It Started with a Kiss

by Lisa Heidke

  ‘Other than shit themselves, what do you think comedians do ten minutes before they go on?’ said George.

  ‘Listen to the comedian before them. Hope they don’t tell the same jokes. And I read somewhere that juggling helps get the neurons firing, so maybe that.’

  ‘Just watching those guys up there makes me anxious,’ said George as they watched a new performer walk on stage.

  ‘If I was coming on after the last one, I’d be crapping my pants. He was funny.’

  ‘How about we make some more noise for Tony,’ said the new guy, clapping madly.

  ‘Looks like that guy is too,’ George observed.

  They watched as he fumbled with his notes. ‘Ah, seems I’ve… ah… totally forgotten my routine,’ he apologised.

  This was Liam’s worst nightmare.

  ‘So I guess I’ll start with some dick jokes.’

  ‘Ha. When all else fails, go hard with a penis reference. Get it?’ said George. ‘I might get to steal some material, after all.’

  Several audience members groaned. ‘Get on with it,’ shouted one. ‘Get off,’ yelled another.

  ‘Yeah, okay,’ the guy on stage shouted back. ‘We comedians are already insecure. We already feel like snivelling failures. Bring on the hate. I can handle it.’

  A couple of people laughed.

  ‘That’s right, kick the littlest runt in the litter… comedians are like the ten-year-old unpopular kid bringing Tim Tams to school to bribe his classmates. Please like me. It’s pathetic.’

  Liam leant in to George. ‘This guy is bombing badly.’ It wasn’t even nine pm. ‘Maybe there’s something to be said for coming on later. The audience might be pissed, but at least they don’t pay attention. Unlike this crowd.’ They looked relatively sober.

  ‘Yeah,’ said George. ‘No one’s laughing.’

  Liam looked around. The crowd had lost interest as the guy, holding up a cigarette packet, eulogised about lung cancer. ‘Jeez, I think that one was done to death in the eighties,’ Liam mused.

  ‘Yep. You have to choose your material wisely. How many times do you reckon you can repeat the same skit?’

  ‘Until you get it right.’

  ‘Groundhog Day.’

  Liam nodded.

  At some stage during their conversation, the guy must have slunk off stage because all of a sudden there was a petite blonde with tortoiseshell glasses introducing herself. ‘My name’s Mandy and you were just listening to Damo, who’s now taken off down the street. Yep, he didn’t even stop for a handshake, just ran straight outta here. Running, hey? Seems like a great idea, until you actually start running. What’s the bet, Damo’s coughing his guts up, two doors down. He’s lighting up a ciggie and running at the same time.’

  A few people laughed.

  ‘I’m a woman—’

  More laughing, a few whistles.

  ‘Thank you. Thank you. Glad you noticed.’ She picked up a glass of water from a nearby table and drank some. ‘I often think a baby’s laughter is the most beautiful sound in the world. Who agrees?’

  Several people raised their hands.

  ‘Yep, sure is… unless it’s two am…’

  Laughter.

  ‘And you’re home alone… and you don’t have a BABY.’

  ‘Would you look at that,’ said George as around them people clapped and cheered. ‘So simple and yet so effective.’

  He’d had a great night out with George but, lying in bed, Liam was back to his maudlin self, thinking about Lily. He was kept awake picturing what his life would be like if he had some serious disease. Imagining having to tell Friday about it and fearful that he’d ruined his chances of ever returning to his marriage, to his daughters. Yes, he was thinking worst-case scenarios, but Liam had always played it safe up till now. What if?

  Imagine if he was to forever be living in a sterile apartment, the girls would visit him less as they got older and travelled or went to university, and he would have brought it all on himself by leaving Friday in the first place.

  Liam wanted back his old life with Friday. It had been comfortable, peaceful and drama free. Yes, it was occasionally boring, but he didn’t care anymore. He wanted to feel safe. And with his new comedy venture? Well, who knew? Maybe, there’d be potential to develop further. Friday would have his back, he was sure of it. Besides, the prospect of spending every night with Brad was in no way appealing.

  He rolled over, wishing he was back in his marital bed in Newport, his arms wrapped around Friday. That’s what he wanted. He was also ready for another dog. He missed Baxter more than he ever imagined, but he couldn’t grieve for his best mate forever. It was time to move on.

  30

  On Wednesday evening, when Rosie picked me up for Zumba, I wasn’t at my best. Hair pulled back in an untidy ponytail, I was wearing minimal makeup with just a faint slash of gloss across my lips.

  ‘I got a note. Anonymous,’ I blurted. ‘A week ago. It was weird.’

  ‘You got it a week ago? Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?’ said Rosie.

  ‘You’ve been away, for starters. How was Perth?’

  ‘Parentals are getting older, shorter and deafer by the day. Your parents say hi. They’re worried about you. Of course I had a blinder with Auguste.’

  ‘Yeah, I got the two-am texts.’

  ‘To be fair, it was eleven o’clock Perth time.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Anyway, don’t change the subject. What’s been going on in Friday Land? The note? Did you bring it?’

  ‘No and there’s not much more to say. I got a handwritten note in the mail, obviously written by someone who’s watching me.’

  ‘Yes, Neurotic Nellie.’

  ‘Hello. I think there’s just cause.’

  ‘I’ll admit it’s a bit weird,’ Rosie said, softening. ‘Let’s backtrack. Last I heard, you were having dinner with Liam. How did it go?’

  ‘Average. Very average. Blake turned up.’

  ‘A threesome? I like that. Your life is getting more interesting by the day.’

  ‘You’re perverse. Can you be serious for a minute? Blake was in the neighbourhood and popped in for sushi.’

  ‘Really? He was a long way from home.’

  ‘Exactly what I thought.’

  ‘He could be the letter writer. How was he acting?’

  ‘Like he owned the place. Swaggering about and puffing out his chest. Then Liam puffed out his chest.’

  ‘No less than I’d expect.’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t think he’s the writer. Anyway, we made inconsequential small talk until Blake’s food arrived and he mercifully left. Then Liam and I squabbled—’

  ‘And? You stopped mid-sentence. What is it?’

  ‘Nothing. I guess part of me clings to the hope we can work out our differences, but really, we’re no closer. He’s probably seeing someone else.’

  ‘You’ve asked before and he’s said no.’

  ‘So have I. Would he really tell me? The truth might hurt too much. And I know that’s wrong of me, given what I’ve been doing, but I never would have done those things had Liam not wanted out.’

  ‘So maybe he did you a favour. Have you ever considered that?’

  Neither of us spoke for a long moment.

  ‘Could Liam be the letter writer?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘I considered that for about a minute. But why would he bother? On the other hand, your mate, Tommy—’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Seems to be quite attached. I spent Saturday night with him and then when I went to leave on Sunday, he got emotional. Had to calm him down.’

  ‘By fucking him?’

  ‘Really, Rosie! But I did find out that he wasn’t the one who sent me the flowers or the cake, so, God, I don’t know. I doubt he sent the letter, either.’

  ‘Great! So you’ve eliminated all three. Have you checked your KissMeCupid profile lately?’

  ‘Rosie!’

  ‘Didn�
��t think so. I have and it’s going gangbusters. You’ve got dozens of new kisses. Want me to cull them for you?’

  ‘Delete them all.’

  Rosie clutched her chest. ‘No way. There are some good sorts in amongst the dross. Far better that I cull and send you what? Ten of the best replies and see what happens?’

  ‘Ten? No way. Are you kidding me? Absolutely not. I already have my hands full.’

  ‘You don’t know the meaning of the words hands full. Let me introduce you to my world.’

  ‘I really don’t want to be introduced to your world. How you can juggle your men is beyond me.’

  ‘Why not? You’ve told me Tommy’s being clingy—’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Not in so many words, but he obviously is. Blake’s being blah and Liam’s being wishy-washy. Time for fresh blood.’

  ‘All this running around, I’m neglecting my girls. Plus the stalker thing is doing my head in. This guy could be really dangerous.’

  ‘Has anything happened since the letter?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘So nothing in the last week?’

  ‘No, but I’m really nervous, always looking up and down the street, worried another letter will appear in the mailbox, or worse.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s just someone’s idea of a joke. When you get dog faeces—’

  ‘Rosie! It’s not funny!’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.’

  ‘Yeah, well poo doesn’t do it for me.’

  At Zumba, I looked for the blonde psychic but she wasn’t there. Probably just as well. I didn’t want to hear anything more about being overwhelmed. Which I was. Or about my circumstances coming to a head. Were they?

  Afterwards, Rosie and I decided not to go to the pub. It was becoming depressing seeing the same faces every week, almost like a video on repeat. The patrons never seemed to move forward and, if that’s what we thought, I imagined others were thinking the same about us. Besides, given recent events, I was reluctant to leave the girls alone at night for any longer than was necessary.

  Rosie was dropping me home when I noticed an unfamiliar car in my street. ‘Did you see that? A car just pulled out from the kerb and sped off.’

  ‘And that’s odd because?’

  I stared at my house and then down the street.

  ‘Fri, get a grip. The car’s on the road. Roads are designed for cars to drive on.’

  ‘Okay, so I’m going mad. Sending myself to an early grave or at least first on the list for entry to a lunatic asylum.’

  Rosie raised her eyebrows. ‘You said it, sister. Look, I understand how upsetting this must be for you. Should you go to the police? I’ll come with you.’

  I opened the car door to climb out. ‘No, I’m being overly suspicious. I guess I just want things to go back to how they used to be.’

  Rosie smiled. ‘Well, if that’s the case, maybe we can make it happen. I want you to be happy, Fri.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I shut the door and walked through my gate and up the pathway leading to my front door. Rosie idled in the driveway until I gave her the thumbs up and she drove away.

  31

  Maybe I was losing my mind. Other than going to Zumba and work this past week, I’d been feeling too paranoid to leave the house in case the supposed stalker tried to break in or leave another unwanted gift that the girls might find. It was unnerving to think that someone might be out there watching me.

  Although it was only eight-thirty, it was pitch black, the street lamp obscured by an enormous pine tree. I’d turned on the front lights before I’d gone out but, annoyingly, the girls obviously had turned them off.

  In darkness on the verandah, I fumbled to find my house keys before opening the door. Once inside, I switched on the hall light and shouted. ‘Girls!’

  No response.

  ‘Girls! Where are you?’ My voice had a panicked edge. They weren’t answering. My breathing was shallow, adrenaline pumping, as I strode down the hall. Not in the kitchen, not in the lounge room watching television. I was practically screaming when I reached Liv’s bedroom and flung open her door.

  Both girls, lying on her bed, ear phones plugged in, looked up at me in surprise.

  ‘Why…’ I was so relieved I could barely get the words out. ‘Why didn’t you answer me?’

  Evie took out her ear piece. ‘Are you okay? You look strange.’

  Olivia grimaced. ‘Even for you.’

  ‘Fine. Zumba was tough. Why are all the lights off?’

  ‘Because you’re always telling us how expensive electricity is,’ said Olivia.

  ‘True. You okay?’

  Olivia sat up on her bed. ‘Mum, really. You’re so weird.’

  I held up my hand in a peace sign. ‘Agreed. I’m making a cup of tea.’

  While I was drinking a flavourless herbal tea, I switched on my iPad to do some stalker research. I couldn’t help myself, no matter how unbelievable it seemed.

  What were typical stalker traits? Curiosity getting the better of me, I googled the words typical stalker traits and in 0.29 seconds had over four million hits.

  The first couple of sites made for fascinating reading. I was hooked. A typical stalker wouldn’t take no for an answer. They had obsessive personalities (clearly), low self-esteem and above-average intelligence, yet were often unemployed or under-employed.

  I checked the time on my computer: 9.15. What the hell. I picked up my phone and scrolled through the numbers.

  ‘Hello,’ Rosie boomed.

  ‘It’s just me.’

  ‘Hello, just me.’

  ‘I’ve been doing some research about my possible stalker and I think we should go through the characteristics to draw a clearer picture. First up, they’re generally jealous narcissists who are obsessive and compulsive and they tend to fall “instantly in love and are manipulative”.’

  ‘Anyone fallen instantly in love with you?’

  I immediately thought of Liam. Then Blake. ‘Lust maybe. But the jealous, compulsive narcissist could be Liam, Blake or Tommy.’

  Rosie sniggered. ‘So you do have a type!’

  ‘Shut up. The list is endless and could apply to most people. “Typical stalkers often have drug and/or alcohol abuse issues, few friends and frequently have a bad temper or mean streak.” But I don’t think I know anyone like that.’

  ‘Keep reading.’

  ‘Let’s see. “Potential stalkers are individuals who like to be in control.”’

  ‘Don’t we all?’

  ‘Yes, well, again that could be any one of them.’ I paused as I read the highlighted sentence to myself and then aloud. ‘“About half of all stalkers exhibit psychotic behaviour.” What about the letter?’

  ‘Yes, sorry to harp,’ said Rosie, ‘but it’s not exactly a dead rat or an axe through a horse’s head, is it?’

  ‘But still…’

  ‘And there’s been nothing unusual at all in the last week since I’ve been away?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Good. Maybe your stalker’s bored.’ Rosie giggled. ‘A bored stalker?’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll do some research as well and you have another think and we’ll talk soon. We have to figure this out,’ said Rosie, sounding professional. ‘If I had nothing better to do, I’d stake out your house.’

  ‘I can see you as a private investigator, Rosie.’

  ‘Private investigator? Now there’s an idea. I can definitely see the potential and flow-on effect, Fri. “Yes, your husband has been cheating with the buxom, botoxed bogan from three suburbs away but, on the bright side, here’s a discount coupon for your divorce party.” Definitely worth thinking about.’

  After I hung up, I continued scrolling down the list of stalker traits, provided by the good folk at Google. There were a hell of a lot of sites dedicated to stalkers and their behaviour. The rejected stalker seemed to make up the largest group and tended towards phone h
arassment. Then there was the intimacy-seeking stalker, the predatory stalker and the incompetent stalker. Who knew there were so many categories?

  Then, there was the resentful stalker, whose aim was to distress and frighten. Generally, these characters had grievances against specific people—that sounded on target—and this group was the one most likely to threaten victims.

  I texted Rosie: I think I might have a resentful stalker.

  Moments later, a reply pinged back: Snap! We’re on the same website and I agree. That, or a rejected stalker.

  I replied: Why would anyone be resentful of me? As an afterthought I added, As for rejected, I’ve been putting out A LOT recently. All things considered, I’d rather have an incompetent stalker. Talk tomorrow. xx

  Rosie’s response: LOL xx

  I switched off the iPad, climbed out of bed and checked on the girls. ‘Lights out. NOW,’ I said, before kissing them each goodnight.

  ‘Mum,’ said Evie. ‘I mightn’t be a lesbian, after all.’

  ‘Okay. And why is that?’

  ‘Because I got all tingly when Ben ignored me at the bus stop today.’

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘He looks exactly like Harry Styles.’

  One Direction… okay. ‘Well, that’s great, darling. Sleep tight.’

  Man oh man. I had years ahead of me.

  In the kitchen, I picked up the girls’ lunchboxes to wash and found that Evie hadn’t eaten her food. Again. Why was she buying crap at the canteen instead of eating her own lunch? It was frustrating.

  Absent-mindedly, I made sandwiches for the following day’s lunch whilst thinking about the stalker. The best-case scenario would be having an incompetent one, or none at all, but the situation was frightening. So much so that I checked the locks and the girls several times before eventually turning out the lights and climbing into bed as I had every night since the letter.

  Every time the phone rang, I jumped; when I walked outside, I peered around nervously, waiting for some random stranger to pop out in front of me. When I checked the letterbox, I almost expected another crazy letter. It was always worse at night, when every sound seemed magnified one hundred fold. Right now, several hooting owls were giving me the creeps.

  The next morning, when I noticed a small package on the doormat, I felt my heart palpitate. Wrapped in brown paper, the address simply said ‘Friday’ in swirly letters. This couldn’t be good. I looked around to see if anyone was watching me (there didn’t appear to be), bent down to snatch up the parcel, and walked back inside, slamming the door closed.