by Sandy Barker
‘A little emotional?’ asks Kaz. ‘Ah, sorry, love, but that was a full-on meltdown.’ She tears the foil on the bottle and untwists the metal cage. ‘So, what’s really going on with you? Actually, hold that thought.’ She twists the bottle and it emits a whispered ‘peh’ as the cork releases. She makes short work of pouring four glasses of fizz and passes them around, Daphne’s first. When we each have a glass, Kaz holds hers aloft. ‘To our mate, Daph, who’s been a bloody hard nut to crack, but who’s all class.’
‘To Daphne,’ I say along with Stevie.
Daphne blinks, perhaps surprised by the kind(ish) words, and takes a sip and we all follow suit. ‘Right, now the formalities are outta the way, what gives?’ asks Kaz, seating herself across from us and propping her feet up on the coffee table. Where I’ve failed in getting Daphne to open up, I’m hoping Kaz’s direct approach will succeed.
Daphne looks at us in turn, clearly deciding whether she can trust us. I can’t really blame her, especially as our bonds of friendship are in their infancy, and she’s still … well … Daphne. She sighs and her shoulders fall a little as she cradles the flute in her delicate fingers. ‘We are completely and utterly broke,’ she says, her eyes boring a hole into the shaggy grey and white rug.
‘Who is, darl?’ asks Kaz.
‘My family, the Pemberleys,’ she replies quietly.
‘And what does that mean, “broke”? How broke is broke?’ Kaz probes.
Stevie, the only one of us trained in this type of conversation, jumps in. ‘Daphne, you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to. But we’re here if you need to talk―no judgement.’ She looks pointedly at me then Kaz, and we chime in with our assurances. ‘No judgement, Daphne,’ I say. ‘No way, all good here,’ says Kaz.
Daphne lifts her gaze and says, ‘My family’s estate is heavily in debt. It’s mostly because of the upkeep―the house, the grounds, the staff―tens of thousands of pounds a month. You have no idea what it costs to “keep up appearances” and my father and brother have done nothing but run it into the ground, borrowing against it for years. It’s shameful,’ she spits, her fury evident.
‘But it’s none of my concern, it is? I’m just the daughter, the youngest child, and how could I with my arts degree have any way of understanding fiscal matters? Only I do. Despite what they think, I’m very clever. And tired of being kept in the dark, even though it was obvious the situation was dire, I took myself off to see the family accountant behind their backs. That’s when I discovered I was right to be concerned. There’s not only nothing left of a centuries-old fortune, but we’re mortgaged to the hilt and it’s getting bleaker by the day.’
This is the most Daphne’s revealed about herself and there’s so much to digest. I know that many of the older estates across Great Britain are money pits―it’s the reason the producers of The Stag are able to get such impressive locations for their shoots, and probably at quite a reasonable price.
‘So, is that why you came on The Stag? Is that why you’re here?’ I ask.
‘Yes, in a way. There’s the prize money, of course, though £50,000 pounds would barely make a dent in what we owe, but I figured it could be an escape plan of sorts―a chance to finally snag myself a husband,’ she says wryly. ‘With my brother, Colin, and my father seemingly intent on losing our family home―my only home―and with me being a “certified lady of leisure” with no discernible skills or prospects, as Colin too often says―’
‘Your brother sounds like a prize dickhead, Daph,’ says Kaz, perhaps trying to be helpful.
‘Hah!’ laughs Daphne drily. ‘He is, but in a way he’s right. Since I was very young, I’ve been taught how to behave like a lady―I am a lady in actual fact, though the title is worthless, of course―but it was drummed into me that I would run in certain circles, partake of the life I was entitled to―accustomed to―then marry well and one day have the run of my own estate―be the lady of the manor, so to speak.’
‘Wow, that sounds like something out of Downton Abbey,’ says Kaz. ‘Maybe we should call you Lady Mary.’ She chuckles at her own joke.
‘Well, if we’re talking Downton, I’m more of an Edith, the sister no one expects much from.’
‘Other than to marry well,’ adds Stevie.
‘Exactly. Marry well and get out of Colin and Father’s hair. But the thing is, even though no one really talks about the money, or lack of it, everyone in our ever-diminishing, incestuous circle knows, so there are no prospects for marriage. Everyone’s too wise to what’s going on, that my “dowry” is gone. It’s just me,’ she adds, her voice catching slightly on ‘me’. I want to throw my arms around her and give her a tight squeeze. I don’t, though. She may have revealed her vulnerable side to us today, but she’s still Daphne.
‘And so when you met Daniel …’ Kaz prods.
‘Exactly―a perfect solution. Absolutely rolling in it, but new money, you see, so none of the judgement about me and my family, just a way out―possibly the most perfect Stag I could have hoped for.’
‘To rescue you,’ says Stevie and I suspect she’s crossing that invisible line between friend and therapist.
‘Yes, I suppose.’
‘His loss, Daph,’ says Kaz, perhaps because it’s what you say to a woman who’s just been dumped.
Daphne smiles weakly. ‘I’m not sure that’s entirely true. He’s probably dodged a bullet more than anything.’
‘That’s being a bit hard on yourself,’ says Kaz.
‘You can do much better,’ says Stevie.
Daphne’s head swivels quickly in her direction. ‘Really?’
‘Come on,’ says Stevie, ‘I know you agree with me. You’ve been distancing yourself from him for a while now, ever since that day on the bridge.’
Daphne nods. ‘True. I’ve hated myself for it, though. Kept telling myself “chin up”, “you can do this”, “he’s not that bad”―’
‘He is that bad,’ says Stevie.
‘Possibly, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve made a right mess of everything and god only knows what I’ll do now.’
‘You’ll figure something out,’ I say. ‘Perhaps one of those charities you volunteer for will hire you―a proper job. You must have a lot of expertise that they’d find valuable.’
‘Hmm, perhaps,’ she says with a small smile―possibly a spark of hope.
‘He’s still pretty hot, though,’ says Kaz―a total non sequitur. While we’re all musing over the level of Daniel’s hotness―I suppose if I didn’t know anything about him at all, I might find him vaguely attractive, though I prefer floppy-haired, green-eyed Australians―Kaz finishes her thought with, ‘for a wanker.’
Four women―two English, two Australian―collectively still for a moment, then erupt into raucous laughter. Even Daphne throws back her head, her hand clutching her pearls as she shakes with laughter.
‘What’s so funny?’ Becca has just entered the lounge room and looks at us, puzzled.
‘Hey, how’d it go with Daniel?’ Kaz deflects Becca’s question with unforeseen skill and the rest of us swallow our laughter.
Becca glances between us, still seeming puzzled, and her gaze settles on Kaz. ‘Yeah … um … good,’ she says with a smile. When she looks at Daphne, her smile instantly disappears. I can’t even imagine being in Becca’s position right now―feeling elated but not wanting to gloat. ‘Are you okay, Daphne?’ she asks.
‘Never better,’ replies Daphne with false cheer. Of course, we know the truth, but Daphne has trusted us and no good can come of correcting her.
‘Oh, that’s good,’ says Becca, but she doesn’t seem convinced. God, I hate this. I’m stuck in ‘no-woman’s land’ unable to express loyalty on either side. ‘You have zero control over this, Abby,’ I remind myself.
‘Can I pour you some?’ asks Stevie, indicating the open bottle. Huzzah! Stevie (and fizz) to the rescue.
There’s half a second where the machinations of Becca’s thoughts play across her
face, then she breaks into a broad smile and says, ‘Thanks. That’d be great.’
‘Let me get you a glass,’ says Kaz, leaping up and heading to the kitchen. Becca nestles into the sofa opposite me, Daphne, and Stevie, and our wait for Kaz thrusts us into an awkward silence. Too bad this isn’t being captured on camera. Harry could compile an impressive montage of Does blinking blankly at each other, our expressions belying our internal monologues.
Daphne: ‘God, do I really have to sit here and make nice, having just humiliated myself by revealing that I’m poor and desperate?’
Stevie: ‘What have I got myself into and when can I get the hell out of here?’
Becca: ‘Do not gloat. Be supportive. Be friendly.’
And me: ‘I so wish I could come clean to you all―tell you absolutely everything that’s going on.’
This has never been truer. It’s odd, the sense of kinship I feel with these women, this ‘elite’ group who have experienced the drama, the elation, the friendship and ‘foeship’ of being a Sydney season Doe. Just last week, Daphne wouldn’t have given me the time of day and here I am learning her deepest fears and woes.
How quickly our world changes in the Manor.
Kaz returns, pours a generous glass of fizz, and hands it to Becca. ‘So,’ she says, plonking down next to her, ‘isn’t this awkward as shit?’ Becca’s mouth quirks as she glances sideways at Kaz. ‘What? It is, but you know what? I never in a million years thought I’d be in the top four. I mean, come on! Oh, sorry, Daph, not rubbing it in, I promise.’ Daphne flaps her hand, dismissing the apology.
‘But the best part of this whole thing,’ continues Kaz, ‘is you lot. You are all top chicks and, yeah, this is weird, all us pitted against each other and Daph going home―especially ’cause at first, I thought Daniel would pick you for sure, Daph―sorry, Becs …’ Becca shrugs. ‘Anyway, all that aside, I want to propose a toast.’ Like me, the others have perked up and we watch Kaz with interest. ‘To the coolest fucking Does this show’s ever seen,’ she says, holding her glass aloft.
I glance about our little group and the emerging smiles are genuine, including mine. Daphne shakes her head, titters, and in her clipped accent says, ‘To the coolest fucking Does this show’s ever seen.’ We clink glasses, rising half out of our seats to reach across the void between us, then sink back into those ridiculously long, but extremely comfortable sofas, and drink to how fucking cool we all are.
Harry just gave me the nod, our signal to meet Jack in the annex, but the Control Room was empty so I head to my hidey hole. When I open the door, Jack is leaning against one of the tall shelving units, wearing his ‘I aim to misbehave’ T-shirt. I adore this T-shirt. It makes me think of all the misbehaving we’ll get to do when this is over.
He grins, doing spectacular things to my insides―particularly the lower half―and as soon as I close the door, he opens his arms. I cross the small space and wrap mine around his waist. ‘Hey, you,’ he says before dropping a smack of a kiss onto my lips.
‘Hello, you, too,’ I reply, though I am not satisfied with a mere peck and I take my time when I kiss him back. I love kissing Jack―adore it―long for it. He is the best kisser in the entire universe. I am confident of this fact even though my sample size is relatively small, because we fit together so perfectly―our lips, our bodies―and his kisses transport me somewhere I’ve never been before. Somewhere magical.
Oh dear, I’ve become a parody of myself which, considering who my alter ego is, may be something of an achievement.
The kiss eventually ends―always too soon in my opinion―and Jack peers down at me as our arms encircle each other. ‘Okay, so pleasure out of the way…’ My face scrunches into a knot of distaste. ‘That came out wrong but you know what I mean.’ I purse my lips in faux annoyance. ‘Anyway, I have news. Actually, it’s for all of you but it affects you differently, so I wanted to give you a heads up. It’s, ah … it’s a bit tricky.’ He has my full attention now, my intrigue mounting by the moment. I wriggle out of his embrace, flip open the folding chair, and sit.
‘Go ahead.’
He resumes his place leaning against the shelves, and only now do I see the tension in his shoulders. ‘So, I’m not sure how much of The Buck you’ve seen,’ he begins, ‘but we always have a “meet the family” episode towards the end of the season where we fly the Does’ families in to meet the Buck. It’s only for the top four Does, and it’s always a popular episode, but when we originally planned this season of The Stag, Roberta and I … well, we decided to skip it. We could have ended up with four British Does and that’s a lot of airfares all the way from the UK.’
‘But she’s changed her mind,’ I interrupt.
‘Kinda. We are gonna film the episode, but Daniel’s going to meet the families via video conferencing.’
‘But if you’re worried about airfares, I’m the only British Doe left.’
‘True, but …’ He leaves the thought hanging in the air and I suddenly realise why he’s so tense. Because my mum is not Doe Abby’s mum. Doe Abby grew up wealthy and has two parents.
‘Oh,’ I say quietly. ‘I see.’
‘Yeah. I wanted to talk to you first … you know …’
‘To give me a “heads up”.’
‘Yeah.’
‘But you’ll still need someone for the video conference, right?’ I’m having a hard time piecing together what they’re planning.
‘Yeah, exactly, so we’re gonna cast an actress and an actor―’
‘No,’ I say, interrupting, ‘please … just my mum. Or Doe Abby’s mum. I don’t want anyone playing my father.’
‘I know your mum and dad aren’t together anymo―’
‘I don’t have a father. I mean, of course I have a father out there somewhere but I just … I’ve just never met him. Sorry, that’s not right. He was around when I was a baby, but …’ I trail off, wishing we were talking about anything else. It’s also not lost on me that Jack has a ‘dad’, whereas I have an absent ‘father’―two vastly different kinds of parents.
‘Abby, we can totally do the shoot with just your mum―well, you know … someone playing your mum.’
‘Thank you.’ I say, my voice raspy. This isn’t something I talk about very often. Lisa knows, of course, though she never brings it up. Aunty Lo was around when it happened and we’ve talked about it a few times over the years but discussing my father with Jack in these circumstances―it’s like a punch in the stomach. I never thought I could feel winded just from a conversation.
‘Hey.’ Jack crosses to me and bobs down in front of my chair. ‘So, it’s been just you and your mum your whole life?’ I nod. ‘That’s why you’re so close then?’ Another nod. He squeezes my knee reassuringly, his eyes full of kindness and understanding.
Well, as long as I’m being completely honest with him … ‘I told her, Jack,’ I whisper.
‘What do you mean? Told her what?’ he asks.
‘I told my mum why I’m here, why I’m really here―right after I talked to Prue about becoming the Villain. I didn’t want her thinking it was me who was behaving badly. I wanted her to know I’m playing a role. I know I shouldn’t have …’
‘It contravenes your NDA, Abby.’ He doesn’t seem cross, just concerned.
‘I know. I cleared it with Prue, though, and mum is sworn to secrecy. She can’t even tell Aunty Lo―and she won’t, I made her promise.’ My stomach churns under the weight of my revelation.
‘It’s okay, I understand.’
‘You do?’ I can’t disguise my shock and Jack smiles.
‘Of course I do. All that stuff we talked about―you writing as Anastasia, and Harry and I doing these gigs―it’s a means to an end, not the end itself. You have no idea how fast I was round to Dad’s when I landed my first reality TV gig. “It’s just a job, Dad. Just ’til Harry and I save enough money to start our own outfit.” I reassured him so much, he ended up telling me to shut it. I just didn’t want him thinkin
g this was my dream job and that I’d turn into some smarmy dickhead. My dad’s opinion of me means everything―so I totally get why you needed to tell your mum, especially since we’ve turned you into the Villain.’
‘You’re not mad.’
‘No. I am getting a leg cramp, though, so I’m standing up now.’ He tries to land a kiss as he stands and we knock noses. ‘Ow, shit, sorry.’
I rub my nose. ‘It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt much.’ It does.
‘Real smooth, huh?’ he says, grinning down at me.
‘Just imagine how smooth it would have been if you’d pulled it off.’ We chuckle at his expense.
‘So, getting back to casting your mum, what do you think of―’
‘Hang on,’ I say, cutting him off again. ‘I’ve just had a thought. Can I talk to my mum before you make any decisions?’
‘Uh, yeah, sure. We haven’t got a lot of time, though. Think you could talk to her before tomorrow?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Great. Now come here.’ He takes my hand and pulls me up, then wraps me up in his arms again. And even though being in Stag Manor means I rarely think even a day ahead, let alone a week or more, all I can dream of as we kiss is being out of the Manor, away from prying eyes and ears (and camera lenses and microphones), and somewhere lovely, just the two of us, so we can ratchet up our PG-rated romance into something closer to Fifty Shades―so we can really misbehave.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Harry spins in his chair and grins at me. ‘Your mum’s as cool as, Abby.’
I grin back at him and return my eyes to the giant screen, beaming with pride. We’re watching Daniel meet Doe Abby’s mum―as in, his potential mother-in-law―and my mum is smashing it. Once the idea came to me, I knew it would be the perfect solution. And when I called her with my suggestion, she’d giggled with delight.
You see, my mum is a bit of an actress. Once I was able to support myself, she’d been able to give up two of her three jobs, and with all that ‘extra time on her hands’ (her words, not mine―I’d just wanted her to relax after work like normal people), she decided to do something she’d been longing to do for years: join an amateur dramatics society. Within months, she’d been cast in The Importance of Being Earnest―as Lady Bracknell, thank you very much. Aunty Lo, Lisa, and I went on opening night, front row centre, and after only a minute of her being on stage, I completely forgot I was watching my mum.
