by Ilsa Evans
‘What about Elizabeth?’ I ask curiously, as Cam has a habit of forgetting her younger sister or, when she does remember her, referring to her as ‘Bloody Elizabeth’ in a manner that speaks volumes about their relationship.
‘Her too. Anyway, she says how it’s been ages since just the four of us spent any time together. Without husbands or fiancés or whatever. But when I told her I was busy, because I’m taking CJ to the zoo with her friend Caitlin and her mother, she suggested lunch instead. Like, I’m going to get all around the zoo and back by lunchtime? So then she got really snappy and said she’d ring back.’
‘And did she?’ I ask while Cam takes a breath.
‘Yes, about five minutes later.’
‘Sounds like someone wants a little more than a get-together, doesn’t it?’
‘My thoughts exactly.’ Cam slows her cycling pace down so much that I can see the little red light blinking on her console warning her she’s way under what she should be doing. ‘Anyway, it turns out her options were pretty limited because Bloody Elizabeth is busy Friday evening and Diane’s busy at your place on Saturday afternoon.’
‘She is?’
‘Yep, something to do with Bronte’s thing on Sunday. Anyway, we ended up with ten o’clock Saturday morning – at my place.’
‘You’ll have to ring me immediately afterwards. Promise?’
‘Promise.’
‘Or I could ring and you could leave your phone off the hook,’ I suggest, only half joking, ‘then I could listen in.’
‘She’d have me flogged,’ Cam replies shortly.
‘Maybe that’s it!’
‘What, me being flogged?’
‘No, maybe he was her hit-man back when she headed the Mafia!’
‘Well, I have to say,’ Cam puffs, finally getting up to pace and banishing the little blinking light, ‘that’s the most logical explanation we’ve come up with so far.’
‘Fergus thought he might have been a previous lover,’ I comment, checking out my pulse rate on the console. ‘You know, like a toy boy.’
‘Fergus is a twit.’
‘Well, it is possible.’
‘Nah. I’m sticking with the hit-man,’ Cam pants. ‘It’s more feasible.’
‘He didn’t look like a hit-man,’ I say slowly as I try to picture his face again.
‘He sure sounded like one! And he won’t meet your eyes!’
‘So?’ I speed up again to get back into rhythm. ‘He’s just a tad shy.’
We continue cycling for a while in silence, both lost in thought. An elderly guy gets on the bike next to me and, after setting up his program, starts to cycle at a rate sure to guarantee a coronary within minutes. Then the bell pings on Cam’s bike and, as the pedals slow down, she collapses against the handlebars. A few seconds later, my bike follows suit so I leap off and glance towards the exercise room.
‘Come on!’ I wave my hand at Cam impatiently. ‘Quick, it’s all empty. We’ll have it to ourselves.’
‘And that’s good, why?’ Cam follows me, breathing heavily.
I head straight over to the LAT pulldown and adjust the kneepads for a shorter person. Then I pull down the metal bar and gesture to Cam to sit down.
‘Here,’ I say, passing her the bar. ‘Put one hand at either end like that and just pull it slowly towards your chest and back up again. Two lots of about fifteen should do it. Have a break between the sets. When you’ve finished that, have a go on the biceps curl over there, it’s pretty self-explanatory.’
‘It’ll need to be.’
I grin at her woebegone expression, and then grab a gym ball from the rack overhead. I put myself through a series of squats and stretches before heading over to the leg press and attacking that with gusto. I’m really glad Cam suggested this workout now because the more energy I expend, the better I feel. Besides, it seems that my curiosity about Rose and Richard will be satiated within a few days. And satiation always puts me in a good mood. I finish with the leg press and position myself at the bench press to lift some weights. A few minutes later, I sit up and wipe my face with a corner of my tank top. Then I look around to see what Cam is up to. But she’s still sitting at the LAT pulldown, and seems to be in exactly the same position as she was when I left her fifteen minutes ago.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask in amazement. ‘Haven’t you even started yet?’
‘Of course I have!’ she snaps back. ‘I’m just resting.’
‘How long have you been just resting?’
‘Not long!’ Cam gets up with a groan, letting go of the metal handle too quickly so that it snaps back against the wall with a loud, echoing thud. I look at the wall with interest but it still seems intact, merely slightly dinted.
‘Are you all right there, love?’ A six and a half foot Adonis materialises next to Cam and looks at her helpfully. ‘Need any assistance?’
Cam stares at him open-mouthed, her gaze travelling slowly from his chiselled facial features down past his black singlet and bulging muscles to his loose, very high-cut black shorts – before shooting back to his face again. She blushes.
‘Need any assistance?’ he repeats slowly, obviously having decided she’s not the full quid. ‘You’re a new member, are you?’
‘Yes, yes I am.’ Cam puts out her hand and, after looking at it with some surprise, Adonis laughs and shakes it agreeably.
‘In that case may I suggest you sign up for an assessment?’ he says, reclaiming his hand with some difficulty. ‘It’s free of charge and that way you’ll be given a personalised routine to follow and get shown all the ropes at the same time.’
‘Sounds like a great idea.’ I sidle up to the pair of them and, with my hand resting on the metal LAT handle, lean against the wall nonchalantly.
‘Hello there,’ says Adonis, looking impressed. ‘Are you interested as well?’
‘Very interested.’
‘And have you ever been assessed?’
‘Not lately.’
‘Ex-cellente!’
‘What do we have to do?’ Cam interrupts rudely. ‘You know, for the assessment.’
‘Assessment?’ Adonis looks back at her in confusion. ‘Oh, assessment! Yes, I’ll just need to slot you in. I’ll go grab my book.’
Cam and I watch Adonis walk out of the exercise room towards the front desk, and then turn and grin at each other.
‘Wow!’
‘Ex-cellente!’
‘You’re such a flirt, Terry,’ Cam says, shaking her head. ‘Just can’t help yourself, can you?’
‘Well, I needed a bit of an ego boost,’ I reply with feeling, ‘especially after the week I’ve had.’
‘Huh! I’m going to the front desk to book myself in for one of those assessments. And don’t bother coming along because you’re not even a member here. Forgot to mention that, didn’t you?’
I watch her stalk out of the room and, chuckling to myself, sit down at the LAT pulldown and, after adjusting it, perform two sets of lifts. When I’ve finished, I fetch my water bottle from a shelf nearby and take a huge drink.
‘Good idea.’ Cam grabs her bottle and follows suit.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask solicitously. ‘Getting sore yet?’
‘A bit,’ Cam replies, putting her bottle back. ‘Actually, a lot.’
‘How about we spend twenty minutes on the treadmill and then call it quits?’
‘Sounds ex-cellente.’
We choose two treadmills side by side and a judicious distance from the speakers, which are currently blaring out a medley of rap music. At least I think it’s rap music. I set up Cam’s control pad, show her where to stand and demonstrate how to work the different settings for speed, time and climb rate. Then I press start – and she immediately shoots backwards, straight off the end of the treadmill and into a heap on the floor.
‘Hey!’ I press pause and turn to look down at her. ‘You’re supposed to walk with it! Did you think it was going to do all the work?’
&nb
sp; ‘Of course not!’ Cam replies with annoyance as she picks herself up. ‘I just wasn’t ready!’
‘Ready now?’ I inquire sweetly.
‘And look!’ She points to the instructions on the console. ‘It says stop if you feel faint or short of breath. I’m feeling both, so it’s obviously unsafe for me to use it. Medically speaking.’
‘Get on.’
‘If I die, I’m going to come back and haunt you. I’ll sit on your bed and stare at you wistfully every night.’
‘It’ll be just like being married again.’ I wait while Cam steps gingerly back onto the treadmill and then, staring straight ahead, grasps the front handles so tightly that her knuckles go white. She nods so I press start again and this time, when the machine starts rolling slowly, she walks stiffly with it. I watch her for a few minutes until she starts to relax, even removing one hand and waving it at me confidently.
‘Hey, look – one handed! This isn’t so bad!’
‘It’s not supposed to be,’ I reply with a laugh as I set up my own control pad and get my machine going. I walk my way through the slow start and settle into a brisk walk of about six and a half kilometres an hour, before turning to check on Cam. She seems to have grasped the workings of the machine and is now not only walking swiftly, but has also released the handles entirely.
‘How’s it going?’
‘No problem,’ she replies, grinning at me. ‘In fact, I really like this!’
‘Good.’
‘Hey, are you going to Barbara’s farewell tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Yes, what about you? Do you want me to pick you up?’
‘No! Um, I mean no thanks – because I’m not sure I can make it. Uni stuff. But I am going to try.’ Cam starts experimenting with the different settings on her control pad. ‘I’d really like to say goodbye to her before she goes.’
‘Fancy moving overseas to live with a guy you met over the internet.’
‘I know. I hope it works out for her.’
‘Hmm.’ I rotate my shoulders as I walk, loosening them up. ‘I’ve got no chance of an internet romance – I can’t even remember my password!’
‘Twit.’
‘No, I’m serious.’ I spot Adonis leaning casually in the doorway, watching me walk. I flash him one of my super-wattage grins but he just gives me a wry half-smile and turns away.
‘What did you tell that guy?’ I ask Cam distrustfully.
‘Ha! Just that you were entering a monastery next week!’
‘Dork! Only guys join monasteries!’
‘Exactly,’ she smirks at me. ‘He was shattered.’
‘You realise I’ll have my revenge, don’t you?’
‘I was doing you a favour. You’ve got too much on your plate already.’
‘Hmm,’ I reply thoughtfully. ‘About Barbara’s thing, do you think Joanne’ll be there?’
‘I’d be surprised if she isn’t.’
‘Your mum wanted you to get her phone number.’
‘Okay – remind me.’
‘Do you think she’ll bring him?’
‘Nah,’ says Cam, without having to ask who I mean. ‘He’d be gone by now.’
‘What!’ I turn to face Cam in disbelief, and come dangerously close to shooting off the end of my own treadmill. ‘What do you mean – gone?’
Cam looks at me curiously. ‘Joanne did say he was only here for a few days. And that was on Tuesday, so I’m guessing he’d be gone by now. Certainly by tomorrow, anyway.’
‘Bugger.’ I concentrate on getting back in rhythm as my stomach does its free-fall act again. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘And why, may I ask, has it upset you so?’ Cam inquires pleasantly, her eyebrows raised. ‘After all, he only looks like your father, remember?’
‘Of course I remember!’ I snap back. ‘It’s only the whole mystery thing with your mother. I’m curious about it, that’s all!’
‘Sure you are,’ says Cam smugly as she plays around with her control pad again. ‘Hey, this thing’s really cool!’
I ignore her while I adjust my own controls, turning up the walk pace until I’m forced to start jogging to keep up, my feet pounding the conveyer belt underneath with a loud thump, thump, thump. For some reason I had forgotten about Richard only being here for a few days. Of course I knew he lived in Tasmania and would be going back eventually; I just thought that it wouldn’t be for a while. Not until after we’d had a few meetings at least, got to know each other a tad, perhaps even had a conversation or two where I didn’t act like a complete pillock.
I decide that the best course of action at the moment is to stay on my treadmill, running until I’m totally exhausted and incapable of thought. Then Cam can carry me home and pour me a glass of something mind-numbing. I lean forwards, increase my time setting and keep on jogging while I concentrate on blocking all external stimuli. Which is why I don’t actually register Cam’s increasingly panicked shouts for a good few minutes. As soon as I do, I turn to see what’s up – and almost flip myself over my handlebars in surprise.
Somehow, Cam has managed to set her machine onto such a steep incline that it is pointed roughly towards the ceiling, yet still running at a very fast pace. Which she’s having considerable trouble keeping up with but can’t escape from, because her shoelace has caught in the front edge of the conveyer belt. So there she is, yelling at me while staggering frantically uphill with one hand flailing helplessly towards the emergency stop bar on the console.
I turn my machine off and coast to a stop. Then I lean against the console and watch her curiously. Her hand keeps hitting at the front of the stop bar but, because of the severe angle, doesn’t quite reach it.
‘Having fun?’
‘No! No! Turn it off!’
‘What was that?’ I inquire solicitously. ‘Did you say turn it up?’
‘No!’ She tries to rip her shoelace loose and ends up hopping at a run. ‘I’m going to kill you!’
‘We can’t have that!’ I say, throwing my hands up in mock horror. ‘Don’t forget I’m taking my vows next week.’
‘Turn the damn thing off! Please!’
‘Ah, the magic word.’ I reach across, turn the machine off and it slows to a halt as it lowers itself back to the ground and levels out. As it is coasting down, Cam flops down on the belt and, still panting heavily, tries to get her shoelace loose. But it’s stuck tight. She leans back and puts her hand to her chest as she tries to get her breathing under control.
‘I’m going. To kill. You.’
‘I could always turn this thing on again, you know,’ I comment as my hand hovers over the console pad. ‘So be nice, you hear?’
Cam makes a grunting sound that is halfway between a laugh and a pant.
‘Okay.’ I bend down and take hold of her shoelace. ‘Let’s have a look.’
But despite my best efforts, and then our joint best efforts, we can’t get the shoelace out. It’s stuck tight. So Cam removes her shoe and leaves it sitting on the treadmill as she backs away and sits on the floor, still recovering from her ordeal. I look around curiously to see if there were any witnesses to this little debacle but even Adonis isn’t in sight.
‘I’ll go and get someone to help in a minute,’ I say to Cam as I sit on the floor next to her and start to laugh. ‘Your face! I wish I had a camera!’
‘Bitch,’ says Cam as she begins laughing too.
The elderly guy from the exercise bikes comes into the room, wiping his face on a towel, and stops short when he sees us sitting on the floor laughing. He looks from Cam to me to the shoe in the middle of the treadmill. Then, obviously changing his mind, he leaves again.
‘When I get this shoe loose,’ says Cam, holding her side and groaning, ‘I’m going to beat you to death with it.’
‘Should I start running now?’ I ask with interest. ‘Or would a slow walk suffice?’
THURSDAY
1736 hrs
‘I thought you said you were getting picked
up at four,’ I say petulantly as Bronte answers her mobile phone. ‘It’s nearly six!’
‘I know, sorry, Mum.’ Bronte’s voice cuts in and out of a fair amount of static. ‘Nick was running late and they couldn’t find my paperwork, then Sherry was an absolute pain. Like, it’s just been one of those days.’
‘So where are you now?’
‘Um –’ she hesitates for a minute ‘– in your driveway.’
‘What?’ I run over to the lounge-room bay window, pull back the curtain and peer out the side into the driveway. Sure enough, there they are, standing next to Bronte’s pink Volkswagen in the near dark, unloading mountains of gear onto a now flattened flowerbed.
Bronte looks up, the mobile against her ear, and waves enthusiastically. ‘Hi, Mum!’ she says into the phone.
‘How long have you been there?’
‘Oh, about five minutes.’
‘Then why on earth are you talking to me on the mobile?’
‘Because you rang, of course!’
‘Bronte. Hang up.’ I take a deep breath and put the phone back in its cradle before I head for the driveway. The cold hits me as soon as I leave the house and I breathe puffs of vapour out into the evening dusk. Bronte, still with the mobile at her ear, glances up at me, frowns at her phone and disconnects. Then she pops it into the side pocket of her jeans, which are altogether too loose for someone who’s just given birth. Ah, the rejuvenation of youth!
‘Hey, Mil!’ Nick pokes his head up from the boot and grins at me. ‘Like your outfit!’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, pulling my jacket together.
‘Yeah, but your hair looks really weird,’ adds Bronte, giving my spiky bun a disparaging glance as she tugs a bright-blue crate out of the car boot.
‘So, you got room for all this?’ asks Nick.
‘Actually – I’m not sure.’ I cast a dubious glance over the mound of baby-related paraphernalia, through which a desperate rhododendron is gasping for air. ‘Is it all really necessary?’
‘Oh, yes, Mum!’ Bronte stops what she is doing and turns to me with an earnest expression. ‘I asked Nick to pack everything, just in case.’
‘Great,’ I reply dryly as I walk around the growing pile and open the back door of the car. And there she is – the light of my life – sleeping peacefully in her brand-new capsule. I push the flotilla of pink balloons to one side so I can get a better look. Bronte has fastened a ridiculous hair-band around her bald little head and dressed her in a frilled and laced concoction that would look more appropriate on a fairy floss stick. Apart from that, though, she is all pink, soft, rounded flesh – simply irresistible. She gurgles and spits in her sleep. I gurgle back but hold the spit. Then, with the formalities out of the way, I unhook the capsule and lift it out carefully.
