‘Korea, right,’ I said.
Chris and Candice sat on a stone wall. He handed her a tissue from his pocket. She dabbed her eyes, careful not to smear her eye make-up.
‘Dammit,’ I whispered.
‘I like your earrings,’ Michael said after a moment. ‘Are they real liquorice allsorts?’
‘No.’ I touched them again. ‘They’re plastic.’
‘It would probably be cheaper to buy plain earring hooks and real liquorice allsorts. Then you could eat them at the end of the night.’ He shifted, cutting off my view of the terrace.
‘You know what.’ I held up my home-brew. ‘This is really bitter. Maybe you could get me something else?’
‘How about a shandy?’ Michael offered eagerly.
‘What’s that?’
‘Beer and lemonade. Most girls really like them, I’ll get you one.’
I shrugged. ‘Okay.’
While he was at the bar I sneaked out into the courtyard.
Chris and Candice had left the wall. I couldn’t see them. The paved area was crowded with smokers. I searched until I spotted them in the corner. Candice had her arms around Chris’s neck and she was pulling him towards her – somewhat forcefully from my perspective. Chris seemed to resist. He said something. Don’t do it! my brain shouted. Then he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers.
I could feel the prickle of tears in my eyes.
‘Here you go.’ Michael handed me a pint of beer. ‘Seven parts beer, one part lemonade.’
‘Thanks,’ I said weakly. Numbly. I took a sip to be polite. It was sweet.
‘Good, huh?’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ I answered vaguely. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘Really?’ He looked like a puppy that had just been rewarded for fetching a stick. ‘Say, I don’t suppose you want to go out sometime?’
Out of the corner of my eye I could still see Chris ensnared in Candice Chutney’s arms, his face pressed against her wet cheeks. My bottom lip trembled. The worst had happened. He was over me.
‘Sure,’ I said sadly.
‘Maybe a movie or something?’
‘Sure.’
And so I had starting dating Michael. Comforting, available Michael, whose hair folded itself obediently into neat curls and whose lips were straight and sensible. I hadn’t expected it to last. But it had. Far longer than I expected. And now it seemed it was going to last forever.
Chapter Two
My heart was galloping as I drove from Mum and Dad’s home in Essendon to the place Michael and I rented. We shared a little terrace in Coburg in Melbourne’s inner north-west with another couple. It had fireplaces and ceiling roses, bad plumbing and dodgy wiring. It was as old as Federation, and every time we got more than a few millilitres of rain the kitchen flooded. The house wasn’t really big enough for four people, but it was nice and cheap. Michael and I saved ten dollars a week each by opting for the smaller of the two bedrooms. Our room didn’t have any windows and shared a wall with the bathroom and its ageing pipes that moaned like a dying donkey every time someone took a shower. But Michael had insisted, because ten dollars a week was more than a grand over two years.
‘There you are,’ he said when I walked in the front door. ‘Did you go all the way to Azerbaijan for those sprats?’
‘I’ve been at Mum’s,’ I said dully.
He kissed my cheek and took the shopping. ‘Dinner’s nearly done.’
We didn’t have a dining table, there was no room. Each night we ate on the couch, balancing our plates on large coffee-table books covered in tea towels.
This is how Michael and I sat on that eve of Christmas Eve – eating bowls of lentils off The History of the World’s Killer Diseases (mine) and Erotic Art through the Ages (our housemate Lydia’s).
‘It’s quite economical, this no-meat thing of yours,’ Michael enthused, scooping some lentils into his mouth.
I murmured in agreement. Even my own sister couldn’t bring herself to eat my vegetarian cooking. It was a weekly custom for her to try and tempt me with some of Mum’s Sunday roast.
‘Are you sure?’ Cass would say, holding a cube of pink, tender meat on the end of her fork out to me.
I’d have to turn my nose away and remind myself of the outbreak of bovine spongiform encephalopathy in Britain that had been one of the reasons I’d taken up vegetarianism. The accounts of the victims of the human strain had been enough to put me off cow for life. Pain. Depression. Certain death. No burger was worth that.
‘You don’t have to worry about organising anything for tomorrow night,’ Michael continued. ‘I thought I’d cook dinner.’ As he spoke he used his knife to divide his lentils and rice into half, then half again and again until he had a series of small, bite-sized spoonfuls.
‘Really?’
‘Sure. It’s our anniversary,’ he said through a mouthful. ‘And I feel bad. I know you hate that job. I know you only took it because you wanted to earn more for the house.’
‘That’s not true, I wanted a change.’ I put my lentils and the disease book onto the couch next to me. If I ate one more lentil, one more grain of rice, I would scream.
Michael leaned over and kissed my forehead. ‘I know you hate it,’ he said.
Until recently I had been a research assistant at Victoria University, caring for mice used in the testing of treatments for multiple sclerosis and motor neurone disease. Each day I’d had to remind myself of the lifesaving therapy my boss had already helped develop. Professor Sach’s office wall was a collage of gold plaques, certificates, and smiling children who’d benefited from her work. But I still felt sorry for the test subjects who had to die so we could study them. I always made sure their beds were filled with dry, soft sawdust and that they had fresh water and carrots and lettuce leaves, as well as the pellets. It tore at me when the time came to euthanise them. But I told myself that if I didn’t do it, someone else would, and they may not have been as gentle. It was my job to make their short lives as happy as possible.
My new job involved allergy testing for a cosmetics company called Lustre Labs. I was working on their chemist label, CityPrity; a cut-price brand that tried to market its metallic eye shadows and glittery body creams as the height of metropolitan sophistication. The money was almost double what I was being paid at the university and the hours were steady. Plus they didn’t test on animals. But Michael was right. I hated it.
‘It was my choice,’ I said.
As an insurance salesman, his salary was almost double mine. He picked up my bowl and took it into the kitchen. I could hear him putting my leftovers in Tupperware so I could eat them for lunch the next day. I sighed, wishing I’d bought the éclair and crammed the whole thing into my mouth in the shopping centre car park.
‘Besides,’ he said, standing at the door. ‘I have a surprise for you.’
I looked up sharply. ‘You do?’ The éclair was forgotten.
‘Yeah,’ he smiled at me. ‘It’s a big surprise. I think you’re going to really like it.’
‘What is it?’
‘Uh-uh.’ He waggled a finger at me. ‘All will be revealed tomorrow night.’
The next morning I drove our 80s-era Toyota to Mum’s place. I took narrow, one-way streets and avoided main roads. The radio in the old rust bucket had given-up and the brake lights were both broken. It wheezed and gasped like it had emphysema every time I accelerated, and the left indicator went on hiatus intermittently. Michael and I had decided that as soon as we hit $45k on our house fund we’d buy a new car. In the meantime we were stuck with this. I frowned at the container of leftover lentils and rice sitting next to me on the passenger seat. Michael wasn’t usually so miserly, despite all the recent penny-pinching. He was just trying to prepare for our future. He was doing it for us, not his own selfish needs.
When I arrived at Mum’s I picked up the container and dumped it in the rubbish bin. Then I raided the fridge, knowing there’d be left-over roast potatoes or a freshl
y baked quiche inside.
‘I called your father and told him about the proposal,’ Mum said. ‘He was very excited. He said he’d make sure he didn’t have to go overseas anytime near the wedding or the engagement party.’
I stuck my head into the freezer to look for ice-cream. ‘He hasn’t even asked me yet,’ I said. There was a square tub buried under some peas. I pulled it out. Bingo. Double-chocolate chip.
I closed the freezer and jumped in fright. Mum was standing behind the door, grinning like a Cheshire cat on Prozac.
‘I know you don’t want me to get carried away, but I saw these and I just couldn’t resist,’ she said, pressing two magazines into my arms. I looked at the covers: Bride To Be and Modern Wedding. Two compendiums of gowns, flowers, veils and table settings.
‘Mum.’ I furrowed my brow. ‘I’m not going to be able to afford one of these dresses. I’ll be buying off the rack.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, opening Modern Wedding. ‘Your father and I will pay. I’ve been looking forward to this day since you and Cass were born.’
A strapless lace dress caught my eye.
‘You only get to play the blushing bride once,’ Mum said, turning the page to a picture of a beaded bodice paired with a tulle skirt.
‘I just want something simple,’ I said, flipping through the magazine. The back section was devoted to a gift guide. Ideas for the busy bride who wants to register: crock-pots, kettles, fluffy bath towels.
My stomach flipped. I could hear Michael’s voice in my head: It would be far more economical to get married before moving into our house because the gifts will save us having to buy a heap of appliances.
Cass was right. He was going to propose.
‘There’s something else I’ve been waiting to give you,’ Mum said, disappearing into her bedroom.
I glanced down at the smiling brides. I did want to get married. I always had. Yet there was a tight, panicky feeling in my chest. Michael was a good person to plan a life with, but the past few months had left me wondering if he was a good person to live a life with. It felt like we hadn’t laughed together in months. After a slow start to our relationship we’d discovered a shared love of British sit-coms and I learned he had a sense of humour that could be both dry and absurdist. Lately the only thing absurd about him was how much he bossed me around.
‘Here.’ Mum was holding an old tea tin. She prised off the lid to reveal wads of white cotton wool. She reached in and pulled out a long gold chain. It was strung with five small blue sapphires.
‘I wore this when I married your father,’ she said. ‘I’ve been keeping it for you for something really special.’ She held it out. ‘Cass will get the earrings.’
‘Mum, it’s gorgeous.’ I hugged her.
‘You are going to make a beautiful bride,’ she said.
The path to our front door had never felt so long. I put my key in the lock but it opened before I had a chance to turn it.
‘There you are,’ said Michael. ‘I thought we agreed on seven for dinner?’
‘Oh, did we?’ I didn’t remember agreeing to seven. I looked at my watch. 7:04.
‘Never mind. Come through.’ He led me down the hallway into the kitchen which was strewn with pots and pans, open tubs of tomato paste and the papery skins of onions and garlic cloves.
I tried not to look at the Everest of dishes in the sink. On a normal night I would have rolled up my sleeves and set to washing them immediately. If Michael was about to ask me to marry him, leaving grimy dishes in the sink was a bad way to start.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll do the washing-up,’ he said, as if reading my mind. He was leading me to the back door. ‘Wait.’ He stopped and produced a tie. ‘You need a blindfold.’
As he covered my eyes I began to feel starbursts of excitement in my stomach. Despite my earlier doubts, a happy anticipation was growing. It was finally happening. He was going to propose.
As the blindfold blacked-out my vision, my childhood dreamscape appeared in my mind. In this 1950s soap-commercial world, I played the impossibly perfect housewife with the tapered waist who did the vacuuming in high-heels. I cared for and nurtured our children. My husband would arrive home and I would kiss him, excited to see him after a day apart. Our dogs, a labrador and a spaniel, would jump and yap at his feet. There’d be a cat too, and maybe a hutch for rabbits. We would be happy.
Michael led me out into the backyard where we had an open carport. I could smell candle wax mingling with eggplant, parmesan and basil.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
I took a deep breath. I pictured picket fences. I pictured wedding china and a master bedroom. Matching napkins. Tricycles in our driveway and a swing set in the backyard.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Voila!’ He removed the tie.
‘Oh.’ My shoulders sank.
‘Your table, m’lady,’ he said, pulling a chair out from the card table he had set-up on the concrete. I forced a flickering smile but a fog of disappointment was filling my chest. He had set the table (no tablecloth) with ordinary (mismatched) plates and a single knife and fork each, which meant no dessert. In the centre was some sort of eggplant parmigiana dish baked on a tray. A single candle had been jammed into a Coke bottle.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked.
‘Mm-mm,’ I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
This was not how it was supposed to be. This night was going to mark the beginning of our future together. It would produce children and form a new clan. It would mark the creation of the Mason-Vaughn family that had two sets of grandparents, an aunty Cassandra and uncle Zach. It would make Michael’s brother Paul ‘Uncle Paul’ and his two children, Brigit and Rachel, would be cousins to ours.
I gave myself a stern talking to. Don’t be silly. It’s not about the props and the pageantry. It’s about me and Michael and our decision to be together.
Michael grinned at me. But something felt wrong. He wasn’t nervous, as I would have expected. He hadn’t dressed with any particular care. His curls hadn’t been subdued with gel. He was wearing his usual short-sleeved shirt, glasses and chino pants. There was no ring-box-shaped tell-tale bump in his pocket and I couldn’t see anywhere under the table where he could hide a small Charles Rose bag or a Cartier box.
‘Let’s eat,’ he said, slicing the eggplant in half. I looked around for a bottle of wine. He hadn’t even put glasses on the table. There was a cask on the ground near his feet.
‘I’ll get some cups,’ I said. (Michael had vetoed my suggestion we buy wine glasses.)
‘Damn, I knew I forgot something. Water’s fine for me.’
I smiled another fake smile. Who drinks water the night they get engaged? This wasn’t right at all. I filled two glasses from the tap and brought them back to the table. Behind Michael I noticed a new addition to our garage. It was a large … something, covered in a drop sheet. For a moment I thought it was our clothes horse. But then I realised it was taller and narrower, and that our clothes horse was in the lounge room, displaying our underwear for anybody who cared to look.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
Michael wriggled his eyebrows in his best attempt at a Groucho Marx impersonation.
‘That, m’lady, is the grand surprise.’ He got up excitedly.
‘What?’
‘I told you I was up to something.’
I was seized by fear. ‘Michael, what have you done?’
He couldn’t contain himself. With a flourish he removed the sheet. ‘Ta-da!’
‘Oh my God.’ I put my hand to my mouth. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
‘Do you like it?’
I was stunned. ‘You bought a motorcycle?’
‘Yeah,’ he nodded, looking thrilled with himself. ‘Now we don’t have to replace the car. I got it on eBay. Six thousand bucks.’
‘You spent my money on a motorcycle and you didn’t even ask me?’
‘Our money.’
‘I can’t believe this.’ My water glass fell from my hand and shattered. ‘You don’t even have a motorcycle license,’ I fumed. ‘How are you going to ride to work on a motorcycle, in a suit?’
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ Michael’s smile dropped.
‘Pleased? We’ve been scrimping and saving for a year … you wouldn’t let me do anything … and you blew all our … I can’t believe …’ I pushed my chair back and stormed into the kitchen.
‘It’s not all our money,’ he yelled after me. ‘It’s cheaper than buying a whole car.’
‘A whole car? Michael, how are we both going to ride this? How will we buy groceries? What if we want to have …’
I couldn’t look at him anymore.
The next thing I knew I was lugging an overnight bag up my parents’ hallway.
‘Where are you going? What’s going on?’ Michael had said as I’d thrown clothes into a suitcase.
‘I need to get away,’ I’d said. ‘I need to think.’
‘About what?’
The question stumped me. I didn’t know what answers I was looking for. All I knew was right now I couldn’t spend another minute in this house with him.
‘I don’t know.’ I couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I’ll call you in a couple of days.’
‘A couple of days? Violet, wait, can’t we talk about this now?’
I opened the car boot and heaved my suitcase in.
‘I can’t.’ I slammed the boot down. ‘I’ll call you. I just need a few days,’ I said, hoping that would be enough time to figure out what I wanted to say.
Chapter Three
I threw myself forward and vomited into the bathtub.
‘I think I have ethanol poisoning,’ I wiped my mouth with the face cloth Cass passed me.
‘You don’t have ethanol poisoning. Here, drink this,’ she ordered, handing me a glass.
‘What is it?’
‘Straight gin. I think you need more alcohol,’ she said.
I punched her arm and swallowed the water greedily.
Chasing Chris Campbell Page 2