Three Words: A Novella Collection

by Dale, Lindy

  What the hell?

  My heart began to beat faster. I could hear it pumping in my ears, feel it pounding in the veins of my neck. The air that had been so refreshing a second ago suddenly became thick and I couldn’t breathe. Then, as Johnny reached over and said something in the girl’s ear and laid a hand on her arm in the exact same way he’d done to me the previous evening, I thought I was going to throw up. In fact, if I didn’t get out of the room in that instant, I would throw up. And wouldn’t that be an event to really make Christmas?

  I turned and shoved my way back through the crowded bar.

  Out on the footpath, I retched into the gutter. Then, straightening and sucking in a couple of ragged breaths I dug into my handbag for a tissue and a mint. I leaned against a pole, trying to calm myself down but it was no use. It was impossible to be calm when you were raging inside, vomiting and crying simultaneously. Up and down the street revellers were making the most of the Christmas cheer. Couples were holding hands or kissing as they went into the bar. I couldn’t feel a thing. It was like, in that minute, Johnny had ripped my heart from my chest. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid, so gullible. I’d believed every word Johnny had said to me. I’d thought he genuinely cared. Judging by the swift way he’d gone back to his old ways, it had been a load of shit. Well, I wouldn’t be trusting him or any man again. In fact, I had no idea why I’d even tried in the first place. I’d been perfectly happy being a single career girl before he kissed me. I had a life I enjoyed, didn’t I? I’d just go back to the way it was before. I blew my nose, wiped my mouth and set off down the street for home.

  “Mel!”

  I stopped at the sound of his voice behind me. I turned wanting to see a look of — oh fuck knows what — on his face. Guilt? Hurt that I was leaving? Instead I got one of bemusement, as if he was oblivious to what he’d just done to me. Could he possibly be that stupid?

  “Wait! Come back, where are you going?”

  “Home. Leave me alone.”

  “But why?”

  I began to walk faster. I heard his feet picking up pace behind me. At the corner, I saw a taxi so I ran and leapt into it, fending a couple of burly blokes out of the way as I did.

  “Oi!” One called. “That was our cab.”

  “Like I care.”

  After giving the driver my address, I sank into the seat. The taxi pulled into the street and drove past Johnny, who was standing on the footpath scratching his head and frowning. I turned to look out the opposite window. I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. Actions spoke louder than words. And his actions had been right out there for the entire bar to see. I’d put my trust in him and he’d stomped it into the dirt. It was lucky I’d found out when I did, I guessed. I wouldn’t have wanted to realise two months down the track that he was still a womanising bastard.

  It was going to be another shit Christmas.

  *****

  I woke up on Christmas morning with a thumping headache — possibly from the two bottles of wine I’d guzzled after I’d got home from the ill fated trip to the bar. I also blamed it on the crying. Tears had a way of making your head pound, especially when they kept on coming and coming. And coming. I’d cried myself into a real state last night.

  Picking my phone up from the bedside table to check the time, I saw there were six missed calls from Johnny, which I promptly deleted along with the messages. I was too angry and hurt to hear any of his excuses. I was angry with him for letting me down after he promised he wouldn’t, but I was more upset with myself. I should never have let my guard down. There was a reason why I played the ice queen and this latest setback only served as clarification that I should stay that way. As of today, I was back to being the cynical, cutting Mel that everyone knew and feared. Okay, well some of them loved me but you get my drift.

  I picked up the phone and dialled Kirby. “Hey.”

  “We wish you a merry Christmas,” she sang into the phone. “How was the date?”

  “Like, don’t ask.”

  “Oooh, you sound just like me. Is that, like because it was totally awesome?”

  “More like because it totally didn’t happen. Is that invitation for lunch still standing?” Suddenly, I didn’t want to be alone, eating my swanky dinner and opening gifts I’d purchased for myself. I felt the need to be around people who weren’t expecting anything from me, who would allow me to sit and absorb the frivolity, not participate in it. Though I suspected Kirby’s family might not prove to be that type of people. If they were anything like her, I’d be dressed in an elf suit by the time lunch was served.

  “Of course. We’d love to have you at our little gathering.”

  “I’m not putting you out?”

  “No, no. Mum, like, always prepares way too much anyway in case we have to like adopt a sailor or something.”

  I decided not to ask Kirby what she was on about; I knew the explanation would be beyond my realm of comprehension. “What time should I come?”

  “We start around eleven with champagne cocktails and gift opening. Wear a party dress.”

  The party dress and cocktails I could definitely do, the gifts might be something of a challenge at this late stage.

  “And don’t worry about presents, hon,” Kirby continued as if psychic. “The pleasure of your company will, totally, be all we need.”

  Possibly not in my current mood but I was willing to give it a go.

  “Okay. Great. I’ll see you soon. And thanks Kirbs.”

  “Any time. I’ll like totally be expecting you to dish the dirt when you get here though. It’s a condition of being served lunch.”

  “To your whole family?”

  “Sure. They’re, like, excellent at advice. Where do you think I get all my tricks from?” She gave a giggle.

  *****

  Half an hour, one shower and two Beroccas for my headache later, I was standing in front of the open wardrobe trying to decide between a little black dress and little red one when the doorbell rang. Given what had happened the last time I’d opened the door without knowing who was on the other side — ie: I’d had sex with Johnny — I was understandably hesitant. If it was Johnny, I wasn’t going to let him in. In fact, I wasn’t sure I could even talk to him given that I’d only just stopped crying and hour before and my nerves were still fairly raw.

  “Who’s there?” I asked the back of the door.

  “Bertram’s florist.”

  Shit. There was only one person in the world that would send me flowers and it wasn’t my mother. I’d be lucky to get a phone call from her. I opened the door.

  The boy standing on the other side was peering between the petals on a massive bunch of white Christmas lilies. The only bigger display I’d seen had been on a coffin, which if the flowers were from Johnny was where I’d like them to be.

  On his coffin.

  “Melanie Samson?”

  “Yes.”

  He handed me the bunch of flowers.

  “You need to sign.”

  I put the flowers on the hall table and went back to the door where I scrawled my name on the electronic clipboard.

  After the front door was closed, I stood looking at the flowers for a minute. I had no idea where I was going to put them. If I sat them on the table I wouldn’t be able to fit to eat and if I put them on the coffee table I’d never see the TV, not that I watched it that much but, still. At last I decided on the end of the kitchen bench and then, as I was arranging them in a vase the doorbell rang again.

  What the hell?

  Putting down the card I’d been about to read, I went to the door for the second time, not bothering to check who was there this time. A different delivery guy stood in front of me with a massive teddy bear in his arms. It was chocolate brown and had a huge Christmas bow in green and gold tied around its neck.

  “Melanie Samson?” the delivery guy asked.

  “Yes.”

  He handed me the bear — god knows where I was going to put it — an
d I stuffed it under one arm, signing with the other. “Thanks.”

  “Someone likes you a lot.”

  “Either that or he’s feeling extremely guilty.” I gave a titter that sounded slightly maniacal and shut the door dragging the bear down the hall and into the lounge. It was enormous. And rather heavy. I plonked it in the armchair and took the second card to the kitchen.

  I had the first card out of its envelope when the doorbell chimed for a third time.

  For fuck’s sake, I thought, beginning to lose my patience. What was with these people? Didn’t they have better things to do on Christmas Day? What courier company even worked on Christmas Day? I put the cards on the bench and stomped up the hall, flinging the door open so fast it hit the wall with an almighty crash and left a mark.

  “Yes, I’m fucking Melanie Samson. Whatever it is, just bloody give it to me and—”

  I stopped short of screaming like a banshee. Johnny was standing in front of me holding an enormous box of my favourite Lindt chocolates and a magnum of Veuve Cliquot. Probably the easiest way to a girl’s heart. But not mine. Not today anyway.

  “Go away.”

  I made an attempt to shut the door on him but he pre-empted me and stuck his foot in the doorway and elbowed it open. Clearly, his rugby skills were useful for something other than rugby.

  Without speaking, Johnny pushed the gifts into my arms and strode past me down the hall and into the living room. I couldn’t think of anything else to do so I followed along behind him . The magnum was chilled ready for drinking. It wasn’t exactly comforting pressed against my skin so I put the gifts on the kitchen bench.

  “I asked you to go away, Johnny. Please.” Seeing him again so soon was making all sorts of emotions I thought I’d drowned in chardonnay resurface. Either that or the massive hangover I had had suddenly become more massive at the sight of him.

  Johnny didn’t move. “Sure, I’ll leave and never come back. I’ll go back to chatting up girls and taking the piss out of you every time you say one of those foulmouthed things that seem to come out of your mouth the way the rest of us use normal words. But I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened. Considering that I’ve just spent over five hundred dollars on ‘sorry’ gifts when I have no idea what I did, it’s the least you can do.”

  I was floored. If there hadn’t been a sofa between us, I would have leapt at him and whacked him squarely on that gorgeous nose of his. Had he no clue that I’d seen him with that girl? And even if he hadn’t, didn’t he feel the least bit guilty for going off with her only hours after he’d told me he was a changed man? Yet there he was, his piercing blue eyes staring me down, and a look on his face that told me he wasn’t intending on leaving until I explained myself. Well, he had a bit of explaining to do, too.

  “I saw you with that girl,” I managed, at last. “I saw you kiss her cheek. It wasn’t even twenty four fucking hours since you were with me and you were trying to get into her pants!” And then the ranting started. It spewed from my mouth like an explosion and I couldn’t stem the tide. My mouth had gone into autopilot as if some force outside myself was controlling me. I ranted and raved at him, screaming at him about how I’d given him my trust, something I’d never done before, about how hard it had been for me. I told him he couldn’t buy my trust with gifts — even if one of them was my all time favourite champers. At first, he looked puzzled, bemused even, but then it was like some magical light of recognition went on and he began to smirk. God, if he didn’t wipe that smirk from his face I seriously was going to deck him.

  “Are you finished?” he asked after a couple of minutes.

  “Well. Yes. I suppose.”

  “Can I explain?”

  Oh, this was going to be good.

  I nodded, not trusting that voice inside my head to keep the sarcasm at bay.

  “The girl you saw me with was my sister, Jemima. I thought, seeing as how you were so freaked out by the big family Christmas thing that you might like to meet her one on one. She’s been dying to meet you.”

  I didn’t know whether to be flabbergasted by the fact Johnny had spoken about me to his family or that the girl I’d assumed was some random chick he’d met at the bar was actually a member of his family. He hadn’t lied.

  Great. Talk about want to find a hole and jump in it.

  “You told your sister about me?”

  “I told my whole family. They must think I’m tapped in the head, I talk about you so much.”

  Oh, this was getting weird now. He was making it sound like we’d been a couple for ages. And we weren’t really a couple. I’d be lucky if he’d even want to be in a relationship with me now that I’d flown off the handle over nothing. Again. I hoped he’d be able see past it.

  “You really told them? All of them?”

  “Mum can’t wait to meet you. She’s gonna be pretty upset when I tell her we’ve broken up before we even got started. You’re the first woman, outside of Beyoncé, I thought I might like to introduce to the family.”

  Shit. He was going to make me cry at this rate.

  Johnny stepped around the sofa and moved close to me. His arms went around my waist. “Do you still want me to leave?”

  I sniffed. Bugger him. “No. Can you forgive me for screaming like a fishwife?”

  “Yes. If you promise to only rant like that at the rugby in future. You were a bit scary, frankly.”

  Johnny was a big lad. I couldn’t imagine him being afraid of anyone. Maybe what Millie said about him being a teddy bear in the inside was true. There was a lot I was learning about him that was the antithesis of his public persona.

  “Okay. I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything. Womble drives me to drink at times.”

  He pulled me closer, kissing the tip of my nose. “Merry Christmas, my turtle dove.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “Nice outfit, by the way. But if you’re going to brave the gauntlet and meet the olds you might want to think about putting something over it. I mean, I’m not complaining in the least but Dad had heart surgery a few months back. You’d send his blood pressure through the roof if you turned up like that.”

  It was about then that I realised I’d been walking around in my new lingerie for the past half an hour. With all the disruptions at the front door, I’d completely forgotten I was half naked — which was not like me at all. No wonder that delivery boy had looked at me so oddly.

  “And who said I was going anywhere with you? Besides, I promised Kirby, I’d have lunch with her. I can’t go back on my word and I’m already late as it is.”

  Johnny kissed me again. It made my knees go weak and for possibly the first time, I started to believe there could be a future for us — one that didn’t involve me getting Johnny out of some ridiculous scrape on a Saturday night.

  “All right,” he said. “Go to Kirby’s. But don’t expect that I’ll ever let you out of my sight again.”

  “I like that idea,” I whispered. “I really do.”

  THE END

  Seven Days

  (#SEVENDAYS series Book 1)

  Chapter 1

  A tear wells and spills over, running down my cheek until it reaches the tip of my nose. It drips onto my knee, making a tiny splash of liquid on my skin and I smear it away with my finger.

  A year. It’s been a whole year and I still can’t get past the fact that I’m alone in this world. An orphan. No family; no one who’ll come when I call for help in the middle of the night. No one to tell me how brilliant I am, even when I suck. Which I do. Often. Like right now, for instance. Sitting here on the beach, howling like a baby. That’s major suckage.

  Sniffing back the tears. I attempt to rally. I’m an adult, I tell myself. I shouldn’t need the constant validation of those around me to prove I am a worthy person. I can do life by myself. I don’t need a mother.

  Yeah, right.

  I sigh and begin to cry again. While that might be true, it’s simply not the point. The point is
, I feel alone, abandoned, deserted. And even though it’s been twelve months since Mum died, I’m especially lost today, on the anniversary of her death.

  I reach into my pocket, pulling out a photo. It was taken the Christmas before last on my auntie’s instant camera, one of those cool vintage ones that are hip again. Mum and I standing in front of the old maple tree in our garden. She has her arm around my shoulder like she’s never going to let me go. I think about how Mum always loved that tree. Every autumn when the leaves decorated the street and annoyed the crap out of the neighbours, she loved it even more. It used to make her laugh that Mr Jenson got so riled up he felt compelled to rant while using his leaf blower. Nobody could hear a word he said.

  I run my finger over the spot marking Mum’s face, studying it. I’ve looked at this photo a hundred times, more even, yet I never saw until now how alike Mum and I look. We have the same eyes, round and blue. Our smile is identical, wide and friendly and sort of like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. And our noses, well they most definitely match, right down to the tiny bump on the bridge I hate so much. Mum’s hair was darker than mine but that’s probably because she used to dye it. Mine’s auburn if we’re being polite, carroty red if we’re not.

  It was the middle of the night when I got the news that Mum was gone. I was in the university bar celebrating the end of another year. The ting of my phone interrupted me at the very moment I was about to make a complete tit of myself — ironically — by taking off my t-shirt and running around the bar with it over my head for a dare. I loathe dares. I don’t like being out of control, not knowing what will happen but, hey, we had one year to go. Two semesters of study. Three practical placements. It was a big night. I’d also been the recipient of just about every award for my year group. It didn’t dawn on me until after the funeral that I had nobody to share my achievements with anymore. Well, nobody to say how proud they were, at any rate. Slamming back a few celebratory tequilas isn’t quite the same thing.