Walking back into the house, I felt good. Hell, so much accomplished already and I hadn’t even got to work yet. Dammit, there was nothing I couldn’t do today!
“Come on!” I yelled, shaking a fist at the sky, “do your worst! Bring it on, Big Guy! I can take you!”
Yeah, well, that turned out to be a mistake.
Chapter 38: Under the Knife
The Lush! office was already humming by the time I rushed through the automatic glass doors of RTM Publishing just after 9.30am. Throwing a quick wave to Ben, the security guy at reception, I decided to give the elevators a miss, which meant walking up four flights of stairs then down a long corridor, past the offices of a food mag, a home interiors mag, and a music mag for teenagers before reaching the doors of the Lush! mag office. Still breathing heavily from the stairs, I walked in and made my way to my desk, passing Katerina on the way who was eating a bowl of wheat and gluten-free, organic cereal with low fat rice milk. Her usual meal following a ‘crack of dawn’ workout at the gym. She was wearing a tiny orange mini-skirt with vertigo-inducing stilettos and a tight, Lycra top that shouted ‘look at my breasts, aren’t they incredible!’
“Hi Darl,” she said too brightly, “you’re a bit late this morning, you been to the gym or something? I didn’t see you there, I was at the 5am Pump class.”
“Morning Kat, no, I wasn’t at the gym. I was in the backyard smashing my bathroom scales into tiny pieces with a hammer,” I replied, sitting down and turning my computer on. It made that comforting ‘bing’ sound and whirled into life.
Kat stopped chewing for a moment and blinked at me.
“Oh.” She said and I watched from the corner of my eye as her facial expressions went from confusion to dismay to disinterest, presumably because she couldn’t figure out how to link my wilful destruction of household objects to herself or Hugo. So she changed the subject.
“Hey Darl, I hear you’re gonna be in the extreme make-over?”
That took me by surprise. I couldn’t see where she was going with that line of questioning so put all my defences on alert, poised for the inevitable attack via backhanded compliment or subtle putdown.
“Um, yeah, I was kinda thinking about it.”
“Well, I think you’ve run out of time to think about it,” she chuckled, “I just overheard Roxy tell Arabella you were going to be getting up close and personal with the gift-from-God, fat-hoovering machine tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? To-fucking-morrow?
“Oh.” I said, taking my turn to wrestle with confusion and dismay. “Well, yes, that’s right. Tomorrow. It’s slipped my mind, a couple of other things going on right now.”
“Well, I think you’re really lucky. I’d sooo love to have a bit of work done.”
I attempted to give her one of Anita’s withering ‘are you mad?’ looks.
“Kat! You’re 26 years old and you have a fabulous body. In fact, as much as it totally kills me to admit it, I can’t find one thing wrong with your appearance, why the hell do you want plastic surgery?”
“Oh my god Darla! Are you blind?” She said as though I’d insulted her. “I’ve got a list as long as my arm! First, I’d have some of this lard removed from my butt...” she twirled round to show me her perfect, pert arse.
“...See? It’s totally too big and all the spin classes in the world don’t seem to make a damn bit of difference. And I’d have this bump taken off my nose as well as a little chin implant because my side profile is awful.” Again, she turned so I could check out her face from the side.
“Oh yes, I see what you mean,” I said sarcastically, “my God, when you turned side on just then I thought you’d left the room and the Hunchback of Notre Dame had taken your place. God, how can you leave the house looking so hideous? Do mothers pick up their babies and run away screaming when you walk down the street?”
Shaking her head like I was the biggest moron ever to walk the earth, Kat said, “Darl, what the hell are you talking about? You’re the one actually going under the knife to have your entire face rearranged, not to mention your flesh sucked off and false tits shoved in, so I don’t think you can really point the finger of vanity and self-preoccupation at me.”
Curses! I had no comeback. And where did she learn such big words like ‘self-preoccupation’. Was that even a word? I’d have to ask the subbing desk. Before I could ponder it any longer, Roxy swayed over to my desk dripping with her usual effortless sensuality.
“Darl Honey,” she breathed sexily, “I’ve just heard that the surgery can take you tomorrow. I know it’s short notice but you can make it, can’t you? You need to be there by 8am. You’re op is at 10am.”
“Yeah, that’s cool Rox,” I said feigning disinterest in front of Kat, “but don’t I need to go and talk to the surgeon beforehand? Doesn’t he need to actually look at me to have an idea of where and why he’s going slice me open tomorrow?”
Curious. An edge of hysteria had entered my voice.
“Oh yeah, absolutely!” She purred. “That’s happening this afternoon, you need to be at his clinic by 2pm and you’ll probably be there all afternoon.”
“Bloody hell, it’s all rather quick Rox.” My mask was slipping.
“Hmmm, I know!” She said enthusiastically, as though the speed were a good thing. “It is much faster than normal Honey, that’s the beauty of doing it for the mag. They push everything through for us so we can get on top of the story.”
“Right. Of course. Super.”
“Fabulous! Thanks Darl,” Rox glowed, “I’ll email you all the details in a minute.” And off she floated, a vision of chiffon and silk leaving the scent of Irresistible by Estee Lauder lingering in her wake.
“Wow Darl, that’s so exciting!” Said Kat. “God, in just a couple of weeks, you’re going to look completely different. Your whole life will change.”
I smiled wanly at her. Unless that smarty pants surgeon could figure out a way to make that liposuction machine get into my head and suck out all the baggage, I was beginning to wonder how raising my tits a few centimetres or smoothing my forehead was going to change my life.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be great, I can’t wait.”
I’d still do it though of course because, you never know, maybe thinner thighs would change my life.
Chapter 39: The Wreckoning
There were four messages flashing on my work phone. Picking up the receiver, I dialled my access code and listened.
“Hi, this is a message for Deena Minners. Deena, this is Penny Swag from We’re Write Here Communications, I’m just ringing to touch base with you re a press kit I sent you last week on disposable incontinence panties. Now, I know that you’re probably thinking that bladder control issues are more an older women’s problem and not that relevant to the average Lush! reader but our research shows that a worryingly high proportion of 20-something women in Australia experience bladder control problems and our client is launching an amazing incontinence G-string. I’d love to talk to you more about this important subject so I’ll try you again this afternoon but if you want to phone me back on...”
Thanking the universe under my breath for being away from my desk for that call, I pressed delete and waited for the next message.
“Hi Sweetheart, it’s me, Mum. I just wanted to remind you that it’s your Aunty Yvette’s birthday next week. Don't forget to send her a card will you Darling? Kiss kiss!”
I pressed delete and wrote a note in my diary to send Aunty Yvette a card.
“Hello, Detective Warren Jenkins here from NSW police. Would you please call me back as soon as you get this message as I need to arrange a time to come and speak with you urgently.”
Shocked, I played the message again to hear the number he’d rattled off just before hanging up and quickly jotted it down. Bloody hell. I felt like someone had thrown me back to earth with an almighty bang. Somehow I’d managed to put the whole ghastly Gordon situation out of my head for the morning. Probably because the explaining the
shrine to Gordon part was too awful to think, as for the psychotic cat killer, she didn’t bother me. I figured her threats were empty; she was just trying another way to get Gordon’s attention. All power to her, she’d certainly done that.
I decided to listen to my last message before calling the Detective and pressed play. A familiar but very hostile voice launched into me.
“You sick, twisted bitch! Well done Darla,” the voice snarled, “you had me completely fooled. Christ, to think I really liked you. You totally betrayed me. You are dangerous and insane. I hope you fucking rot in jail and I’m going to be doing everything I can to make sure that’s where you end up.” He hung up.
Gordon. Oh my God. Gordon thinks I’m the psychotic cat killer.
Suddenly I couldn’t breathe or move. The room was swaying and all the conversations going on around me seemed to get louder and louder until it was like everyone was shrieking into my ears. I knew that if I stood up I might faint. So, planting my sweating palms on my desk, I concentrated on breathing. This was a fucking nightmare. How the hell had this happened? And how the hell could Gordon really believe that I was the one who’d been stalking him all this time? Did he really think I was capable of slitting an animal’s throat? As it all slowly sunk in, I got less panicked and upset and started to get a little angry. Sure, I could see that there were a couple of things that looked suspicious for me but even so, for him to be able to believe that I do such vile and horrific things. Well, that just made me mad to be honest. Screw him.
My phone rang again. I listened for a few seconds debating whether or not to answer it before lifting the receiver just before voice mail kicked in.
“Yes?” I whispered.
“Darla Manners?”
“Yes.”
“Good morning, this is Detective Jenkins. I’m standing in the reception area of your building. I’ve just spoken to your editor and informed her that you’d be coming with me to answer some questions about a case I’m investigating. So, if you could just collect your belongings and meet me in reception I’ll save you the embarrassment of coming into your office to get you.”
“Yep, ok,” I croaked. “I’ll be right there.”
My hands shaking I carefully placed the receiver in its cradle. This could not be happening. Without looking at anyone or saying anything, I slowly picked up my bag and walked out of the office.
Trying to swallow, I realised there was no moisture in my mouth.
‘Calm down Darla, calm down. You’ve done nothing wrong. Just tell them everything and hide nothing. Breathe. Breathe.’
When I arrived in reception, Detective Jenkins was sitting on a sofa reading an article in a gardening magazine that promised to ‘finally reveal the secrets to growing amazing azaleas’. It had to be him because all the other people waiting for someone to come and greet them were young females, as thin as reeds and about six foot tall. One of the mags was obviously doing a model casting.
He looked up as I approached.
“Ms Manners,” he said, offering me his hand with a warm smile. I relaxed slightly.
An attractive man in his mid to late forties, Detective Jenkins wasn’t particularly tall but he had a solid build. Intelligent green eyes shone at me from beneath a head of thick, dark brown hair. His face and the back of his hands were covered in freckles and he was wearing well cut black trousers with a white shirt and an emerald green tie that emphasised his eyes. On the middle finger of his right hand was a large gold signet ring that looked slightly too tight. Unable to help myself, I glanced at his wedding ring finger. Nothing. ‘Excellent,’ I thought, then realised this was very possibly the least appropriate time of my entire life to be pondering the romantic potential of my situation.
“Hi, call me Darla, please.”
“Sure,” he smiled again, green eyes twinkling. “Darla it is, you can call me Warren. Now,” he said, putting his hand in the small of my back and gently ushering me out, “I’m going to take you home and ask you a few questions, is that ok?”
Like I had any choice.
“Sure.” I followed him outside and got into the police car, which a young officer had idling in the No Standing zone right outside the building. Warren got in the back with me.
“Darla, this is Officer Richmond.”
The young man in the driver’s seat turned his head and gave me a quick smile and nod before fixing his attention on the road again and pulling the car out into the traffic.
It took about twenty minutes to drive home and I noticed that I didn’t need to tell them where I lived. On the way over, Warren filled the awkward silence by asking me general questions about the magazine business. He even laughed a couple of times as I told him stories about rude or stupid celebrities I’d interviewed which helped me relax even more. But as we reached my street and Officer Richmond parked the police car outside my house, the panic recommenced its nibbling away at my intestines.
We got out of the car and the two men followed me to the front door, waiting patiently while I fumbled for the keys in the bottom of my bag. Warren was explaining something to Richmond about how the houses in this area were special because of some building feature that was used back then. Apparently it quickly went out of fashion and this was one of the only areas left in NSW where you could see this particular style.
Pushing the door open, I walked in and lead them through to the kitchen. Our big wooden table seemed the best place for a questioning session and for the first time it struck me that the lamp that hung over it was just like the one they used on The Bill someone was getting questioned. Filling the kettle with water, I asked if they’d like tea or coffee.
“Hmm, that would be lovely Darla,” said Warren. “Tea for us both I think,” he looked to Richmond for confirmation, which the young man gave in the form of a short nod and smile at me.
“Darla,” Warren continued. “Would you mind if Richmond and I had a quick look around the house?”
Again, like I had a choice.
“No, of course not, please feel free, I promise not to make a run for it,” I joked lamely.
Detective Jenkins looked at me as though I was slightly mad while Richmond just stared at the floor.
“Of course you won’t,” said Jenkins. “Right, we’ll be back in a minute then.” And off they went, leaving me alone to give myself a good telling off for joking with members of the constabulary about making a getaway.
I turned towards the kettle and stared at it intently for the three minutes it took to boil. I poured my tea and added milk deciding not to make theirs until they’d finished looking around. A wise decision as the ‘minute or two’ ended up being at least 20 minutes, I was onto my second cup of tea and third Marshmallow Puff by the time Detective Jenkins wandered back into the kitchen.
“No, no, you stay there,” he said as I went to stand up. “I’ll make the tea for me and Richmond,” he said, flicking the switch on the kettle again. “I hope you don’t mind but I’ve left him securing a window in the bathroom. We noticed it wouldn’t lock properly so someone could easily gain access to the house.”
“Oh. Thanks but why did you do that?”
He turned to face me, leaning on the bench with his left hand.
“Well Darla, we have to cover all possibilities. I’m sorry to have to tell you but you are under suspicion of stalking Gordon Worsley and killing his cat. However, at this stage you are only a suspect. If we subsequently discover that it is in fact another person who is responsible then we need to take seriously the threats this person has made against you.”
He paused to pour the just-boiled water into the two cups I’d left on the bench with tea bags in them.
“Clearly this is someone who is very dangerous and it is my belief that they are not bluffing. They intend to hurt you, maybe even kill you. Whether they do it or not is another thing entirely but the intention is real. They really think that that’s what they’re going to do.”
He went to the fridge, took out a carton of
milk, poured a centimetre into each of the cups and returned the milk to where it had been in the fridge.
Covering my face with my hands and closing my eyes, I concentrated on breathing and not crying as the panic hit again.
Warren squeezed each of the teabags against the side of the cups with a spoon then tossed them into the bin he’d located under the sink after about two seconds of searching. He added sugar and stirred before shouting, “Richmond! Tea’s ready”.
“Just finishing up now!” Richmond called back from the bathroom.
“Now,” he said, taking a seat next to me. “The first thing I need you to tell me is why you suddenly decided to remove various items related to Gordon Worsley from your bedroom late last night?”
Oh Lord. That bloody shrine. Gordon must’ve told him. Come clean Darla.
“God, that looks bad doesn’t it?”
“Yep, ‘fraid so.”
“Jesus. Ok, listen. Yes, I did have a bit of an obsession with Gordon. I admit that. I religiously watched his show and had videotapes of every episode. It’s also true that I had a kind of shrine to him in my bedroom and, believe me, I know how pathetic and tragic that sounds but it was only ever a bit of fun.”
I looked down at my fingers gripping my teacup.
“I swear on my life that I am no longer hung up on him in the way I used to be. Getting to know him and realising he was just a guy cured me. Honest.”
I looked Warren straight in the eye as I said that, hoping he could see into my soul and would know that I was telling the truth.
“The reason I got rid of all that stuff in such a hurry last night was because my flatmate, Anita, told me he’d been round and had gone into my bedroom. I figured that he must’ve seen everything and I was so mortified that I just couldn’t it all out of my sight fast enough.”
“And what did you do with the, ah, ‘shrine to Gordon’,” asked Warren with, I suspected, a hint of amusement. Just then Richmond walked into the kitchen, his shirt sleeves rolled up.
“I burnt it in the backyard last night,” I replied.
The Year I Went Pear-shaped: A fat woman's tale of love and insanity Page 16