What a Girl Wants

by Lindsey Kelk

  Hmm, indeed.

  ‘I was sort of planning to wing it?’

  ‘No, you’re being a pussy,’ Amy said, in between swallows of wine. ‘About all of it. Make a bloody decision, Tess.’

  ‘You’ve got to love the mouth on this girl,’ Kekipi said, his mouth still full.

  ‘First you love Charlie, then you love Nick. First you love advertising, now you love photography.’ She swung her hands from side to side to illustrate her point but only succeeded in knocking a basket of bread out of the hands of a passing waiter. ‘You can’t have everything and you can’t just stay there on the fence. What do you want?’ She narrowed her eyes. Payback time.

  Surrounded by a shower of bread rolls, for the wont of a snappier comeback, I shrugged. What I really wanted to do was whine and cry and ask her why she was being so mean before going to my room and taking all my toys with me. But I was twenty-eight and sitting in a restaurant in Milan and I didn’t have any toys with me, so that wasn’t really an option.

  ‘Life isn’t just about what you want,’ I said, shifting on top of my clutch bag. Beading was not comfortable to sit on. ‘You can’t just do what you want and hope everything will turn out for the best. You’ve got to plan for the future, think ahead. It’s not about what might sound like the most fun now.’

  ‘Wow!’ Amy closed her eyes and smiled. ‘It’s like sitting here listening to your mum.’

  All the colour drained from my face and suddenly, I felt very, very sick.

  ‘Can you even hear yourself?’ Amy asked. ‘You’re actually sitting there, telling me that what you want doesn’t matter, what makes you happy doesn’t matter. Is that what you want? Marry Charlie, give up your dreams and slog away day in and day out at the agency so you can turn into a bitter, resentful old cow like your mum?’

  ‘Do I need to go to the restroom again?’ Kekipi asked, switching his stare from me to Amy and back again. ‘Because I didn’t really need to go last time and I’m worried one of the waiters thinks I’m trying to pick him up.’

  ‘No,’ Amy threw her arm out in front of him, effectively sticking him to his seat, ‘you don’t need to do anything. She’s the one who needs to think about what she just said. You don’t know, Nick or Charlie. You can’t decide, agency or photos. You can decide and you do know but you’ve spent so long listening to, and believing, all your mother’s shit that you don’t believe it.’

  She paused for breath and wine.

  ‘You don’t trust your gut. This is the first time in your entire life you’ve had to make a difficult decision and you’re trying to wimp out of it, but you can’t. If I lived by your logic, I’d be married to Dave and as miserable as sin, maybe even divorced by now. Or worse, I’d be your mum and Brian, sitting around the house, hating each other. Is that what you want? Just be fucking brave for once in your life.’

  I stared across the table at the girl who had been my best friend for as long as I’d been alive. When Gareth Hunter pulled her skirt out of her knickers while we were doing handstands, I was the one who chased him round the playground and kicked him in the balls. When I was too embarrassed to get changed for swimming in year nine because my boobs were already enormous, Amy was the one who had performed a Spice Girls’ song-and-dance routine on the other side of the changing room so I could put my cossie on in peace. When Caitlin McGarry, my year ten nemesis, told everyone in the village that Amy had called off said wedding because we were secret lesbians, Amy turned around, grabbed my boobs and announced to the whole church that she could do a lot worse. Which would have been bad enough if we hadn’t been in church at the time. At midnight mass. Completely stinking drunk.

  But at that exact moment, I didn’t know her at all. Or at least I didn’t want to know her.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I said, pushing my chair away and standing up, suddenly too hot and too confined and too desperate to be anywhere other than there. ‘I need to go.’

  ‘Tess …’ Amy stood up to follow me but Kekipi blocked her path. ‘Come on, I’m sorry. Sit down.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I called out behind me, ricocheting through the tables and grabbing hold of the backs of empty chairs on my way out. ‘Sorry.’

  It was dark outside but still so humid that I could feel the sweat trickling down between my shoulder blades and pooling in the small of my back. I felt sick and dizzy and confused and I needed to not be there. The pavement was practically deserted and motorbikes and push bikes lined the streets, suggesting that the bars and restaurants and grand old houses all around me were filled with all the cheering, laughing people I could hear somewhere outside my head. Every so often, I lifted my head and saw lights flickering on in high up windows, or curtains being drawn, closing me out of the happiness inside. Or maybe that was just how it felt. Perhaps they were closing the curtains on their own arguments and dramas. Everyone had their own crises, didn’t they? And everyone felt as though theirs was the most important in the whole wide world.

  After a few minutes of careening blindly down the street, I saw a park appear to my left. I had accidentally found my way home, or at least I had found my way to the palazzo. It wasn’t my home; I didn’t actually have one of those. With the park on my left and the palazzo on my right, I did exactly what Amy wanted me to do. I made a decision. Even though I was tired and upset, I was still me and being raped and murdered in an unknown city park in the dark wasn’t at the top of my list of things to do in Milan so I slipped through the gate and sat on the first bench I found, close to the railings that separated the park from the street and let myself breathe.

  Why were things never easy? Why were they always either boring, exhausting or so hard I wanted to run into the nearest wall, headfirst, and have the hospital put me in a medically induced coma until it was all better? I rubbed my clammy hands up and down my jeans and tried to clear my head. Everything was shouting in there and I couldn’t concentrate. Charlie and his chickens and Nick and Al and the photos for the party and what was Artie doing at Edward Warren’s and what if Amy let Al down and poor Kekipi, losing his one true love all those years ago?

  ‘One thing at a time, Tess,’ I whispered, my voice strange against the quiet of the trees around me, and the passing scooters that whirred down the Corso Venezia. ‘One thing at a time.’

  Without knowing why, I put my hand into the back pocket of my jeans and pulled out a napkin that I’d scribbled on the night before Milan to try to marshall my thoughts. A four-point plan. Get a camera, go to Milan, come home, win the Perito’s pitch. Had I been smoking crack that day? Had I really thought it would be that easy?

  It almost made me laugh that the one thing that I had been so sure of, the Perito’s pitch, was the one thing I felt the most defeated by. No one was ever going to accuse me of being an expert in how to deal with men, and even fewer people would send you my way if you needed a top photographer, but advertising was the one thing I knew. Only not this time. I’d spent all afternoon reading the brief over and over and I had nothing. I didn’t want to let Charlie down, but even more than that, I didn’t want to fail. I never failed at anything. But then again, how many things had I actually tried?

  At the same time, I was having the best time taking the photos for Al’s project. Shooting Jane’s clothes, their designs, Warren’s samples – every time my right finger clicked the camera, I felt a buzz. It was exciting. But did that mean I should give up everything I’d ever known? A career I’d worked hard for? You didn’t walk away from something just because it wasn’t exciting any more or because something else seemed shiny and new. But there had to be a compromise, a middle ground between the Amy way, chasing after life like a kitten with a ping pong ball, and my old way. Or, as much as I hated to admit it, my mother’s way.

  Amy was right, life was supposed to be lived, not endured. If Al hadn’t chased after Jane when she was engaged to another man, I wouldn’t be sitting in this slightly creepy park in Milan on my own in the dark. OK, that wasn’t the best example, b
ut if Al hadn’t taken his chance when it came along, I would never have got the call to work for him in the first place, I would never have borrowed-slash-stolen my camera and I would never have met Nick. Maybe it was time to give the path less travelled a proper look.

  I stood up, screwed the napkin up into a ball and tossed it in the bin at the side of the bench.

  ‘Don’t be a wimp, Tess,’ I told myself, biting colour back into my lips and heading back to the palazzo. ‘It’s time to be brave. Don’t be such a chicken.’

  I stopped dead in my tracks, feeling my eyes widen with delight.

  ‘Don’t be a chicken,’ I repeated, the smile that had started in my eyes finding its way down to my mouth. ‘Be brave.’

  Sometimes, I thought as I raced across the street and ran through the gates of the palazzo, I was so good, I scared myself.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was late when I finally turned off my computer but I was incredibly happy. One problem down, only about fourteen left to figure out and I would be sorted. I had been working in the dark, in too much of a hurry to even bother turning on my bedroom light, so I knew Amy had come home a while ago. The lights in the living room had flickered on, sending a sandy gold beam under my bedroom door before they went out again just as quickly. I felt sick to my stomach at arguing with Amy; I never felt myself when things weren’t right between us and while I knew waking her up would mean taking my life in my hands, I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I’d said I was sorry.

  Tiptoeing out of my room and across the living room, I tapped gently on her door before letting myself in.

  ‘You awake?’ I asked, trying not to bump into any more furniture. I already had glorious bruises blossoming on both hips from my pinball-esque exit from the restaurant. ‘Skankface?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, the duvet pulled right up over her head. ‘Piss off.’

  ‘I would but I need to say sorry,’ I said, settling on the edge of her bed, just about managing not to shove my bum in her face. ‘There’s this really annoying thing where I can’t sleep if you’re mad at me.’

  ‘I’m always mad at you and you sleep like a baby.’ Amy pulled the covers down, her mascara all smudged and her eyes red raw. ‘A giant baby with stupid boobs.’

  ‘You’re the baby,’ I said, a relieved half-laugh burbling out of my mouth, mixed with a fresh rush of tears. ‘When are you going to start taking your make-up off before bed?’

  ‘Last night’s eyeliner is good enough for Debbie Harry so it’s good enough for me,’ she said, rolling over the bed and making room for me to put my cold feet under the covers. No matter how hot it was outside, the bedrooms in the palazzo were air conditioned to the point of frigidity. ‘I’m sorry I was such a cow.’

  ‘I’m sorry I freaked out.’ I wiped my own mascara smears away with the sleeve of my shirt. ‘And you know, you were right. My brain got stuck and it needed a bit of a shake. Maybe not quite such a loud one in a restaurant before I’d even had my pudding, but still …’

  ‘The pudding was amazing,’ she replied, reaching out for my hand and giving it a squeeze.

  ‘You actually stayed and had pudding after I walked out?’ I shook my head in the darkness. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘Yeah, what are you going to do?’ Amy said with a sniff. ‘Now either shut up and go to sleep or sod off back to your own room. I’m tired.’

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ I said, kissing the top of her head and padding back to my own bedroom, the knot in my stomach feeling considerably looser, if not entirely undone. Without looking at the clock, I picked up the phone and dialled Kekipi’s extension.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he answered in a voice thick with sleep.

  ‘I’d feel bad about waking you up but I heard you still had dessert after I left so I don’t,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’m not getting up to get it for you now,’ he yawned. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, sorry for making a scene,’ I said, resting the handset between my ear and my shoulder and retying my ponytail. ‘Um, do you know which room Nick is in?’

  ‘He’s directly underneath you,’ Kekipi replied, a smile in his sleepy voice. ‘The irony.’

  ‘Thanks, goodnight,’ I replaced the handset and took a deep breath. Two apologies down, one to go. At least, the last one until morning.

  The house was still in the middle of the night, but it didn’t feel sinister like big old houses usually did. If anything, it felt more open, as though I could walk through any of the doors and find myself in a fairytale. As much as I wanted to, I fought the urge, given that there was every chance I’d find myself in someone’s bedroom while they were asleep and that was generally frowned upon.

  At the bottom of the staircase on the second floor, I paused across from a pair of double doors. They were the same as the doors to my suite, white with delicate gilt edging, but whatever was going on inside was certainly not the same as what was happening upstairs. Someone was talking, shouting, but not in English or Italian. If I had to guess at a language, I would have said Chinese or Japanese but since my ability to discern the different between languages of the Far East began and ended with Wagamama and The Golden Dragon, I was at a bit of an ignorant loss. Before I could decide what to do, one of the doors opened and someone slipped out. Domenico.

  Once he had slipped away down the dark staircase, I stared at the closed door for a couple more seconds. Before Domenico had even made it to the bottom of the stairs, the shouting started up again. Sadly, the ability to translate through sheer willpower alone didn’t come any more easily than telepathy, and so I continued on my mission, marching down to the end of the hallway, certain, determined and only ever so slightly terrified.

  I knocked on Nick’s door, half-hoping that he wouldn’t be there. He’d been AWOL all day after all; maybe Amy was right, perhaps he’d had to pop home and pick the kids up from school. Turning a terrified giggle into an awkward cough, I stepped back, startled when the door did open. There he was, not missing, no kids, just Nick, holding on to the door handle and looking very confused.

  ‘Do you know what time it is?’ he asked, his voice gruff and worn.

  ‘I don’t actually, I was working.’ I pushed past him into the room and noted that it was half the size of mine. Ha. ‘Where were you today?’

  ‘Working,’ he replied as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘What’s going on?’

  I let myself take one quick look at his bare chest and snugly fitting boxer shorts before giving myself a shake and remembering why I was there.

  ‘I need to apologize,’ I said. ‘For last night.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ Nick held out his hands and let them fall back to his sides with a slap. ‘We’ll just pretend it never happened. Hardly the first time a drunk girl declared her love for me.’

  ‘I really only wanted to apologize about the puking part.’ I was suddenly very interested in my toes. ‘That part kind of still stands. I think. Sort of.’

  ‘It does?’ He raised an eyebrow and a hint of a sleepy smirk appeared on his face. ‘Well, well, well.’

  ‘Don’t well, well, well me, Nick Miller.’ I looked over my shoulder at the bed and then back at the man in front of me. ‘Is it OK if I sleep here tonight?’

  ‘Depends. Do you really want to sleep?’ he asked, turning the lock on the door and walking over to me, taking both my hands in his. ‘I’m all awake now.’

  Averting my eyes, I smothered my own smile and let the heat from his body warm me through. ‘I’m tired,’ I said, pulling him towards the bed. ‘And we need to talk about stuff. In the morning.’

  ‘Talk about stuff? Can’t wait.’ He kissed the back of my neck as I turned away. ‘But you’re a terrible tease, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll survive.’ I sat on the edge of the bed to strip down to my underwear, thankful for the forgiving cover of darkness that kept me in flattering shadows until I slipped under the covers.

  Shuffling backwards, I k
ept going until my back was pressed right up against Nick’s chest and his legs were curled around mine and his breath was blowing evenly over my right ear. I closed my eyes and curled my hands over his, basking in the calm, easy warmth of the moment.

  Perhaps I had walked in on a fairytale after all.

  I woke up to a phone ringing, face down in my pillow and uncomfortably disoriented. Reaching out for my nightstand, my hand slashed through empty air and the phone continued to ring. Altogether too quickly, I realized I wasn’t in my bed and so the phone wasn’t where it was supposed to be. The phone was on Nick’s side of the bed. Only Nick wasn’t. Rolling over, I squinted into the semi-darkness of the closed curtains and looked for signs of life. Nothing.

  ‘Not again,’ I mumbled, crawling across the bed to stop the phone from ringing, either by answering it or throwing it through the window, I wasn’t quite sure yet.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Oh, um, Tess? Did I dial you by mistake?’ Al sounded confused at first and then wildly pleased with himself. ‘I was trying to reach Mr Miller.’

  ‘No, this is Nick’s room,’ I replied, face-palming myself for answering the phone in the first place. Which was more embarrassing? Pretending it was perfectly normal for me to be answering a man’s phone at the crack of dawn or telling your de facto granddad and boss that you honestly didn’t let the man whose phone you’re answering put any appendage in any part of you. Well, at least not in the last twenty-four hours. ‘I’m just visiting.’

  ‘Of course,’ Al said, doing his best Patrick Stewart impression. ‘Good to see my collaborators collaborating.’

  Hmm.

  ‘If you could let Mr Miller know this morning’s field trip has been postponed, that would be fabulous.’

  ‘Yeah, no problem.’ I clutched the duvet tightly around myself and looked around the empty room. ‘I’ll tell him. Did you see the photos I sent to Kekipi?’