by Dean Mayes
Hayden cantilevered forward and studied his work anew. His face dropped.
Bernadette was right. And while only a sharp eye would have noticed the error, now that he could see it, it stuck out like a sore thumb. His heart plunged.
Bernadette appraised her husband with something like pity. “You are a duffer,” she chided, scratching her fingers through his hair affectionately.
All that effort, he lamented. For nothing.
Russell would never have made such an elementary mistake.
“Put it away,” Bernadette suggested with a dismissive sigh. “Stop wasting your time on this stuff. I don’t understand why you bother.”
Hayden felt a nasty twinge of hurt between his temples.
“I don’t feel like cooking tonight,” Bernadette declared, sashaying back across the lawn towards the house. A coquettish grin crept across her lips. “Let’s order in some Thai food. Open a bottle of wine, maybe… fool around? You up for it?”
Her boldness knocked Hayden off kilter and, all at once, he couldn’t reconcile his conflicting emotions. Watching him conspiratorially, Bernadette teased him with the graceful movements of her body, while the still incomplete chair stood in front him, mocking him.
Hayden got to his feet, lifted the chair, and deposited it inside the garage, slamming the door shut behind him.
~ Chapter 3 ~
BERNADETTE DASHED FROM ONE END OF THE KITCHEN TO THE OTHER IN HER SLIM-FITTING BUSINESS SKIRT. SLIPPING her feet into a pair of Louboutin pumps, she spun gracefully towards the toaster, which had just ejected a piece of rye into the air. Catching it deftly, she wedged it between her teeth and without skipping a beat, sidestepped to the coffee machine. As she slipped her left arm through the sleeve of her suit jacket, her fingers latched onto a pitcher of milk and she splashed some into her coffee cup.
Hayden stood at the expansive kitchen bench dressed in his pyjama bottoms, watching Bernadette as she darted back and forth. A radio news bulletin droned in the background, but he took little notice of it as he prepared a lunch box for her.
“You want to move it along there, lover?” Berni wisecracked. “You might have the day off but I’ve gotta be in town by eight-thirty.”
Startled from his daydream, Hayden’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry.”
He closed the lid over a small plastic tub containing a fresh salad, then set it inside a larger one in which he’d placed a pulled-pork and mustard sandwich, a muesli bar, a mandarin, and an apple. Ensuring he hadn’t forgotten anything, he secured it and patted it twice with the flat of his hand. “Done.”
Bernadette inspected his handiwork and smirked. “Nicely done, Doctor,” she remarked as she munched a corner of dry toast. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d probably pick up something awful from that miserable vegan café near your office.” Hayden’s answer was monotone.
Berni frowned. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”
“It’s vegan.” Hayden shot back without any sense of irony. “It can hardly be called food. This, however…” He proudly handed the lunch box to her. “This is decent food, from a decent grocer—and it’s organic.”
Bernadette leaned side-on against the bench and fixed him with a warning look. Hayden straightened his spine and jutted out his chin. “What?” he croaked.
Bernadette’s left eyebrow arched upward. “Hayden,” she said through a mouthful of toast. “You’re being preachy again.”
“I am not.” He paused as his expression flickered with doubt. “Am I?”
Leaning in, Bernadette gave him a peck on the cheek, reached behind him and snatched up a notepad. “I need you to fetch these items from the market.”
He perused the list and his face morphed into a scowl.
Sensing his protest, Bernadette didn’t skip a beat. “Don’t complain. I didn’t realise I only had a couple left when it started last night.”
“But you know how clueless I am when it comes to feminine hygiene.” His voice teetered on the edge of a whine. “I never get it right.”
Reaching over the top of the notepad, Bernadette tapped the facing page with a slender finger. “Look. I’ve written the exact brand and type there for you. It’s idiotproof.”
Hayden’s shoulders slumped. His expression was pained. “I should probably be offended by that.”
Bernadette reached up to give Hayden’s cheek a gentle squeeze. “They know you at the store and, besides, you are a doctor.”
Grabbing her keys and leather handbag up from the countertop, Bernadette turned to him once more. “I have got to skedaddle,” she said.
She placed a hand on his bare chest. “Call you later?”
Hayden watched her leave through the living room. “Sure.”
BERNADETTE STOOD AT A LARGE glass table, examining several sheets of paper spread out before her—seating plans for a convention centre space she was wrestling with. Accompanying these were open magazine pages depicting design options for table settings as well as brochures for linen supply companies, florists, and catering firms.
The interior of Bernadette’s office on Adelaide’s Halifax Street was bright, airy, and contemporary. She’d purchased the nineteenth-century townhouse several years earlier, and had personally overseen extensive renovations to the building, imprinting her own sense of style onto the space. On the outside, the townhouse married well with the surrounding heritage architecture, while inside, the office was streamlined and modern.
A series of framed photographs stationed along one wall featured Bernadette in the company of notable celebrities and corporate identities at various familiar locales: the Sydney Opera House, Melbourne’s famed skyline, the stunning backdrop of Uluru in Australia’s Red Centre. There was even a large photograph of Bernadette and a group taken in New York’s Times Square.
This was the nerve centre of Projection Events, Bernadette’s company.
The debrief this morning had gone even better than she’d expected. Trident Software Systems were effusive in their praise for the dinner she had executed for them. Bernadette knew they were well connected with state government and were courting the current administration to provide software solutions. The dinner Friday night had enabled Bernadette to hint to the Trident executives that she was also pursuing the government as a key provider of event management services. In their discussion this morning, they had indicated they had not forgotten this, and were prepared to recommend her above her competitors.
She was giddy with excitement. This feedback, combined with James’s continued intelligence gathering from inside the firm, suggested her prospects were very strong. A government tender would unlock immense opportunities for Projection Events.
The phone on her desk had run hot as Amanda fielded calls from her current clients and several potential prospects, all of whom had heard the buzz about Friday night’s event at the Adelaide Oval. Amanda was savvy enough to handle most of the calls and accordingly, she had limited the incoming traffic, much to Bernadette’s relief.
The unopened lunch box on the corner of her desk caught her notice and a pang of guilt tugged at her. She hadn’t thought of food all day. She’d likely just empty it into the bin and make something up, knowing Hayden would be disappointed if she brought it home uneaten.
As the clock on her laptop ticked over to 5:30, Amanda stepped into the office and scratched at the back of her neck. Her eyes peered out from under her fringe as she fingered the high neck of her black blouse and waited for Bernadette to register her presence.
Eventually, Bernadette looked up from her work. “You heading off?”
Amanda gave a quick nod. “Unless there’s anything else?”
Bernadette went over to a small bar fridge, where she took out a bottle of wine. “You’ve earned this today,” she said, handing the bottle to Amanda. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Amanda’s usual poker face softened into a smile. “Ooh! Bird in Hand. Thank you.
I have some strawberries I plan to destroy tonight. This will accompany them perfectly.”
Amanda signalled towards the front office. “I’ve diverted the phone. I figured you’d want to catch any call that comes in.”
“Yeah. There’s only one I’m waiting on.”
Almost before she could finish her sentence, the phone on her desk rang. Both women jumped at the shrill tone and blinked at each other. Amanda bit her nail and shooed her in the direction of the phone.
Bernadette activated the speakerphone and James’s voice filled the office.
“Okay, kid, are you sitting down?”
A smile spread across Bernadette’s lips as she leaned against the desk. “No, I’m not, James. You know I don’t have time to sit down.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he teased. “Well, you aced it. I just got off the phone with the Premier’s office. They want to put you through your paces this weekend. Convention Centre. Premier’s Business Gala. You’re up.”
Every thought humming about in Bernadette’s mind stopped as she processed his words.
“Hey? Are you there? Did you hear what I said?”
“Y-yeah. Yes. Of course I did,” Bernadette stammered.
James was chuckling even before she finished replying. “Well? Clear your schedule and get to it! You’ve got work to do. I’ll talk to you soon.”
James clicked off and Bernadette touched the button on the phone’s base station. She looked across at Amanda, her expression frozen for several moments. Abruptly, both women flung their arms up in the air, squealing in a manner more reminiscent of teenage girls than the dynamic professionals of a successful event management firm.
~ Chapter 4 ~
THOUGH IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HIS DAY OFF, HAYDEN FOUND HIMSELF HAVING TO CALL IN AT THE HOSPITAL TO PICK up some assignment work he’d been asked to assess by his boss, Ainsley Rafter. That led to him being collared to provide a clinical opinion on a newly arrived case, which in turn had him accompanying the child to radiology so he could review the CT scan. What was meant to be a quick in-and-out visit turned into a good part of the morning.
Many hours later, Hayden sat in his home study, his laptop screen open in front of him. He rubbed the rim of the coffee mug he held in his fingertips and surveyed his desk, messy with the work he’d brought home. Among the papers were several medical texts, manuals of paediatric emergency, trauma scenarios, and resuscitation guidelines, opened to various pages. All of them were dog-eared, peppered with Post-it notes and littered with graffiti and highlighter markings.
Off to one side, even more books lay stacked. There were texts on wood turning, lathe craft, and furniture restoration, coupled with large coffee-table books filled with glorious images of chairs and cabinetry from a bygone era. His failure with Bernadette’s chair nagged at him and he wrestled with the temptation of abandoning what he needed to do for what he’d rather be doing.
Underneath an ornate brass banker’s lamp stood an old photograph in a vintage silver frame. A woman in a flowing jade blouse. She was beautiful, willowy, with long chestnut hair framing a kind face. Her most arresting feature, her smile, radiated from the photo. Hayden felt its effect every time he looked at it.
Whistling air between his teeth, he picked up a pencil from the desk, only to toss it away from him almost immediately.
Who am I kidding? He was unable to concentrate any longer. The papers in front of him were blurring as he took a sip from his mug.
He gagged. The coffee was stone cold.
Screwing up his nose, he set the cup down and took a deep breath. Pungent aromas from the kitchen registered in his brain. In between marking these assignments, Hayden had been ducking out to assemble the ingredients for a slow-cooked curry.
Leaning forward, he folded down the laptop screen and pushed it back. He switched on the lamp, its green glass shade diffusing a soft glow over the photo of the woman. He plucked a small remote control from the desk and aimed it behind him. Soft jazz music filtered from a compact stereo system on the bookshelf. Hayden regarded a bottle of Scotch on the shelf and smiled as he considered pouring himself a glass.
Turning his wristwatch into the light, he noted the hands showing seven o’clock.
Hayden rose from his chair and went through to the kitchen to check the slow cooker. He gave the contents a stir, had a taste, and sprinkled in some extra spice. The chicken curry prompted his stomach to issue a satisfying growl as he reset the glass lid.
He returned to the study and grabbed up the bottle of Scotch and a tumbler, then sank into the chair and splashed a lug of the alcohol into the glass. He lifted it to his lips and paused. Closing his eyes, he drifted with the sound of the jazz. After several moments, he became aware of the living room door opening, the click of stiletto heels on tile.
Bernadette appeared in the doorway to the study and leaned against the doorframe. Sensing her presence, Hayden looked up.
She appeared exhausted.
“How’re you going?” she greeted as she peeled off her shoes, adding a hint of sarcasm. “You look run off your feet.”
“Not at all,” Hayden responded, missing her gentle barb. “But I was earlier. How did today go?”
Bernadette puckered her lips and moved her head with the rhythm of the music. “Good. It went well. Trident was very impressed with our work. Couldn’t talk highly enough about it, actually.”
Hayden raised his glass to her. “That is good news.”
She frowned, giving a sharp nod towards the glass in his hands. “You okay there?”
“Fine,” Hayden answered flatly. “I’m just winding down. Taking a break from marking assignment work.”
Bernadette’s gaze lingered on the glass before drifting back up to his face. “James called this afternoon,” she ventured, testing the waters to see how he would react.
The prickly territory of the coveted government contract remained unresolved between them, but he was determined to avoid another argument. Cupping his glass in both hands, Hayden continued to gaze at her.
“We’ve been given the Premier’s Business Gala,” she continued. “It’s this coming Saturday. James says there was an issue with the other planner and they want to put us through our paces. If we pull it off, our tender could well be in the bag.”
Bernadette watched Hayden for any sign of tension. Her eyes narrowed and she turned her head. “Sooo—what do you think?”
“I think that is fantastic,” Hayden responded carefully. “Well done, you.”
Bernadette watched him, as though she expected him to drop his veneer and add some note of sarcasm, but it never came. “You’re okay with this?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He placed his glass on the desk and held out his arm, signalling her to come closer. When she did, Hayden scooted backwards in the chair and patted his lap, but she squeezed his hand and bent down to kiss the top of his head instead.
“How many drinks have you had?” she quizzed, sniffing.
Hayden looked up, stung, as she stepped back and leaned her hip on the desk. “I haven’t even started on this one,” he answered defensively.
Folding her arms, Bernadette studied him, unconvinced. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she probed. “I mean, this is the Premier’s Business Gala, after all. It will be filled with all those people you can’t stand. You’ll be required to mix with them. As my husband.”
Hayden harrumphed. “It’s important,” he said, his voice taking on as sincere a note as he could muster. “You have to do this if you’re going to win the contract.”
He ran his thumb around the rim of his glass thoughtfully. “I was selfish. I am selfish. I want us to have more time together and not be so driven by our careers. But this is important to you. So, it’s important to me.”
Bernadette tilted her head. “Well, thank you,” she said awkwardly. “Look, once I get this deal in the bag, I’ll be able to hire on another consultant and, you know, we’ll try to spend more time together.”
“Are you hungry?” Hayden asked. “I’ve made a curry.”
Bernadette gave Hayden an aww, you’re so sweet face. “I need to soak in a bath for at least an hour,” she demurred. “Besides, I’m not really hungry. You have some, though,” She stared down her nose. “It’ll soak up some of that alcohol.”
Hayden frowned. “I haven’t had any yet.”
Bernadette ignored him as she stood and gestured at the bottle of Scotch. “Don’t drink too much—you’ll end up snoring and you’ll have to sleep down here again. In fact, it might be better if you did. You already look as though you’ll snort like a freight train.”
“But—” Before Hayden could protest, Bernadette turned on her heel and disappeared.
“I haven’t had any yet,” he mouthed through gritted teeth.
“Oh, and could you turn the music down a bit?” Her voice sounded from the stairs. “It’s too loud!”
Hayden sat there, bewildered. “Dinner for one it is. Again.”
Discouraged now, Hayden considered the glass, then set it down on the desk. His hand slipped to the desk drawer and opened it. He reached inside, pulled out an envelope, and opened it, tugging out its contents.
Two tickets to the South Australian Ballet, April 30 at 7:30 p.m. This Saturday. He’d thought he’d surprise her.
He regarded them sombrely, then tore them up and dropped the resultant confetti into the wastebasket at his feet. His attention drifted to the photograph. The tension gathered in his shoulders released.
He raised his hands and clapped them softly in front of him, before spreading them wide and crossing them over each other, finishing the gesture by swiping each palm gently across his face.
“Happy Birthday, Mum.”
THE EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT ON A Saturday was notorious for its unpredictability. It could be a ghost town or a war zone.
On this particular Saturday, the latter had come to pass. Hayden had managed well throughout the day but, by evening, there had been a sharp upswing in activity. By the time the end of his shift was in sight, all the cubicles were full. The waiting room was at capacity and more patients were coming in.
