Polly's Write ol' Summer

by Penny Kane

  Polly didn’t catch the rest of the conversation as a woman appeared at the entrance to the tent and caught her attention. She could only assume from her stereotypical gypsy-like dress, headscarf, and hoop earrings that this was Madame Sandrine.

  “Are you coming in, ma cherie?” she asked in a rich French accent.

  Polly stuttered. “I…I wasn’t…”

  “Ah, but you were. I can feel your curiosity. Something strange is happening in your life, n’est-ce pas?”

  Polly’s face must have given her away and told the fortune-teller that her assumption was correct. She pulled aside the curtain and invited Polly inside.

  Polly couldn’t help herself. Mesmerised by the woman, she walked into the tent and her head swam with the intense and intoxicating scent of joss sticks, and the woman’s cigarettes.

  “Sit, sit.” Madame Sandrine ordered as she settled herself into the chair opposite and laid her hand open on the table.

  Polly realised she hadn’t even noticed how much the woman charged. She hoped she was cheap.

  The woman obviously noticed her hesitation. “Fifteen dollars for a short reading, twenty for the cards, and thirty-five for a full reading.”

  Polly never believed in what she called this kind of hullabaloo, but there was something about Madame Sandrine that drew her in and made her want to know everything she could tell her. She rummaged about in her purse and put the thirty-five Australian dollars into the woman’s hand without a second thought.

  “Bon,” she said as the money disappeared into the folds of her skirts and she reached for Polly’s right hand. She hummed, hawed, and turned Polly’s hand almost painfully towards the light of the lamp. “Interesting, very interesting. I must consult the cards.” She grabbed a well-worn pack and started to shuffle. “Ma cherie, is your mother-in-law in spirit?”

  “Yes.” Steve’s mother had died the year before.

  “She says she is your husband’s mother and is here to protect you…”

  Polly’s hopes rose and she wondered what else she would say.

  “…and she is a beautiful woman, as all Irish women are.”

  Polly deflated. Steve’s mother was from Fiji. His mother’s side were all Polynesians, and had been for generations. Polly looked down at her own hand on the table. She still wore her wedding ring. Madame Sandrine took a chance, guessed, and missed the target by miles.

  Madame Sandrine asked Polly to cut the deck of cards, and then she laid them out and began to read. “Hmm…your feet are on an interesting path. Strange things are happening to you.”

  You can say that again.

  “You must let the story play out until the end.”

  Interesting choice of words. Is she referring to the fact that my book seems to be playing out in my life?

  The reading carried on in an ambiguous tone. Polly was unimpressed.

  Madame Sandrine turned over the death card. “Be careful.”

  “I know that doesn’t mean death,” Polly blurted out and rolled her eyes.

  “Unless it is paired with this and this.” She tapped two cards with her talon-like red-varnished nails. “Ma cherie, someone you care about is not long for this world.”

  What a load of crap!

  “You are writing your own destiny.”

  There’s the writing reference again.

  “You control the direction your feet take. Only you can decide where they go now and if it will indeed play out until the bitter end.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked snappily.

  “Search inside yourself for the answers. In fact, it seems to be already written, but you hold the pen.”

  Ok, this woman is a fraud. She knows who I am, hence all the references to writing and story. What a waste of money! Polly thanked the woman as sincerely as she could manage and exited the tent. She was so angry that she bought a burger loaded with onions and relish from the nearest vendor to make herself feel better. It didn’t work. She was narked with herself for being conned into parting with thirty-five dollars.

  Polly made her way through the crowd and back to the car, muttering to herself. “She couldn’t even get Steve’s mother right! She’s Polynesian. She couldn’t be less Irish looking! She must have seen my wedding ring.” She unlocked the car, climbed in, and made her way back to the hotel. “What a fraud!”

  * * * *

  Polly stopped off to buy a bottle of wine on the way back. Unfortunately, in her agitated frame of mind, she grabbed two family sized packets of Proper’s Marlborough Sea Salt crisps, too. Polly felt depressed and wanted to drown her sorrows and comfort eat.

  She was pleased there weren’t many people in the hotel foyer. She collected her key from Reception and took the lift to her floor. Her mood worsened when she couldn’t get her key card to work in the lock. No matter how many times she put the card in the slot or how many times she jiggled it about, the damn thing would not unlock the door. Polly almost kicked the door as the lift doors opened and a couple exited onto her floor. They walked past her and wished her a good evening. Polly had no choice but to smile at them and return their good wishes.

  Polly looked down at the card in her hand as the couple continued on to their room. She then looked up at the door. Oh, I am the world’s biggest idiot tonight!

  The door displayed the number 817. Polly’s room was 871. Muttering curse words at herself, Polly made her way back down the corridor and took the right door, instead of the left, that did actually lead to her room.

  This time the key card worked and the door unlocked without hesitation. Polly shut the door behind her, locked it, and swore at herself again. “I am such a prat!” She leant against the wall to the bathroom and started to cry.

  Chapter Eleven

  With most of the wine drunk and one of the packets of crisps finished, Polly was still crying and had a huge thirst. She crawled from her position on the floor at the foot of the bed, moved over to the desk, and flicked on the kettle to make a cup of tea.

  As the kettle boiled, Polly hoisted herself up into the chair and sat with her head in her hands. “I’m such a loser. My life is a mess.”

  She cried so much that her head hurt. She knew there were some aspirins in the bathroom, so she reluctantly rose and got them. She wished she hadn’t. The sight of her reflection staring back at her made her cry again. That only made it worse. I look so ugly when I cry! And look at my hair! I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.

  Polly delved through her toiletries bag and found the aspirin. She hated using water from the bathroom to drink, but as there was no other option, she filled the glass and took the tablets. Then she went back into the room, made the cup of tea, and changed into her black and white cotton pyjamas. She finished that cup of tea quickly, so she made another and went back into the bathroom.

  She grabbed a scrunchie, tied up her mousey hair, and washed her face in cold water. It made her feel a little better and less despondent. She thought about Steve and Heather, which made her think of Kate. No matter what she’d done to her, Kate had been her best friend since they were six years old. It didn’t matter how hurt Polly was, there was still a part of her that cared about what happened to Kate.

  She knew that if there was not a child involved, she would have called Kate by now and perhaps they’d be on talking terms again. However, the thought of her carrying Steve’s child made her sick to her stomach. She made her way back into the bedroom, grabbed her phone, and sat on the end of the bed, staring at it. How could they ever be friends again, knowing that Kate’s child would be Brendan’s stepbrother or sister? Polly laughed bitterly. Welcome to the twenty-first-century family.

  She flipped open the phone and scrolled through the message inbox. She randomly clicked on one from Kate and read it. Tears welled up in her eyes. They’d been such good friends, and yet, when that message was written and sent, Kate was in-the-midst-of an affair with Polly’s husband and already pregnant with his child. “
Bitch!”

  Polly pressed the reply button and typed: How could you do that to me? I thought we were friends. She hesitated with her thumb over the Send button. She knew the message would cause a fight, but did she really care? She was hurting. Polly pressed the button and watched the little animation indicating the message was sent.

  She immediately regretted it, but there was no way to take it back.

  Polly finished her cup of tea, picked up the bottle of wine from the floor, and opened the second packet of crisps. She climbed up onto the bed and turned on the TV. There was nothing in particular she wanted to watch, she simply needed something to do.

  Polly flicked through the channels and stopped to watch the news. Her attention was briefly drawn into the report when her phone beeped. Polly sat and stared at it for a moment before picking it up. She continued to stare at it, unsure whether to read the message or not. It most likely was from Kate and she was in no mood for a fight by text message. She once again regretted sending the message in the first place.

  Polly flipped open the phone and the display showed there was indeed a text message from Kate. Uncertain of what she should do, Polly swigged more wine from the almost-empty bottle. Then she clicked the button to open and read the message.

  I know. I’m sorry. I really am. Forgive me. Kate x

  It was all Polly’s emotions could stand. She broke down and cried once again. Once she’d spent her tears, she wiped her face, picked up the phone, and typed: Why did you do it?

  Polly wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that. However, she felt better for having cried and felt something inside herself strengthen. She didn’t know if she’d ever truly be friends with Kate again. Her betrayal was almost harder to bear than Steve’s. He was a man. Men were notorious for thinking only with their little head, weren’t they? Losing her best friend and husband all in one go ate away at her insides and she was glad she was alone in the hotel room to let it all out.

  After a while, Polly’s attention drifted back to the TV and she doubted she’d ever get a response from Kate to her message. Who could respond to such a question? Was there even an answer to it?

  Her heart was still heavy, but she was beginning to make sense of her emotions. She would never be able to trust either Kate or Steve again. Perhaps it was time to sever the connection to both of them for good. She knew that from time to time Steve would pop into her life because of Brendan, but why would she keep Kate in her life now? What reason did she have to do that? It was better all round, Polly thought, if she closed the door on it all, as hard as that would be. She was not a strong enough woman to deal with Kate and her child in her life.

  Polly made her mind up. It was over – for Steve and for Kate, forever. With that in mind, she slipped her wedding ring off her finger and tucked it away in the drawer beside the bed.

  She finished the second packet of crisps and made another cup of tea. A film was just starting on TV, so she settled down on the bed to watch it, feeling that she made the right decision.

  * * * *

  Polly woke up in the middle of the night. She’d nodded off, missed the end of the film, and now had a crick in her neck from lying at a strange angle on the bed. On her way to the bathroom, she shut the French doors and turned off the TV. Her head thumped. She wasn’t too sure if it was from drinking an entire bottle of wine or from crying so much. Either way, her head felt as if it would split. She found the aspirin and took a couple more tablets.

  She stood and looked at her reflection whilst washing her hands. Her eyes were puffy and her hair was in disarray, but now she did not feel so dejected or at a loss. She sighed, turned off the light, and headed back to bed. As she laid her head on the pillow, she remembered what Madame Sandrine said to her: ‘Your life seems to be already written, but you hold the pen.’ It seemed to make more sense to her at three a.m. If her life was somehow, and rather scarily, playing out exactly as she’d written Sally’s life in her book, then she was the writer. Surely she could change the course. She closed her eyes and muttered, “Shakespeare called the future the undiscovered country. It’s not set in stone, Polly.”

  * * * *

  The next morning Polly awoke with a hangover that she felt was deserved. She showered and then headed down to the restaurant for breakfast even though she wasn’t particularly hungry. She wanted to have a picnic lunch made up to take with her to the beach. A day on Palm Beach was precisely what she wanted and what she was going to have. She dressed in her maxi dress again, but this time with her bikini beneath, and would take her e-reader and catch up on her to-read list, then swim and work off the hangover. That was the plan and today she was in control of her own life – not the book.

  The array of food offered for breakfast did not tempt her one bit, although she did pick up an apple for later. She waited for the packed lunch to be made up, and she drank two espresso coffees while waiting. Once she had the lunch, she left the hotel as quickly as possible. She climbed into the car and headed for the beach. She knew parking would be a nightmare, but hoped she set out early enough to find a space.

  She was lucky. As she slowed up close to the beach, she spotted a car coming out of a parking space within metres of the beach itself. She jumped at the opportunity and grabbed the space. “Yes!” she cheered.

  She was there, on Palm Beach with the sun on her face. This is just what I need this morning. She passed a few buff and tanned young men unloading their surf boards from a beat-up, old van and wondered if the sea was too choppy to swim in that day. In the end, she needn’t have worried. They were learners with their instructor and Polly watched them with fascination for at least half an hour.

  Eventually she grew bored and walked along the beach looking for the perfect place to sit and spend the day. She laid out her flowery beach towel and sat down. Next she took out her bottle of water and her e-reader and began to read whilst allowing the heat of the sun on her body to melt away all the cares and stresses she’d been carrying.

  After an hour or so, Polly tucked all her things under the towel and went for a swim. The exercise vanquished her headache. She returned after a while to the towel to sunbathe and daydream. As she did so, her mind automatically turned to recent events and she thought about the stupidity of believing that her own book was coming true. She almost laughed aloud at herself. She lifted up her Chanel sunglasses to check that no one was watching her and secretly wondered if the next part of her book would indeed happen. Her jaw nearly dropped to her chest at what she saw.

  There he was, just as she should have expected he would be, and looking exactly as she wrote him. He was taller than average, dark, and ruggedly handsome - just the kind of man she liked, which was strange, because Steve was blond. The tanned, well-muscled man slowly emerged from the sea, and Polly could not take her eyes off him. She remembered just before he saw her that her mouth was still wide open, and snapped it shut.

  Polly no longer cared that life was imitating art. He certainly was every inch the Adonis she’d written him to be. He smiled at her and Polly melted all over the beach. She was amazed when she managed to utter a hello to him.

  He stopped to catch his breath and stared, smiling at her. Polly was mesmerised by the droplets of water cascading down his body.

  “G’day.” He shook his head and water showered around him.

  Polly’s mouth fell open again.

  “You from around here or are you on holiday?”

  “I’m on holiday. I’m from New Zealand.”

  “Oh, a Kiwi!”

  Not too much going on upstairs but whoa, he is hot! “Yes.”

  “So, how long are you here for?”

  “Just a couple of weeks.”

  “Shame.” He looked into her eyes and once again, she felt as if she melted all over the white sand.

  Polly giggled. Oh God, I’m behaving like a schoolgirl!

  “Listen, I’m about to get myself a drink. Can I get you one, too?”

  Polly stammered, “O
h, well…I…yes, that would be lovely.”

  “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” He ran off in the direction of the kiosk near the car park and Polly had to fight to resist the desire to turn back and watch him. This was one part of her novel that she certainly had no problems with coming true.

  Chapter Twelve

  The gorgeous hunk of man-flesh turned out to be of Greek descent, and named Nicasio. Not Georgios, like in the book, then. He told her that she could call him Nicco. She liked the sound of that and rolled it around in her mouth a few times. His eyes stayed on her lips the whole time and Polly felt the day was turning out to be a scorcher, and it had nothing to do with the sun at all.

  They sat and chatted on the beach for what seemed like an eternity. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, but what he lacked in brains he certainly made up for with brawn. Polly decided not to freak out anymore over what was happening. Instead, she would go with the flow, feeling that it was going to be one heck of a fun ride. And she knew it would be. After all, she’d written this man into her story and he was the ideal man of her fantasies, wasn’t he?

  “So…” Nicco drooled as his eyes traced the contours of Polly’s well filled-out bikini. “…what do you do?”

  Polly’s mind immediately went into overdrive. Nicco did not attempt to hide the fact that he was checking her out and liked what he saw. He means what job do you do, not what do you do in bed! Get your mind out of the gutter and control yourself! “I’m an author, actually.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “An author? What, books and that?”

  Oh, look at that, the light is going out in his eyes! Quick, think of something! Polly made a face and waved her hand. “Yeah, stuff like that. Nothing important really.”

  He nodded and looked at her mouth again. Phew! That was close. I almost lost him. Polly was certain it was safe to say the man was not the reading type. Normally that would have been an immediate turnoff, but this was a holiday romance – the rules were different. And besides, she was meant to have a fling with this man, wasn’t she?