by Carla Caruso
One who hadn’t even remembered Celeste’s birthday. Then again, she had insisted on not going stupid over the day.
Celeste pressed a hand to her temple. ‘All right. So long as it’s not much more than half an hour.’ It wasn’t as though she had any better offers for the evening. ‘What’s the address? This emergency of yours had better be worth it. And I hope it’s the kids’ nap-time or something.’
‘Er, they’re three, so not much napping goes on, especially at this hour, but you’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t mind Mariska if she says anything strange. She’s a little clairvoyant. Has visions and things.’
‘Clairvoyant?’ Celeste remarked faintly, scribbling down the address Betty-Lou gave her, still unable to believe what she’d gotten herself into. She supposed it was marginally better than crying into a TV dinner that night because she was all alone on her thirtieth birthday.
Feeling slightly dazed, she headed for the door. Making a firm decision on a fitness storage rack would have to wait for another day. Outside, beyond the shop’s air-conditioned comfort, the balmy afternoon air hit her like a tennis ball to the face. They’d been banging on in the media about how an early heatwave was coming, which was unusual for Adelaide in late spring. A weather record, in fact, supposedly a teaser to the hot summer ahead. Which wasn’t a good sign. With all the sticky situations Celeste was finding herself in lately, it was the last thing she needed. She was hot and bothered enough.
In the cark park, heading for her Astra, she watched a mother and what looked to be her three teenage daughters spill out of a new Bentley sedan. The sleek vehicle had gutter rash-tainted wheels — obviously, it was just the shopping car, although it was worth about as much as Celeste’s abode. So very Astonvale. Celeste needed to keep working if she ever wanted to catch up. Hey, a mother for her teenage years was the one thing she’d never be able to buy.
It was bedlam at the triplets’ house. Outwardly palatial, their home, indoors, looked like it had been ransacked. Each sibling seemed intent on going off in their own direction, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Betty-Lou had had the decency to look apologetic when she left, mumbling something about it just ‘ticking over to the kids’ witching hour’. Though, knowing this didn’t really help matters.
‘I can do ‘sthenics!’ That came from Milla, who had her hair in braids, courtesy of a recent family holiday to Bali — hair that was honey-brown without a little help from the dye bottle, unlike Celeste’s.
‘You can?’ Celeste asked dazedly, guessing Milla had meant calisthenics.
The three-year-old promptly did a backward arch over the top of the cavoodle, who was lying on the lounge’s shag rug. ‘See!’
‘Impressive. Just be careful!’ Celeste yelped. If only she was so flexible …
Mariska, who was identical to Milla — apart from her hair being free to hang loosely in curls — sidled up to Celeste on the couch.
‘You have a boyfriend,’ she stated babyishly, a chocolate YoGo snack in hand, all jade-green eyes and innocence.
‘Oh … yes, well, sort of.’
Mariska was the clairvoyant triplet Betty-Lou had warned Celeste about, so perhaps she shouldn’t have been so surprised at the comment. Mariska was also rather precocious.
‘He fixes houses.’
Hmm. Betty-Lou had obviously muttered something about Lenny in relation to Celeste for whatever reason. The traitor.
‘No, my boyfriend — well, sort-of boyfriend — works for a biscuit company. Biscuits are yum, don’t you think? He’s a … um … senior product range strategist.’ Not that she expected Mariska to understand what the job title meant. She barely did herself.
Defiantly, Mariska shook her head, her curls flying. ‘No, no. Not biscuits. He’s … he’s like that.’ She pointed to a Bob the Builder DVD case lying open on the floor. Celeste felt a shiver run through her, but Mariska just shot her an impish grin. ‘Are you going to marry him?’
‘Mitchell?’ Celeste maintained. ‘I-I don’t know. Probably not.’
‘But your mum likes him and he’ll make you a lovely house.’
‘My-my mum?’ There was no way the kid could know her mother was dead, that she could really ‘see’ things. Celeste couldn’t get paranoid. She cleared her throat. ‘You see, the thing is I already have a nice house.’ Albeit semi-detached, but it had been proudly paid for with her own money — okay, and the bank’s. ‘And I’m happy as I am.’
A frown tainted Mariska’s otherwise adorable features. ‘No wedding dress? No fair.’ Then, looking deep in thought, she dug her plastic spoon into her yoghurt snack and— Splat!
‘That wasn’t very nice,’ Celeste exclaimed, reaching to touch the side of her bob, freshly cut and coloured by Araminta the night before, and now garnished with chocolaty goo.
Mariska was saved from making an excuse for her behaviour by her triplet brother, Maximilian — or Maxi, for short — scooting in on a ride-on BMW, a hand on the seat of his pants. ‘I had an accident,’ he squealed. ‘No training pants!’
Celeste dug her fingernails into the arm of the couch and counted to ten under her breath. To think she wasn’t even getting paid for this. Betty-Lou owed her big-time.
‘Right! Maxi take off your bottom bits and I’ll sort you out and grab a mop and bucket in a minute. Mariska and Milla, do you have some glitter, pencils, paper, glue and scissors maybe? We’re going to do some crafts. Outside. Now.’
‘Crafts?’ Milla and Mariska looked at each other before exclaiming in unison, ‘We’ve got everything. Yay!’
As they dashed off to find the appropriate materials — or at least that was what Celeste hoped they were doing — she was confronted with a now trouser-less Maxi, extending his soiled underpants in her direction.
‘Thanks,’ Celeste muttered through gritted teeth, holding the undies between her thumb and forefinger. It definitely wasn’t the kind of ‘gift’ she’d expected to receive on her birthday. Being thirty stank — literally.
Celeste put the key in her front door, turning it with a satisfying click. The first thing she was going to do was kick off her loafers, the second was stuff a handful of salty cashews in her mouth for an energy hit, and then she was going to get in the shower and wash the yoghurty gunk out of her hair. After that, she looked forward to a date with the TV, two-minute noodles, and a glass of well-deserved red. It had been a long day, drawn out even further courtesy of her good friend, Betty-Lou. After that night, having kids had been pushed even further down her agenda.
She flung open the door and padded down the hall, heading into the lounge to relieve herself of her shoes—
‘Surprise!’
Celeste’s heart jackhammered in her chest. Cripes. Familiar faces had sprung out from behind her beige leather couch, cream curtains, and beyond. Betty-Lou, Araminta, Ken, her dad, Cousin bloody Dolores, Flip, Mitchell … and Lenny? Yes, Lenny, next to Mitchell. It was funny how quickly men could get over things like giving one another a groin injury.
Tears unexpectedly welled up in her eyes. Betty-Lou was the first to approach, grinning at Celeste. ‘You didn’t think we’d really forget your birthday, did you? I thought it’d be too obvious if I threw the party at mine, so I had to go with your place — and stall you coming home. Peta was in on it, too. Lucky I know where you hide your second key!’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Celeste stammered. ‘I’m a little embarrassed. Um, thank … you?’
Betty-Lou pecked her cheek. ‘My pleasure. By the way, Peta said she was amazed when she did arrive home. She reckons she’s never seen the triplets look so quiet, busy doing their crafts. I might have to steal that trick! You’re a natural. Almost made me look bad, actually.’
‘Oh no, there was really nothing to it. They were quite well-behaved on the whole. And I only had them in my care for a short time …’
The others lined up to offer Celeste kisses and hugs, too, and press presents into her hand — a pack of pink tennis balls from Mitchell, inter
estingly. Remarkably, Celeste wasn’t as mad as she thought she’d be at Betty-Lou’s cheeky surprise do.
Midway, she whispered to Araminta, ‘Geez, I haven’t even done the dusting or mopped the floors for a week. Bit cringey — and highly unlike me!’
Araminta waved a hand in the air. ‘Forget about it. Visitors never look up or down anyway, or too closely.’ A wink. ‘Oh, and now you know why I’ve been so keen on you getting a cut and colour.’ Aha. ‘Although I’m not sure what you’ve done on the side there — your hair was perfect when you left the salon.’
Celeste reached up to tug a clumpy tendril and pulled a face. ‘Far out. I almost forgot about that. It’s yoghurt. Kids.’
Lenny was the last to approach. The others, in the meantime, had been herded by Betty-Lou out onto the back deck for drinks and nibbles apparently. The lounge room now seemed quiet, interrupted only by bursts of party music outside as someone fiddled with the iPod dock.
Lenny cocked an eyebrow. ‘Nice balls.’
Celeste scrunched up her face. ‘What?’
Lenny nodded at her hands, with a low chuckle.
Oh, the tennis balls. From Mitchell. The other gifts she’d since rested on her coffee table. ‘Very mature of you,’ she snipped.
‘And very romantic of him.’
Celeste chose to ignore the comment. ‘I suppose Flip gave Betty-Lou your contact details, which is why you’re here.’
‘You supposed right.’
‘Sorry Shandee wasn’t invited, too.’
What was it about being around Lenny that made nasty things drip off her tongue? He’d made the effort, hadn’t he? Perhaps it was just because he gave as good as he got.
Lenny shifted his feet. ‘To be honest, I haven’t seen much of Shandee lately.’ He winked. ‘I prefer my beer full-strength rather than diluted.’
For some reason, she couldn’t help feeling a little pleased about Shandee no longer being in the picture. As pretty a one as she made.
He pushed on. ‘Anyway, at least I don’t have to make the faux pas of asking you your age. Thirty’s a good number.’
‘You can remember back that far?’ she teased.
‘Now, now. I’m not as far off as you might expect for someone of my wisdom and experience.’
‘You’re telling the story.’
‘Anyway, I brought you something. Didn’t want to come empty-handed.’
‘Really? You didn’t have to. I mean, we’ve only known each other a short while.’
So why did it sometimes feel like years? He reached into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out a device which looked a bit like a pocket knife but with plier jaws at the end. For a moment, he almost looked shy as he showed her the gadget.
‘It’s a Leatherman multi-tool. I thought it might come in handy in your line of work — you know, scaling balconies and that sort of thing.’ He treated her to one of his devilish grins. ‘See, when you open it up, it has scissors, a knife, wire-cutters, you name it, inside.’ Another wink. ‘You don’t need a bulky tool-belt with something like this.’
‘Wow, how thoughtful,’ she breathed. ‘I didn’t even know something like this existed.’
He leaned in to press his lips to her cheek and place the gift in her free hand. Cologne and soap mingled in the air, and her knees betrayed her by buckling slightly. Unfortunately, she couldn’t blame it on the unseasonable heat.
‘Not that this makes us friends,’ he joked. ‘I can’t be friends with women, not good-looking ones.’ She tried to prevent a blush sweeping her body through sheer willpower, failing. He pushed on, ‘But we are partners in crime of sorts.’
‘We are,’ she said softly.
‘So, seen or heard anything lately to report on the Natalia front?’
And just like that, it was back to business. Celeste bit her lip. ‘Not a thing actually.’
Lenny nodded. ‘Good. Let’s hope it stays that way until our final pay-day. Should we head outdoors?’
‘We should. If Betty-Lou’s behind the treats, you really don’t want to miss out.’
Outside, Betty-Lou had done a good job of creating a party ambience on Celeste’s deck, even if it was no match size-wise for Natalia’s. Colourful lanterns had been strung up about the place and tea-light candles glittered from surfaces, shining brighter as the evening grew darker. Celeste felt quite touched at her friend’s thoughtfulness. After snaffling a smoked salmon blini and a cheese-and-chive puff for herself, Celeste stood back and just drank it all in.
Cousin Dolores had cornered poor Mitchell — perhaps they were swapping exercise tips. It made sense now why Dolores had said at the shops that she’d see Celeste later on. She’d really meant it.
Araminta, Betty-Lou and Flip were all chatting together, while Ken was scoffing canapés from the table, likely while Araminta wasn’t looking. Oh, and Lenny was talking to her dad, which was a weird sight. At least her dad looked better-dressed than usual. Like he’d even tried. His Hawaiian shirt appeared freshly laundered, and his snowy beard, trimmed.
An image from Celeste’s eleventh birthday and the last proper party she’d had leapt into her mind. The effort her mum had put into arranging things, even though she’d barely had the strength, having recently given up on chemo after twenty rounds of it. Even as an eleven-year-old, Celeste hadn’t missed the sad look in her dad’s eyes as he watched her mum in her element, for the very last time. So the birthday cake hadn’t been properly cooked through and her mum had fallen asleep during the girls’ mini-manicures, but she’d still tried her darnedest.
All of a sudden, Celeste needed some time alone. Before Betty-Lou pounced on her to make a speech or to cut the delicious-looking birthday cake, which had been decorated to look like a mini organising system with an edible notepad, scissors, calculator and sticky-tape at the ready. Ducking her head, Celeste quickly slipped inside. She wouldn’t be long.
Lenny poked his head through the manhole after climbing the narrow staircase that led up to it. His gaze fell to the birthday girl herself, kneeling next to an old-fashioned trunk, spilling over with clothes and accessories, amid an otherwise neat-looking attic. Concrete Blondes’ ‘Joey’ was playing softly in the background, jarring with the party music outdoors.
Not sure what else to do, he cleared his throat to let her know he was there. Her head snapped up in surprise. He took it as an invitation to climb inside, stepping on the floorboards. ‘I wondered where you’d gotten to and then saw the light on. Thought I’d better check you were okay and hadn’t fallen or something.’
She rubbed her cheeks with her palms. Shit, she’d been crying. On her birthday. Her big three-o. ‘Oh, I didn’t think anyone would notice I’d gone,’ she said tiredly, not looking at him. ‘Not just for a minute.’
‘It’s been a little longer than that,’ he said gently, edging forwards. He nodded at the trunk. ‘Not happy with your outfit? Looking for another?’
‘No, no, this is all my mum’s stuff. Well, it was my mum’s stuff.’
Crap. That explained the tears then. He supposed he should have been thankful it wasn’t something he’d said. ‘Oh … she’s not around anymore?’
‘Nope. Ovarian cancer took her. Nasty stuff.’ Celeste’s eyes shone with fresh tears. ‘But don’t worry it’s been awhile since she … she passed. I was eleven at the time. Just sometimes things like birthdays make all the memories come flooding back.’ She looked down. ‘It would have been nice if Mum could have been here on my thirtieth, you know?’
Fuck. He wasn’t sure he was equipped to deal with this sort of thing. Deep-and-meaningfuls weren’t really something he got into with the women he knew. He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I could get Betty-Lou to send everyone home …’
‘No, no, it’s better than being alone — well, for the whole night. But, maybe, we could talk about something else?’
‘Done.’ He looked around the space, taking in the exposed beams, two slanted windows, and wooden ceiling. ‘Nice job you’ve done wit
h the attic conversion.’
Lenny felt pleased to see the hint of a smile on Celeste’s lips. As buttoned-up as she could be, he didn’t like to see her upset. ‘If only I could take credit for it. It was like this when I bought the place. Still, I thought it was pretty cool to have something as old-fashioned as an attic in a new house. Plus, it means a bit more room. I’m a professional organiser — I love my storage space.’
He nodded. ‘Yeah. I wouldn’t do any organising up here when the heatwave properly hits this weekend, though. It’ll be as hot as hell. They reckon it’s going to be over forty degrees Celsius tomorrow. In spring!’
‘Thank heavens for air-conditioning.’
He quirked an eyebrow. ‘You’d melt in new places without it. They’re not built for the heat. The problem is Astonvale’s an old suburb and its ageing electricity system will struggle to cope in such extremities. You can bet your bottom dollar there’ll be blackouts with everyone having their air-cons on full-blast.’
‘Can’t wait,’ Celeste murmured.
‘Lucky for me, living up on the hilltop, I have a generator for bushfire safety, so I’ll be a-okay.’ He grinned. ‘If you need a refuge should the unthinkable happen, you’re always welcome in my spare room.’
Celeste got to her feet, brushing herself down. ‘I think I’ll be right, but thanks for the offer.’ And just like that, the professional organiser seemed back to her normal self once more — and it had only taken mild teasing on his part. ‘I guess I should face the music again, even if Flip’s playing DJ and I don’t know what the weird dance tracks actually are. There’s a cake downstairs with my age on it.’
He waved a hand at the oversized manhole. ‘After you.’
13.
Celeste was only nursing a mild hangover the next morning. She’d gone surprisingly easy on Betty-Lou’s espresso martinis, delicious as they may have been. A banging headache coupled with the sweltering heat would have been too much to bear. Even her sweat had been sweating when she’d picked up the newspaper from her front lawn.
