Versace Sisters

by Cate Kendall

  As the only other Australian in the room, she'd been instantly attracted to him and the two had relished the opportunity to natter quietly away in English (out of principal Madame Neri's earshot of course – there would be hell to pay if Jacqueline were caught speaking 'colonial').

  The two kept in contact by mail after Thomas returned home and when Jacqueline graduated (with an A in everything except floral art) she flew into Australia and into his arms. He'd delighted in his Swiss Finished fiancée and never missed an opportunity to show off her prowess to colleagues during their many dinner parties.

  She took another look at the parfait dishes, decided they were just too sweet to leave behind and took them to the counter to pay. She quickly decorated the table in her mind. Everything would be in pastel and floral. Perhaps Sera wouldn't mind whipping up some cupcakes. And maybe Bella had time to make a praline mille-feuille – such a pretty dessert. She selected napkins in a range of soft colours to complement her new dishes.

  Making polite small talk with the salesgirl while her purchase was wrapped, Jacqueline was suddenly distracted by a pretty display on the counter. Delicate, slender parfait spoons in silky resin, each one in a slightly different hue, were arranged attractively before her. A gentle white swirl through the pinks, greens and lemons made the spoons appear to be concocted of icing. She picked up the sample batch, tied together with a silk ribbon. A familiar gurgle of excitement started to bubble inside her. She looked up at the shopgirl. Her back was turned as she wrapped the tumblers in tissue. Jacqueline simply had to have the spoons.

  *

  Sera was at home feeling guilty. She'd only worked a half day but had left the children at crèche for the full day because there was an important personal task she needed to do.

  But first, Sera thought, food for tonight's Stitch 'n' Bitch. She pulled out a packet of frozen party pies from the freezer. Jacqueline would shoot her, she thought, as she looked down at the icy sheen covering the box. But with only an hour before Joan got back, and picking up the kids and starting dinner, it was the best she could do. She briefly toyed with the idea of whipping up a cake, but experience told her that desserts were not her strong suit.

  Decision made, she tossed the box on the draining board to thaw and went upstairs to the bathroom with the parcel she'd just collected from the post office.

  She sighed as she entered her haven. It was so rare to have it to herself. There was no space or budget stretched for an ensuite after building Joan's bathroom downstairs, but at least the family bathroom was large and luxurious. She'd even got her stand-alone egg-shaped bath, thanks to Tony's trade connections.

  The latte-coloured bath sheets and huge cream rectangular floor tiles were set off by tiny sandstone mosaics on the walls. Tony and Sera had spent a happy rainy afternoon, with newborn Maddy in her capsule, scouring the dusty treasure trove of Italian tiling importers Wyse and Son, next door to Parterre in Woollahra, to find thirty individually painted ochre-on-sandstone tiles for the feature wall. The mirrors were all waist high as per Sera's strict orders, and tinted ever so slightly, just enough to give one's complexion a flattering muted appearance.

  She ripped open the package in her hand and tipped out the little box. Gently she opened it and removed the instructions. The little round glass tub certainly looked as if it could contain the promised land. She was so hopeful. The website had guaranteed drastic reduction in the appearance of scarring. She was dubious at first – she'd tried so many – but the more testimonials she read, the more she believed that this was the one; this was going to be the magic ointment she'd searched for all her life. Of course she had thought that last month when she'd bought that cream at work, but one had to remain optimistic.

  She opened the lid . . . nothing. She'd been expecting a glow of radiance or the Hallelujah chorus at least. She smiled at her ridiculousness, and tried not to notice that the seventy-five millilitres of cream looked much like the cream in every other tub and jar in her cupboard.

  A regular apothecary shop lurked behind her bathroom vanity door. She had spent thousands of dollars searching for the elusive cure, all in vain. Until now, maybe? Even though this one looked the same, it was different, she argued to herself. This one was made from sea kelp and whale blubber – and everyone knew what great skin whales had. Except for the barnacles, of course. She did feel quite guilty about purchasing such an illicit product online (what would Mallory the animal lover say?), but if it minimised the scar it was worth it.

  She read the instructions three times, mouthing them silently to herself; determined to get the application process just right. And then, dipping her finger reverently into the cream, she smeared it gently from her thigh to her ankle in a smooth downwards motion. She set the timer on her bathroom radio for five minutes.

  The scar began to tingle from her outer thigh to halfway down her calf. Its puckered edges were becoming hot and painful. The tingly feeling intensified. It started to burn. She gripped the side of the sink and clenched her teeth. This was great, anything that hurt this much was sure to be working. She looked at the clock, willing the five minutes to be over so she could rinse it off.

  Only thirty more seconds to go. Tears of pain were rolling down her face. She jammed a flannel in her mouth in case Joan or Tony came home and heard her yelps. Five, four – she turned on the shower – three, two, one. She plunged her leg into the cool relief of the water with a gasp of relief. Oh, thank goodness. She looked at the welt that ran down the length of her leg. Instead of being puckered and purple it was now swollen and a bright angry red. Hmmm, she thought, not yet prepared to admit defeat. Maybe it would take a few hours to settle down.

  She sat on the edge of the bath, staring at the red scar. Tears pricked in the back of her eyes. She wasn't stupid. She knew the image she presented to the world. She knew she must come off as a complete dollybird. The eye-lashes, the fake nails, the hairpieces; but it was all a distraction device, a way of drawing the eye upward and away from the hideous scar.

  Tony tried to tell her he didn't see it, but how could he miss it? It ran down her entire leg. It wrinkled and puckered. It didn't tan but blotched, and even fake tan only minimised it slightly.

  She remembered the day the accident happened. She wasn't allowed to climb. She knew the golliwog had been taken away from her as a punishment for being naughty but she'd climbed up anyway.

  It hadn't hurt much at first. When she clipped the handle of the saucepan she'd fallen to the ground with the boiling water and her bum was what really hurt straightaway. But then the white pain of boiling flesh took over. She'd screamed. Bella had rushed over and poured iced water from the fridge onto the leg, but that had only made it worse. She remembered pushing Bella away, screeching at her to stop.

  The ambulance had been a blur. Bella couldn't come because Mum and Dad were still out and she'd had to stay with the boys. But later that night they'd all come in to see her in hospital and she remembered clinging to Bella, not letting her go. Her mum didn't bother coming in again after that. Only Bella came.

  She'd returned home after four weeks. The scar didn't really bother her much during her childhood, and when she became a teenager and the neighbourhood boys avoided her because of her burned leg she was relieved. As the local wallflower she never had to deal with facing her deformity through others' eyes.

  But then she turned fourteen and everything changed. Bella had been gone for over a year and she got sick of being teased for being the only virgin in her school year. When the new boy, Jeremy Waterton, fancied her it had seemed like the perfect opportunity.

  It had been an embarrassing fumble in the back shed on the farm. He'd tried to pull her jeans off, while she kept them up as high as she could. He didn't understand why. Didn't she want to do it? Cos they didn't have to if she had changed her mind, he reassured her. No, she definitely wanted to do it. But with her jeans on. They found a position that worked. He was thrilled with the arrangement and they met in the shed several times
over the next few weeks. She was floating. She really felt loved by Jeremy, she felt romanced and excited by her foray into the world of sex.

  Until it all came tumbling down around her. 'You're a dirty pig, Sera,' her brother Keith spat at her one afternoon in the kitchen after school.

  'Why, what do you mean?' she said and looked up from her homework.

  'It's written all over the boys' toilet walls – "Sera Walker does it doggy style".'

  The shame. A dark burn crept up her legs and itched her scar until her entire body was ablaze.

  'Just quit it will ya, Sera, you're embarrassing!' Keith said as he grabbed an apple and left the room.

  She was embarrassing, he was right. The memory of that day reminded her now of how worthless her scar made her feel. She rarely let any guy get close to her after that. It was only when she met Tony and he had made her feel so special, so beautiful – for a while at least – that she had managed to let her guard down.

  She looked down at her ugly leg. God, she hated it! Hated her stupidity for being sucked in by another stupid cream. She needed more than cream to fix how broken she was.

  After drying herself off, she pulled on a pair of jeans and boots. Jacqueline would be home in ten minutes. She had time to blow-dry her hair, re-apply her make-up, then nick next door to see if her neighbour needed anything done for tonight.

  'Jacqueline?' Sera called out as she tapped on the glass kitchen door. 'Hello? Anyone home?'

  Jacqueline entered the kitchen from the hall and walked over to unlock the back door. 'Hi, Sera,' Jacqueline said, 'I've just walked in. How are you?'

  'Fine thanks,' Sera lied, ignoring the almighty burning on her right leg. 'Been shopping?' she asked, looking at the bags in Jacqueline's arms.

  'Yes, getting ready for tonight,' Jacqueline replied seriously. 'After much deliberation, I've decided on parfait.'

  Sera tried to rustle up an appropriately enthusiastic response. 'Parfait? Why . . . yum!'

  'Yes, it was a tricky decision. I toyed with peach Melba, then flirted with lemon meringue pie, but of course I did meringue last time at your house so that was out of the question straight away. I even considered Bombe Alaska, can you imagine!'

  Sera looked at her neighbour in wonder. Was there seriously nothing else in the woman's head? 'No,' she replied. 'I can honestly say I can't imagine.'

  'Well, the revelation came to me thanks to these delightful parfait tumblers I got at Bed, Bath and Table today. Are they not the sweetest things?'

  'So beautiful!' Sera agreed 'They're gorgeous!'

  'I know, and look – matching napkins,' Jacqueline said, reaching back into the carry bag.

  'What a pretty colour combo,' Sera sighed, laying it all out on the kitchen table in front of her.

  'And you won't believe this.' This time Jacqueline reached into the pocket of her camel trench coat. 'MATCHING PARFAIT SPOONS!' she cried, thrusting the bounty towards Sera as if it was burning her.

  Okay, that's a bit too excited, Sera thought, noticing the high flush in Jacqueline's cheeks as she proffered the spoons. 'Yeah, they're great, too,' Sera responded warily, taking them from her neighbour's hand. She put them down gently next to the rest of the shopping and started backing away. 'Now, is there anything else you need from me?'

  Jacqueline, back in the safe territory of catering, asked Sera if she could possibly whip up some cupcakes.

  Sweetheart, Sera thought to herself, you must be high if you think I'm 'whipping up' fairy cakes between now and seven pm. Out loud she simply suggested, 'What about party pies? Lots of people like savoury.'

  'Party pies?' Jacqueline said with distaste.

  'Home-made, of course,' Sera quickly fibbed.

  'Oh, home-made. Well, all right then. I guess it'll be okay.'

  'Great, well, see you later on then.' Sera made a quick escape.

  When she'd left, Jacqueline turned back to her shopping, her eyes resting for one happy second on the parfait spoons until the joy was replaced by a surge of bile in the back of her throat.

  ~ 12 ~

  'Onions caramelising, children not punching on, mother-in-law with cuppa, reflection in kitchen mirror not quite swamp monster,' Sera murmured to herself as she checked her end-of-the-day list.

  'Darling,' she said as Tony walked in from work, 'how was your day?'

  'Hello, beautiful lady,' he said, grabbing her around the waist and leaning her back for a big smooch. She laughed uneasily and wriggled out of his grasp.

  'Hi yourself,' she replied brightly to cover up the brush-off. 'Can I pour you a wine?' she asked sweetly.

  'Yes please,' he replied, popping into the living room for a quick wrestle with the kids and a hello to his mother.

  'Sera?' Tony said as when came back into the kitchen.

  'Yes, darling?' she replied brightly, but in her head she was screeching Fuckety fuck fuck bloody bloody buggery bugger, because she'd been married long enough to know that when your husband started a conversation with your christian name it meant trouble.

  'Can we talk?' he asked.

  'Sure, honey,' she said with a smile. What the bloody hell have I done now? she thought. Whatever he says, whatever he wants, just agree with him. Don't cause a scene in front of Joan and the kids, swallow your pride, just nod and tell him he's right and he'll stop and go away, she told herself.

  Tony checked that the doors to the living room and corridor were both closed.

  'Darling, I'm just really worried about you, about us, about everything at the moment,' he began.

  I wonder if I'll be able to make Stitch 'n' Bitch in time, Sera thought, surreptitiously glancing at the microwave clock.

  'You know I love you, don't you? You know I think you're the most wonderful woman in the world? I think you're clever, a great mum . . .'

  She couldn't let her face betray her anxiousness at being late. Bother, she thought, smiling and nodding in agreement at the words as they came out of her husband's mouth.

  'And you're so beautiful, just the way you are, without the make-up, the heels, the elaborate outfits –'

  'Huh!' The exclamation exploded involuntarily from her lips.

  'Sera, you are. I don't know why you have it in your head that you need to spend so much time and money on your appearance. It's starting to impact on our family.'

  Okay, she was cross now, no point in just playing along. Her hands went to her hips. 'Everybody pays attention to their appearance in our social group. Especially now that we're on the wrong side of thirty-five! Don't be so selfish. I'm not the spunky little twenty-something anymore you know, Tony. It takes hours to get my hair to look halfway decent, hours of work each week to get my complexion to look unblemished.'

  'But, Sera, this is my point: nobody is as concerned as you are. You're becoming obsessed!'

  'Oh, rubbish.'

  'Really, what time did you pick up the kids from childcare last Tuesday?'

  'Six o'clock,' she said, guiltily averting her gaze.

  'Again? It's happening so often. Why so late when you finish work at three?'

  'What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? What I do with my time is my business. How dare you?!'

  'Look, Sera, I don't want to be a tyrant here, tracking your every move, but I don't think it's fair that our kids have to stay in childcare until after dark just so you can have a pedicure.'

  'IT WAS AN EMERGENCY!' she shrieked at him. She caught a glimpse of herself in the opaque glass of the sliding door shut behind him. That banshee with hands on hips, leaning forward, lips snarling, gums bared was no beauty queen.

  'Please don't scream at me, Sera,' Tony replied quietly. 'We can talk more about this when you're calmer.' With that he left to chase the kids upstairs to start their bath and bed routine.

  The only sound that trickled into the kitchen was the whoop of audience participation from the game show until Joan's sharp sentence cut across the cheers. 'Airs and graces, my girl.'

  'But it was an emergency,' Sera whisp
ered. Then she shook her head. Right, I'm off, she thought, untying her apron and grabbing the party pies. She called out to her mother-in-law, 'I'll be at Jacqueline's, Joan. Let Tony know, please?'

  'Hmmmm, that'd be right,' came the response.

  Sera shut the kitchen door on Joan and her opinions and marched down the back steps. 'Airs and graces' – the expression catapulted her straight back to her childhood. She sat with a thump on the garden bench. She wanted to talk to Bella, to have her console her and reassure her that she was a good person. But Bella was on the other side of the world; still living the life of freedom that Sera had given up. She sniffed away tears.

  She just wanted to be pretty, was that too much to ask? She had always been in awe of her big sister's beauty; of her long, straight blonde hair, her magnificent figure: boy hips teamed with woman breasts. But most of all, Sera envied Bella's legs, her long, long, perfect unmarked legs. Legs in the shower being shaved, legs in a bikini sun-baking, legs jumping off the jetty into the dam. Legs in mini-shorts pumping madly down to the pub to fetch their parents home for dinner, jumping rope, running races, climbing up to the tree house, stretching out from a shortened school uniform.

  Sera tried so hard to compete. She used to scour Dolly magazine, beg her mother for new clothes, fiddle for hours experimenting with hairstyles and make-up; anything to be in the same league as Bella.

  Her mother was no help at all. She thought her daughter's titivating was a joke and never missed an opportunity to tease her in front of her brothers if she caught her 'mucking around with lipstick'.

  Sera had lived in her sister's long-legged shadow her entire youth, even following her over to the mainland and into the flight industry; anything to get away from the dour, dopey expressions of her family as they sat around eating their tinned Spam with their slack jaws wide open.

  Tony had been her first love. They had met on a flight. She liked the way he joked with her. He liked her beautiful face. She liked his beautiful face.