by Bree Darcy
“She’s great, thanks,” I replied with a forced smile.
Nikki butted in. “Mrs Beldon has met a lovely guy called Ken, he’s a former soldier who works away on an oil rig, and he -”.
“Well, isn’t that nice,” Mrs Palmer said insincerely. “I suppose it doesn’t matter if he works away, she’s used to not having a man around the house, isn’t she. Just like your poor friend Dawn.” She tutted and shook her head. “Imagine having to bring up four children with a husband never at home.”
This from the same woman who constantly moaned about having her retired husband under her feet all day.
“I’ve always worried about your mother living in that house all by herself. And now I have to worry about the same thing with my own daughter. Thank goodness Brady has settled down, otherwise I’d be the only one in my craft circle without a grandchild to knit for.” Mrs Palmer sighed dramatically. “At least, for all her hardships, that’s one thing your mother has – a daughter who is happily married with two beautiful children.” Mrs Palmer turned her disappointed gaze on Nikki. “Why don’t you bring that nice banker of yours over for lunch on Sunday-.”
A shadow crossed Nikki’s face. “So did you hear Kellie’s back in contact with her old boyfriend, Andy?” she interjected. “Remember that rock’n’roll guy you said would wind up dead from a drug overdose?”
Now I was the recipient of a reproachful look. But before Mrs Palmer could comment, Nikki jumped to her feet. “Actually Mum, we gotta shoot through, get back to my car before the parking inspector does. You know I can’t afford another ticket. I’ll call you.”
Once we turned the corner, I spun around to confront my friend, mimicking her voice. “So did you know about Kellie and her old boyfriend? Geez, you might as well have hired a plane to sky-write it. Look, here comes a bus, do you want to throw me under that as well?” I folded my arms and glared at her.
“I know, sorry, I panicked. I couldn’t bear having to tell her Tim and me broke up – to hear her nag me …”
I immediately softened. “Don’t let your mum get to you,” I consoled. “You know Tim isn’t worth moping over. But don’t do it again or I’ll never tell you anything ever again. Even Mum doesn’t know I’m talking to Andy again – and she loves the boy.”
“Just like her daughter then,” she mumbled.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
* * *
Two nights later, we were camped out in Nikki’s living room, trying to sort out her love life, with the help of a whiteboard and marker. We had charted her entire, extensive dating history from Benji McCulloch in year seven through to the Miley Cyrus fan this past week and were now devising a list of attributes her ideal man should possess. Our deliberations were constantly interrupted, though, by the yelling and banging coming from the quarrelling couple next door. Then her neighbour on the other side, a university student with a passion for electropop, turned up the volume on his sound system.
Nikki had been renting this villa for years, ever since she returned from London. I had urged her to buy because rent was dead money but did she listen to her wisest friend? No. And now thanks to the property boom, which had seen Perth’s average house price double in less than a decade, she couldn’t afford to get her red leather ankle boots on the property ladder. Her ability to spend like there was no credit card payment due tomorrow didn’t help either.
But right now, with her mum’s disappointment still ringing in her ears, Nikki was more focused on working out where she had gone wrong with her choice in men. Her longest-term romance (four months, two weeks and five days) was with an accountant who ended it when he admitted he had been seeing someone else all along and with it being tax time, he was now too busy to date two women at once.
“Have you ever thought maybe you should loosen up some of your dating requirements?” I suggested. Nikki was signed up to numerous online dating sites but only ever checked the 20-28 and 29-35 age categories for potential partners. “If you are looking for a more serious relationship, maybe you need a more mature man.” I flipped through a magazine pointing out older men who were attractive – George Clooney, Hugh Jackman, Johnny Depp, Jamie Foxx …
She blanched at most of them. “Anyway, Mrs Smug-I’ve-Only-Dated-Three-Men-In-My-Life,” she said, leaning across me to reach the corn chips. “What I want to know is have you decided yet whether you’ll continue this flirting with danger … I mean Dangerfield … when you get home?”
“It’s not flirting; I’ve told you, we’re just friends. Although I have got a favour to ask.”
“Pray tell,” she said before jamming the corn chips into her mouth.
Andy wanted to hook up on Skype and I was hoping Nikki might have the technical know-how to set it up for me.
* * *
Mum looked up from her laptop when I let myself in the front door. It was well after midnight, and she had her feet up on the couch, a heatpack resting on her sore shoulder. A black and white movie played in the background.
“What are you still doing up?” I inquired.
“This is the best time to message Ken, he’s nearly finished work for the day.” A smile lit up her face. “He says he has a surprise for me. He’s been emailing photo clues all week and told me to expect the final clue today.”
Mum showed me his collection of photos, including a suitcase, a bottle of champagne, a love heart made out of candy canes, and a record of the Beatles’ I Want to Hold Your Hand.
“Looks to me like he might be planning a trip home?” I suggested.
Mum beamed. “I thought that too. His contract is due to end soon, so I have my fingers crossed.”
“You must be excited to finally meet him.”
Mum blushed. “I am.”
“Just make sure you’re careful. You hear all sorts of funny things happening with these online romances. You need to meet him in a public place and let someone know where you’re going.”
Mum laughed. “His sister emailed me because she was worried too. She wanted to make sure I wasn’t some Russian bride looking for a sugar daddy.”
“Maybe you should Skype him? It’s easier to get a read on a person when you can see them face to face.”
Mum looked puzzled so I explained briefly how it worked. I made a mental note to drop into a computer store tomorrow to buy her an up-to-date laptop with a camera.
* * *
“That should be working now,” Nikki said rummaging around with the computer cords.
“Now there’s a pair of breasts I remember well.” Andy’s face appeared on screen, his dark hair clinging in damp clumps to his forehead.
“It’s the Shrimp!” Nikki said, backing away. “Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you again. I must say you are looking mighty fine. How is it possible you look younger than ever?”
Andy leant towards us, and whispered: “Sheep placenta injections – a secret Lady Gaga shared with me.”
“Really?” Nikki eyes widened.
“Nah, not really,” Andy laughed. “I’m all about healthy living these days. Lots of exercise, eating up all my vegetables,” he grinned, “- and no drugs.”
“That’s good to hear.” I felt like I needed to get in on the conversation. Nikki was right, he did look better than ever.
“So Niks, don’t let the door hit you on the way out, will you?” Andy said.
“This is my house you know. Alright, alright I can take a hint.” She affected a yawn. “I’ll leave you two to it.”
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” he waved back. “It’s so amazing to see you again. You look great.”
Score for Nikki, who had convinced me to spend the morning being pampered at her day spa although I did draw the line at the extensive waxing regime she had suggested. Unless Andy had X-ray vision, a Brazilian wax was so not worth the pain.
“So,” he said.
“So,” I echoed, feeling like I was on an awkward date.
“What’s th
e weather like there?”
“It’s been a gorgeous sunny day. How about your end?”
“I only just got up but it looks cloudy.”
In radio terminology, we had thirty seconds of dead air until Andy cut in again: “This is weird. We usually have heaps to say to one another. Now we’re discussing the weather!”
“I haven’t Skyped before. Do you use it much?”
“I do. The girls got me into it, they wanted to be able to chat to their old man while I’m away. Usually to hit me up for money. Listen, what I wanted to tell you ….” Andy fidgeted around on his seat. “I’m coming to see you. Around January, February.”
My stomach flipped but I put on my best nonchalant expression as he explained the details. They were filming an Australian version of the TV show Hitmaker, a talent contest for bands that was the brainchild of his father-in-law, Chandler Ellement. In the UK and US, it had already produced pop sensation Blue Blood and folksy duo Park and Tyde. Andy was to be a mentor for a couple of episodes. So he’d have plenty of spare time to meet up with me.
“Well, what do you think?”
I hesitated. “I’ll have to check my diary. It could be during school holidays, which might make it a bit tricky and-”
“I’m sure you’ll work something out. But you can’t say a word to anyone.”
As if I’d be announcing to the world that I was off to see my famous ex-boyfriend while he was in town.
“No one can know I’m doing the show until it happens. So no revealing it on that showbiz website you work for. You’ll have to keep it on the low too, Niks.”
“Of course,” she piped up from the corner.
“I knew she hadn’t left the room,” Andy laughed.
* * *
The next day I heard from my clearly irate husband. “What are earth are you up to over there?”
“Nothing! What do you mean?” I asked, taking the call out to the back veranda. I was having palpitations at the thought he had accessed my phone message bank or somehow logged in to my Skype call.
“I’ve been looking at our account. There’s a charge for over three thousand dollars from an antique dealer. Fifteen-hundred at David Jones. You’ve blown six hundred bucks on restaurants and taxis, as well as four hundred on whatever the Zen Den is. Not to mention another seven hundred and ninety-eight dollars at Ultra Electronics yesterday.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I had to account for everything I buy. As it happens, one is a birthday present for you, so stop being such a nosy parker. I got Mum a laptop for her birthday and bought a new dress and shoes. And I’ve been out a few times with the girls.”
“Fine,” he said, although it clearly was not. “It would just be nice to be kept in the loop so I don’t fear you’ve been mugged and had the card stolen by some big-spending gang.”
I eyeballed a magpie walking across the lawn. “Speaking of money, I was wanting to talk to you about Mum’s shoulder. It’s getting worse, she can barely raise her arm. The hospital waiting list is a joke, her doctor thinks it could be another two years. So I was thinking we should offer to pay for her to see a private specialist.”
“How much are we talking?”
“Around ten grand,” I replied.
“No, definitely not. Not with the school fees and Christmas is coming up too. And I’ve sunk extra into shares. Sorry, it’s not a good time right now.”
“Strange how none of this appeared to be a concern when you bought your new racing bike last month,” I sniped.
“You know how I feel about this. It’s not up to us to bail out your mother. She made the choice not to sign up for health insurance so unfortunately a long wait for treatment is the result.”
If only that silver spoon he was born with would slap him across the face.
After ending our call, I pulled on my sneakers to go for a jog, continuing to mull over ways to help Mum out. Suddenly I looked up to find myself in a familiar street.
I slowed down as I passed the two houses. The old concrete path to the front door had been replaced with cream pavers and black pebbles and the porch was now a substantial wooden deck surrounded by tropical plantings. Next door had had a makeover too, with a double storey added, the mud brown brick had been rendered in cream, the orange roof tiles had been resprayed a more modern grey and the wire fencing had been replaced with a smart federation green picket fence.
A teenage boy wearing a maroon beanie exited the double-storey house. “Ma, I’m off to Jayden’s. I’ll be back for tea.” He jumped on his skateboard and took off down the street, not noticing the passerby who felt like she had travelled back in time.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Mum heard I was invited to spend Christmas Day with Andy’s family, she put herself down for a double shift at the restaurant. A double shift on triple pay was too good to pass up.
Andy was still in bed when she dropped me off. “Why aren’t you at church with everyone else?” I asked when he finally shuffled to the door.
“I was a good Catholic boy last night, went to midnight Mass with ma. This morning I’m more interested in opening my presents,” he said pulling me towards his bedroom.
Later lying there, I ran my fingers over his hip. Above his right hipbone was a small heart tattoo. On the other side DANGER was etched in ink.
“You know that heart’s for you,” he said.
“For me, bollocks. That heart could be for anyone, I don’t see my name anywhere. You’ll just pretend to the next girl that the heart’s for her.”
“Nuh-uh. That heart’s yours for life. You should get one too, just here.” He grazed my hipbone with his thumb. “We could have a matching pair.”
As if I’d ever be crazy enough to get something painful and permanent drilled into my skin. Although I had to admit, it looked cool on him.
I leant over the edge of the bed and pulled a large parcel from my bag. “Now did you get me anything for Christmas or was that warm welcome all I’m gonna get?” I said with a cheeky grin.
Andy rummaged in his sock drawer before pulling out a small jewellery box containing a sparkly silver ring. He also handed me a mixtape and a writing journal bound with patchwork fabric stitched by his aunt. “I forgot to wrap them,” he said sheepishly, before ripping into his own parcel that I had tied with an elaborate red bow.
He slung the engraved dog chain necklace over his head before examining his other gifts – a Nirvana T-shirt, a sheet music book of the Top Rock Songs of All Time; and a learn-to-read-music book for beginners (because amazingly, Andy couldn’t tell a treble clef from a semiquaver).
I tidied up his bedroom as best I could while waiting for him to shower. Then we headed next door to his Aunt Carmela’s house, to join the millions of friends and relatives who were descending for lunch.
Sisters Mercedes and Hannah were rolling bright pink hula hoops down the driveway.
“You’re late,” Mercedes said, hands on hips. “We’ve opened our presents already. Do you like my bracelet? It’s got a ballet slipper charm because I’m a ballerina.”
“It’s beautiful, just like you,” I said.
“Have you been kissing?” Hannah asked wide-eyed.
“Something like that,” Andy replied. “But I saved two of my smoochiest kisses for my two favourite cousins. Now who wants to be first?” The girls ran away screaming as Andy chased them across the lawn.
I headed into the house to give his mother a gift set of her favourite perfume plus a container of homemade rum balls from Mum. Maria was in the kitchen, beads of perspiration on her forehead, stirring a red sauce bubbling away on the stovetop.
“Buon natale, mia caro,” she said, pulling me into an embrace. Maria was a head shorter than me and was wearing her trademark black stretch knit dress. Her gold bracelets rattled as she clapped her hands to gain the attention of the other women, who were chattering away while preparing mountains of salad and desserts.
“Signore! Questa e la fidanzata di Andrew Kel
lie. Non e bella?”
“Buongiorno,” I replied shyly as their greetings rained down on me, some in English, some in Italian.
It was quite overwhelming. I’d never spent Christmas with more than my mum and Aunt Beth and Uncle Al. But all attention soon turned to Andy carrying in a sobbing Hannah with a grazed knee.
“Buon natale, tutti!” he said passing the injured girl off to her grandmother. He kissed his mother on both cheeks. “Smells great, ma. Are we eating soon? I missed breakfast.”
Andy was immediately plied with pastries from every direction. Despite his mouth being stuffed with food, he bantered easily with the women, inquiring after their families and buttering them up with compliments. Meanwhile I helped his Aunt Carmela carry some antipasto platters out to the men congregated in the backyard. They were standing around the pig on the spit, each with a roll-their-own cigarette in one hand and a whisky tumbler in the other.
Caprice, who was with a group of teenage girls supervising the Slip N Slide, called me over.
“I knew Andrew was seeing someone – I didn’t realise it was you,” said one of the girls, Teresa, a student a year below me at school whose father was apparently Uncle Ed’s best friend. “I thought you were with Dan Hunter.”
“Nah, Dan and I are just good friends. I’ve known him for years but we’ve never gone out.”
“Never gone out with who?” Andy said, slipping his arm around my waist.
“Dan Hunter – only the spunkiest guy at school,” sighed Teresa. “Why would you be with this scrawny runt when you could have him instead?”
“Obviously Kell has better taste than you.” Andy whipped off his T-shirt and careered down the slippery mat on his stomach. “Time to play ten pin bowling,” he told his young cousins, arranging six of them into a pyramid setting. “If I knock you down, you’re out.” Andy launched himself along the slide again, bringing down a few of the kids giggling on top of him.
“Okay, ladies, your turn.” He shook his wet hair over us like a dog.
