by Ali Berg
‘I don’t think “smidge” is an official measurement.’ Dino threw his head back in frustration while still holding on firmly to the floating shelf.
After waking up, close to frozen, on the balcony, Bea had defrosted in the shower, dressed and dragged herself to The Nook. By 9.15 she was seated at a table with a double-shot latte, one of Sunday’s signature breakfast muffins, which housed a whole boiled egg, and her open laptop. It was almost as if she hadn’t just been fired! How do you like this for professionalism and work ethic, Catherine Bradley? But after an hour and a half of frantically responding to every single job advert that fell loosely within her field of expertise – and a couple that didn’t but sounded like good fun (Hello, Bingo Manager or Emoji Creator!) – she was officially over it. She had even Facebook messaged Ruth from the Next Chapter event to ask whether she still had contacts at Diana’s Muesli and if she knew if they were looking to hire (after she and Dino had googled her to verify that yes, she in fact was the founder). But apparently, after Ruth had tried to tamper with the ingredients – ‘I don’t care about the antioxidants, acai is not a royal fruit!’ – she was no longer on speaking terms with management.
Rather than face reality (it was too early for that nonsense), Bea had traipsed to IKEA, purchased three wooden shelves, a pineapple-shaped bookend and a small framed print that read ‘Don’t Let the Muggles Get You Down’. On her way back to the café, she detoured past her new favourite second-hand bookstore, Another’s Treasure, and purchased thirteen of her most highly recommended books, including, among others: The Bronze Horseman, Kiss Kiss, Today Will Be Different, The Mars Room, Love Letters of the Great War, Say Hello, The Jade Lily and The Hate Race, plus a couple she had been salivating over on some of the many Bookstagrammer accounts she followed, like I Am Sasha and The Last Man.
The perfect smattering, she thought, congratulating herself on her choices and for haggling down the price by $5.65. With her bounty tucked under each arm, she returned triumphantly to The Nook. She was a woman on a mission and wouldn’t be taking no for an answer.
And now, here they were, two small shelves, with one more to go, hung on the wall near the entrance of The Nook. Dino had been surprisingly compliant. He even raved about her book choices. ‘Kiss Kiss? That’s my all-time favourite Roald Dahl!’ he had cooed. Bea had laughed at him, saying of course his favourite book would be so obscure. In her mind, nothing could live up to Matilda. Maybe Dino felt sorry for Bea, or maybe he sensed that if he did, in fact, say no, he might not live to see another day.
‘What are your thoughts on job applications that ask for a headshot?’ Bea asked as she returned to her laptop and the dreaded job ads, and left Dino to hammer in the final nail.
‘Pigs! Absolute pigs!’ Sunday called from the little kitchen out the back. The woman had superhuman hearing. ‘I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them.’
‘Mmm, patriarchy and all that,’ Bea agreed. ‘Now that’s what you should write a poem about, Dino.’
‘I’ve got just the thing.’ Dino cleared his throat, turning to face her. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? Nobody with scarring, blemishes, deformities, or chubby cheeks, and don’t even mention the wrong shade of baby pink,’ he recited, hand on heart.
Bea threw her head back in a hearty laugh, clapping and demanding an encore. And then she kept on laughing. Hysterically. In fact, she couldn’t stop. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled for air. Bea could feel her chest caving in and heat prickling up her neck. And then she let out a guttural sob that came from deep within.
‘Bea, you right over there?’ Dino asked nervously, stepping down from the chair.
Bea nodded, then shook her head, then shrugged.
‘Sunday, we need you out front!’ Dino yelled.
Sunday walked from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel hooked into the belt loop of her jeans. She took one look at Bea and pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back rhythmically. ‘You’re going to be okay. This is part of your life journey. You’ll be a stronger, smarter woman for it.’
Bea pulled away, grabbing a serviette from behind her and blowing her nose. ‘But will I? I’ve been on a downward spiral for months now. Months!’ She threw her hands in the air, defeated. ‘I just had such different expectations of what my life would be. I’m nowhere near where I wanted to be at thirty. What do I have to show for all these years of slaving away at my desk, staying back late to impress the boss, sucking up to clients to win a new job?’ She caught her breath. ‘And I just can’t seem to block out everybody who’s doing better than me. I mean, look at my sister. She quits her amazing job in media buying to go on The Bachelor – The Bachelor! – and manages to turn national humiliation into a blossoming social media career! For which she just has to take cute photos!’
‘Hon, firstly, you gotta chill! Thirty is the new twenty-five,’ Sunday said, sitting on the bar stool and pulling Bea towards her. ‘You have to cut yourself some slack! Don’t hate on yourself for dreaming big. You should shoot for the stars, and so what if on your way up you get smashed into a million pieces by an incoming comet that didn’t get picked up on your fancy rocket ship’s radar? At least you tried!’
Bea looked at Sunday, dumbstruck.
Sunday frowned, rubbing Bea’s knees. ‘Okay, forget the metaphor. But it’s true, Bea. You just haven’t found that thing that makes you tick.’
‘But I’m a damn legend when it comes to finding the things that tick me off!’ Bea exclaimed, grabbing at her half-eaten muffin. She picked off a sundried tomato from the top and popped it in her mouth. She exhaled a breath that seemed to come all the way from her toes. ‘Thanks, Sunday, really,’ she said, trying to sit up a bit straighter. ‘I should get back to these applications. They won’t write themselves!’
‘That’s a sport,’ Dino called.
Bea scowled and hauled herself and her muffin back to her laptop. Clicking aimlessly through job ad after job ad, sighing dramatically after each one, she grabbed her phone and flicked into her text messages. Maybe she needed to get creative?
Bea: Crazy notion, but hear me out. Your bosses over at Thelma & Clarke don’t happen to be on the look out for a totally bookish marketing lady? Would bend over backwards (including working through Christmas) and would consider having children so that I could name one Thelma and the other Clarke (regardless of gender) just so that I could work with books! Sincerely, one very crazed, on-the-cusp-of-a-mental-breakdown Bea.
Zach: I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, can I see you in an hour? Might have just the cure for that mental breakdown xx
Bea: ‘Life is more thrilling when you just say yes.’
Zach: What a fangirl. It’s nice to know I’m quotable. Meet me at Toorak Cellars and bring your happy pants xx
Happy pants? What the hell does that mean? Bea closed her laptop and discreetly pulled out Meeting Oliver Bennett, running her fingers along its spine. She leaned against the exposed brick wall behind her and looked at Dino, who was crouched over, dustpan in hand, sweeping up the debris from where he had drilled screws into the wall. She tried to think back to that quote Zach had underlined in the book, something about how time pursues the frightened.
Bea appraised her appearance in the reflection of the bar’s window. She tugged at the cashmere scarf that curled up under her chin, keeping the cool wind at bay (God, how she missed endless Perth summers), then heard her name being called in a high-pitched voice.
‘Bea! It’s me, Ruth from your little Next Chapter event.’ Ruth shuffled towards Bea, holding a bulging green shopping bag in one hand and a leash attached to what was either a very small dog or a very large rat in the other.
‘Ruth, of course! Thanks for getting back to my message earlier today about the job. How are you? And who’s this little guy?’ Bea crouched down to get a closer look at the brown and white clump of fur scurrying madly at Ruth’s feet.
‘Philip, he’s a chocolate mitt
ferret,’ Ruth said. ‘But I wouldn’t get too close, he hates being touched – needs a large personal space bubble at all times. He’s a little like his namesake, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. Those Brits and their aversion to affection! Gets me every time.’ Ruth chortled quietly but Bea didn’t quite get the joke.
Bea stood. ‘I’ve never seen a ferret on a leash before. Does he get out often?’
‘Oh yes, he keeps me nice and trim. Accompanies me on most outings.’ Ruth nodded emotionlessly, grabbed a small piece of carrot from her bag and tossed it down to the suddenly ecstatic animal.
Bea felt a warm pressure on her back. She turned around to see Zach standing beside her. He hung his arm around her shoulder, kissing her on the cheek.
‘Ruth, isn’t it?’
‘Hello,’ Ruth said, shaking Zach’s outstretched hand.
‘What’s on for your afternoon? Looks like you’ve got a big one in store.’ He gestured to her shopping bag, in which a packet of flour, sugar, eggs and a large jar of jam was crammed.
‘Ingredients for a Victoria sponge cake—’
‘Rewatching Harry and Meghan’s wedding? It’s their anniversary today, isn’t it? I heard it on the radio this morning,’ Zach interrupted.
‘No.’ Ruth stared at Zach as if he had just asked what colour underwear she was wearing. ‘I protested that wedding. I can’t abide Harry and Meghan’s flagrant disrespect for customs and tradition. She won’t even wear pantyhose, for goodness’ sake!’ Ruth huffed. ‘Philip and I will be watching Queen Elizabeth’s coronation. Won’t we, pet?’
‘We should join you!’
‘What?’ Ruth and Bea said in unison. Even Philip seemed to stop and look at Zach in surprise.
‘I’ve never seen a coronation, and sponge cake is one of my favourite desserts,’ Zach said, holding on to Bea’s hand. His expression was open and sincere, and Bea couldn’t help but feel that she had, in fact, won the dating lottery.
Ruth considered the oversized, overzealous man standing before her. ‘Well. I usually watch by myself and take notes. I like scribbling my thoughts down.’ She paused. ‘Yes, you may come to my house to eat Victoria sponge cake and watch Queen Elizabeth’s coronation.’
Ruth placed two pastel teacups and saucers on top of the doilies in front of Zach and Bea. They were sitting on the floor in Ruth’s Toorak penthouse next to a large oak coffee table, which was positioned in front of what had to be at least a 65-inch LCD TV. Bea knew Ruth was successful, but still, she was shocked at the sheer opulence of this apartment. Each room was filled with chandeliers, lavish furniture, glossy timber surfaces and was littered floor to ceiling with British royal family memorabilia: ‘It’s a boy!’ baby mugs lined cabinets; ‘I heart the Royal Family’ tapestries hung on the walls; corgi bobbleheads nodded on the mantelpiece. To top it all off, an imposing feature mural of key family members was painted in each bedroom.
But the best part of Ruth’s home was the floor-length window that offered a striking view of Melbourne’s CBD, narrow skyscrapers and evergreen trees dotting the horizon. Bea couldn’t help but feel like this was the next best thing to Buckingham Palace.
She glanced back at the scratchy black and white footage of Queen Elizabeth’s coronation, which was blaring so loudly that they had to scream to hear one another. Zach had whispered to Bea on the walk over that it would be fun, that Ruth seemed like she could do with the company and they could go and have a drink any time. That small act of kindness made Bea fall for Zach even more. Or is he just avoiding intimacy again? Bea quickly pushed the thought away.
Now, here they were, sitting in a stranger’s house, watching a film from 1953 (converted to DVD) and – after Bea had assured Ruth that she was great with pets – Ruth had allowed Philip the ferret to nestle atop Bea’s lap, nibbling on her blue jeans.
‘THAT’S WHAT YOU CALL ROYALTY! NOT THAT FRIVOLOUS TV ACTRESS CLAIMING TO BE MAJESTIC!’ Ruth shouted, pointing at a young Queen Elizabeth kneeling regally in a satin cloak and jewelled crown.
Bea watched Zach as he smeared a scone with jam and added a dollop of cream before taking a bite; an appetiser while they waited for the Victoria sponge to bake. His legs were stretched out clumsily in front of him – he looked cute yet awkward, like all tall men sitting on the floor do.
‘SO, RUTH, DO YOU, AH, WATCH THIS OFTEN?’ Zach called over the deafening singing of God Save the Queen.
‘OF COURSE. EVERY YEAR ON THE SECOND OF JUNE. SOMETIMES I DOUBLE UP THOUGH, LIKE TODAY. TWICE IN ONE YEAR.’ Ruth was sitting upright on an armchair, holding a cushion in the shape of Queen Elizabeth.
‘RUTH. COULD WE TURN THE TV VOLUME DOWN? JUST A TAD?’ Bea bellowed.
‘WHAT?’
‘THE VOLUME! COULD WE TURN IT DOWN?’
‘OH, OKAY.’ Ruth grabbed the remote and turned the volume down until it was almost muted.
‘Thanks so much,’ Bea whispered, her ears ringing just the slightest bit.
‘So, who’s your favourite member of the royal family?’ Ruth leaned in too closely to Zach.
‘What?’
‘I am making conversation. Small talk. You know?’
‘Oh yeah, of course. It would have to be Harry. He seems like he’d be a bit of fun.’
Bea flinched at what she was sure would come next.
‘Harry? I detest him. Such a wild child. He gives a bad name to the Mountbatten-Windsor family. And you know exactly how I feel about his wife,’ Ruth huffed, crossing her arms.
Zach nodded slowly, and leaned over to take Philip from Bea. ‘Can I hold him?’ He picked the ferret up by the neck and placed him on his lap. ‘Come here, little fella.’ He held onto the writhing ferret, trying to secure him.
‘I think he wants to get free,’ Bea murmured.
Zach smiled, holding the brown ferret down. ‘He’ll be fine. Animals love me.’
Ruth, no longer watching the coronation, looked at Zach firmly clasping her beloved, and obviously very distressed, ferret.
‘DON’T HURT PHILIP!’ She shot up from her chair and yanked at her pet.
Philip squealed and sank his razor-sharp teeth into Zach’s hand.
Zach yelped and jumped up. ‘Motherfucker!’ he howled, dropping the ferret to the floor.
‘Zach! Are you okay?’ Bea stood up and took Zach’s hand at the same time as Ruth crouched down to tend to her ferret. Bea inspected Zach’s hand. Boy, ferrets have sharp teeth, she thought as she tried to stop the bleeding with her doily.
‘OUT!’ Ruth shouted. ‘GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! I DON’T WANT YOU NEAR MY PRINCE PHILIP!’
Zach glared at Ruth, hand in mouth, as Bea yanked at his arm, dragging him out of the apartment and apologising profusely on the way.
‘Just hold still.’ Bea wiped the deep gash on Zach’s palm with an alcohol wipe as he tried not to wince. After fleeing Ruth’s home, they had come back to her apartment to tend to his wounds, which, according to the dejected expression on his face, were more than just physical. She gently laid a plaster over the cut before bringing his hand to her lips and kissing it better.
‘You’re amazing. You know that right?’ Zach smiled his very sexy half-smile. ‘So, are you going to tell me why the hell you have the biggest first-aid kit of all time?’ He gestured towards her giant, almost overflowing medical box, which was emblazoned with a white cross.
‘You’re not the only one who’s full of surprises, Mr Harris,’ Bea said in her most seductive voice, not mentioning the fact that her mother had bought her the first aid kit when she was last in town, in case Bea accidentally stapled her thumb again.
‘I know I’m not, Miss Babbage,’ Zach said, and kissed her.
Bea kissed him back with an intense hunger and swung her leg around so that she was sitting on top of him. Could this be the moment? Up until now, every time they’d come close to sleeping together, Zach had pulled away, insistent about not rushing into things. But Bea was sick of waiting. If there was one thing she was certain about in her life, it
was Zach. No more waiting around, no more kiss and stop. Her body yearned for it.
But with impeccable timing, her phone rang. Bea winced.
‘Just ignore it,’ Bea whispered.
Zach kissed her feverishly, running his hand down her leg. Bea pulled him towards her, unable to get close enough. Her phone rang again.
‘You should probably get that,’ Zach said, breathless. ‘What if it’s an emergency?’
Bea groaned, but picked up her phone. ‘Hello?’
‘Bea! It’s Dino. Guess who I just lined up for our Next Chapter event next week?’
‘Dino, can this wai—’
‘Sophie. Pearson.’
‘What!’ Bea sat up, alert. Sophie Pearson was her idol. Author, Instagram influencer, blogger, entrepreneur, wife to famous radio personality Luke Bold – she was the epitome of ‘have it all’.
‘I know, right? She came into The Nook for a coffee and we got talking. She loved the idea, Bea. I just know the next event is going to be a success.’ Dino spoke quickly, clearly excited.
‘Oh my God, Dino, I love you!’ Bea exclaimed before she could stop herself.
Zach coughed uncomfortably and there was silence on the other end of the phone.
Bea tried to grab at Zach’s shirt, but he had taken one shuffle too many away from her. ‘I better go. I’m with Zach,’ Bea murmured, grasping Zach’s hand. ‘Let’s talk more tomorrow. I’m so excited!’
‘Okay. Bye, Bea,’ Dino said before hanging up.
Bea turned to face Zach, who was now also sitting upright.
‘So, you love Dino?’ he remarked huffily. He wasn’t looking at her.
‘Don’t be silly, Zach. It’s not like that. Dino’s with Sunday. I love Dino as a friend. That’s all.’ Bea squeezed Zach’s hand. Three squeezes. He paused, before whispering ‘I love you, Bea,’ slightly bashfully, as he traced his finger along her jawline.
And just like that, the rest of the world melted away. A tingling washed over her body. She still couldn’t believe that he loved her. That Bea, whose choices of late had been somewhat questionable, who carried a bit of extra weight around her hips, who always managed to get left and right wing political parties mixed up and whose previous great loves had only ever been fictional, was loveable? And better yet, was she a little bit in love too? Bea looked deeply into Zach’s eyes. Caring, witty, playful Zach. She willed herself to be courageous, to let her walls come down. To finally say the words, rather than just squeeze them.