Just As You Are

by Kate Mathieson

  But before Phil could answer, Paige Drews, the entertainment writer for More!, was calling my mobile. Usually I’d think that was very cool, having a journalist call me. But I was so tired that it took everything I had just to muster up the energy to answer the phone and say hello.

  ‘Can we confirm that Honey was at Pool last night?’ Paige cooed down the phone in a fake friendly tone.

  ‘Yes, confirmed,’ I said, stifling a yawn.

  ‘That’s not great for her new scrubbed-up image, is it?’ Paige baited me.

  I had to think quickly, on my feet. ‘Actually, Paige, she was there to consider using Pool for a new launch. I can’t say any more yet, but you can pull all the footage and photos, and you’ll notice she had two vodkas. The entire night.’

  Thank goodness, I thought, that I’d almost murdered Honey when she’d attempted to drink more, and she’d only relaxed because I’d shunted her into the VIP section with some actor called Harry and Tom the paparazzi guy. How a paparazzi guy got into the VIP section, I had no idea.

  I was beginning to think this media vs celebrity thing was just a giant ruse, and the poor public really had no idea in the slightest. Of course, Tom and Harry had literally fawned over Honey, and, receiving all this attention, she hadn’t noticed I’d swapped out her vodka limes for just lime and tonic.

  ‘Ooohh … Sounds intriguing. Can we set up an interview with her, to find out more about this launch?’ Paige said in a saccharine voice as if I were her new BFF.

  ‘As soon as we can say more, Paige, you’ll be the first to know.’

  Another lie. I hung up the phone feeling another shroud of guilt descend upon me. I’d lied so much, I realised I was actually now comfortable doing it. No, more than that, it came to me now like second nature. I was shocked to realise that was what we did at Maker; we called it bending the truth, or ‘spinning’ something, but really my job consisted of Honey babysitting and lying.

  Lies that Honey was actually interested in charity work. Lies that said she no longer wanted to drink. Lies that she really wanted to settle down. Lies about why she was at a club. Lies on my CV. Lies to everyone when we didn’t have a theme. I felt sick realising I’d become one of them. A Faker.

  I tried to shake it off and focus on work so I didn’t have to think about it. The rest of the day was spent doing design and event checks and confirming the entertainment – some very authentic Mexican dancers and musicians – and trying to keep Honey excited about trailing along with me. Donuts and coffee only bought me an hour, and mostly I spent the day doing my work on the run, mobile in one hand, and directing taxi drivers with the other, running errands for Honey. Dry-cleaning. Nail appointment. Picking up some weird pickled Japanese salad that was supposed to help with losing weight and was in all the latest Insta stories she kept scrolling through and then shoving in my face – except she had no discernible weight to lose.

  On Friday, she decided she wanted to get her hair dyed beach blonde. Then she changed her mind so we went back to the salon to go a darker blonde with highlights. Why she couldn’t have just taken an Uber on her own I didn’t know; she was an adult, she had a functioning phone and able thumbs. But Glenn had told me Honey was now very fond of me. Of course, she was. I’d be fond of someone who did late-night runs to get me burgers and donuts too.

  Speaking of which, I’d not yet figured out how she could eat all that fast food I was getting her and not put on an inch of weight. It was beyond me. And, honestly, made me feel a little sad about the extra weight I was still carrying on my thighs.

  Thankfully, I was off the clock at 6 p.m. on Friday. Honey was now in Nick’s hands (possibly literally) for their dinner at Oil and Salt, which I was trying not to think about. I’d also managed to get the entire weekend off, by convincing Honey to go to a lovely retreat spa for the weekend, with a strict no-alcohol policy. Which meant I could sleep in for the first time in forever, and then hopefully do something fun. Something that didn’t remind me of work.

  But all my friends were booked up or were too tired to call or chat or go for coffee. I offered to bring takeaway coffee to them, even with hot, piping banana bread and loads of butter, but they said, ‘Sorry, we haven’t slept in days,’ with big sighs that sounded as if they were eternally exhausted.

  Sydney wasn’t like London. I couldn’t be in Paris in a few hours. I could be on the central coast, but that required a car, and I didn’t have one. I could have gone to the markets, the cinema, a cute little French restaurant that had opened up, but it just wasn’t as much fun by myself. I pictured myself sitting at the restaurant.

  Emma, what would you like?

  Oh, Emma, I think the snails, sorry, escargot, it’s very French, isn’t it?

  Brilliant idea, Emma! Exactly what I was thinking …

  Twice I’d thought about logging onto the dating app again, but then I’d remembered how disastrous my last attempt at online dating had been.

  Instead, I slept in until 1 p.m. on Saturday. Then I cleaned, went grocery shopping, did a quick park walk, meal prepped for the rest of the week (because wasn’t that what single, fabulous women did?), and attempted to paint a beach scene I remembered from a weekend in Samos, one of the Greek islands, but ended up stinking my unit up with oily paint smell, and then having to air it by opening every window. And even then it was only 5 p.m. I looked at my phone, half hoping Honey would text me. She didn’t. I sat on my couch and watched My Best Friend’s Wedding – which was exactly what I shouldn’t have done, because that made me feel more alone and single than ever. And, it made me think of Nick and Honey. I was dying to find out how their dinner ‘date’ had gone, but it wasn’t professional to text and ask. Was it?

  By Sunday morning I had cabin fever. I knew I needed to get out and I found myself scrolling on an online app, ConnectM8e, a site where groups of strangers met for walks or coffee or kayaking. On a whim, I saw a coastal walk over at Bondi, and clicked, ‘Yes! I’ll RSVP!’ And then felt a pang of regret. It just seemed a little … forced.

  I pulled on comfy black leggings and the only black singlet I’d brought back from London, which had a large rip under the right armpit so you could see my white sports bra that was so old, it had turned grey after too many washes and wears. I made a mental note – buy more singlet tops and sports bras. Thankfully, you could only see the rip if I lifted my arm up, and I wasn’t considering that a required motion for walking. I wore a black cap and no make-up. And I noticed, staring into the mirror, that my skin was starting to break out around my chin and cheeks from wearing so much foundation during the week. And possibly lack of sleep. She had no concept of time and boundaries. But now, I was doing something weird, and missing her, so I knew I had to go on this walk.

  My phone beeped. It was Honey: Met a very cute boy xx. I replied: Who is this boy? Make sure not journalist! Because you could never be too careful. She replied: Thanks mum, he’s kinda in marketing! I wrote: Almost as bad.

  It sounded as if she’d met someone new at the spa, which was typically what happened to gorgeous girls whose lives were like actual rom-com movies. Because when I went to the spa it was full of middle-aged women who complained of being too sweaty and had toes full of gout. But what did ‘kinda in marketing’ mean? Maybe the dinner with Nick hadn’t gone so well after all. The thought of them not getting on, and not having hot sex, I couldn’t help it – it made me smile and feel a little happier.

  With my new surge of excited energy, I took the cliff walk pathway from the bus stop to the start of the walk, heading south towards Bronte, trudging through a park where people were throwing balls to their excited dogs. Off in the distance a slim girl with long blonde hair wearing a pink sweater was laughing and linking arms with a man in a red plaid shirt, as their French bulldog was bounding about, a little out of hand. They looked really happy. I want that, I thought.

  I wanted a someone to do things with on the weekend. I wanted a someone that would be at home in bed, waiting to hug me, when I re
turned exhausted from a night of celebrity babysitting or from a really bad day at work – because I was having more and more of those. When my friends were all busy on the weekend, I wanted the feeling of knowing there was someone I could do things with, rather than doing it how I was now. Solo.

  Being single for a small period of time could feel liberating and empowering. Being single for seven years felt like an entirely different world altogether – a very empty world. And now, I had signed up to go on a bloody walk with strangers.

  The meeting point was at the rear entrance to the park, and a group of people was already milling around. There were two large middle-aged women, a pair of tiny girls who looked very young and I assumed were students, and a very tall, thirty-something guy, who was very pale, and had thick dark hair. He was awkwardly hunched over as if he’d been embarrassed about his height all of his life, which reminded me of Lurch. We were a giant pack of misfits.

  ‘Er, hello,’ I said to the very muscular and stocky guy standing with a giant red flag that was stuck into the top of his cap. ‘Are you …’ I scrolled my phone to see the leader’s name ‘… Patrick?’

  ‘Yes, how did you know?’ he greeted me in a loud, booming voice.

  ‘Um, the flag?’

  ‘Oh, right! Yes! The flag.’ He hooted, reaching up and touching the flag. ‘There it is!’ Everything he said sounded as if it had exclamation points ready.

  ‘So, team!’ Patrick called out. ‘Are we almost ready to get going? Get walking? Get our heart’s rate up? Get dating?’

  Wait. What!? Dating? My heart sank. Had I clicked on a romantic walk? I scrolled through my phone, and there it was, a Lonely Singles Walk. How had I missed that? Even worse, had my brain seen the word lonely and single, and thought, Oh, yep, that’s me?

  I looked around this group of misfit people and it hit me then in a heartbeat – these were the people I spent my time with on the weekends. I mean, I’m sure they were lovely, but they were strangers, single strangers, and that spoke volumes.

  I stood in line at the nearby coffee cart, and ordered an extra-large cappuccino, whilst I debated if I was actually going to go on the hike. As I stood in line, I heard a small voice in my head. I think I’m lonely.

  The thought sank in.

  God, I’m really lonely.

  It was so palpable, I almost said it aloud.

  If I was being truthful, my entire life felt a bit off. My friends were always busy. I couldn’t get past a first date with anyone. I hadn’t started the diet I’d been promising myself I would, because every night I just wanted to comfort eat. And then there was my job at Maker. It had felt like the offer of a lifetime. But now that I was doing it, working so many hours, for such little money, I didn’t really know what I was thinking. To buy a place? Let’s be real, I couldn’t buy a place in a hundred years on the salary I was making. And whilst my studio unit was nice enough if you liked living in one damp room, it wasn’t a cottage. It didn’t have a garden, so I could never grow veggies. Or have chickens. Or a dog.

  I ordered a banana muffin. Then changed my mind and made it two.

  ‘Are you here for the singles in love and fitness walk?’ Patrick called out with so much enthusiasm I thought he might pop a vein, to a person approaching the coffee cart. I winced and turned away, pretending not to be on the walk either, when I heard a soft, whispery voice order a non-fat latte, hold the sugar. I knew that voice. I looked up.

  ‘Honey?’ I said in astonishment, because she was meant to be at a spa right now, getting a facial.

  She looked over, giving me a slow up and down. I wished I were wearing tight jeans, a pink wool sweater and little ankle boots like her – not my holey active wear. ‘Emma?’ she queried hesitantly, looking over the top of her sunglasses. ‘You look so different on the weekends. Is that a new hipster thing you’re trying? Because I’m not sure it suits … anyone.’

  Just then the French bulldog bounded over and started nosing itself into my shin. ‘He is gorgeous,’ I said, bending down, ignoring her last comment. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Sherlock,’ Honey said without looking at me.

  I scratched Sherlock’s ears and he jumped up excitedly, finding my lips and giving them a big doggy lick. ‘Whoa.’ I laughed. ‘Gotta be careful of boys that want to kiss me without buying me a drink.’ Honey’s partner jogged up; I could only see his two large feet in white sneakers. Standing up, I put out my hand to introduce myself, but looking up I saw familiar eyes staring at me. ‘Hi, I’m—’ I stopped cold. The blood drained out of my face. You’ve got to be kidding, I thought.

  ‘Nick?’ I asked, feeling sick, grabbing back my hand. Then realised that was awkward, perhaps rude, so I put my hand back out, where it hung for a few seconds, unsure and outstretched.

  ‘Emma.’ He looked just as astonished to see me. He looked at my hand as if I were offering him a snake.

  Eventually, I put my hand down, then started doing arm stretches as though that was what I was doing the whole time. Honey peered at me as if I’d gone strange. No one said anything. I looked from him to her, and back to him. Do not lift your arm, I told myself. Grey old sports bra. Grey old sports bra.

  ‘Guys? You coming on the singles’ walk?’ Patrick pointed at Honey and Nick. I wanted the entire earth to open up and swallow me whole.

  Honey didn’t even turn her head, as though Patrick didn’t exist. I blushed. Nick stared at me and then at Patrick, before he managed to finally say. ‘No, thanks, mate.’

  ‘Are you with those people?’ Honey asked, looking confused.

  ‘Oh, no, I’m not with them.’ Those people looked at me strangely, because I was dissing my type. Dissing the misfits. ‘I’m just here for the coffee.’ I tried to smile.

  ‘Isn’t that a long way for you to come?’ Honey cocked her head to the side. ‘Don’t you live, somewhere, west?’ She said west like that was where drugs, and crime and general gang warfare occurred.

  I nodded. ‘Somewhere like that.’

  The misfits were getting ready to leave. I could see one of the ladies swinging her arms around. She’d realised there was no other men, and noted Patrick had a shiny wedding ring on; she’d zeroed in on poor Lurch. I didn’t know who I felt more sorry for. Thankfully, I hadn’t told Patrick my name, otherwise he’d likely be yelling, ‘Come on, Emma! Get a move on!’ loud enough for the entire park to hear.

  The silence between the three of us was deafening, until finally I managed to splutter, ‘Honey, I thought you were at the spa?’

  ‘Oh, I was.’ She waved a perfectly manicured hand at me. ‘But I got bored, and then I bumped into someone.’ Honey smiled sweetly at Nick. ‘Also, we had a lovely dinner, thanks for setting that up.’

  We had a lovely dinner. She was speaking in ‘we’s’ already. I looked at Nick and suddenly I realised what ‘kinda in marketing’ meant. She meant PR, but she didn’t want me finding out about her and Nick. So it was hush-hush, this little love affair, was it? And now, it appeared, I was in on it too. Wonderful.

  She smiled. ‘Nick’s a real gentleman. Not like my ex in the States. So immature. Can you believe he lives in a shared house? Like with other people? And he doesn’t even have Instagram!’

  A real gentleman. I imagined Nick pulling out her chair. Offering his jacket. Putting a strand of hair behind her ear. Just as he’d done with me. I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of them eating together, and even sicker when I thought about them kissing.

  Nick cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘Honey was nice enough to lend a hand this weekend,’ he said quickly, ‘when something came up at work.’

  Lend a hand? Honey? I almost snorted. Unless it was to eat an entire plate of donuts, I couldn’t see Honey helping out with anything, at all really, especially to do with public relations.

  You guys have been working in … the … park?’ I asked, looking between them. ‘Are we featuring your dog in some new campaign?’

  Honey laughed breathily, as if I’d sa
id the funniest thing, and shared a look with Nick. ‘That’s not his dog.’

  ‘It’s not?’ I asked, bewildered.

  ‘No.’ Honey tossed her hair back over her shoulder. ‘It’s Gabe’s.’

  ‘Gabe?’ I felt as if I were on a different planet and didn’t know the language. Who was Gabe?

  ‘Nick’s friend,’ Honey said.

  At the same time Nick said, ‘No one.’

  ‘Nick’s so lovely.’ Honey seemed to be the only one not realising the tension in the group. ‘Looking after his sick elderly friend.’ She gave a melodious laugh. ‘I’m not sure I could.’

  Looking after his sick elderly friend? I raised my eyebrows at Nick, who looked away uncomfortably, as if someone had taken away his power of speech. If they weren’t together, how did Honey know so much about his life?

  Finally, Nick said, ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘It’s not nothing.’ Honey smiled sweetly at him, and the way she slightly leaned into him made me think it was something way more than just work. I hated to admit it, but they looked cute together. Looking at them was like watching the end of a Hallmark movie.

  Honey was still gazing at Nick and rattling off all the kind things he did. ‘You walk his dog, and do his shopping, and take him out.’

  Suddenly I felt I was in the middle of a very loved-up-couple moment. It was extremely uncomfortable and I wondered if I could pretend my phone was ringing, or just turn around and leave. Thankfully the barista shouted out, ‘Soy Cappucino’, literally saving me.

  I grabbed it and my two muffins and said, ‘Well, gotta run.’

  ‘You’re going running?’ Honey asked, her eyebrows raised as if the thought of running was rather hideous.

  ‘Sure, a little.’ I shrugged. Pointing to the cup. ‘After my coffee.’

  She eyed up the two muffins in my hand, and I felt as if I needed to make an excuse. ‘I’m meeting someone.’ And I held up the second banana muffin as if it were proof that I had someone waiting for me, not that I was just hankering for a carb-fest. ‘So see you next week, Honey, enjoy your, um, weekend. Bye, Nick,’ I said quickly and turned around before anyone could say another word. Suddenly, I was jogging across the park and back to my cliff walk so fast my coffee spilt half of its frothy foam out of the lid before I could even take a sip.