Hating Valentine's Day

by Allison Rushby - Hating Valentine's Day

  Even better. No leaping from the balcony, a free outfit, and champagne to boot. This kind of ghost I could get used to.

  As James lets himself in on the other side of the limo I notice there’s only one glass of champagne. ‘Oh, sorry…’ I begin to say, because I’ve already picked it up, but James waves my words away.

  ‘I won’t be partaking this evening,’ he says.

  Partaking? OK. I look down at the glass and consider whether or not I should drink it, with my headache. But then I realise my headache’s gone. Finally. I lift up my left hand. No shaking. I feel…OK. Good, even. As if all my troubles have suddenly lifted. I frown, thinking of my emotions and how they’ve been up and down like a rollercoaster this week, then take a sip from my glass, nodding when I’m done.

  ‘It’s good,’ I say to James. He doesn’t look over. I take another sip. ‘I can’t even taste the Rohypnol,’ I add. He nods back, ignoring the Rohypnol comment, and I watch as he adjusts his cuffs again, noticing that the silver cufflinks are shaped like small love hearts.

  The limo moves away from the kerb. ‘So, where are we going?’ I ask.

  ‘You must decide,’ he says.

  Hmm. Just like Tony said. I pause, glass in hand, thinking of the other night’s stumble down a muddy memory lane, and wonder how I can make tonight a little more pleasant.

  But wait a second.

  This is the Ghost of Valentine’s Day Present who’s sitting beside me. Valentine’s Day Present I don’t have as many issues with. Well, good. And with this thought I snuggle back into my seat. Maybe tonight I really will be able to go with the flow. Anyway, for the moment I’m warm and comfortable, I’m holding a glass of champagne, and I’m ensconced in a great-looking dress. I take another sip from my glass, letting the champagne warm me even further, and gaze out of the window as the world passes by.

  If I’m supposed to decide where we’re going, I’m not doing a very good job of it. I have no idea where we’re off to. My stomach rumbles and I think about food for a moment. It’s been a while since that Lean Cuisine. If we have to go somewhere, dessert wouldn’t be a bad idea. Something tells me, however, that keeping my stomach happy isn’t going to be James’s main objective in life.

  I turn away from the window and look at him—the Ghost of Valentine’s Day Present. I think back to Tony again. Maybe I have been wrong discounting these dreams. Especially since they keep right on coming. Maybe repressing them is making everything worse? I snort now, with this thought. Ugh. Listen to me. Pre-Tania, I would never have used a word like ‘repressing’. Still, maybe I can get something out of all of this? Maybe I can pump James for some information?

  ‘Um, am I supposed to be learning something here?’ I ask James slowly, already guessing the answer.

  He nods.

  ‘About…?’ I pause. ‘About Valentine’s Day?’

  ‘You are, as they say, half right.’

  ‘So there’s something else as well?’ I sit forward a little, almost spilling my champagne.

  He nods again.

  I think about this for a moment or two. Something else. I glance over at James in the hope that he’ll fill me in and see instantly that he’s not going to. He is, after all, a man of very few words—as I’m quickly discovering. He might look a treat, but he’s hardly one of the great conversationalists of our time. I start to wonder if it’s true, what they say about beautiful people—that they’re not all that bright or interesting. That they just look good. Rather like ornaments—pretty, but useless. I never really believed that before, but now I’m not so sure. After all, he’s been a lot of different beautiful people in a matter of minutes, and none of them have exactly been chatty.

  ‘I don’t know what the other thing is,’ I say eventually.

  James doesn’t reply, but I let it go as he’s looking like Keanu again (the buff version, not the in-between-movies guy). Fine, be like that. I shrug and, after a while, sit back again to concentrate on polishing off my champagne.

  We keep driving. And driving. And driving.

  But my champagne keeps filling itself up, so I don’t really mind.

  After what seems like an eternity, we pull up. Outside Rachel and Ryan’s townhouse.

  ‘But their house is only five minutes away from mine,’ I say, as I realise where we are, not understanding what’s taken us so long. But when I look over at James somehow I know what his answer’s going to be. ‘I know, I know. It’s all up to me. I brought us here.’

  He inclines his head in his usual regal-looking nod. Yes.

  I reach for the door handle, but just as I touch it it opens from the outside. James is standing there, holding the door open. I look back to where he was sitting just seconds ago. There is no way he had time to get out and around to my side of the car. Damn ghosts. But I try to do the regal incline of the head thing back as I princess-exit the car in my fancy dress…

  And hit my head on the car roof.

  That’s it, I think, trying to look like it doesn’t hurt. I’m booking myself into charm school as well as the loony bin.

  ‘I guess we’re going inside.’ I start up the path towards the front door, wanting to rub my head but being too stubborn to actually do it. Halfway up the path, as Rachel pops into my thoughts, I stop. James bumps into me.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he says.

  ‘No, excuse me,’ I say absentmindedly as I hunt around in my mind for the details I’m looking for. This is the present, right? And Rachel told me she was going to be away on some conference for the Valentine’s Day weekend. She told me that she was going to be away on the Saturday night but would be back Sunday morning. I look up at the house, knowing she’s not there, and start to wonder if I’m going to like what I see inside. Ryan had better not have another woman in there, I think to myself, before I start up the path again.

  The screen and front doors are both unlocked, and in a reversal of roles I open them and let James in before myself. I wonder for a second if he’ll die from the shock, but he seems to take it OK, and doesn’t even feel the need to adjust his cuffs again.

  Inside the entry, I stop and listen. I hear voices almost immediately. A man’s and a woman’s voice that definitely isn’t Rachel’s. They’re arguing. And there’s some kind of other noise as well. A kind of…whirring.

  I try and catch what the voices are saying, but I can’t quite make the conversation out. They’re downstairs, though. I narrow my eyes and start the investigation. On my right, the lounge is empty, but as I head through the dining room towards the kitchen the arguing and the whirring get louder. And then I see why.

  Ryan is in the kitchen, hand mixer in hand, mixing something in a large bowl. He has something propped up in front of him—a recipe book—and is leaning forward and squinting as he reads it, because he doesn’t have his glasses on. As I watch he leans forward even further, then glances sideways for a moment at the TV, where the arguing is coming from, and reaches over and turns the sound down.

  ‘OK,’ he says, squinting at the recipe book again. ‘That’s done, that’s done and that’s done. So it’s dunking time.’ He stands back then, obviously pleased with himself, and wipes his hands on his jeans.

  I look on, amazed, as he starts to pick up meticulously cut-out pieces of heart-shaped bread, dunks them into the mixture in the bowl and then carefully lays them out on a baking-paper-lined tray. When he’s done, he washes his hands, wipes them on his jeans again, covers the tray in cling-wrap and puts it in the fridge. After this, he starts the washing up.

  ‘Is this really Ryan?’ I say to James.

  He regals again.

  I move forward so I can see the recipe book. French toast. Low-fat French toast. Requiring numerous extra steps to get it that way, like buying and defrosting large quantities of frozen egg whites.

  ‘That’s Rachel’s favourite,’ I say, recognising the recipe book. We’ve made it before.

  ‘Heart-shaped, also, may I add,’ James adds.

  ‘You may.’
<
br />   ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I say, trying to add a tone of finality to my voice. If I don’t, this could go on for ever.

  I take a step back and lean on the bench, watching Ryan go about his washing up. And I have to say I really am amazed. Surprised. Aghast. This isn’t like Ryan at all. He’s always been the kind of guy who thinks the more expensive the gift, the better someone will like it—that presents aren’t worth giving if you’re not going to impress someone. At the start of his relationship with Rachel he showered her with the best champagne, the most ‘in’ restaurants, and weekends away at exclusive resorts. Of course she enjoyed it—who wouldn’t? But I know the truth about Rachel—the most exciting present she’s ever received was from an old boyfriend who went to quite a bit of trouble tracking down a boxed set of Chevy Chase movies that she’d always coveted. Diamonds really were never going to be Rachel’s best friend. So this—the French toast—for Ryan is so…ordinary. And an effort. That’s the big thing here. It’s an effort. An effort for him to find the recipe, buy the ingredients and cut out the heart-shaped bread. It’s the effort that surprises me the most.

  I shake my head slowly, still not believing what I’m seeing. There’s only one thing to think, however. If all this is real—maybe Ryan has changed. Maybe he really did mean everything he said to me about his and Rachel’s relationship being so important to him.

  I glance over at James, who’s been sitting on one of the dining table chairs for the past five minutes while I’ve been inspecting Ryan.

  Oh. Colin Firth. Nice touch.

  ‘Shall we?’ I say, offering him my arm this time.

  He nods, stands up, and rebuttons his jacket again, leaving me to wonder how often he wears out his suits. It’s open, closed, open, closed with the buttons, and pull, pull, pull on the cuffs. Dizzying stuff.

  I take one last look at Ryan over my shoulder as we retreat. He’s humming as he finishes tidying the kitchen. I shake my head one more time and keep going. Well, good for him, I think, stepping out of the townhouse and onto the front path. Good for him.

  Soon enough, we’re back in the limo and the streets are whizzing past my window once more. As we go I think of Ryan and what he’s doing, and start to imagine what everyone else is up to tonight. If Ryan’s making low-fat heart-shaped French toast, all kinds of strange things could be going on.

  It doesn’t take long before we pull up again.

  ‘Hey, this is Dad and Eileen’s house,’ I say, as the limo stops. I don’t waste any time getting out of the car, but nimble-toed James still manages to get around to the other side and open the door just as I touch the handle. ‘You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?’ I say to him as I step out, watching my head this time, and he suddenly seems a bit startled, as if he doesn’t know how to answer my question. I give him a hint. ‘Just nod.’

  He nods.

  I head for the house, and the closer I get towards it, the lighter it gets outside. By the time I reach the front door, night has turned into day—or, more specifically, afternoon. People appear around the houses in the cul-de-sac, mowing their lawns, talking over the fence, washing their cars.

  I start to feel a touch overdressed in my cream beaded fashion story.

  At the front door, like before, the closed screen and front doors open for me with the slightest touch. Even though I know Dad and Eileen always keep both the security door and the front door locked since they had someone steal Eileen’s purse when they were out at the back gardening.

  Inside, I go from room to room, James following close behind. Finally I see Eileen in the main bedroom. She’s sitting on the bed wrapping a present—a pair of glow-in-the-dark ‘Yes/No’ boxer shorts, I see as I get closer.

  Oh.

  Considering these are a present for my dad, I revert to childhood and try to convince myself that the message suggests something different. Like Yes/No to watching the late night movie with a bowl of popcorn. Or Yes/No to pancakes in the morning.

  I take a seat beside Eileen on the bed while James stands beside me.

  ‘Can I come in yet?’ my dad calls out loudly from the kitchen, making me jump. I hadn’t seen him in there.

  ‘Not yet,’ Eileen yells back. ‘I’ll tell you when, don’t you worry.’ She smiles as she turns back to her wrapping. ‘Never could stand a surprise,’ she whispers to herself. She pulls two last pieces of sticky tape off the roll and fastens each end of the present. Then she gets up and puts it in the third drawer of her dresser, with her winter clothes, right at the back. ‘You won’t find it there Neville Hetherington.’ She laughs softly to herself. ‘You’ll just have to wait till the morning.’ When she’s finished, she opens the bedroom door and sticks her head out. ‘All clear!’

  Dad comes in then, licking an envelope closed. A red envelope.

  ‘Oh, is that Liv’s card?’ Eileen asks.

  My dad nods and puts it on top of the dresser with something else. A chocolate heart, I see, and smile. Dad always gives me a chocolate heart. When he’s finished, he turns and pauses.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Eileen says, looking up at him. It would have been my next question too, if I was able to ask it. Even I’ve noticed that my dad has been unusually quiet in the thirty seconds he’s been in the room. Licking an envelope closed you could still count on my dad to be jabbering on about something at a hundred miles an hour.

  ‘It’s just this ball thing and Liv,’ he sighs. ‘I wish she’d decided to go. She’s been missing out on too much lately, what with how she carries on about work and fills her time up with everything else. It’s not healthy.’

  ‘What do you think she should be doing? Besides the ball?’ Eileen asks.

  ‘Well, it’d be nice if she went out more with her friends. Like Justine—she’s a laugh, isn’t she? She’s good for Liv. And if she managed to introduce her to some nice men it wouldn’t hurt either. But all she seems to talk about these days is work.’

  Eileen waves a hand. ‘It’s nothing. With all her saving and having to buy equipment for her own studio, she probably doesn’t have a lot of money to throw around.’

  ‘That’s what she keeps telling me, but she doesn’t have to go anywhere expensive. It’s just an excuse.’

  ‘Maybe she’s going through a stage.’ Eileen looks doubtful.

  My dad huffs at this. ‘If she is it’s one that’s lasted over a year now. That’s a long stage.’

  Eileen doesn’t say anything, but pats him on the shoulder.

  ‘I just wish she’d lighten up a bit. Get out more. That’s all.’

  ‘It’ll be OK. She’ll pull out of it, you’ll see.’ She pauses, waiting to see if he’s going to say anything else. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m filthy after that gardening. I’m having a shower before we go out.’

  Dad nods.

  ‘Sure you don’t want one?’

  ‘Not yet. Maybe in a while.’

  ‘OK,’ she says, as she grabs her bathrobe and moves towards the door. She pauses when she gets there. ‘I’m off, then.’

  ‘Right, love.’ He sits down on the bed.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ she says, going over to him and bending down so they’re eye to eye. ‘Cheer up. Liv doesn’t have a terminal disease. She just needs to get out more. It’ll be all right—really.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘Good. Now, no present-hunting while I’m gone!’ She gives him a slap on the knee as she leaves the room.

  Dad laughs.

  With Eileen gone, I stand and watch my father, arms crossed. I can’t believe what he’s just told her. That he’s worried about me working so hard. That I’m not going out enough. After all, he was the one who instilled the work ethic in me in the first place—and he was always telling me about the long hours I’d be putting in when I set up my own business!

  ‘Can you believe him?’ I say to James.

  James stays silent and good-looking.

  I turn back when there’s movement from Dad. He gets
up off the bed and goes over to the bedroom door, where he pokes his head out just like Eileen did before. When he sees she’s not there, and he can hear the shower running, he goes over to the dresser and opens the first drawer. The top left-hand one.

  ‘Hey! The lady said no peeking!’ I defend Eileen in her absence, thinking he’s present-hunting like she said he would.

  But he’s not. Because he finds what he’s looking for without much effort. He takes it and goes back to his place on the bed. And then he opens his hand.

  It’s a small box. A small black velvet box. I move over quickly as he opens it up and looks inside.

  It’s a ring. A beautiful ruby ring with two small diamonds on either side. Rubies are Eileen’s favourite.

  ‘Oh, my God, you’re going to propose?’ I say to my dad, before I realise he can’t hear me. I turn to James instead. ‘He’s going to propose! My dad’s going to propose to Eileen! After all this time he’s actually going to do it! I never thought he’d…’ James is just looking at me as I babble. ‘It’s just that he said he’d never get married again when he signed the divorce papers, and…Oh, you wouldn’t understand.’ I wave a hand.

  ‘But of course I understand,’ he says. ‘I helped to arrange it.’

  ‘What?’ I turn and look at him. ‘Really? Getting him to propose, you mean?’

  He nods.

  ‘Well…’ I don’t know what to say, but step forward, my hand outstretched. ‘Let me shake your hand, because you succeeded where I failed. For ten years!’

  James shakes my hand.

  ‘Gosh.’ I stand around for a bit, stunned, as James keeps eyeing the door. I think he wants to go. ‘Shall we go?’ I ask him, when I can form the words.

  ‘If that is your wish,’ he says.

  ‘It is,’ I say seriously, suddenly feeling full of energy. After what I’ve seen so far tonight, I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more. I take one last look at the ring before we leave the room. ‘Good luck, Dad!’ I call out as we go. ‘Not that you’ll need it. I think Eileen knows the answer. She’s been practising her answer every birthday, anniversary and Christmas for ten years.’ I stop halfway across the lounge room when something makes me turn and run back. Dad’s putting the box back in his dresser drawer when I enter the room again. ‘And don’t worry about Eileen. She won’t…you know, leave. I know she won’t.’