It Started with a Kiss

by Lisa Heidke

‘Right about now, you probably feel like running away. But trust me, by week three, I won’t be able to shut you guys up.’

  He reached behind the whiteboard and turned to face the group, holding a pink hula hoop. ‘Dah-dah! Write a two-minute skit about this.’

  Across from Liam, the fireman spoke. ‘Twirling, round… penis. There’s always a dick joke, surely?’

  Sam indulged him with a smile. ‘Whatever floats your boat, George, isn’t it?’

  George nodded.

  ‘I’m giving you fifteen minutes to write a two-minute sketch—allowing for laughs, applause and heckling, you’re looking at roughly three hundred and fifty words. Make them good. No! Make them spectacular. Don’t waste a word or a gesture. Make them count. Aim for a laugh every thirty seconds, so four big belly laughs.’

  Around Liam, several pairs of eyes widened.

  ‘See,’ said Sam, smiling. ‘When you break it down, it’s not daunting at all, is it?’

  The woman with the green hair put up her hand.

  ‘No need for that here, Gayle,’ said Sam, looking straight at her. ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Do we have to present to the class when we’re finished?’

  Sam smiled. ‘Of course not.’

  She visibly regained colour.

  ‘Because,’ Sam went on, ‘this is a secret class. We don’t want others to judge us, to laugh or to let us know whether or not we stink.’

  The class was silent.

  ‘Of course you’re going to share it,’ he roared. ‘That’s the whole point of the course, to get up on stage and shine. Now, get on with it. And don’t say your muse is taking a holiday. There is no bloody muse. You are the muse, or rather the mule, and you and only you can do the hard yards.’

  To her credit, Gayle didn’t cry and walk out.

  Liam felt like it though. He was nervous. A pink hula hoop? What could he say about that? He looked around. Everyone else had their heads down, scribbling in their notebooks. Liam couldn’t focus. He wanted to throw up.

  All he could connect hula hoops with were Evie and Liv when they were little girls. He remembered Friday trying to teach them the art of hooping, Liam included. Thinking back, the girls were comical: putting the hoop on Baxter, making Friday demonstrate time and time again, and then when they’d mastered hooping, staging the Great Hula Hoop Off, where the last hula twirling won the block of chocolate. The winner had to share it with the other three anyway. What was that about? Where was the incentive?

  When Liam let his mind wander, he got into the hula skit idea much more enthusiastically than he’d expected. Before he knew it, Sam was telling the class they had less than one minute to finish.

  Liam had a ball, reliving the past, writing about it and making it relevant.

  Sam chose four people to present. When Liam wasn’t one of them, his heart sank. As nervous as he was, he’d wanted the opportunity to stand up in front of the class. Also Liam noticed he’d done what none of the others had by incorporating the hula hoop into his routine by using it as a prop, not just holding it. Had he been on stage, he would have demonstrated the neck hula, the chest, stomach and bottom hula and made it a physical piece.

  ‘Don’t look so despondent, Surfie. Your time will come,’ said Sam, smirking.

  During their mid-class break, Liam and George spoke.

  ‘I totally forgot my skit and started with the dick jokes. I know they weren’t funny.’

  ‘Forget about it,’ said Liam. ‘First time nerves.’

  Minutes later, Sam wrote on the whiteboard, Ten Things I Hate. ‘Hop to it, guys. Be real, be authentic and be truthful. When you’re done, we’ll look at ten negative personality traits, ten worst holiday destinations and so on. You’ve got five minutes.’

  When their time was up, Sam called on Liam first. ‘Hit me!’

  Liam gulped. His stomach was heaving and he could feel a massive headache coming on. ‘It’s pretty rough,’ Liam started.

  ‘No kidding,’ said Sam. ‘You’ve had a couple of minutes to prepare. This is what’s called improv, folks. Enough stalling, Liam. Go for it.’

  Liam cleared his throat. ‘Ten things I hate… Loud chewing, fake laughing, smug happy people who always seem a bit too pleased with themselves.’ Liam glanced around the room. People were grinning.

  The firefighter was actually prompting him. ‘Keep going,’ he mouthed.

  Spurred on by the encouragement, Liam felt more confident. ‘People who are smarter than me, serial killers, dogs that urinate on me, people who preface what they’re saying with “hashtag”, the letter “P”, clowns, wet doorknobs, people who don’t respect Neil Diamond—’

  Gayle laughed loudly at that one.

  ‘—A zombie apocalypse happening while I’m sleeping, slow walkers, the colour beige, black olives, David Copperfield.’

  Liam paused. ‘I have more.’

  Sam nodded. Everyone clapped. George even patted him on the back.

  ‘Well done tonight, guys,’ said Sam at the end of the evening. ‘Keep it up. I’m looking forward to a further four exceptional weeks with everyone.’

  The next afternoon while surfing at Bondi, Liam’s adrenaline was still pumping. Last night, though terrifying, had been exhilarating. Finally, he was doing what scared him and he hadn’t fallen over dead. The earth hadn’t swallowed him whole. He had survived. And now for the first time since being back at Brad’s, Liam was out surfing at five pm. Boy did it feel good.

  Liam remembered the Bondi surfers as being competitive and hostile, but today the vibe was relaxed. Almost social. Everyone out on the break was chilled. Liam needed to force himself to do this every afternoon. Or at least every second afternoon. The fresh salt water got his heart pumping and catching the waves got the adrenaline racing, like it had last night.

  The setting sun on Liam’s wet face was energising. He liked pushing himself, the act of pressing his body down on the board, being carried by the wave until the exact moment when it was time to stand, steady himself and balance, then ride the swell as it coasted in to shore. Out in the ocean, Liam felt alive and free, released from all the day-to-day hassles of his work, his marriage, everything. He was alone with his thoughts. And out here, nothing else mattered except the surf and his peace of mind.

  12

  A week after I’d rendezvoused with Blake at Kiama, I was still feeling disorientated and confused. We’d had a great time together but now it seemed surreal. What had happened between us? Was this to be an ongoing thing? The start of a relationship? Of course it could only be that way if Blake separated from his wife. Was that going to happen? All these questions were running through my mind all the time and the truth is I was struggling. Struggling because I hadn’t asked him the questions. Struggling because I didn’t want to know the answers. My head was well and truly buried in the sand at Kiama.

  I’d put ham in Evie’s sandwiches when I knew she detested meat and had ruined my favourite white shirt by accidentally washing it with the girls’ blue sports uniforms. Last night, Evie asked me where the television remote was. I had no idea, and then when I was getting milk from the fridge, there it was, perched on the middle shelf. I definitely wasn’t myself. I was vague and quiet and sure that the kids were starting to notice.

  At the same time I was receiving romantic/sexy text messages from Blake, which made my heart flutter, even when he simply texted Thinking about you. Unfortunately, I almost replied to Liam instead of Blake during one of our text exchanges—that’s when I knew things were getting out of hand. Imagine if Liam had received a text about me wanting Blake’s lips caressing my breasts? His tongue probing my nipples?

  Yep, I was definitely on the edge. Giddy. In lust.

  Blake had called me his soulmate.

  Was I?

  What about Liam? Wasn’t he my soulmate?

  I really didn’t want to fall in love again.

  I thought about my words. Had I fallen in love? How was that even possible? Love at first sight? But t
hen I remembered how hard I’d fallen when I’d first met Liam.

  When Rosie picked me up for Zumba, she was still glowing from the success of Jo’s divorce party.

  ‘It’s a winner,’ she told me during our warm-up. ‘Stay with me kid and we’ll make squillions.’

  I raised my eyebrows and turned my attention to Tracee, Zumba instructor extraordinaire.

  Rosie went to speak again, but because the class was so high energy, she was forced to concentrate on Tracee’s moves and remained silent until the brief water break ten minutes later.

  ‘Look at that skinny blonde bitch,’ Rosie said, pointing her bottled water towards the tall, lean woman in front of us. ‘She thinks she’s so special.’

  ‘Have you seen the way she dances?’ I ventured. ‘She is rather special.’

  Rosie snapped her fingers. ‘Hey! Whose side are you on?’

  ‘What? It’s a dance class.’

  She waved me away with an, ‘Oh, shut up,’ and we resumed positions.

  Alas, due to my lack of focus, I’d lost my place and ended up in the front row alongside said skinny blonde bitch and felt self-conscious for the remainder of the lesson. That woman could move!

  It was only my imagination but I felt like she was staring at me… yes, I was uncoordinated, but I wasn’t the worst in the group. Or maybe I was. I had become deluded in recent weeks.

  Occasionally, I’d turn to see Rosie alternately snigger then pant. This class was supposed to be good for us, but most of the time it felt like torture. So much so, I almost wept when it was over and we were allowed to give ourselves a short clap before collapsing on the floor.

  ‘That was fun,’ said Rosie after we’d both guzzled the remaining water in our bottles.

  ‘And it’s exercise,’ I said as our skinny blonde friend walked up beside me.

  She hesitated before speaking. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help staring at you during the session.’

  I smiled, not quite knowing what my response should be. Did I have something green stuck in my teeth or was she trying to tell me she had a crush on me?

  Rosie stared at both of us, looking confused.

  ‘Are you in a relationship?’ she continued.

  Bloody hell. She was going to ask me out…

  ‘Sorry, I know that sounds weird. It’s just that I’m a psychic and I feel this amazing energy coming from you. That you’ve reconnected with someone from your past.’

  I remembered Blake’s words from when we first met. I feel like I’ve known you forever. Could it be possible? I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Okay, my mistake. You’re married?’

  ‘Separated.’ I gulped at hearing myself say the word.

  ‘And you’ve met someone else?’

  I was freaking out. Who was this woman and why was she asking me intimate questions? I nodded.

  ‘And now you’re confused about the mess you’ve found yourself in? Like you don’t know what’s going on?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, finding my voice. She was spot on. ‘Yes. You’re so right.’

  I allowed myself a brief smile when I saw Rosie staring, her mouth gaping. Imagine if Rosie knew the full story! She would absolutely LOVE it! She’d never believe I’d had sex on a beach in full view of the world, even if it was in the moonlight. But, then again, she’d never believe I’d have sex with someone other than my husband, either.

  ‘Right,’ said the blonde woman. ‘You may not want to hear this but I have a feeling you guys met in a past life. You both know there’s a connection, but he’s the one who recognises it. He’s jumping in front of you saying, “Thank God we’ve found each other again. Isn’t it fantastic?” But you’re not there with him… yet.’

  I grabbed her arm but was unable to speak.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘He’s jumping up and down, screaming—’

  ‘Not literally, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘No, not literally, but inside his head he’s shouting, “Why can’t you recognise me! It’s me. It’s meant to be… again, in this life.”’

  ‘Oh, wow. So I’m not mental?’

  ‘That’s debatable,’ Rosie chimed in.

  The blonde woman shook her head. ‘No, you’re very normal.’

  ‘So what happens next?’ I said after a long silence.

  ‘Don’t know. That’s all I could read. See you next week.’ She paused and touched my shoulder. ‘Just be careful what you wish for.’ Then she waltzed away.

  I wanted to stop her and make her tell me what that last bit meant, but she quickly disappeared into the night.

  ‘That was odd,’ I said to Rosie as we walked to her car.

  Rosie stopped and turned to me. ‘Odd? You’re not getting out of it that easily. We’re having a drink and you’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on. I want to know all about Mr Past Life and the spell he’s cast over you.’

  ‘There’s not a lot to tell,’ I started when we were seated at our usual table with two glasses of wine in front of us. ‘I met a guy at Utopia. We hit it off. He’s married and so am I.’

  Rosie sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Married! Is this why you…’

  ‘What? No, of course not. You know Liam instigated the separation.’

  ‘But the timing?’

  ‘Timing nothing. Liam moved out over three months ago. Besides, there’s nothing going on with spa guy. It was a little fling. Not even a fling.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  I waved her away, like I would an annoying fly.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘No way. If I tell you his name, it makes it real, and honestly, Rosie, it’s not. There’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘Of course there’s not. You two just happened to have met up in a past life.’ Rosie giggled before she finished her wine.

  ‘I’ll admit it does sound far-fetched.’

  ‘You know,’ suggested Rosie, ‘we could always drive to his house, stake out the property.’

  I glared at her. ‘Don’t know where he lives.’

  ‘Bullshit. Google Earth.’

  I bit down on my lip. ‘I don’t care. I’m not going to stalk him. He’s just a man. Stalking elevates him to hero status.’

  Rosie strummed her fingers on the table. ‘I’m so pissed you won’t tell me his name.’

  I silently breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God for that. Several times it had been on the tip of my tongue to tell her, and each time I’d held back. No one knew him. No one except for Maria and she was so into herself and her gold furnishings, she’d have no idea even if she’d found us naked in bed together.

  ‘Because,’ Rosie said, thinking out loud, ‘if I knew his name, not only could I google him and find out all about his family, business and what he ate this morning for breakfast, I could also find out what his wife looks like. And,’ she said beaming, ‘I’d know the type of car he drives.’

  I was so not giving any more oxygen to this story. ‘Can we please drop the chat about the farmer?’

  ‘Farmer?’

  ‘He has a goat farm.’

  ‘Country boy?’

  I ignored her.

  ‘Friday! If I had a name, I’d be able to find out about this elusive farm you speak of.’

  ‘Just drop it, would you?’

  Rosie pouted a little before speaking. ‘Can you at least tell me what annoys you about him?’

  I stared at her a moment before answering. ‘Nothing.’

  She grimaced. ‘Okay, so it really is just an infatuation?’

  I knew what she was getting at. ‘Yes. I don’t know him well enough for any of his habits, if he has any, to annoy me.’

  Rosie smiled. ‘He has them all right, but you’re blind to them so far. I make sure I dump mine as soon as the cracks start to appear. Leaving the toilet seat up, snoring, burping, farting… they’re all deal breakers. Every time. No exceptions.’

  ‘Deal breakers? You don’t spend more than five minutes with any
one guy—’

  ‘Ten, but let’s not quibble. And I’m just saying, had you got to know him better, you probably would’ve decided you didn’t like him anyway because of his foibles.’

  I snorted. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Hello!’ Rosie’s voice was getting louder. ‘He’s married. Huge foible.’

  Feigning indifference, I raised my shoulders slightly.

  Rosie glared at me, unexpectedly serious. ‘Friday, please don’t mess around with married men. I get that you’re feeling vulnerable and he makes you feel good about yourself, but it won’t last.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Come on! Past lives? Are you serious?’

  I sipped my wine. ‘It’s not impossible.’

  Rosie shook her head. ‘Wake up. Has he said he’s leaving his wife?’

  I hesitated. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘It’s none of my business, but you really shouldn’t be getting entangled with him. It’s a complete and utter recipe for disaster.’

  ‘Okay. I get the message.’

  An hour later, Rosie dropped me home. She let the subject go after I told her to back off. In the end, we decided our new Zumba friend was a nutter and resumed gossiping about the latest tabloid goings-on. But still, I knew she was right. Getting mixed up with Blake could end very badly for me.

  I checked on the girls. Both in bed, but both on Instagram, so I ordered lights out. ‘You’ve got half an hour.’ After a quick tidy-up, I went to my bedroom, too.

  What an odd night. I kept going over what the strange blonde woman had said—Be careful what you wish for—especially when I saw a Facebook message from Blake, asking me to call him.

  Soulmate or not, I was determined to do the right thing, and that meant not contacting him. Every time he sent me a text or called, I would delete his number. I needed to look after myself. More exercise would be a good start.

  I stared down at my phone and clicked on the Facebook app, scrolled down the menu, clicked on friends, then options. My thumb hovered over his name. Defriend… defriend. I closed my eyes and did it. I should never have friended him in the first place. The whole FB experience had been ruined for me ever since, because whenever I was on the site, he seemed to pop up in my timeline and if he didn’t, I couldn’t help checking out his homepage. What happened to FB just being for teenagers and mothers of said teens?