by Cate Kendall
'You know, Sera, you look absolutely beautiful.'
Sera turned around with a scoff perched on her face ready to launch. Before it could, Bella hurried on. 'You really do. You should do the "less is more" thing more often. It suits you. You have great skin under all that bronzer, and simple pants and a tee really shows off that amazing figure of yours. You should embrace that look more.'
Rather than poo-pooing the sentiment, Sera looked amazed. 'Really?' she asked, actually taking the compliment on board for the first time in her life.
'Really,' Bella said, 'au naturel, you're a knock-out.'
*
After every last carbohydrate and lipid had been devoured by the girls, and the tray had been dispatched to the hallway for someone else to clean up, they sat back in the lounges with their champagne flutes freshly bubbling.
Sera looked around at the state of what had been only a few hours ago a pristine suite and which now resembled a sorority dorm room.
'This room is a pigsty,' she said.
Bella giggled. 'Care factor? Zero.'
'What's happened there?' They both knew she was delicately asking about her OCD.
'Well, little sis, as you know I've been in and out of therapy for years. And I've decided I'm done.'
'What?! You've always been a real advocate for therapy.'
'Yeah, I still am. I've just done enough for now. I've had a breakthrough.' Bella smiled eagerly and sat forward to face Sera.
'It happened on the day Curtis got married. I went and day-spa'ed myself silly, came back to my hotel room, dropped my clothes on the floor, cried all night, and in the morning stared at my pile of clothes and didn't have the urge to put them away.'
'You crazy fool,' Sera joked.
'Then I kicked them. And they flew around the room. My scarf flicked across the bed, my stockings landed in the ice-bucket, my knickers draped from the chandelier. Then I emptied my entire suitcase and kicked that all around the room, too.'
'You didn't! How strange . . . for you, I mean.'
'Yes, strange, but very liberating. Then I emptied my toiletries bag all over the bathroom. And even squished toothpaste into the sink. And then I actually pulled the towels off the hook. And you know how much I like a neat towel rail.'
'I do indeed,' Sera said.
'And I laughed the whole time. It wasn't destructive, and I wasn't hysterical or anything; it was just more of an experiment. To see if I could do it and to see if I cared. And I didn't care at all. It so didn't matter. The sky didn't fall in or anything. Of course, I had to leave the maid a good tip, but apart from that, no impact.'
'Good on you! I'm very impressed.'
'Then – you won't believe it – I couldn't be bothered tidying it all up. I just sat on the couch and vegged out, and when it was time to go I shoved everything into my suitcase. Well, semi-folded. But it certainly wasn't outfit-ordered as per usual.'
'Go girl!' Sera chuckled, thinking of Bella with a disordered suitcase. 'Will wonders never cease?'
They sat and stared into space, reflecting on how far their relationship had travelled in such a short time. Finally, Sera spoke.
'You were always too good for him, you know,' she said, quietly.
'Yeah, I know,' Bella replied, and they clinked their glasses in cheers.
~ 39 ~
Today the Stitch 'n' Bitch group was going to help Mallory prepare for her home-coming tomorrow after her week in hospital. Jacqueline, Sam and Chantrea were already waiting in the hospital foyer when Sera arrived. They gave her happy hugs, all delighted that Mallory's journey to recovery was taking a big step forward.
Together they walked into Mallory's room, following their usual practice of softening their voices and offering a calm, sympathetic front to their emotionally exhausted friend.
But they were greeted by a pleasantly surprising sight. Mallory was sitting up in her wheelchair. She'd changed into a funky, hot pink zip-up hoodie, her face was made-up and her hair was shiny and brushed.
'Mallory! Look at you! You look absolutely amazing.' Sera got to her first and leant down to embrace the slight body. The others took turns to proffer their gifts and peck her on the cheek while exclaiming over the physical transformation.
Mallory grinned at her friends. 'He's come back to me,' she said proudly, as if she'd won a marathon. 'He wants me!' Their faces dropped as one. 'Don't you understand, guys? He's chosen me over that little scrag!'
'Mallory,' Sera said as gently as she could, 'are you sure this is the right thing for you?' She had sat through night after night of sobbing, watching the hurt and anguish of betrayal wreak its devastation on Mallory's fragile soul. She couldn't believe that in such a short space of time Mallory could make such a massive U-turn and go back to him.
'Yes, of course it is. He says he's really sorry, that Tilly and I are the ones for him and he's not going to leave us, that he's going to break up with her. He's going to pick me up tomorrow and take me home.'
Nobody quite knew what to say.
'Are you insane?!' Chantrea voiced everyone's thoughts.
'But Chantrea . . . guys?' Mallory replied, quite confused they weren't sharing her excitement. 'Don't you get it? I won! He's finished the affair. It's over; we're all going back to normal.'
Sam had to speak up; he couldn't stop himself. Mallory was such a lovely person, and Vince was clearly a creep. 'I don't think you should do this. At least think about it,' he implored.
'Sam, I've sat here hour after hour thinking. What else can I do, for God's sake?' she said, waving her hand at her crushed leg. 'It's not like I can go out dancing or go for a nice walk.' She swallowed the bitterness that was rising in her chest, determined to hold on to her happy mood.
'Look, of course I've thought about it, over and over, and I know you're all worried about me, and want the best for me, but this is for the best. I can't be on my own, don't you see? I wouldn't have a clue how to live by myself. I need Vince. And,' she said proudly, 'he needs me.'
Jacqueline, ever the pragmatist, knew from experience there was little anyone could do to convince a woman in love of anything sensible. 'Well,' she said, 'congratulations, darling. I hope you're both very happy.' She leant in to give her friend a hug.
Chantrea couldn't keep it together any longer. She grabbed Jacqueline by the arm and dragged her into the corridor as the others offered Mallory their hollow congratulations.
'What in the hell are you doing? Why are you congratulating her? That's like congratulating someone who's been diagnosed with dengue fever, for chrissakes. How can you do that?' Chantrea was livid.
A few months ago Jacqueline would have bitten back at Chantrea's anger, but now she could see that her attack wasn't personal. 'Chantrea, I know how you feel, it's very frustrating.'
'Fucking oath, it's frustrating.' Chantrea looked around as if to find something to punch.
'Settle down, this isn't going to help anyone. Take some deep breaths.'
Chantrea looked at Jacqueline in surprise. She was expecting – maybe even hoping for – a fight, somewhere to direct her anger. Instead, she followed Jacqueline's advice and felt less volatile as she flooded her lungs with oxygen.
'The only thing we can do is to be here for Mallory when it falls apart again. That's all. We can't stop the inevitable from happening; we'll just stay close to catch her when she falls.'
'But it's so unnecessary, Jacqueline,' Chantrea said. 'She doesn't need to fall, doesn't she see?'
'I think it's fairly obvious that she doesn't see what we can all see so clearly. But we can't tell her what to do, or how to feel, we just have to be here to help pick up the pieces when she comes to her senses.'
'Yeah, I understand,' Chantrea sighed deeply. 'Sorry for going off like that.'
'That's okay. Let's go back to the blushing bride.'
'. . . and guess where he's taking me in a few weeks to celebrate?' they heard Mallory bubbling to the others.
'Where?' asked Sera, trying to dredge u
p enthusiasm.
'Skiing! He loves skiing.'
Chantrea looked at Mallory's toe-to-hip plaster cast. 'How thoughtful of him,' she replied, darting a quick look at Jacqueline.
~ 40 ~
The thumping tones of Destiny's Child blared at full volume from the electric-blue 300ZX convertible. Sharee swerved into the car space and killed the engine, cutting the doof-doof off mid-beat, much to the relief of two older women waiting at the nearby bus-stop.
Legs as spindly as the stilettos which carried them appeared from the driver's side as Sharee swung herself, her hair and her bag out of the car, slammed the door and stormed into the pub. She was in a filthy mood. When Vince had called an hour earlier with the ominous 'We've got to talk', she knew what was going down. She knew the dutiful husband buried deep inside her dirty little meal ticket was threatening to emerge.
Now that wifey was laid up in hospital, she was sure Vince would try and wriggle out of the arrangement. They'd had it all planned. Vince was meant to leave that twitty little Mallory and set Sharee up in a fantastic Darling Harbour apartment, complete with her own masseuse, plasma screen TV and Vanuatu holidays.
Sharee Burns had been successfully upgrading sugar daddies since she'd turned eighteen. The first bloke had just been a general manager of an insurance company, but on a good wage. But by the time she'd broken up his marriage his wife had worked it all out and had put all the family assets in her own name, then sued the stupid bugger for the rest of the dosh, which had left him so strapped with alimony and emotional baggage he was good for absolutely nothing. Sharee had dumped him quick smart.
She plonked herself at the bar and sat sucking noisily on a raspberry vodka while she sized up the patrons. No harm in a bit of window-shopping.
Her second conquest had been more promising: a wealthy younger guy running a huge corporation. It was his family's business, so he had all sorts of delicious playthings: a magnificent property in Port Douglas, a yacht, and a massive inheritance in the pipeline. But when she'd pissed off his Alice-band-wearing fiancée, she'd also managed to piss off his family, and the crusty old matriarch had whipped away his money and toys faster than you could say 'trust fund'. She'd learnt valuable lessons in love along the way though, namely: don't fuck with the family and find out whose name the assets are in.
She reckoned Vince was it, her last-ditch attempt to land a big fish before she got hit with the ugly stick that came with reaching thirty. Vince meant pay dirt and no wife with broken legs was going to screw up her plan.
Of course the writing had been on the wall since Vince realised that Mallory had seen them doing the wild thing in the spa. He'd turned grey when he caught sight of the picnic basket and the stupid bitch's shoes in the carpark. She'd tried to buck him up with a spontaneous hand job, but he'd simply pushed her aside.
Ever since the stupid cow went and got herself smashed up by that truck, whenever they'd got together it had only been a quickie. Sharee knew her days were numbered. Thank God she'd invested in a timely little insurance package several months ago, when she'd stopped using her diaphragm. She'd known she was up the duff for ages but had waited to spill the beans when it would give her maximum benefit. And that time had come. Now she was armed and ready for action. Just let him try and dump her, she thought. She was ready to give him the biggest friggin' shock of his life.
Vince came in gabbing into his Blue Tooth as usual. His wraparound sunnies were in their permanent position on the top of his head, and his purple shirt co-coordinated perfectly with the complementary tie. He was a hot dresser, she had to admit. His hair was gelled into fashionable random peaks.
'G'day, darl,' he said, and pecked her on the cheek. 'Jim Beam and Coke, thanks, mate,' he said to the bartender. 'So how's tricks, kitten?' He addressed Sharee's cleavage.
'Great, darl. You?' she smiled charmingly and was pleased she'd remembered to undo her top two buttons to ensure the new La Perla lacy push-up bra was attracting his attention.
'Busy, love, so busy. I've got a huge client from Hong Kong nibbling at the bait at the moment. A massive deal. He wants the brand new Boadicea. This deal could put me in retirement.'
'A Boadicea? We haven't got one,' she said.
'Of course we haven't! They're fifty mil US! Not to mention seventy feet long. It wouldn't fit on the whole block, let alone in the showroom.'
'Well, how come the punter is talking to you, if you haven't got one?'
'Well, he doesn't know that, does he?' Vince replied. 'I have to let him think I have one until I can actually get my hands on one.'
'So why don't you just direct him to a dealer who does have one?' Sharee asked.
'Because that doesn't put a clear three mil in commission in my back pocket, now does it? Jeez Louise, you don't know much about business, do you, babe?' He glanced at her then indicated to the barman that he and the little lady needed a refill.
'Now, babe, we have to talk. Given the situation with Mallory, it's not such a great time –'
Sharee cut him short. 'I'm so glad you wanted to see me today, darling, I've got some wicked news. You're going to be so rapt, I just know it.'
Thrown off guard by her exuberance, Vince allowed himself to be distracted for a minute. 'What is it?'
'I'm pregnant.'
The peanut he'd just tossed in the air fell downwards and landed squarely in his airway. He choked and gagged, taking a gulp of his drink to wash it back into his mouth before croaking, 'What?'
'I'm pregnant! Almost four months'! Isn't it exciting?'
'But you can't be. I've had a vasectomy.' He shook his head in confusion.
Oh, she'd really fucked up now. Sharee's thoughts were in chaos. She plastered a smile on her face as she tried to grab hold of a solution to this unexpected information. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
'Well, my, my,' she said finally. 'Nothing can hold back your feisty little swimmers, can it?' She grinned at him as she kneaded his bicep. She kept going – if there was ever a time to lay it on thick, it was now. 'What an amazing bloke you are. I've heard of this kind of stuff, of course, in fact they reckon it's pretty common in exceptionally masculine men.'
'Really?' he asked incredulously.
'Yeah! For sure! How is a couple of little snips going to stop your kind of strength?' She went on before he could think too much. 'Don't you see? This is meant to be, we're meant to be together, this is a miracle baby. Oh, you master, you hero.' She clasped her hands over her uterus and squealed in joy before uttering her coup de grace – the line she knew was going to be the money shot. 'And I just know that it's a boy.'
It worked. He was all over her. They sat at the bar for another hour, planning, talking and giggling; trying to feel the fetus move; talking about prams and schools, obstetricians and water births.
By the time Vince left the mother of his unborn child, his head was spinning in amazement. It was true, it was a miracle. It was time to move on. He owed it to this woman and to his little son. Mallory would be fine. Tilly was nearly grown-up anyway. It was time for a fresh start. He'd break it off with his old family clean and simple. Rip it off like a Band-aid. It would be a shock at first for them, but they'd be fine. After all, what really mattered was to be happy. For him to be happy.
~ 41 ~
For the first time Mallory truly appreciated the large open-plan living space of her home for a reason other than the aesthetic. She was still unaccustomed to negotiating the cumbersome wheelchair about and the wide front hallway and fashionably large front door were a blessing.
Vince closed the door behind them and tossed her hospital bag onto a beanbag in the sunken living room.
Thanks to Sera's hard work, the house was immaculate. The floors gleamed and every surface was clear of clutter. Sera had mentioned that she'd popped in to do the dishes, but she'd obviously worked her fingers to the bone. The place hadn't been this clean for years. Mallory hadn't discovered it yet, but the fridge was crammed with homemade casseroles and pasta sauces,
and the pantry shelves groaned with baked treats from well-meaning neighbours, friends and the school community.
Vince pushed her over to the large glass-topped kitchen table where he replaced a dining chair for her wheelchair. As she passed the stairs, she caught sight of herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrored wall. She'd gasped with shock. When she'd groomed herself this morning in the hospital, she'd thought she looked fairly good, considering her ordeal. But out of the realm of the damaged, ill and elderly, back home in her normal environment, she couldn't believe the vision that flicked past her eyes.
She was truly an invalid. Her face was devoid of life, her eyes were like sunken wells and the bruises yellowing beneath the cuts and scars gave her a creepy jaundiced look. Her broken arm was plastered from her fingertips to her shoulders and her broken leg stuck out straight in front of her.
It felt strange to be at home. Mallory was nervous, vulnerable and unsure how she would cope. She had no idea where she would sleep, how she would mother Tilly, do the washing or go to the toilet without the aid of the nurses she'd come to rely on.
She knew her friends would be there for her, of course, and Tilly was a big girl and was going to be a great help. But most importantly, Vince was there for her. He was still hers, he was home and he was going to help her get through this dreadful time.
There he was in the kitchen: what an amazing guy, popping on the kettle and fussing over a cake that had magically appeared from the pantry. She smiled at him but he seemed to drop his gaze just as their eyes met. He retrieved her bag and efficiently unpacked it, tossing the laundry into the washing machine and running the other bits upstairs. She heard him moving about on the floor above as drawers opened and closed. She was going to be safe in this man's hands, she just knew it.
Her mind wandered and began mentally designing her next art-piece, something in driftwood for the kitchen wall, perhaps. Vince reappeared downstairs again and continued making her tea. He brought it over to her and set her up nicely with a magazine, the cup of tea and a slice of nut loaf.
