The Changing Room

by Christine Sykes

  ‘This is what it’s all about,’ Claire whispered to Anna.

  *

  In the short window she had after the end of the styling session and before the arrival of her guests, Claire placed the last napkin on the table setting she’d created. She had chosen a seaside theme to reflect the last days of summer: blue-and-white napkins and a centrepiece of yellow frangipanis. She breathed in the sweet fragrance and gazed at the glasses sparkling in the twilight. She loved this time, the calm before the arrival of people.

  That evening she and Anthony were entertaining his work colleagues and their wives with a dinner of last-minute items Claire had bought from the delicatessen.

  Claire had taken a keen interest in helping Anthony with his career and most of the men coming were also surgeons at the top of their fields. Their wives were well educated and many, like Claire, had their own businesses. One had a home-styling company and another headed an agency that ran high-end special interest overseas tours.

  Claire took a moment to be grateful. She had achieved her goals and had everything she’d ever dreamed of – a beautiful house, a career, a devoted husband and two children, a boy and a girl. Both offspring were at university, Lauren in her first year and Nathan in his third year, and both were well behaved and respectful. Claire had been the same for her parents – almost perfect. And the few times she wasn’t, her father had rescued her, laughing it off as being the prank of a too intelligent child and telling her she was perfectly imperfect, like a snowflake.

  The doorbell rang and Claire warmly greeted her first guests with their favourite drink and a selection of canapés that were the right size and consistency to be elegantly eaten while standing.

  Claire and Anthony had worked hard to get where they were. Having a head start wasn’t enough. Her mother had told her many times she should never forget she was born privileged, she had to make the most of her opportunities and she must always give back to those less well off. Even tonight, she would talk to her guests about how to raise more money for women in need. It was through her networking that so much had been achieved for Suitability, but now she wanted them to make a special effort. She hoped to move Suitability into better, more secure premises.

  ‘So you see,’ she was saying to Yvette, a surgeon visiting from one of Europe’s top hospitals, the Hôpital Necker in Paris, ‘that’s why we need a constant supply of stylish work clothes. Maybe you could help us out by speaking at a volunteer event on Bastille Day.’

  ‘Well, that is so very good, I would love to help,’ Yvette said. ‘And perhaps you can help me convince your husband to come work with me in Paris. I have suggested he apply for our visiting fellow scholarship. He could make a wonderful contribution to our hospital. You agree, non?’

  ‘Mais oui,’ said Claire. ‘We love Europe and I’ve always wanted to live in Paris.’

  Yvette brushed a tiny morsel from her stylish, red halter-neck dress. The silky dress shimmered in the fiery sunset.

  Claire ushered the guests to the dining table for the main meal. The waiters, who she’d hired from a training program for people with disabilities, were serving the food from the left side of the seated guests, and in every detail were fulfilling their roles like fully fledged professionals. She called one over and asked him to put aside a plate of food, which she would take to Molly.

  Claire didn’t usually follow up with new clients, but Sophie had asked her to look in on Molly as a special favour.

  10

  MOLLY

  Molly rose, eyed her new dress but put on an old T-shirt and some loose trackie dacks, and prepared her breakfast. The kitchen was clean, the tidiest it had been in the month she’d lived there. Soon after moving in, she’d thrown Grandma’s old bottles of half-used sauces and condiments into the garbage and scrubbed the shelves. Molly paused to look through the clean windows into the backyard. It was overgrown with morning glory and she hoped she’d have the energy to clear some of the weeds to make space for a vegetable garden and a play area for the kids.

  Molly had painted the boys’ room in Arctic White, the cheapest paint she could find. She’d saved money for the paint from her temporary welfare by buying the cheapest food at the market. Molly also made a few extra dollars working as a casual kitchenhand at the trendy Erko hotel. She’d tried making muffins for the cafe near the station, but they said she had to get proper approvals and she couldn’t get her head around the regulations.

  She was desperate to finish cleaning the second bedroom, which she hadn’t known was there until she prised open the door, several days after first moving in. She’d assumed it was a cupboard when she’d stumbled on it searching for material for curtains, and there it was: a tiny room hidden behind a door jammed shut. It was full of stuff that had belonged to her long dead grandad, whom she only knew as a young man in uniform in a photograph. The room was stacked with old magazines and empty bottles. Underneath them she’d found a rat-infested armchair. Rolls of moth-eaten curtain material leant against the damp walls. Molly had tried to clear out the room without breathing in, and regularly rushed into the yard to get some fresh air. She had pulled up the smelly carpet and left all the windows open to dry out the room.

  Today, her twenty-first birthday, she would scrub every inch of it. She would paint it Arctic White and would make pink bedding for the girls.

  Joe’s mate Greg had taken most of the rubbish in his trailer the previous day as a favour. It hadn’t taken him long to do a lot of work. Molly had watched him effortlessly lift three heavy boxes at a time, where she would have struggled for ages with one. He’d offered to do her another favour, if she knew what he meant, but Molly was determined not to fall into any of those traps. He’d been sniffing around ever since Joe had left but she’d rather be alone than end up with some oversexed drongo knocking on her door at all hours of the day and night with flasks of cheap booze or worse. Despite what had happened, she hoped Joe would come back. He’d ride up the street on a Harley, stop at the front gate and when she raced into his arms, he’d beg her for forgiveness. Now she was settled in her own house, everything would be different.

  Molly’s heart jumped when the doorbell rang. She wiped her face with her sleeve, tied her hair back with a rubber band and swung open the door. Sunlight caught the white blouse of the woman on the doorstep.

  ‘Hi, Molly,’ said Claire. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I know today is your birthday and I thought you could help me out by taking some of the leftovers from dinner last night. I don’t know why, but I always provide too much.’

  Molly hated this false charity. Why couldn’t people just come out and say it? Hey Molly, I know you are alone on your birthday and can’t afford a decent meal, so I made my guests, who are probably all on a diet anyway, go without a little food so I could bring it to you and feel better about myself.

  There was an awkward silence. Molly held her tongue, the way Grandma used to tell her to do. She wished Claire would leave the food and go.

  ‘Thanks,’ Molly said.

  ‘It’s no problem. Really. I was coming this way and thought you might …’

  Molly didn’t want to invite Claire in. The house would look tatty and old to someone like Claire. But Claire wasn’t going away.

  ‘Do you wanna come in?’ Molly asked. ‘I was about to get scrubbin’ the girls’ room, but we can have a quick cuppa.’

  ‘Sure. Can I help with the girls’ room?’

  ‘Not in those clothes, ya can’t,’ said Molly, hoping it sounded like a joke.

  ‘Oh, these old things. Did you say you have the welfare people coming this week?’

  ‘Yeh. To see if the house is fit for the kids.’

  ‘It looks so neat and cosy.’

  ‘You should’a seen it before,’ said Molly. ‘What a mess.’

  ‘Well, you’ve done a great job. Can I see the rest of the house?’

  Prying bitch, thought Molly. ‘Sure,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, look at all the work you’ve d
one,’ said Claire. ‘I love the paint colour. It’s so bright and easy to match with any décor. That reminds me, I have some children’s sheet and doona cover sets which I don’t need anymore. You’d be doing me a favour if you took them off my hands. There are two sets of blue ones and two of pink. They were Nathan and Lauren’s when they were little.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ said Molly, wondering how it was that people like Claire seemed to have things they didn’t need at just the right time. ‘I don’t need your charity, ya know.’

  ‘You can pay me back by helping me out,’ said Claire. ‘We have a makeup workshop next month and need a client to be a guinea pig. It’s only one morning and I’d pick you up and drop you off. Would you do it?’

  Molly knew she couldn’t refuse and felt a tingle of excitement. She hadn’t had her makeup done since the day she’d been married and Lindy had practised on her.

  ‘Okay,’ she said and showed Claire the room.

  ‘I can see you still have a lot to do. Please let me help. It’d be good exercise for me and we could have fun.’

  ‘Fun?’ said Molly. ‘Never thought of this as fun.’

  ‘Well, let’s try. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Claire returned carrying an oversized man’s shirt, a pair of rubber gloves, an iPad and speakers. She changed into the shirt, plugged the iPad in, put her iTunes pop playlist on shuffle, turned up the volume and slipped the gloves over her manicured hands. Jessica Mauboy’s ‘Risk It’ belted out from the speakers.

  ‘Right. Where do I start?’

  Molly was hungry by the time Claire stood still, her hands on her hips, and said. ‘I think we’re finished. Time for lunch. Mind if I share it with you?’

  Molly took out Grandma’s best china plates and put them on the scrubbed pine table.

  ‘What beautiful plates,’ said Claire, turning them over. ‘These are collector’s items.’

  ‘True? They were in the back of the old dresser. I had to take them all out and wash them to get all the dust off them.’

  ‘I have to admit I’ve been admiring it. I’m sure it’s a French pine farmhouse kitchen dresser. I saw one recently in an antique shop.’

  ‘You mean it’s worth something?’

  ‘If I’m right, it’s worth several thousand dollars.’

  ‘No sh … I mean shucks.’ Molly was trying not to swear for the kids. She took the food out of the fridge and spooned the contents evenly on each plate.

  ‘My goodness, what’s that thunderous noise?’ Claire leapt up from the table and looked out the window.

  ‘Oh, that. It’s just the planes. We’re on the flight path. Don’t notice them anymore.’

  ‘Oh, I see you have a backyard, quite a large one for his area.’

  ‘Yeh. Dunno how I’m gunna get it under control.’

  ‘Do you mind if I make a quick phone call?’ Claire asked. ‘I’ll just go out in the yard.’ She came back after a minute and sat at the table.

  Molly was savouring the last of the food when the doorbell rang. Twice in one day was most unusual. Maybe it was Joe after all, come for her birthday. She swung the door open, ready to give him a hug.

  A neat young man, about Molly’s age, stood at the door. At first Molly thought it was one of those Mormons and went to close the door.

  ‘Is Mum, I mean, Claire, here?’

  ‘Oh, Nathan, you made it,’ said Claire, coming up behind Molly.

  ‘Steve and I were nearby. He has his ute.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Molly.

  ‘Sorry, Molly. I should have told you, but I wasn’t sure they’d make it. Nathan and his friend are here to help clean up your backyard. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘We’ll go around the back and start if it’s all right with you,’ said Nathan.

  ‘All right?’ said Molly, wondering who this stuck-up poncy bloke thought he was.

  ‘How about we see if the walls in the girls’ bedroom are dry enough to paint.’ Claire shut the front door.

  Molly followed Claire to the bedroom.

  ‘Don’t tell me you paint as well as clean?’

  ‘Sure do,’ laughed Claire. ‘My father always said one should have some practical skills. Just in case.’ Claire expertly opened the lid of the paint tin and poured paint into the tray. ‘Do you want me to do the trim work? I’m pretty good at it.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Molly, taking the roller.

  ‘I have to say these skills have come in handy,’ Claire said as she sat on the floor painting around the skirting boards. ‘You should have seen the showroom at Suitability when we moved in. The walls were covered with layers of paint and dirt. We had to scrub for days to get it clean. It was such a relief to be able to paint it. It’s the best part.’

  Molly rolled the paint smoothly over the walls. Her arms ached and she felt a sharp pain in her neck when she craned her head back to paint the ceiling. But she wouldn’t stop. Not while Claire continued. Not until the job was done.

  ‘Well, I think that’s it,’ said Claire. ‘We’ll need to do another coat, but it’s come up well.’

  Molly admired the room. It looked larger and bright. She imagined the girls playing on their beds and hanging pictures they’d drawn for her on the wall. She’d let them, even though the wall had been newly painted.

  ‘Let’s see how those boys are going,’ said Claire.

  The first thing that caught Molly’s eye was the rosebush. It had been planted by Grandma to cover the spot where Molly’s pet rabbit was buried. The bush was bare, trimmed back to stubble.

  ‘Hi, I’m Steve. Sorry about the rosebush,’ said the other young man, who was scruffier than Nathan. ‘I’m afraid I had to be cruel to be kind. It needed a serious pruning. But I saved these for you.’

  He handed her a bunch of yellow roses. As Molly breathed in the full flowery scent, she remembered Grandma saying yellow roses were for new beginnings. Molly wiped her eyes with her arm.

  11

  ANNA

  Anna studied the new autumn clothing window displays of the city department store as she waited for Valda. She was entranced by some plum and fuchsia outfits. One was the same shade as the scarf she was going to return, and which was now safely ensconced in her handbag.

  Catching sight of her image in the department store windows, Anna thought she could have been an old version of one of the shop assistants going in the staff entrance. She had chosen tailored black slacks, a white blouse and a black cardigan to mark her first visit to the city since she lost her job. How careless it sounded, to lose a job.

  When Anna had worked, her life had been clear and structured. She’d had a fail-proof system for deciding what to wear. Her office clothes, either black or navy and white, she had organised for each day of the working week. Then she had her casual clothes. Easy. But now there was no clear division between her activities.

  Anna had tried on several outfits before leaving the house. She’d wriggled into some new leggings, pulling the stretch fabric over her legs, but she’d felt like an old woman trying to be young again. She put on her grey blouse and recalled the thrilling sensation of the smooth silk gliding across her skin when William slid it from her shoulders and how afterwards he imitated the feeling with his own hands. She inhaled deeply, wondering if she’d ever see him again.

  Anna put the blouse in a bag to take to Suitability, along with the matching grey suit. They were too formal for her now. She resorted to wearing her safe slacks and blouse.

  *

  ‘Hello,’ said Valda. ‘Hope you haven’t been waiting long.’

  They entered the marble foyer through the back entrance. In its heyday, the department store had been one of the most prestigious buildings in the city and still had elaborate art deco features, even at the staff entrance.

  Anna had visited the store many times with her mother to admire the window displays and test the perfumes. Her mother would dress in her most stylish outfit, which was a replica of the latest Chanel
suit.

  The metal grilles on the old lift clanged shut and the lift jolted upwards, stopping at the seventh floor. Anna had been to the seventh floor once with her mother, who had gone to check out the high-end designer clothes from Paris.

  The seventh floor was empty now except for a row of screens in the far corner. Behind the screens was a magnificent bay window overlooking the park. There had been a red velvet lounge at the window where Anna had rested while her mother studied the clothing.

  Where the lounge setting had been there were now five collapsible tables, each with two chairs. The tables were set up with makeup. A small table on the side had juice, fruit and mini-Easter eggs.

  Rosemary, whom they’d met at the first training session, arrived wearing jeans, with a fringed jacket. Claire and Molly joined them, followed by Claire’s friend Genevieve, striking as ever with her long, dark hair and bold block colours.

  ‘Genevieve, this is Molly, one of our clients,’ said Claire. ‘And this is Anna, one of newest volunteer stylists. You already know Valda, I believe.’

  ‘Welcome,’ said a young man with a faint accent and a light beard stubble. His hair was short at the sides and longer at the top, which was swept into a pompadour. Anna recognised the style as one that the young men in her office – her former office – told her was fashionable.

  ‘I am so happy so many of you were able to come this Easter Saturday. Unfortunately, it was my only spare time. Now we are all comfortable, let me introduce myself. I am Matteo, and I will be your instructor this morning. These four lovely ladies will help you,’ he said, gesturing to his four young assistants who were standing beside him.

  Anna helped herself to a cranberry juice and sat at a table with Valda. Claire and Molly sat at the next table.

  ‘To begin at the beginning, we have developed a nine-step process for perfecto makeup. Easy to remember. I think of it as three steps in three groups. Like a waltz. Easy.’

  Anna had learnt to draft speeches for William using the same pattern of threes.