Friends Like These

by Wendy Harmer

  She had straggled to the roadside and hailed the bus back to Bondi Junction, huddling in a rear seat and cursing her irresolute nature. The glare of the morning revealed nothing much more than a sordid act. All the strides made over the past year to get her life back on track had been swept away by just one kiss.

  Of course he’d say his marriage was over. But he and Didi still lived as husband and wife. Jo had never kissed another man in the years she was still married to her husband. Hadn’t ever put herself in a situation where it could happen. That was the covenant she’d entered into in the church in front of her father and had always honoured. Her husband had broken that promise and that was for his own conscience to deal with, but it had devastated her. And while Michael Brigden was the sort of man she’d fantasised about but had never believed existed, he would have to be banished to the realms of fantasy as long as he was still married.

  And to Didi Brigden! Jo was nauseated to think that she might find herself in the newspaper again. Didi would find out. She would. Nothing was surer. She wanted Michael. More, perhaps, than anything she’d ever wanted, but that was because she’d love to be in love again. And that was no excuse. Was she some kind of martyr who was destined to care for everyone around her and not have happiness for herself? Her thoughts lurched back and forth, matching the shuddering stops and starts of the bus.

  At her gate Jo had been greeted by a chirpy delivery boy who presented her with two elaborate gold boxes—one long and rectangular and the other small and square. Once inside her door, Jo lifted the lid on the first to find long-stemmed roses in shades of deep yellow to pinky red. In the other was a pretty little blue and white glass vase. And a note. After Renoir—and after you...M.

  Jo knew the painting by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. Bouquet of Roses in a Blue Vase. A gorgeous composition exploding with sunny energy in which the floral arrangement sat on a windowsill, framed with lattice, and beyond it glowed the vibrant colours of a summer sky.

  The gift was perhaps the most romantic she’d ever received. But as she arranged the flowers in the vase, she knew it was too much. Overwhelming. Much too much. Too soon. That’s what married men did. Rushed a woman off her feet, as if they had no time to lose. As if it would be a fleeting pleasure they would have to give up when they were

  found out.

  Jo placed the arrangement on her kitchen windowsill. It was hardly an apartment in Paris, but there was a lattice on the back fence of her courtyard covered with passionfruit vine and the effect was complete. It should have been a deeply pleasurable sight, but the divine fragrance of the roses wafting through the kitchen was unsettling. It was as if Michael Brigden already knew everything about her.

  All morning she had found herself drifting to the window to admire the blooms and bending to smell them. It was midday by the time she found some resolve, took the vase and set it on the sideboard in the hallway, out of sight and temptation.

  Tory had vanished, leaving her cereal bowl crusted with dried muesli and milk in the sink. In the spare room her detritus—

  make-up, hair gel, scarves and jewellery—littered the desk. She’d ruined Jo’s night and the chance to sleep with Michael. Or had she, in fact, saved her from some future catastrophic heartbreak? Jo’s phone rang and it was, predictably, Suze, wanting a full post-mortem.

  ‘So, did you go to bed with him?’ Jo could hear the excitement in her voice, desperate for all the details.

  ‘No.’ She wouldn’t tell Suze that they’d kissed. They’d shared a lot of information over the years, but now, it was an instinctive feeling, Jo thought there were some things Suze didn’t need to know. Just as Suze had kept the details of Rob’s gambling addiction from her.

  ‘Oh,’ Suze was let down. ‘You’re not lying, are you? He must have flirted with you at least. Or maybe he’s gay? Got some impotence problem? Wouldn’t be surprised. Having sex with Didi would be enough to put you off women for life. Stupid bitch.’

  Jo knew her instinct not to tell was right. Suze was developing an unhealthy obsession with the DPLC women. It seemed the longer she was away from the place, the more she loathed it and everyone in it.

  ‘No. I told you. It was dinner and that’s all. Gemma was there.’

  ‘That’s a bugger,’ Suze sighed. ‘He’d be perfect for you.’

  ‘Except that he’s married.’

  ‘Oh, that!’ Suze snorted. ‘Don’t let a little thing like that bother you. It didn’t bother Carol.’

  The mention of her name was the next jangling note. Suze never let an opportunity to mention Carol’s name slip by. Jo was just crawling out of that painful abyss and Suze was constantly dragging her back down. ‘Misery loves company’, that was the phrase that came to mind, and these days Suze’s mood was always black.

  As the day wore on, Jo was glad for the distraction of Simon and Kim’s wedding the next morning. By 3 p.m. all thoughts of the night before had scattered as she concentrated on the task at hand. There was a rehearsal in the gardens that afternoon. The commitment ceremony would be her first and so she was touched when she was coming back from the gardens and received a call from Patrick to say that he and Suze wanted to take her to dinner to celebrate.

  So, here they were, sitting in a Thai restaurant on Oxford Street. Jo wearily dragged her mind back to the table. There was so much to think about. She was nervous about the ceremony and becoming more wretched by the minute. Despite her best efforts, her thoughts kept turning to Michael. During the past few hours she’d been so restless and fidgety she’d taught herself to make a swan out of her paper serviette.

  ‘Very attractive,’ Father Patrick observed. ‘If your efforts as a celebrant fall flat you’ll always be able to get a job with the caterers.’

  Suze laughed with relief. She had been doing her best all evening—soothing, flattering and joking with Jo until she was fair worn out. Nothing was working. Finally she gave up and turned her attention to eating Jo’s share of the green fish curry and nasi goreng and drinking the best part of a bottle of sauvignon blanc.

  Patrick and Suze embarked on a conversation about wedding disasters, which Jo was finding completely unfunny, but no amount of her pleading could stop them.

  ‘My favourite,’ Patrick chortled, ‘was a bride in a dress that was so vast—honestly, you should have seen it! An absolute man-made mountain of white tulle. She looked like she’d climbed Everest. She had to turn sideways to get through the church door and then, literally, be pushed down the aisle by the bridesmaids.’

  Suze was giggling her head off, almost falling off her chair. Jo began folding another paper swan.

  ‘By the time she got to the altar she’d collected every floral arrangement off the side of the pews, three hats and the hairpiece off old Uncle Harry. It was like the haul of a drift net on a Taiwanese fishing boat!’

  Suze almost slid under the table with the hilarity of it all. It was getting late, Jo noted. They really should be going.

  ‘I used to hear some amazing stories at Darling Point,’ said Suze. ‘There was this one wedding at St Anne’s where the first wife and the second wife had a fight over who was going to sit in the front row next to the father of the bride. One of them whacked the other with the Easter candle.’

  ‘Bloody hell! And who drew the inside barrier?’ This question from the punting priest.

  ‘Oh, the second wife of course! If a bloke’s got any sense it’s the second wife who always has pole position...if you’ll pardon the pun!’

  Then they both fell about. Jo found this anecdote even less amusing, and somewhat insensitive, considering her personal situation with JJ and Carol, although they couldn’t have known about her looming disaster with the Brigdens. ‘I’ve paid the bill,’ she announced. ‘Let’s go.’

  It was a warm night in Sydney and Jo, standing on the footpath, was glad for the fresh air. Oxford Street was the usual lively night-time scene of people spilling out of restaurants and back into bars. It was always a fascinating spot for peopl
e-watching if you could find a quiet corner out of the fray.

  Rainbow flags, hung from the upper storeys of gay nightclubs, fluttered prettily. Handsome boys strolled by, arms snaked around each other’s waists as they called to friends at outdoor tables. Now and then they would stop, kiss and hug.

  Jo congratulated herself on being able to watch this spectacle with almost motherly indulgence. Meeting Simon and Kim had been a revelation. She had challenged her prejudices and won through. However, it had been painful to see their disappointment at the afternoon’s wedding rehearsal. Simon hadn’t expected his parents to be there in the gardens, but was distressed that his only sister hadn’t bothered to show. Kim’s mother had come along, but insisted that she would take no part in the vows and would stand at the back behind the other guests.

  Jo was now even more determined to make their ceremony one to be remembered. And to make it memorable, she still had a lot of revision to do on the order of the day. She had to get home. Where were Patrick and Suze? Jo crossed to a darkened alcove on the other side of the restaurant door and peered back inside through the glass.

  Behind her, there was a thundering of heavy boots down wooden stairs. Jo turned to see the looming forms of two men about to fall on top of her. She jumped back and saw them pull themselves up, one step from the bottom, and embrace in an erotic clinch in the shadows. By the illumination of the streetlight Jo could make out grinding hips and hands fumbling for zips on jeans. As she turned her face away with embarrassment, she heard a voice heavy with sarcasm.

  ‘Whoops! Member of the Thought Police on sentry duty! Back to my place, quick, before the bitch alerts the media. Come on.’

  They tumbled past Jo onto the footpath and in a moment were piling into a cab that had pulled up at the lights. One of them leaned out the window to yell: ‘We’re going home to fuck each other, Mother. Have a wank on us! Waahoo!’

  The lights changed to green, the cab sped away and the last thing Jo saw was a face looking back at her from the rear window. It was, unmistakably, Kim.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do about it,’ said Suze. ‘How many times and how many ways can I say it? This is real life. It’s what you asked for. It was never going to be all hearts and flowers and “Wind Beneath My Wings”...So, there you go.’

  Jo was still in shock. She was sitting on the edge of her sofa with a cup of tea, untouched, and hadn’t even noticed that Patrick was smoking inside the house as he paced restlessly and that Suze was sneaking the odd puff or two.

  ‘Are you sure it was him? Really sure?’ Patrick asked again.

  ‘Yes! It was him.’ Jo was emphatic. ‘He may have been drunk or on drugs, but I wasn’t.’

  ‘It could be a momentary lapse in judgment,’ Patrick continued, ‘or it could be something more serious, but I’m not sure what you can do...’

  ‘Stuff-all!’ Suze waved him away. ‘Surely it’s up to them to work it out. Do you think that if you asked that question—“Will you be in love with this person for the rest of your life?”—that you would be marrying anyone? Look at the divorce statistics! Honestly, why spoil everyone’s bloody day?’

  Patrick spun on his heel to face her. His cheeks were flushed pink with passion and his ‘Irish’ was up, as Jo’s mother used to say about her Catholic friends. Jo hoped Suze knew what she was letting herself in for.

  ‘You see, that’s what makes me so pissed off about this whole “celebrant” business,’ he said tersely, ‘the idea that it’s all about “the day”. The idea that marriage is some privatised notion and couples can “do it their way”. How can any couple imagine that they’ve been the first ones to discover commitment? There are sacred rituals laid down for this. They’ve been there for hundreds of years!

  ‘At least when I marry people I’m a representative of a community, a witness of the church, and there are certain moralities to be observed and upheld—even if it does spoil everyone’s “day”. I couldn’t give a toss if there are three hundred heart-shaped salmon mousses melting in the marquee!’

  Jo knew that Father Patrick was exaggerating somewhat. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never heard him say he’d refused to marry someone on their actual wedding day.

  ‘Have you ever done it though, Patrick?’ Jo asked in a small voice. ‘Fronted the groom before the wedding, one on one?’

  ‘I once wrote on a pre-nuptial inquiry that I didn’t believe the couple had the “maturity to assume the responsibility of marriage”. I was later proved correct when it was revealed the groom was knocking off the bridesmaid,’ he said with some satisfaction.

  It wasn’t exactly what Jo had asked and she pressed her point. ‘But did you ever take him, or her, aside and ask whether they were having sexual relations with someone else?’

  Patrick had to admit that he hadn’t been quite that up-front. ‘In the end I have to ask myself “What’s my script?”, I suppose,’ he sighed. ‘I’m not here to baptise inauthenticity. But, equally, I’m not here to convict people on gossip. There are still laws of evidence to be observed. It would be a very hard thing to face someone.’

  There was a loud and very unladylike snuffle from the direction of the sofa. ‘Nicely dodged, Father! What he’s saying, Jo, is you’ve been hired for a commitment ceremony and that’s your job. No more and no less.’

  Suze swiped at the bottle of wine on the coffee table and, thankfully, missed. So that was that then. Jo would have to front up tomorrow morning and marry Simon and Kim, knowing it was a charade. So much for her first effort as a credible witness! She had believed, with all her heart, that Simon and Kim were candidates for love everlasting. But then, so many of her moral absolutes were being challenged. She sometimes felt like she was up to her neck in quicksand and the more she struggled, the faster she sank.

  ‘Maybe it was a momentary lapse in judgment.’ Jo was grasping at a low-hanging branch that she might use to haul herself out of the sludge. ‘You know, like a bloke who has a fumble with a stripper on his buck’s night.’

  There was no comment from Suze. She was slumped back against the sofa, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Calpurnia had seen her chance and was snoozing on her head.

  ‘Yeah, let’s hope it was.’ Patrick took up his coat to leave. ‘It’s an incredibly brave thing to commit to one person for the rest of your life. A lot of people can’t handle it.’

  He was speaking from a place of some authority. He’d committed his entire life to, not a living person, but a concept. At forty-five years old, he was at the highest point of the arc in a leap of faith. Patrick always asked her if she thought he was foolish. Jo didn’t think she’d ever met anyone quite as courageous.

  ‘That’s what you have to impress upon them during the vows.’ He was stuffing his cigarettes and lighter into his pocket. ‘And then just be there for them afterwards and support them in their decision.’

  Jo nodded; that’s what she would have to do, although it wasn’t the way she wanted to start out as a marriage celebrant. It didn’t seem right to start a love story with ‘Once upon a time’ when she wasn’t sure about a ‘happily ever after’. Maybe, like Suze said, this job wasn’t suited to hopeless romantics. And even less to people who didn’t respect the sanctity of marriage. Until last night she’d thought she was qualified.

  Jo was just thinking that she should confess all to Patrick about her kiss with Michael when he threw his arms around her. ‘Well, I’m off! See you, Jojo. Good luck! Remember, girl, Catholic weddings might be bloody dull, but we’re good on the after-sales service.’

  ‘Pity you don’t give lifetime warranties,’ Jo said with a rueful smile.

  After seeing Patrick out, Jo turned to Suze, flat out and snoring on the sofa. She would never know about Jo’s night with Michael and it wasn’t actually necessary, since Jo had now decided it was to be one kiss, nothing more. She shooed Calpurnia away, threw a blanket over the inert form and trudged off to bed with her cold cup of tea.

  When she turned on the
light in her bedroom, Jo saw her velvet dress from the night before stuffed in the washing basket. If there had been a spray of blood up the wall, it couldn’t have been more incriminating. Jo had just spent a year contemplating how devastating a crime of passion could be—sometimes as heart-breaking as an actual murder. She hadn’t been a willing victim. She hadn’t ‘asked for it’ and neither, despite what Suze said, had Didi.

  But just one kiss? Why was she berating herself?

  Because in her imagination Michael was lying in her bed, naked, waiting for her.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  It was barely daylight when Jo was disturbed by sounds coming from the kitchen. That was one thing she missed about Centennial Park—the old double-brick thick walls. She could hear the currawongs calling and was immediately reminded of the heinous crime against her grapevine. She found Suze with her head in the fridge.

  ‘Shit, Jo! You scared the life out of me!’

  ‘Coffee?’ Jo was awake now and with all that she had to do today, there was no chance she would get more rest. She’d only managed about three hours’ sleep.

  ‘Nup.’ Suze slurped from a carton of orange juice. ‘I’ve got to go hunting chantilly rosebuds and white hyacinths at the flower market. Twenty-four boutonnières, or should that be corsages! It’ll take me hours and Simon’s coming to get them at nine. I’ve got to drive the girls to netball and I feel like crap. Gotta fly. Love you!’

  Suze raced out the door. Jo stood on the front step and waved as Suze’s battered mini-van roared up the empty street.

  ‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. Red sky at morning, shepherd’s warning.’ Jo recited the lines to herself as the first rosy ribbons of dawn threaded their way through the houses in the valley below. Grey clouds were bundled high on the horizon, their edges stitched with purple. Damn! It looked like rain. Training as an amateur weather forecaster seemed to be another part of her new job. She had spent hours checking the weather maps for cold fronts and rainfall patterns. She hoped it would be a fine day but, if it wasn’t, Simon had a Plan B in mind. If it was wet, they’d head straight for Pavilion on the Park, where they were having the reception, and conduct the ceremony there.