by Ali Berg
Bloody Twain.
Bea felt unhinged. The kind of deranged, on-the-verge-of-several-mental-breakdowns kind of unhinged that not even a good book – or even a great book – could take her mind off. Not The Light Between Oceans, not The Invention of Wings, not The Nowhere Child. And not even the annotations in Meeting Oliver Bennett. So, in a bid to get her mind off her earlier encounter with Zach – just when I had started to forget that chiselled jaw and that smile and the way his shoulders shake when he laughs. Damn that man! – she called the only person she knew would take her mind off things. The person who would consume Bea with her own world, allowing her some reprieve from worrying about her own.
Her sister.
Lizzie picked up on the third ring, screamed with glee, then hung up and called her straight back on FaceTime. Bea sighed, answered the phone, and couldn’t help but smile as her sister’s face (camera aimed down at her most flattering angle) grinned back at her.
‘Bea!’ Lizzie squealed. ‘Long time no speak. I promise I’ll drive up to Melbourne soon. I miss your face. And – oh my God – your hair!’
Bea smoothed her bright blonde hair self-consciously. ‘I needed a change.’
‘I can see that. You look so much better.’
Bea shuddered at the backhanded compliment.
‘Tell me, what’s the latest with Next Chapter? I have some thoughts for you.’
Bea was filling her sister in when, without warning, she burst into tears.
‘Bea, what’s wrong? Talk to me,’ Lizzie said.
Tiny tears dribbled down her cheeks as she tried to get a handle on herself. She knew she was overwhelmed, miserable even, but it wasn’t until this moment that she realised just how overcome she really was. Despite her best efforts, forgetting Zach wasn’t going to be as simple as she would have hoped. She hadn’t told Lizzie about the real, completely mortifying reason that she and Zach had split. ‘It was a mutual decision’ had been her go-to line, without going into more details. But now, between sniffs and desperate gulps for air, Bea let it all out. The love, the hurt, the betrayal, and now, the confusion.
Lizzie nodded along and then, when Bea was finally done, she looked Bea straight in the eyes and said, ‘I called it.’
Dumbfounded, Bea struggled to find the words to match what she was feeling. ‘What?’
‘Bea, I told you I thought he was suss. He practically pinched my arse mid-book club. Remember? I know a rat when I see one.’
Bea furrowed her brow. Of course this was how Lizzie would respond. In Bea’s vulnerable state, Lizzie had to make it all about her. A vivid memory of getting fired from her first job at McDonald’s when she was fifteen because she was too shy to talk to customers flashed before her eyes. ‘What am I going to tell my friends? I promised I could get them all free soft serve this weekend. Bea, you are so selfish!’ Lizzie had cried.
‘Lizzie, you’re crazy,’ she said, surprised to find herself defending Zach all over again. ‘He’s just an overly friendly person. And you do, after all, have a very pinchable arse.’ Did I really just defend the guy who has proven to be nothing but duplicitous?
‘Cute. But don’t you dare go making excuses for him.’
‘But what if he means it when he says he actually loves me? What if he did fall for me in spite of everything?’
‘Honey, that may be so, but call me crazy if I find it hard to believe that somebody who is willing to purposely trick another person into a relationship – and love – all for a few bucks, can be trusted.’
‘No, you’re right. Of course, you’re right.’ God, how she hated when Lizzie was right.
‘Thatta girl! Now, tell me, what’s your take on supermoons and mood swings? Because I’ve been a total bitch lately.’
Bea tried to focus on what her sister was saying, but her thoughts kept going back to something Zach had said the night before everything fell apart. He had looked at her with such intensity and asked her if she believed in parallel universes and, if so, did she think they would’ve still found a way into each other’s lives? Could they have met under different circumstances and still have hit it off? At the time she had put the comment down to sappy musings, but in hindsight she was remembering it in a different light.
The logical section of her brain knew he was trouble, knew that Lizzie and Dino were right not to trust him. But then why, when Bea finally hung up the phone, did a part of her feel like giving him one last chance?
Helloisthisyourbook
Scribble of the day: Messina, 7pm
I’ve started to list all the real-life places that Mystery Writer mentions in Meeting Oliver Bennett – there aren’t many of them, but it’s a start. It seems as though Mystery Writer used the book as a bit of a calendar because there are a few places scrawled in the margins next to times of day or addresses. I’m going to try and visit most of them, and put up a Wanted sign in each – with a photo of the scribbles, in the hopes that somebody who knows something might stumble across one and get in touch.
I’ve already popped some up in and around the little Brunswick Street Bookstore. Next, I’ll hit Gelato Messina. Our Mystery Writer, like me, seems to think that dessert is the answer to all of life’s problems.
PS I should tell you, the fake Mystery Writer is back. He’s apologised profusely and claims he’s still in love with me. Should I take him back, even though he’s not our man behind the pen?
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Comments (112):
BookishBabe: You have to try the burnt caramel and condensed milk custard flavour!
Trollylolly: You suck.
NoOffenceBut: Do not take fake Mystery Writer back! I repeat, do not take fake Mystery Writer back! Once a liar, always a liar.
gensteiner: Hon, you can do so much better than him. Do not fall for his tricks!
StephenPrince: @NoOffenceBut, but you took me back last night
NoOffenceBut: @StephenPrince, it was a one-time thing!
What a day, Bea thought as she climbed into bed. She plugged in her phone, curled onto her side and picked up Meeting Oliver Bennett from her bedside table. She flicked to a random page and began to soak up the cursive inscriptions, ignoring the neatly typed words. The scrawls engrossed her just like any good book, keeping her warm and safe. She inhaled the scent of the paperback, not wanting the feeling to dissipate.
She was about to turn to the next inscription when she spotted a faint pencil-sketch of a platypus sitting at the bottom right-hand corner of page 72. It was so faded that she had missed it every other time she had read the book. Underneath the sketch, written in pencil so light it looked like it had been erased, was written, there’s no one quite like you.
Bea smiled at the duck-billed, semi-aquatic, egg-laying Australian mammal that was so totally and utterly unique. Taking her phone off charge, she snapped a photo of the drawing. She was about to open her Instagram app when an email notification popped up on her screen. It was from Mia Molesworthy.
Bea’s heart skipped a beat. Mia worked at Thelma & Clarke as a marketing assistant. They had met last month after Bea had discovered Zach’s indiscretion. She had called the Thelma & Clarke offices incessantly, refusing to believe that Zach did not, in fact, work there, and one afternoon the receptionist was so sick of her calls that she transferred her to Mia. Bea blurted out her whole life story and Mia, to Bea’s great surprise, was completely entranced. The two had been emailing book banter, reviews and gossip to each other ever since. Bea swiped up to read the email.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: You owe me
Bea!
Remember when you told me you were dreaming of converting your freelancing work into your own advertising agency? Well, I might have just scored you your first client. Thelma & Clarke is running a campaign in a few months for Cecilia Beechworth’s next crime book and I pitched your new agency to work with us. My boss is keen to meet you. Are you free to come in the next couple
of days? You better not let me down.
M x
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: You owe me
WHATTTTTTTT! I AM ACTUALLY HYPERVENTILATING!
You do realise this is my dream come true?! I ADORE Cecilia Beechworth! Trust me, I will NOT let you down. I’ll work day and night on this. Tell me when you want me and I’ll be there.
I THINK I MIGHT ACTUALLY LOVE YOU!
B x
PS I’ve thought of a name for my new agency which I have just decided to create, inspired by you. It’s Platypus. There’s no one quite like us.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: You owe me
Platypus. Love it! Aussie, adorable, totally distinctive – just like you.
Come past the office on Thursday at 11am. Have some promotion ideas in mind and some info about a recent campaign you’ve worked on. Get ready to wow us!
xx
Bea locked her screen, sat up in bed and let out a squeal. ‘We did it, Mystery Writer! We did it!’ she whooped, picking up Meeting Oliver Bennett and kissing the faint sketch of the platypus smack-bang on the bill.
‘Oh my God, Lizzie – it was so intense!’ Bea shouted into her phone. She had just left the Thelma & Clarke office in South Yarra and was walking briskly down the street, the cold air whipping against her face. Pedestrians pushed past her brusquely, hypnotised by the tiny screens in their hands. ‘I finally met Mia Molesworthy, the marketing assistant I told you about, she was lovely. But Janine, her boss, well, she’s something else. Absolutely incredible. She’s been responsible for almost every single ground-breaking marketing campaign in the publishing industry. She completely changed the landscape. Oh, and Liz, she is glamorous with a capital G. She was dressed in Versace!’ Bea picked up her pace, overtaking a bunch of teenagers who were sipping slushies outside a 7-Eleven.
‘Jesus, Bea. I can’t imagine you coping well in that situation. From experience, you’re not usually very confident around well-dressed people,’ Lizzie laughed. Bea could hear the twins wailing in the background. Bea ignored her and powered on, too excited about the morning’s turn of events.
‘Well. I don’t know how I did it, but apparently I won her over! I spurted out some facts, figures and campaign ideas and she ate it all up. She said she was happy to give me a go, and Mia and I are meeting soon to go over the brief!’ Bea let out a little scream of happiness.
‘Well what a lovely surprise, Bea! I’ll have to pick out your new wardrobe of course. Now that you’re a business woman you can’t be wearing flannel,’ Liz giggled. ‘Speaking of which, did I tell you that I might be doing a modelling campaign for The Iconic? They’re looking at using some of the ex-Bachelor contestants – and of course they don’t have many options with a lot of them pregnant or notorious party girls nowadays. They of course want someone with a good image, wholesome, keeps herself in shape,’ Liz rattled on. ‘I’m thinking of doing it, but I’m not sure whether I should just be focusing all my attention on my online presence now that I’ve hit 200k followers.’
Bea ‘mmed’ and ‘ahhed’, thinking to herself that she finally felt good about something. After all the shit that had happened to her in the past few months, things were starting to fall into place.
‘Anyway, I better run – I’ve got work to do! I’ll speak to you soon, sis.’
Bea heard Lizzie smack her lips together in a kiss and hung up.
Bea was heading to Revolver Lane, a coworking space on bustling Chapel Street. She needed a change of scenery and to feel like she was out in the real world again, contributing to something purposeful. So she sold the Dyson vacuum she’d won last month on eBay and put the cash towards the small fee for a single desk. An easy walk from her apartment, the office instantly inspired innovation. Backing onto a notorious nightclub, the coworking area was an atrium filled with plants of all shapes and sizes. A coffee shop manned by a very hipster-looking vegan called Ricki, who wore his shoulder-length sandy curls in a half-ponytail and kept his moustache neatly trimmed, flanked the front entrance. (Dino would have a field day if he met him.)
Bea walked over to her allocated workstation, took out a cup-sized cactus from her bag placed it in the corner of her tiny standing desk, and clasped her hands together in satisfaction. She tried to smile at the burly man standing in front of her wearing Beats headphones and typing manically into his computer, but he averted his eyes immediately, and Bea did the same. She shrugged, not dispirited, and opened up the new email account she had created late last night.
Mia was due to arrive at any moment to iron out the contract details and talk strategy, having had to rush off immediately after their meeting. Bea was anxious and excited. Having lost all hope at rectifying things with Cassandra, Bea was somewhat desperate to fill her giant friendship void and hoped Mia might be a suitable candidate for the position.
A cold gust of air hit her face as the front door swung open. Bea looked up to see Mia, tall, brunette and dressed in an immaculate green trench coat and black boots, enter. Mia was unusually striking, with honey-brown hair and almost-black eyes accentuated by thick winged eyeliner. She pushed the aviator sunglasses she was wearing up onto her head and waved.
‘Bea!’ she exclaimed, air kissing Bea on both cheeks.
‘I am completely indebted to you for setting up this opportunity for me.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’m so happy to help. I can already see how talented you are. And anyway, what are friends for?’ She laughed as she grabbed Bea’s hand.
Bea blushed. ‘So, should we get cracking?’ she asked, checking the time on her watch in an attempt to look professional. ‘I’m sorry I only have this small desk, but if you want to gather round my laptop, I can run you through some initial questions I have.’ Bea shuffled over to let Mia sit on her swivel chair.
‘Oh, don’t be silly. This was just an excuse for us to meet and gossip!’ Mia squeezed Bea lightly on the arm. ‘So, should we grab a coffee?’
‘I can do you one better,’ Bea said.
The women walked side by side down Chapel Street, past aromatic kebab shops and buskers playing on xylophones. They discussed how Sunni Overend’s book The Dangers of Truffle Hunting made them want to move to the Yarra Valley, how Buttercup Bookstore was one of their favourite bookshops, and what it was like for Mia to work with authors all day. Bea was exhilarated by all the book talk. But Bea’s breath truly caught when she saw the Messina sign in front of her. She braced herself, knowing that in just a moment she would be walking in the same footsteps as the Mystery Writer. Shifting the handbag strap on her shoulder, she eyed the entryway for a place to stick a Wanted sign.
‘Gelato Messina,’ she whispered under her breath, memories of the scribbled writing in Meeting Oliver Bennett flooding her.
‘Oh my God, I love Messina! It’s time to desert our inhibitions, am I right?’ Mia winked at Bea.
Isn’t that what Mystery Writer said?
Bea stared at beautiful Mia. Even though they had been emailing for the past month, Bea had skipped over talking about Meeting Oliver Bennett with her.
‘You’ve been here before?’ Bea asked, wrapping her arms around herself.
‘To Messina? Yeah, me and every other Melburnian since it opened here. Come on, let’s get ice-cream, baby!’ She laughed, dragging Bea through the door.
Despite the cool weather, there was a line of people waiting to be served. The shop was moody and dark, almost as if they were inside a hip club rather than an ice-cream parlour. Flavours like pannacotta with fig jam and amaretti biscuit, salted caramel and white chocolate were scrawled on a chalkboard in front of them.
‘I suggest the mint choc chip. It’s absolutely dreamy,’ Mia purred. Bea tried to think about what flavour to choose, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the marginalia in her book. Her heart began to flutter.
‘Ah, I
think I’ll just have the hazelnut,’ Bea said, struggling to get the words out.
Mia smiled and ordered two ice-creams in waffle cones.
Bea watched her silently. Mia bit her lip after she spoke. Her eyes closed for a second too long when she described something she loved. Could she be?
While waiting, Mia started chatting casually about how the TV show Younger was, unfortunately, not at all reminiscent of what the publishing world was like in real life. She laughed after every few sentences. Now that Bea thought about it, there was a certain eloquence to the way she wrote those emails. She couldn’t be, could she?
Then Mia looped her arm in Bea’s, and Bea froze. The man behind the counter handed them each a cone, and Mia paid before quickly taking a generous lick of her ice-cream.
‘Delicious, hey?’ Mia beamed, guiding them to a seat at the window.
Bea sat down on the stool, frantically licking her dripping cone.
‘Can I try some of yours?’ Mia leaned over to Bea’s cone, pursing her pink lips over her hazelnut ice cream. Did Mystery Writer just take a lick of my ice cream? ‘So good,’ Mia laughed, ice cream still on her lips.
‘Mia?’ Bea said.
‘What is it?’ Mia’s eyes dazzled, they were almost dripping with secrets, scribbles and annotations.
‘Have you …’
‘Have I what, Bea?’
‘Have you read Meeting Oliver Bennett?’
Mia looked at her quizzically, her brow furrowed. Bea’s breath caught.
Mia inhaled deeply, eyes dilated, before saying ‘Nope. Never heard of it!’ The two finished their ice cream quickly, before Mia announced she had to get back to work.
Bea waved Mia goodbye as she walked out the front door. She shook her head, silently berating herself for being so deluded and hopeful. She then peered at the workers diligently scooping flavours, each one a different colour of the rainbow into cones and cups. Satisfied that they were sufficiently distracted, she quickly whipped out a Wanted sign, complete with photos of the scribbles and big bold letters which read ‘IS THIS YOUR BOOK?’, and stuck it to the window, facing the message to the street. Quick as lightning, she barrelled from the store, muttering a silent prayer as she went.