

  As Lily listened to Jack discuss the meal he had planned for their last event, she found herself daydreaming about the two of them, cruising down the highway in the wonky old truck, singing along to Fleetwood Mac, him glancing over at her with a smile every so often . . .

  In reality, there was a team of six Daily staff schlepping to each location, along with the truck, which was to be driven carefully and painstakingly slowly by Grimmo, lest it suddenly blow up or putter out and die. And while technically Lily would be in a car (minivan packed to its roof with The Daily promotional material) cruising down the highway each day, she would be with a carsick Dale and an incessantly-on-the-phone Siobhan. The crew and gear would fill another two vans and a truck, and Jack would drive his ute.

  Lily snapped herself back to attention by standing up and announcing she needed a tea, and would anyone else like one.

  ‘I’m good,’ Jack said, as he wrote something down. She hadn’t seen him this excited about anything, ever. He was extremely pumped to be out of the studio, on the road, being hands-on in the truck and going to parts of the state he’d never been before. Dale shook his head almost imperceptively, so Lily walked out to the kitchen.

  Returning five minutes later, she found a Dale-free zone.

  ‘Where’s Dale?’ she asked Jack, who was still scribbling madly. God forbid he just type his notes directly into a laptop. Lily wasn’t even sure he had one.

  ‘Had to go, picking up his mum from work, I think he said.’

  Lily stifled a giggle and Jack looked up.

  ‘Don’t be mean.’

  ‘I didn’t say a thing,’ she said, sitting down and wishing there was red wine in her mug, not Earl Grey.

  ‘We’re pretty much done now, anyway, right? I said he was fine to go.’

  ‘True. I just need to make sure all these T-shirts and banners are sorted, and that the burners in the truck are full of gas . . . actually you don’t need to be here, either.’

  ‘Would be a real shame if there was no gas. I could always just make some ham sangas, I guess.’

  ‘Oh, hey, I emailed Sim and told her she should drive down to the South Coast next Friday so you guys could spend the weekend down there, or at least a night?’ Lily said, feeling quietly pleased with her wonderful and encouraging support of their relationship. ‘It’s beautiful. Have you been to Jervis Bay?’

  ‘Mmm, she’ll be away, I’m pretty sure,’ he said, writing again. ‘She’s pretty flat chat at the moment.’

  ‘Ah, shit, you’re right. Hawaii or something.’

  He finally full-stopped his work and closed his notepad, capping his pen as he looked up at Lily. He was flaunting a three-day growth and it looked tremendous. Especially with his black-rimmed spectacles, which Lily had never seen him wear before, but which made him look like he should be wearing a three-piece suit and striding purposefully through the city streets.

  ‘Hey, Lil, do you reckon you could give us a hand when we do the pancakes on day four? Dale says he can’t cook, but I’ll need help, I reckon, just for speed, and apparently that’s the one day the intern isn’t around.’

  ‘Sure. I may be a shit cook, but I know how to pour maple syrup.’

  ‘You’re not a shit cook, you’re just a lazy one who has never tried.’

  She prickled.

  ‘I’m happy to teach you, you know,’ Jack continued. ‘You’ve got everything in place except the actual cooking part. You’re great at choosing recipes and all the prep —’

  ‘And eating.’

  ‘And eating. Now I just have to get you to turn the oven on.’

  ‘Good luck with that. If my own mother can’t get me cooking, I doubt you can.’

  ‘You’d be surprised at what I can make people do,’ he said, standing up and pushing his chair in. A rash of heat spread over the back of Lily’s neck. She stared at the bottom of her mug and took a huge sip of tea.

  ‘See ya, Woodward. Have a good night.’ And he walked out of the boardroom.

  27

  ‘You’re looking very trim in that pic you texted, are you on that lemon juice cleanse thingy?’

  ‘Really? Oh, I was dying for you to notice! I have lost three whole kilos. Three kilos! Unheard of. I almost need new jeans.’

  ‘Well, you’re looking great, Mimi. So, any hanky-panky yet? Actually, gross. Forget I said that.’

  Lily was treacherously overtired and two energy drinks off seeing small twinkling fairies somersault through the air. She was surprised she’d even managed to remember to call her mother back. Sitting on the ground, in the dirt, she felt exhaustion in every cell of her body. It had been almost two weeks of fourteen-hour days travelling around the state doing the segment live on location, and serving up food and Jack to delighted fans (women) and confused locals (men), but it was being referred to as the ‘wildly successful’ Daily Food Truck Tour by Sasha and ‘Eliza’s legacy’ by stupid Nikkii, but that was to be expected.

  ‘I haven’t wanted to call you because I know how busy you are, but I’ve been gasping to chat, Bean. He is such a gentleman: car doors, pulling out chairs, all of those ridiculous things I never thought I cared about . . . I honestly cannot remember the last time I felt this way . . .’ Mimi’s voice started to tremble slightly. In Lily’s exhausted state, a tear quickly welled in her eye.

  ‘You so deserve it . . .’ Lily’s voice was equally unsteady. She needed sleep. Urgently. She’d become emotional seeing a three-legged dog hop along today; things were dire. Lily wiped her eye and pushed her hair behind her ear. It really was very dusty down here on the ground. And dirty. Why the fuck was she sitting here?

  ‘He’s even talking about flying over to join me on my trip . . . Speaking of which, there’s something I need to tell you . . . Bean, I’ve decided to shout you an airfare to Greece for your birthday!’

  ‘No! You can’t afford that, Mimi. You’re mad!’

  A couple of rogue tears snuck down Lily’s cheek; it was all too much right now.

  ‘I’m flying on points, and that’s none of your business anyway. So: will you come? Oh, it will be magic! Soaking up the sun, drinking wine, just the two of us . . . May is hot, but not oppressively so, and all the tourists haven’t started flooding in yet . . . It’s the ideal time to go, really.’

  Lily failed to think of one decent objection. Why shouldn’t she go to Greece for her thirtieth? she thought. What thing could be so great back here that could stack up? A party where Simone and Jack would be all over each other? A night out with Alice at a feral pub? It wasn’t like there was anything she’d be missing out on.

  Lily screwed her mouth over to one side, exhilaration starting to fizz and bubble in her stomach. Yes. Yes! She would go to Europe. Mimi had been desperate for Lily to join her on her adventures for years, and Lily had always had an excuse. But this time, none came to mind. She might even quit The Daily, and take a month off to consider her next move. Who knew. The food-truck tour could kind of act as her swan song.

  Yes. She would go. Even if she did stay on at the show, she was going. She had about sixty years of leave owing anyway. Greece would give her thinking time.

  ‘Do you know
what, Mimi? I would love to join you.’

  Lily wanted to kick Dale. Or, better still, one of the interfering old ducks running the fair, who repeatedly reminded Lily that they needed to move the truck because it was on the ‘good grass’; that and they didn’t have permission to park it there, and it should be over on the designated ‘parking grass’. She’d happily kick anyone, in fact. She was tired, and so shitty, and scratchy from all the celebratory wine at last night’s final dinner, before the tour ended today. To top it off, someone had forgotten all of the gift bags, so she was now faced with a gathering mass of people who wanted their much-hyped, over-promised goodie bags, and there weren’t any.

  Lily noticed with absolutely no surprise that ninety per cent of the crowd were young women with far too much perfume, make-up and cleavage for a Sunday country fair. At least it was sunny. Lily took a second to look at the brilliant blue sky as she made her way back to the ‘set’, which went on forever with not one cloud to puncture it. Jack must have had a beautiful childhood out here in the middle of nowhere with his big family and numerous dogs. How different to Lily’s urban, single-mother, security-building apartment upbringing.

  He’d been in terrific form all morning, whipping up gourmet, local-produce-only bacon and egg rolls with caramelised onions and aioli at lightning speed for the salivating, frenzied, mob. Not even running out of gas had fazed him. Lily had tried to get more from some of the other food tents, but they completely ignored her. After all, the hide of the Big City girl sabotaging their chance of making some coin that day, after already dishing up free food, a show, and all-day hunk-viewing to their potential customers.

  ‘Mackenzie, can you please find something, anything, in the van or truck to give these people waiting for their goodie bag? Or . . . failing that, get Dale’s camera and take proper photos of them with Jack and the truck and their email addresses, and tell them we will email them the professional photo, as if we’d meant it all along. And then, tomorrow, do it. I’m sorry . . .’