Those Pleasant Girls

by Lia Weston

  Mini D took back the bottle again. ‘I see your boyfriend’s hair was in fine form.’

  ‘Your girlfriend’s wasn’t. She looked like she was in a wind tunnel.’

  ‘Your insults are powerless. She’s a unicorn in human form.’

  Mary remembered the unicorn’s face in the corridor, framed by the window. She repressed a shudder. ‘Seriously, why do you like her? I thought you’d have better taste.’

  ‘I gotta set my standards high,’ said Mini D, setting another balloon free to drift.

  Mary rubbed her chin on her knees and watched the last car play Pong along Main Street. ‘Pity she doesn’t actually know you exist.’

  ‘I’m biding my time. She’ll notice me eventually.’

  ‘But what if she doesn’t?’

  ‘Then I’ll marry you, I guess.’

  Mary dabbed at her mouth with the part of the jacket sleeve that didn’t taste like menthol. ‘What if I don’t want to?’

  ‘Once you taste the D, you never go back.’

  Mary gave a shout of laughter. ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Try me.’

  She was still laughing when Mini D slid his hands on either side of her face and turned her to him. He had an expression she had never seen before. Her giggles quickly subsided. Slowly, with complete control, Mini D pulled her into him, his mouth on hers.

  Mini D kissed very well, and very thoroughly. After a minute, they broke apart.

  ‘Uh,’ said Mary, feeling a bit odd.

  ‘Huh,’ said Mini D, chewing his lower lip.

  ‘Did that . . .’ Mary looked up at the sky and then back to her friend. ‘Did that feel weird to you?’

  Mini D nodded. ‘Let’s not do that again.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After Sweet Meadow, Fallow Halls was like visiting New York. Their Main Street managed to have both a day spa and a chicken shop. And a wine bar. And a bookshop. And clothing boutiques which weren’t full of tracksuit material, cafes which roasted their own beans, and kitchenware shops that Evie could have happily moved into and died surrounded by breadmakers. If only her family had been from Fallow Halls; it would have been far less jarring to have to move back home. Then again, it would have meant that she’d never have met Nathan.

  ‘Malteser?’ Phil gently rattled the box at her. Evie took two.

  The movie theatre was practically deserted. Everyone had taken advantage of the intermission to stampede to the bar. Phil stretched his legs out to the side next to the empty seats.

  ‘You must have trouble on aeroplanes,’ said Evie as he thumbed the side of his knee.

  ‘Don’t fly much.’

  ‘Never did the gap-year trip-to-Europe thing?’

  Phil shook his head. ‘Uni. Apprenticeship. You?’

  ‘Studying. Pregnant. No gap year for me either,’ said Evie, rearranging her pencil skirt. ‘What were you studying?’

  ‘English.’

  She tried not to look too surprised. ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘Don’t be. Didn’t finish.’

  ‘Got bored?’

  ‘Dad died. Came back to be with Mum.’

  Evie wondered yet again if she’d ever not put her foot in it. ‘Sorry about your dad.’

  ‘No worries.’ Phil glanced at her briefly. ‘Sorry about your mum.’

  The little nest of grief that Evie had become very good at ignoring jumped and settled again inside her chest.

  A man in the front row, who was writing pages of notes, glanced back at them. He had glasses perched on top of his head, and art hair.

  Evie took another Malteser. ‘So how did you get into film noir?’

  ‘Dad was a fan.’ Phil pulled his legs back into position, digging his thumb into his other kneecap. Even his thumbs seemed muscular.

  ‘Did you have movie nights? Please tell me you did, and you wore matching trilbies.’

  Phil shook his head. ‘Would have liked to, but didn’t get a chance. Mum and I were packing up his studio. Found boxes of DVDs. Had no idea he was into it.’ He gave Evie a sideways smile. ‘Thought they were different DVDs at first. Bit of an eye-opener.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Evie wriggled upright. ‘I have to confess something. I thought film noir was just Hitchcock. I’d never even heard of Double Indemnity.’

  Phil smiled, his sleepy eyes dark in the auditorium. ‘Good thing Rear Window’s next.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Evie. ‘Wait, I’ve seen The Maltese Falcon. Does that count?’

  ‘Yep.’ He nodded gravely. ‘Practically an expert.’

  ‘Which one’s your favourite?’

  Phil tilted his head. His stubble was back in force. He was wearing the same shirt he wore to Nathan’s dinner. It was possible he only owned one. ‘Hard to go past The Big Sleep. Bacall. Bogart.’

  ‘You like Bacall.’

  He looked down with the closest thing to embarrassment she’d seen on him. ‘Great voice.’

  ‘Great eyebrows,’ agreed Evie.

  The man in the front was still taking notes, furiously scribbling.

  Evie was suddenly aware that she was having something very close to a proper date. Not that it was a date. Of course it wasn’t, because Phil wasn’t Nathan. She caught herself admiring his forearms and mentally slapped herself. It would only complicate things. Nathan was her aim. Nathan knew her history and still thought she was a good person.

  People were beginning to trickle back inside. Two women clutching Choc Tops and popcorn edged past them, Evie and Phil swinging apart like saloon doors.

  ‘Nice if Sweet Meadow had a cinema,’ said Phil as the women settled down to fuss about with cardigans and bags.

  Evie rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t tell Joy. She’ll install one next to your house.’

  ‘Joy’s okay,’ said Phil.

  ‘She’s obnoxious,’ said Evie, trying not to sound like a sulky sixteen-year-old, a tone she knew unfortunately well.

  Phil tipped some Maltesers into his hand, the chocolates clacking against each other in the ocean of his palm. ‘She’s got a good heart.’

  Evie couldn’t think of a response which didn’t sound bitchy, and settled for, ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Helped me set up my business, fresh off the apprenticeship. Referred me to contacts even though I was still pretty green.’ Phil ate a Malteser. ‘Lot of people wouldn’t do that.’

  Evie wondered if Joy had made Phil work for free.

  ‘Full rates,’ he said.

  Startled, she looked at him.

  ‘I could see it,’ he said, pointing at his face.

  ‘You’re not supposed to be able to read me that well,’ said Evie. ‘No one’s supposed to read me that well.’

  Phil grinned and threw some more Maltesers into his mouth as the lights began to dim. Although he didn’t seem offended, Evie felt the strange stirrings of unease that she had been rude about someone Phil obviously liked. Joy, of all people.

  Bloody Joy.

  When Phil suggested the wine bar afterwards, Evie could hardly refuse. They sat in the window seat, Evie feeling somewhat like a puppy on display in a pet shop. The owner brought them tiny bowls of olives, golden slices of tortilla studded with creamy potato orbs, anchovies bathed in olive oil, warm offerings of bagna càuda. The wine tasted like plums and Christmas cake, soaking into Evie’s blood. Rear Window played in her head. If only she could be like Grace Kelly. Grace could break into someone’s house while wearing a full-circle skirt, and everyone still adored her.

  A man crossing the road stopped texting to stare at Evie. She pushed her hair behind her ear and took a sip of wine.

  ‘It’s a pity Nathan couldn’t join us.’

  Phil flexed his finger on the stem of his glass. ‘Think he’s a bit busy at the moment.’

  ‘He must be so worried about Saint Sebastian’s. I’m not much help there, either.’

  ‘Wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Evie, swirling a carrot stick in the bagna càuda. ‘Did he say something?
’ She scanned his face for clues as he smiled at her. There was something in Phil’s smile that seemed like a panacea.

  They both leaned back as the owner presented them with a dish of almonds.

  ‘Said he didn’t know what he would do without you,’ said Phil, when the owner retreated.

  ‘Oh,’ said Evie, making sure she didn’t drop dip all over herself, ‘how lovely.’

  ‘How lovely’ was putting it mildly. She wanted to high-five herself, text her friends if she had any left, bounce in her chair, but Evie just calmly ate her carrot stick. ‘I wish I could think of something to put the budget back in the black.’

  ‘Win the lottery?’ said Phil. He picked up an anchovy with an experimental air, ate it, and didn’t quite manage to suppress his reaction.

  ‘Ha. If I won the lottery I’d move back to the city.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Maybe. Probably.’ Evie took a sip of wine. ‘Possibly. I don’t know. But for the church I mean more of a fundraising thing.’

  In the bookshop across the road, two women were putting together a window display that involved Brazilian masks and feathers.

  ‘What about a fete or something?’ said Phil, crunching a mouthful of crostini.

  A fete was a good idea, but it wasn’t big enough. She needed the mother of all fetes. ‘Carnivale,’ said Evie, staring at the masks. ‘A carnival.’

  ‘Or, yeah, one of those,’ said Phil.

  Evie was still staring at the window. ‘Side shows, stalls, rides, a parade . . .’ She sat back and looked at Phil, who grinned when he saw her expression. ‘You are brilliant, Phil Beadles.’

  ‘Could have one hell of a bake-off,’ said Phil. His neck was slightly flushed.

  ‘Ten-kilo teacake.’

  ‘Twenty-kilo brownie.’

  ‘I know!’ said Evie, making a frame with her hands. ‘World’s largest scone.’

  ‘You’re going to need a bigger oven,’ said Phil.

  A worm wriggled on an unearthed clod, trying to escape the sunlight. Mary poked a hole in the dirt for it and watched it mine its way back underground.

  In the vegetable bed behind her were neat rows of spinach and beet seedlings. She had harvested the carrots, broad beans and lettuce, cut back the roses, made a new compost patch and turned over two more sections for replanting.

  Back on the veranda, her mentor and Alasdair were both snoozing. Mrs Beadles had a blue-spotted sunhat over her face. Alasdair’s massive head rested on the top step, his jowls hanging over the edge.

  Mary brushed the soil off her hands and went for a wander. Every time she explored the Beadles’ estate, she discovered something new – ceramic frogs hiding under a lily bank, a moss-upholstered wooden chair, and, today, Phil’s little cottage hidden behind a coverlet of white jacarandas. Four sets of boots were neatly lined up next to the door. Peeking through his windows, she learned that he had even more books than she did. There was a film poster she didn’t recognise – Laura, whatever that was – and a fiddle leaf fig in a dark grey pot. Mary pressed her face against the glass to eye the coffee table. She bet he made it. He was also reading the same Kurt Cobain biography as Evie was. She wondered idly if she should tell her mother.

  As she approached the veranda, Alasdair opened an eye and thumped his tail once, rattling the table.

  Mrs Beadles shifted the hat. ‘Ready for tea? Think you’ve earned a whole packet of Tim Tams.’

  Mary sat on the top step next to Alasdair and wiggled his ears. ‘Does he like being walked?’

  Her hostess leaned heavily on the arms of her chair to get up. ‘I’ve never asked him.’

  An ancient red rope was dug up from a box of gardening gloves. Alasdair gave it an exploratory sniff and let Mary attach it to his collar. After a fair bit of tugging, he finally seemed to realise that he was supposed to move, and got up with a groan to lumber down the steps.

  There was only one speed to walk Alasdair: slowly. He ambled steadily along like a hairy Sherman tank, occasionally stopping to take a long whiff of something that caught his interest. Mary tried without success to get him to sit or heel or stay, but he seemed to consider the rope merely a device to keep her from wandering off. After ten minutes she gave up and they meandered together. She took cuttings along the way, tucking them into his collar, giving him the air of a sacrificial animal heading to the altar.

  They were almost back at the gates when the dog stopped. A black Gemini was cruising slowly down the road and rolled to a halt in front of them. Mary, with her hand on Alasdair’s back, felt his hackles start to rise.

  ‘Nice dog.’

  ‘He’s not mine,’ Mary croaked. Her mouth felt like dust.

  Zach got out of the car. ‘Hey, boy. Hey, boy,’ he said, holding his hand out to Alasdair, who promptly folded to the ground and rolled over. Just like every girl in Sweet Meadow, thought Mary.

  Zach rubbed Alasdair’s belly and grinned up at her, and Mary felt something weird happening in her stomach. She crossed her arms.

  ‘You were at the wedding, right?’ said Zach.

  ‘Yeah.’

  He stood up, dusting off his hands. Alasdair stayed in position, hoping for more pats.

  ‘Thought it was cool, you looking after Ebony like that.’

  Her mind atrophied at this unexpected turn. ‘Oh. Right.’

  Zach was several inches taller than her. She found herself caught between wanting to gaze at him and wanting to turn and run screaming in the opposite direction. There was another absurdly long pause.

  ‘Catch ya.’ Zach gave Mary a lazy grin, booted Alasdair gently on his massive chest, and slung back into his car.

  As the Gemini drove off, Mary looked down at the dog, who was still lying on his back, tongue flopping out the side of his mouth. ‘You have no dignity whatsoever.’

  Evie had practised her committee presentation until phrases such as ‘highlighting the kind of community we’re proud to be a part of’ and ‘four dollars for seven minutes means fun for the kids and funds for the church’ rolled off her tongue.

  Joy’s brief honeymoon in Surfers Paradise had apparently diluted any goodwill from the wedding. During Evie’s spiel, despite Nathan’s reassuring smiles, she could see Joy’s eyes getting narrower and narrower, until they were tiny mascaraed letterbox slits. Maybe Barnaby had run off with a meter maid.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ said Amy. ‘It showcases Sweet Meadow to the wider community.’

  ‘It’ll be good for local business,’ said Louise.

  Rachel nodded. ‘We might get more visitors. That would be nice.’

  ‘We haven’t had tourists since that bus got lost on the way to Darwin,’ added Louise.

  ‘We don’t have the resources to organise it,’ said Joy. ‘A screen is far less work, I might remind you.’

  ‘As I said, Joy, I’m more than happy to do the bulk of the event management,’ said Evie.

  ‘Have you ever done event management?’ said David.

  ‘Yes,’ lied Evie, who had once run a pub crawl for O Week at uni and figured that counted.

  ‘Do you know how much it costs to put on something of this size?’ said Joy. ‘Especially when you consider rides, security, insurance, advertising, not to mention other expenses that tend to crop up, as I can attest to, having a great deal of experience in these sorts of things.’

  ‘Your great deal of experience will come in handy, then, won’t it?’ said Amy.

  It came down to Evie, Amy, Rachel and Louise against Joy, David, Rosemary and Quentin.

  ‘Nathan, what do you think?’ said Evie, pleading with her eyes for him to be her deciding vote.

  Nathan was still reading the proposal. ‘I’m not supposed to be the deciding vote – the charter spells that out.’ He put the paper down. ‘Why don’t we revisit it after we visit Fallow Halls? That way we’ve given both options some consideration.’

  Evie tried not to be disappointed that Nathan was being so diplomatic. It was probably a good qual
ity for a priest to have, even if it was hugely inconvenient.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The day of the committee’s road trip dawned gloomily, the sun caught behind a thick nest of clouds that quilted the sky. Evie toyed with the furry collar on her coat while David Sturn negotiated Saint Sebastian’s car park in the rented minibus.

  The door finally clanked open.

  ‘After you,’ said Nathan, a beanie hiding his curls. Giving him a dazzling smile, Evie chose a seat near the front and was chagrined when Nathan continued down the aisle. How was she supposed to bewitch from the wrong end of the bus?

  The road to Fallow Halls rose in front of them, grey and slick with rain. The fields were iridescent in their greenery. Evie slumped into her seat and watched the snowdrops on the edge of the creek flash by. She was sure Joy had faked the sudden attack of vertigo that had closed the last meeting early. Joy had certainly recovered quickly; she was on fast-forward today. Forget about full stops; her sentences didn’t even have commas. She was currently regaling the Pointers with honeymoon stories. Louise and Rachel looked as if they were facing into an industrial fan.

  Amy, one row back, plugged a keyboard into her tablet computer and started typing. Amy could touch-type as well, Evie noticed. It wasn’t surprising that she’d kept that quiet; no one wanted to get stuck doing the minutes, as Evie had been. For a moment she resented Nathan dumping her into the secretarial position, but remembered that he’d done it to spend more time with her, which was flattering, and to help her reintegrate into the community. Still, no one had sat next to her today. Quentin was across the aisle, reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Nathan was with Rosemary Sturn up the back, too far away to eavesdrop on. Evie was a small island in a bus of Sweet Meadowians. If today went really well, her spring carnival would be dead before it had been allowed to even take a step. Evie fiddled with her coat button and tamped down the churning in her stomach, which wasn’t being helped by David Sturn’s driving.