Hating Valentine's Day

by Allison Rushby - Hating Valentine's Day

  Twenty minutes later, the courier picks up the note and the tall latte in its takeaway cup and starts carefully back out to his van.

  ‘I guess you think this is a bit strange,’ I say to him as I hold the front door to the office open.

  ‘Sweetheart, I’ve had plenty stranger than a cup of coffee,’ he says, leaving Sally and I to wonder just what kinds of items he’s transported across town.

  ‘So, can I ask what the note said?’ Sally corners me as soon as he’s gone.

  I make a face. ‘You’ll probably think it’s cheesy.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Well, the note said, “It would be great to start over. Just you and me. No Mike. No Justine. Just us. And coffee…”’ I wince. ‘Cheese rating?’ One of my eyes peeps open.

  Sally pauses. ‘Camembert. It’s not blue. It’s not stinky cheesy.’

  Phew.

  The phone rings twenty minutes later.

  ‘I’ve already had my morning coffee,’ Drew says.

  ‘Oh,’ I hear my voice reply quietly. ‘OK…’

  ‘But I’m free for lunch. How about I pick you up in half an hour?’

  Y Y Y Y

  When the dark blue Jeep pulls up outside the studio, I’m already waiting outside, despite the heat. From the inside, Drew opens the door for me and I jump in.

  ‘Um, hi,’ I say shyly.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘I’m really sorry about yesterday—’ I start, but Drew butts in.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ he says. ‘We’re starting afresh, remember? Anyway, we’ve all got baggage of some kind. Mike’s yours.’

  ‘Was mine,’ I say with a smile. And using the past tense has never felt so fantastic.

  Drew laughs then. ‘I have to say I feel kind of like a naughty schoolboy. Ditching work and everything.’ He slaps a hand on the steering wheel and I see in him the same kind of excitement that I felt the other night. The same kind of anticipation I’m feeling now. ‘So, where should we go for this ditching of work?’

  ‘Somewhere fun, I think. If we’re both ditching, we’d better make it worthwhile.’

  There’s silence as we stare blankly at each other. But just as I’m about to give up and suggest the movies Drew’s face suddenly lights up. ‘I do know somewhere. It’s a bit of a drive, though.’

  I shrug. ‘I’m up for it.’

  ‘Great.’ He pulls the car out into the traffic. ‘The girls at work were talking about this place the other day. Apparently it’s fantastic.’

  ‘What…? No, don’t tell me. Let’s make it a surprise.’

  ‘A surprise it is.’ Drew glances over at me.

  ‘So, um, I hope I’m not dragging you away from anything too important?’

  Drew grimaces as he changes lanes. ‘Not in my mind. I’m supposed to be in a meeting. Nothing they really need me for. Right now they think I’m at the dentist.’

  ‘The dentist?’

  ‘Your courier came at just the right time, actually. The secretary had just topped up the bowl on the front counter with some Minties when she called me out. Anyway, I took a couple of them, chewed away and made a big song and dance about one of my fillings falling out. I told my boss I had to go to the dentist right away—that it was a workplace health and safety issue.’

  I laugh. ‘You’ve probably shot yourself in the foot. From now on you won’t get anything nice in the bowl. It’ll be jelly beans or nothing.’

  ‘Well, we had better make this trip worthwhile, then. I won’t be popular this week as it is. Everyone else is having to work tomorrow to get a job done and I’m bunking off to go to a wedding.’

  I groan when I hear this. ‘You and me both. Though I won’t be so much bunking off work as working my butt off.’

  Drew and I chat away as he keeps driving and a good twenty minutes pass before I start to notice the signs. My brain begins to tick over. And then we take the exit and I know for sure.

  ‘I suppose that gives you a hint.’ Drew glances at me. ‘Hey, are you OK? You look a bit green.’

  I shake my head. ‘No, no, I’m fine. Just a bit, um, carsick. I’ll wind down the window and I’ll be right.’ Carsick. As if. I’ve never been carsick in my life. Don’t be stupid, Liv, I tell myself, getting to the heart of the problem. Thousands of people live here. I try and look cheery as Drew continues staring at me. ‘I’ve heard the restaurants along here are great.’ This is true, but naturally that snippet of information has always been overshadowed by the other thing I’ve heard—that this is where my mother has been living for the past five years or so.

  We turn right and drive along the esplanade of a small up-and-coming seaside development, my mouth becoming strangely drier by the minute. About halfway down the strip, Drew glances out of my window. ‘Hang on—there it is,’ he says, and pulls over sharply into a nearby parking spot. I turn and look out through the back of the car. The restaurant is called Blast from the Past. I’ve heard of this place—a kind of retro diner with a fifties feel.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Drew touches my arm and I almost jump.

  ‘Sure! Great!’ But I can’t stop my brow from frowning as I exit the car. Let it go, Liv, let it go…

  There’s no doubt about it. Blast from the Past is amazing. The place is decorated with anything and everything Fifties. The walls are lined with groovy stoves, fridges and knick-knacks, while even the lino on the floor, the tables, chairs and mismatched cutlery are remnants from another era. It’s as if you should suddenly start seeing in black and white rather than in colour.

  Our waitress, Judy, complete with dinky cap, attached hairnet and appliquéd name badge, seats us and hands over a couple of huge menus. Drew and I decide to go with the flow and get the malted mega-milkshake, with two straws, and a couple of burgers and fries.

  We have a simply brilliant time. I completely forget about my mother and yesterday’s events with Mike. I forget about Dad, Eileen, Tania, Justine, Rachel, and how much work I’ve got on over the weekend.

  I forget about everything. For once, I live for the moment.

  Drew and I talk, laugh, drink our shared milkshake and clap wildly at the daily fifties fashion parade. And I have to admit it feels pretty good to live for the moment. Not scary at all.

  After our meal we share a brownie and then stagger out of the restaurant. ‘Got time for a walk?’ Drew asks.

  I puff my cheeks out. ‘I think we’re going to have to. I don’t know about you, but right now I’m guessing I won’t fit in the car.’

  Together we stroll down the long, winding path that runs beside the waterfront, dodging the pine cones that have fallen from the trees above us as we go. When we reach the end of the path, we turn and walk back, this time crossing the road so we can glance inside the shops. It’s quite crowded for a Friday afternoon, and Drew and I joke that everyone’s had the same idea as us and has bunked off work for the afternoon.

  We’re about halfway back to the car when I see it. Her.

  My mother.

  It is her. Clear as day. Looking just like I remember. She exits the bakery just ahead of us and hurries away down the footpath, looking into her calico bag as she goes, checking her purchases.

  I don’t even pause for a second to think. Instead I start running, pushing past the few people in front of me as I go, my handbag dropping to my elbow, the soft leather scraping on the concrete below. I run so fast my legs start to burn, my feet making loud slap, slap, slap noises beneath me. And when I get to her I reach out in front of me and lunge, grabbing her arm hard.

  She turns quickly, to meet my gaze with a gasp.

  Our eyes meet.

  It’s not her.

  In that instant my brain tells me to let go, but I can’t get the message to my hand. I continue holding on to her, our eyes still locked. The woman is looking at me, confused, trying to figure out who I am. And then, as another second passes, fear fills her gaze and she pulls her arm away smartly as she realises she doesn’t know me at all. I must be some kind
of freak. As for me, I try to speak, to tell her I’m not, but nothing comes out. All I can do is wave my free hand, finally prise my fingers from her skin and step back—first one pace, then another and another, until I stumble back and finally hit someone standing behind me.

  Drew.

  Up ahead, the woman is still looking at me.

  ‘Sorry,’ Drew calls out. ‘I think she, er, thought you were someone else.’ With this, the woman gives me a final worried look and keeps going. When she’s on her way, Drew ushers me aside, out of the flow of jostling pedestrians. ‘Are you OK? What was that about?’

  But I still can’t speak. My chest has gone all tight again. I can’t breathe and there are too many people around me. Far too many people. I’ve got to get out of here. I make another gesture this time, back towards the park.

  ‘You want to go sit down?’ Drew asks, and I nod.

  When we cross the road this time it’s with Drew carrying my handbag and holding me firmly by the arm. ‘Come and sit down over here.’ He guides me over to a park bench. ‘Do you want a drink of water or something?’

  I shake my head numbly, trying to ignore the feeling that’s rising from my stomach to my throat.

  Too late.

  I stand up and race over to the bin beside us and am sick. It really is a blast from the past, I think miserably, now regretting my overly large lunch. Drew hovers behind me and I try and wave him away. I hate people watching me be sick, touching my hair and fetching me glasses of water afterwards. It’s always something I just want to curl up and do by myself, then roll into bed afterwards and hide under my doona. Not that I’m sick very often. Hardly ever, to tell the truth. But this week—there’s just been something about it my stomach can’t handle.

  I keep waving Drew back. Eventually he gets my drift and goes to sit back down on the bench while I clean myself up with a tissue. When I finally make it back there myself, I don’t know where to look.

  ‘Bulimia. It’s a bitch, isn’t it?’ Drew tries to break the ice.

  I try to smile, but nothing comes.

  ‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’

  No, my brain answers immediately. But then Drew touches my arm again, making me look at him.

  ‘Liv?’ he says.

  I shake my head and look away.

  ‘Liv, you’ve got to start to learn to trust me. Or there’s no point in me being here.’

  I turn back then. Turn back and look him straight in the eye. And, as much as I don’t want to, there’s something in his gaze that makes it all come spilling out.

  So I tell him how it is.

  I tell him about how my mother left my father and I. About how I know she’s been living in this area for some time but haven’t been able to work up the guts to do anything about it, even though I rehearse around a million lines a day that I want to scream at her. About how she probably doesn’t know or care that she’s screwed with my father’s and my heads so badly it looks like neither of us will ever have a decent relationship again.

  And when I finish with this little gem, I don’t stop. I keep going. Right on going. I tell Drew about Mike. About how he left me as well. About how everyone leaves me. And I tell him about Tania. And about how I know I have to stop being this person who’s defined by other people—my mother’s daughter, Mike’s ex—but I can’t seem to. I can’t seem to stop anything, and I tell him how most days my emotional life just seems like an awfully fast bullet train ride to nowhere I want to be.

  I have no idea how long I go on for, but it feels like hours.

  When I’m finally done, I look up from the ground, fully expecting Drew to have run off into the sunset.

  But, surprisingly, he’s still there. Right beside me. And I realise the whole time I’ve been regurgitating my life story he’s listened, and he’s said all the right things. All the things I needed to hear.

  ‘Finally,’ he says after a while.

  I look at him in silence.

  ‘I knew there was more to you. There had to be.’

  I keep looking.

  ‘When I first met you, you seemed like such a great person. So together. Like you had it all. But then…God, how can I explain it? It was weird. Every time I saw you, I kept expecting more. You know how the more you see someone the more you know about them? I kept waiting for this, but nothing came. All there was was this outer shell, this kind of…scaffolding.’ Drew pauses. ‘Am I sounding too much like a stupid architect? Am I even making any sense?’

  Still silent, I nod.

  Drew shrugs. And then he smiles. ‘Well, I was right, wasn’t I? There is more to you, Liv Hetherington. Plenty more.’

  We sit for a while longer, not saying anything, until Drew helps me up and we walk back to the car, his arm wrapped around me, holding me close. And I let him. Because, well, it feels right…

  As if, for the first time in years, I’ve reached the end of that train ride and I’m home.

  Y Y Y Y

  Saturday 13 February-oh, god, it’s tomorrow…

  Another morning, another smile on my face.

  But, as much as I want to think about Drew and yesterday, I can’t. I’ve got work to do.

  And heaps of it.

  I creep around the apartment until I leave at six-fifteen, not wanting to wake Justine up as it’s her non-running morning and she’s sleeping in.

  Like I want to be.

  I get the car out of the garage as quietly as I can and head for my first stop—Molly’s house. Our first wedding today is a ceremony in the garden of a restaurant at nine, followed by a champagne brunch at ten. This is more than two hours away, but my day starts even earlier than the brides I photograph, as I have to get up, get ready, pick up Molly, my assistant, and be at the bride’s hotel to shoot her and her bridesmaids donning their finery starting at approximately seven a.m.

  After the restaurant wedding, it’s going to be go, go, go to get to the next bride in the next hotel by ten-thirty, to photograph her getting ready for her wedding at one, and also to take a few shots of the groom’s lot preparing themselves as well. This bride and groom are then off for a late lunch at three. Following this it’s go, go, go again, to shoot the next bride getting ready at her mother’s house at three-thirty, for her ceremony at five-thirty, with a shoot afterwards at the wharves at sunset and then dinner at seven-thirty.

  While this may seem like a lot—and it is—after the bride, groom and guests hit the reception, I can basically take off. What many people don’t know is that hardly anyone ever pays for a photographer to stay past the ceremony and subsequent group photographs. A few, like my third couple today, want an artsy shoot somewhere, and it’s only because the first two couples don’t that I’m able to fit in three weddings.

  It’s quiet on the roads, being early, and I mentally map out the route to Molly’s as I drive, trying to remember exactly where her house is. I’ve only driven there a few times, as I usually pick her up from the studio, but today she’s directly on the route to the hotel we’re going to. Coincidentally, she lives only a few streets away from Drew.

  Just as I’m parking in front of Molly’s place, my mobile starts ringing. ‘Hello?’ I croak.

  ‘What happened to you? You sound terrible.’ It’s Sally.

  ‘It’s just early,’ I say.

  ‘I hope you didn’t have a big night out before the weekend to end all weekends?’

  ‘No, boss. So, are you just checking up on me, or is something going on that I should know about? Tell me my first wedding’s cancelled and I can go back to bed…’

  ‘Sorry, no such good news. But as it happens I’ve got some other good news. I found a great studio for you.’

  A studio? ‘Really?’ I sit up in my seat a bit.

  ‘Yep. I went out to dinner with an old friend last night and he’s got a commercial place he rents out. We swung by after dinner. It’s a gorgeous little cottage. Yellow. Made for you.’

  I open and close my mouth, not knowing what to say. �
��But it’s too early!’

  ‘I know, but with a few sexual favours I could probably get him to hold it awhile. The other people aren’t moving out for a few months yet. Graham said he’ll show us around some time, OK?’

  Silence.

  ‘OK?’ Sally tries again.

  ‘Sorry—yes,’ I say, still stunned. ‘That sounds great. Really great. Thanks!’

  ‘Good luck for that second wedding. It’s Troy and Lindsay, isn’t it? Got everything you need? Camera, cattle prod, neurosurgeon for a lobotomy?’

  I laugh. ‘A lobotomy sounds great right about now. Anyway, I’d better go. I’m at Molly’s.’

  ‘OK. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’ I end the call. And as I put my phone back in my handbag, I notice I have four messages. I’m about to listen when the slam of a door makes me look up from the phone. It’s Molly. She comes running down the steps at the front of her unit block, simultaneously shoving a piece of toast in her mouth and pulling a cotton cardigan over her sleeveless light blue T-shirt. She opens the car door and jumps in with a grin.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Liv. Let’s go.’

  ‘No worries,’ I say. ‘Just one second.’ I turn my mobile off and shove it back in my bag.

  Y Y Y Y

  ‘Liv! Liv!’

  I’m cut off from speaking to Molly mid-sentence. The bride beckons.

  ‘Yes, Lindsay?’ I turn around to look at her. She calls me over to where she and her now-husband are standing beside their bridal garbage trucks.

  Yes, that’s right—bridal garbage trucks.

  Old, cleaned up (thank God), white-painted, festooned with garlands of plastic roses bridal garbage trucks. And, oh, I don’t like this pair. I don’t like this pair at all. But Daddy owns all the garbage trucks in the city, and Daddy’s paying, so…

  ‘Troy’s got a great idea!’ she squeals when I reach them both.

  I glance up at Troy, the proverbial brick shit-house, today looking ridiculously like the Milky Bar kid meets the Hulk in his white three-piece suit. I seriously doubt Troy’s ever had a good idea in his life. He may not have even had a standard, run-of-the-mill idea.