The Ex Factor

by Laura Greaves

  ‘Ew! How juvenile is this woman?’

  ‘Stupidly good-looking people are always wildly insecure,’ Frankie says knowledgeably. ‘It’s a cross we must bear.’

  I can’t help but laugh. ‘I don’t know about insecure, but she sounds positively unhinged. You might think she’d be more concerned about saving her failing marriage than having a go at someone as insignificant as me.’

  ‘But you’re not insignificant, Kitty,’ my sister says, her tone suddenly serious. ‘You’ve got Mitchell and it sounds like she’s not quite ready to give him up, husband or no husband. Hashtag: nutjob.’

  There’s a knock at the front door. ‘That’ll be Adam. I’m not quite ready. Would you mind letting him in?’

  ‘Sure,’ Frankie says, and just about bounds into the hall.

  I go through the motions of tucking in flyaway strands of coppery hair – known to Vida’s million-plus Twitter followers as my ‘drapes’ – and applying a slick of lip gloss. But I can’t shake the feeling of disquietude that now claws at me. I’m sure Frankie’s right and Vida is just bitter and sad about the public breakdown of her marriage to Ellis. But what if she really does want Mitchell back? It was my first instinct when I saw that email pop up in Mitchell’s hotel suite and it’s been bugging me ever since. Vida knows him much better than I do – does she really think she can win his heart again?

  When I venture into the living room minutes later, I’m surprised to see Adam and Frankie sitting side by side on the sofa, laughing quietly.

  ‘Ready to go?’ I interrupt their cosy chat, maybe a little bluntly.

  Adam looks up with a start. Bananarama is curled up on his lap, snoring.

  ‘Kitty! You are a rose in bloom as always. I’m a fortunate man to have the pleasure of your radiant company for an entire evening.’

  I’m surprised to feel my heart give a little aching throb at his verbose greeting. I’m going to miss Adam so much. Who knows how long it will be before I make a friend like him in America – if I ever do.

  ‘Shall we go?’ I say, moving toward the door.

  ‘But of course.’ He picks up Rama and passes her gently across to Frankie, who cradles the still-sleeping dog on her lap. Now I really have seen everything.

  ‘Bye, Frank,’ I say as I head out. But my sister isn’t looking at me; she’s looking at Adam.

  ‘Has Bananarama lost weight since I saw her last?’ Adam asks as we walk to his car.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘She’s looking a little frail to me. I wouldn’t mind checking her over. Can you bring her into the clinic this week?’ His voice is grave and anxiety suddenly twists in my belly.

  ‘Of course. Do you think she could be sick?’

  Ever the gentleman, Adam opens the passenger door of his car and I slide in. He closes it behind me and strides around to the driver’s side.

  ‘It’s possible. There are a number of serious conditions associated with sudden weight loss,’ he says as he gets in.

  ‘Jesus, Adam, don’t sugar-coat it or anything, will you?’ I try to sound teasing, but he instantly detects the note of fear in my voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kitty. Chances are Rama is absolutely fine. Weight loss can also be a symptom of simple old age. I’ll just run some tests on the old girl to be on the safe side.’ He reaches across and gives my hand a squeeze as he pulls the car away from the kerb.

  Neither of us says much as Adam drives us to a cute little Greek restaurant in nearby Manly. I guess he’s mentally running through the litany of hideous things that could be wrong with Rama. Meanwhile, I’m thinking about how I’m going to tell him about my imminent journey across the Pacific. I didn’t just want to blurt out the news to my best friend over the phone. Adam deserves better than that. I even swore Frankie to secrecy, which was a weird proposition. Until recently, it never would have occurred to me that my sister might see or speak to Adam independently of me, but they seem to be practically bosom buddies now.

  ‘So, how are you, my lovely?’ Adam asks once we’re seated at an outdoor table. ‘How goes the torrid liaison with the matinee idol?’

  ‘If you’re asking how I am and how things are going with Mitchell, the answers are great and really well,’ I reply, making a face. ‘Seriously, Adam, is it even possible for you to ask a question without sounding like you’ve swallowed a thesaurus?’

  ‘Well, excuse me for attempting to preserve some semblance of the Queen’s English. Would madam prefer I grunt and beat my chest like the rest of the gorillas?’

  He tries to look offended, but I see a hint of a smile playing across his lips and I feel another pang in my chest. How am I going to cope when there’s twelve thousand kilometres between me and this eccentric, adorable man? Really. How?

  ‘Go on, then,’ Adam continues, grinning now. ‘Tell me all about Mr Wonderful. I can promise you precisely two minutes of my rapt attention before I throw up.’

  I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. ‘Things with Mitchell are . . . they’re really great,’ I begin slowly. ‘In fact, he’s asked me to go to Los Angeles with him when he’s done shooting the movie.’

  Adam lets out a hoot of laughter. ‘These Hollywood types! Forever shacking up and getting hitched at warp speed. Have they no respect for the gentle art of courting? It’s no wonder their relationships last an average of forty-five minutes.’

  My mind wanders to the many recent nights Mitchell and I have spent exploring each other. There’s been nothing ‘gentle’ about it. I shiver at some of the more debauched memories.

  ‘So how did he take it?’

  ‘Take what?’

  ‘The rejection. When you explained to him that “regular folks”’ – he says this in his best approximation of an American hillbilly accent –’tend to prefer candlelit dinners and actual conversation before upping sticks and moving halfway across the globe?’

  I lower my gaze to my plate. ‘Well, see, that’s the thing. I didn’t reject the idea.’

  ‘You’re actually thinking about it? Kitty, you’re pulling my leg!’ The incredulity in Adam’s voice is like fingernails on a blackboard. I’m not used to being so quickly and harshly judged by my best friend.

  ‘I’m not just thinking about it, Adam.’ I look up and meet his eyes. ‘I’m going. I’ve told Mitchell I’ll go to LA with him. I leave in a month.’

  The expression that contorts Adam’s delicate features then is one I’ve never seen before – at least, not directed at me. It’s unadulterated contempt, and it takes my breath away. He covers it quickly with a look of bemused surprise, but it’s too late. I’ve seen what he really thinks of Mitchell, of me, written all over his face.

  ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ he says, so quietly it’s unnerving. ‘You barely know this man.’

  Like I need reminding of that fact. ‘Are you and Frankie in cahoots or something?’ I say, trying to keep my tone light. ‘She went all “stern schoolmarm” on me as well. Come on, Adam. Where’s your sense of adventure?’ I give his forearm a playful squeeze.

  And he flinches.

  ‘Where’s your sense of not acting like a hormonal adolescent?’ he spits. ‘Does he even love you?’

  I bristle at his tone; it’s as if he thinks the very idea of Mitchell falling for me is laughable. And I notice neither Adam nor Frankie has ever asked whether I love Mitchell. Why aren’t my feelings as important a part of the equation as his?

  ‘You can’t possibly believe this . . . relationship has a future,’ Adam continues bitterly.

  ‘Well, I can see that you don’t. But I do, as it happens. I’m not sure it’s something I can properly explain to you, Adam. I can hardly even explain it to myself. What Mitchell and I have is . . . it’s unearthly.’

  He rolls his eyes, a very un-Adam gesture. ‘Oh, please. Kitty, you’re just dazzled by the money and the fame. There’s nothing unearthly about that. In fact, it’s so earthly it’s utterly prosaic.’

  His words are like a slap ac
ross the face. ‘Do you really think so little of me?’

  He makes an exasperated sound. ‘Of course not. I know you’d never set out to land a man with money,’ he tuts. ‘But you’re only human, Kitty, and you’ve had a rough trot the past couple of years. It’s only natural that you want to be taken care of. Just don’t try to dress it up as some grand love affair, is all I’m saying. You don’t have to play coy with me.’

  For a moment, I’m literally speechless. I stare at Adam, my mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s as I fight to find the words to defend myself. But he’s not finished.

  ‘Have you even stopped for a second to ponder the improbability of this entire scenario? Have you asked yourself why this guy – this guy who could have his pick of any starlet on the planet – is interested in a dog trainer from Narrabeen? Isn’t there some small part of you that wonders, “Why me?”’

  ‘Why not me, Adam? I may be just a dog trainer, but I’m not totally grotesque.’ I offer a watery smile. I’m trying desperately to keep the mood buoyant, but his cruelty has cut me to the core.

  Adam blinks, surprised. ‘Of course you’re not, Kitty. I didn’t mean —’ He looks down at his plate and exhales noisily. ‘You’re fantastic. Any mere mortal would be lucky to have you.’

  ‘But for a demigod like Mitchell to be interested, he must have a hankering for a bit of rough?’

  He rolls his eyes again, and fixes me with a look of distaste that sets my blood boiling. He actually thinks I’m the one who’s gone too far.

  ‘Well,’ he says after thirty excruciating seconds. ‘His last girlfriend was a supermodel.’

  Fury rears up in my belly and I know that if I try to respond I’m liable to throw crockery at him. In all my life, I’ve never been the subject of such a vicious character assassination. Even in some of Frankie’s and my most pyrotechnic arguments, my drama-loving sister has never said anything this mean. I just can’t believe what I’m hearing from Adam, my best friend, the person whose support and approval means more to me than anyone else’s. This isn’t him; the Adam I know would never even think these things, let alone say them aloud. There’s something else going on here; some other issue at play. And whatever it is, at this moment it feels like the future of our friendship depends on me cutting him some slack because of it.

  Silently, I count to ten in my head and try a different tack: changing the subject.

  ‘I’ve got everything sorted for the dogs,’ I say evenly. ‘It’s a surprisingly straightforward journey for them. It’s only a thirteen-hour flight, and their vaccinations are up to date so they won’t have to be quarantined or anything in LA.’

  Now it’s Adam’s turn to be lost for words. He simply stares at me, open-mouthed. After what feels like an hour he says, ‘No.’

  ‘No, it won’t be a drama? You agree?’

  He shakes his head. ‘You can’t do this.’

  My patience is approaching wafer-thin territory. I’m gripping my fork so tightly my knuckles are white. ‘And why is that?’

  He counts his points off on his fingers like he’s explaining something basic to a child. ‘Reggie is deaf and highly anxious. Dolly is twelve years old and has arthritic hips. Carl is . . . well, Carl. And Bananarama . . .’ he trails off, shaking his head again.

  ‘What? What about Rama? If you’ve got something to say to me, Adam, do me a favour and just spit it out. We’re way past subtlety now.’ I’m aware the pitch of my voice is rising; the people at the next table shift in their seats.

  ‘She’s old, blind and incontinent. She’s already gone through the loss of your mother, her companion for more than a decade. And now you want to take her away from everything that makes her feel secure, stick her in the bowels of a tin can for thirteen hours and then force her to come to terms with a totally unfamiliar environment. An environment that, let’s be honest, you’ll probably have to drag her out of again within a few weeks when you realise your ridiculous infatuation with Mitchell Pyke is based on nothing but sex and hype, and you scurry home with your tail between your legs.’

  He punctuates his tirade by hammering his fist on the table, making our wine glasses jump. His neck is flushed crimson. I’ve never seen Adam so angry.

  Hot tears prick at my eyes and I feel my chin start to quiver. ‘I would never do anything that I thought could hurt or upset any of my dogs, especially Rama,’ I say, fighting to regain my composure. ‘You don’t know her like I do, Adam. She’s a tough little thing. A fighter.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ he spits, and for a second I find myself surprised that his usually artful language should be usurped under pressure by such a garden-variety profanity. ‘You’ll tell yourself anything if it justifies what you want to do. And to think I was under the impression Frankie was the selfish Hayden sister. She’s got nothing on you.’

  My tears spill over and for a fleeting moment Adam looks stricken. Then his face sets into a stony mask once more.

  The waiter appears at my elbow bearing heaped plates of souvlaki just as I get to my feet and toss my linen napkin onto the table. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say as I pick up my handbag. ‘So fuck you, Wordsworth.’

  Adam tries to clasp my hand as I push past him. ‘Kitty, wait,’ he pleads.

  But I’m done waiting. And if I’m truly the mercenary harridan he says I am, I guess he won’t be surprised.

  13.

  ‘Let me see my babies!’

  ‘Oh, that’s really nice,’ Frankie replies haughtily. ‘Forget about the little sister – it’s all about the mutts.’

  ‘Please, Frankie. I can’t tell you how much I miss them.’

  With an exaggerated sigh, Frankie picks up her laptop and angles the webcam towards the floor. Reggie, Carl and Dolly sit at her feet.

  ‘Hi, puppies! How’s my lovely loves? Are you being good for Aunty Frankie? Are you being lovely good doggies?’ For once I’m glad I’m alone in Mitchell’s cavernous house; I’d be mortified if anyone but Frankie were privy to this little display.

  The boys cock their heads adorably to one side as they try to figure out why they can see my face and – at least in Carl’s case – hear my voice when I’m not actually in the room. Dolly whines excitedly, as though she expects me to climb out of the computer screen at any moment and throw her a Schmacko. If only I could.

  ‘Where’s Bananarama?’ I ask.

  ‘She’s asleep on your bed,’ my sister says, her face filling the screen once more. ‘She’s been in there practically twenty-four-seven since you left. I think she’s really missing you.’

  I feel my heart constrict as if there’s a fist around it. I miss Rama, too. I miss all the dogs. I miss my house and my own bed. I miss Narrabeen beach and that azure Sydney sky that no other place on earth can emulate. I even miss my moody, unreliable sister. Sometimes I miss them all so much it feels as if I might collapse under the weight of it.

  And I miss my mother so much I can barely breathe.

  These weekly Skype chats with Frankie are wonderful, but they also serve to remind me just how much time I’ve spent feeling utterly consumed by longing since arriving in Los Angeles with Mitchell a month ago.

  ‘Do you think she’s okay, though?’ I ask. ‘I mean, is she healthy?’

  Frankie would laugh if she knew how many hours I’ve spent fretting about Rama’s wellbeing since leaving Sydney. Adam and I didn’t speak again before I flew out; he called, but I was too devastated by his verbal assault at the restaurant to talk to him, much less see him. So, for the first time in years, I took Bananarama to see a vet that wasn’t him. She confirmed Adam’s suspicion that Rama is simply slowing down with age. Unfortunately, she also agreed with Adam on one other thing: that bringing Bananarama to Los Angeles would be too stressful for her frangible little body to cope with. I couldn’t bear the thought of taking Reggie, Dolly and Carl with me and leaving Rama in Sydney, confused and missing her playmates, so after many sleepless nights, I made the gut-wrenching decision
to leave the dogs at home with my sister. And a long, long list of instructions.

  With hindsight, I know it was the best thing for them – not that I’d ever say so to smug, self-righteous Adam. But it doesn’t change the fact that their absence makes me feel like I’m missing a limb.

  ‘Adam says she’s fine. She’s just old and a bit sad,’ Frankie says.

  Not sad. Old I can just about cope with, but the thought of delicate little Rama feeling even slightly melancholy makes me blink back tears. God, I’m a freaking mess lately. It might be always sunny in California – even now, disconcertingly, in the so-called depths of the northern winter – but it seems to be perpetually raining in my soul these days.

  Still, I adopt my breeziest tone and say, ‘You’ve seen Adam, then?’ I didn’t tell Frankie about the awful things he said to me that night, and if she noticed his conspicuous absence from the house in the lead-up to my departure she didn’t mention it. As far as my sister is aware, everything’s still hunky-dory between me and my best friend.

  ‘Don’t worry, Rama’s really okay. I didn’t “take her to the vet” as such. Adam just happened to be here so I asked him to have a look at her. I knew you’d want a full report,’ she says with a giggle.

  I frown. ‘Why was Adam there?’ He’s always been cold towards Frankie – although admittedly he seems to have defrosted a little recently – and now he’s apparently written me off, too. What possible reason could he have for popping by?

  ‘But enough about these fleabags!’ Frankie says abruptly. ‘I want to hear about you. What Hollywood adventures have you had this week?’

  I don’t know where to start. Should I tell my sister about the long days and nights I’ve spent alone while Mitchell shoots his latest movie? Maybe I should tell her that, despite my shiny new work visa, I’ve had no luck finding training work because ‘the town’ – that’s what Hollywood people call Hollywood, because they literally can’t fathom a world beyond it – already has an oversupply of animal wranglers. Perhaps she’d like to know how my continuing unemployment is causing friction between me and Mitchell, because he doesn’t want me to work at all and I’m determined to make myself useful.