by Lisa Heidke
‘At the party?’
‘Yep. She wanted a tattoo artist in residence, but I said that wasn’t possible.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Don’t get any ideas. I guess she can always nip out for one on the night if the mood takes her.’
‘Kings Cross, alcohol, tattoos, dart boards—’
‘I left out the best part. Wait until you see the cake you’re picking up from Cake Place Friday afternoon.’
I shook my head. ‘Leave it as a surprise. You know how much I love those.’
Over the next hour, Rosie filled me in about Natalie McNally, her marital breakdown and the requirements for the party. It didn’t seem overly arduous. The function room at Sami’s Bar had their in-house DJ; Natalie had invited thirty of her nearest and dearest (no ex-in-laws!) and she’d chosen canapés and drinks from the menu—apparently with a Gothic edge—whatever that meant. Rosie had copious black streamers and black balloons for decoration and one of Natalie’s friends had made several black-clothed voodoo dolls. What could possibly go wrong?
24
She was seeing someone. Someone had sent Friday flowers. He’d known she was looking good for a reason. The flowers confirmed it. Friday had a boyfriend and Liam wasn’t happy about it. He wouldn’t have thought it possible. In fact, a week ago, Liam would have laughed at the suggestion. He didn’t want another guy sending Friday flowers. That was his job. It was wrong. But right now he felt helpless. How could he stop the spiralling situation? He missed her. Friday had been his best friend, his rock. Sometimes it felt like his right arm was missing.
Alone in the apartment, he wandered into the kitchen and stared into the fridge, contemplating last night’s Chinese leftovers. There was little else to eat, despite the fact he’d gone shopping on Saturday before the girls had arrived. Barely enough milk for a cup of tea. And the place was a mess. Again.
Brad, the untidy bastard, was out with workmates. Liam had been invited, too, but Brad’s friends were all so macho and competitive. If they weren’t talking about the weights they pumped or the laps they swam, they were talking about the women they shagged and the fast cars they drove. It got boring after a while.
Besides, Liam was sick of going out mid-week and heading into work the next day hung-over and tired. Or worse. He still couldn’t shake the night he’d spent with Anna, especially after she’d turned up at that cafe in front of Evie and Olivia. It may have been a coincidence but Liam didn’t need the reminder.
Tonight he needed to work on the sketch he’d been assigned to write. Except that the call from Evie had broken his concentration and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get back into it again. But he was enjoying his classes. The workshop was definitely the highlight of his week.
‘As a comedian,’ Sam had said at their most recent class, ‘you can’t be a private person.’
‘At least in front of the five people watching us perform,’ Liam had chuckled.
‘I’m serious,’ Sam said. ‘You have to make the most of your experiences in life and mine them for all they’re worth. Make fun of yourself, your family and friends.’
And that’s what Liam was trying to tap into now. The topic was ‘free choice’ and Liam was keen to write about Fear Of Missing Out (FOMO).
… I’m a victim of FOMO syndrome. I swear everyone, yep, everyone in the world apart from me, is doing something way cooler. They’re making more money, getting laid more and are much happier than me… even when I’m making money, and having drunken sex, the people at the party next door are having a more exciting time…
It needed work, but that’s what he’d focus on, how everyone in the twenty-first century was suffering a massive dose of FOMO.
Even tonight with Brad and his mates, Liam was thinking that maybe he should have gone out with them. Were they doing something amazing that Liam was missing out on? Most likely they were drinking beer, playing pool and chatting up women, but still Liam had a niggling feeling that they were having more fun than he was. Or maybe not. There was a huge possibility that the single life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Despite wanting to hate her, Friday remained in Liam’s thoughts as he microwaved his day-old Chinese takeaway and drank a Heineken. She was there when he watched MasterChef, and again when he brushed his teeth and went to bed. Singing ‘Sweet Caroline’, watching Seinfeld together, his dreams of being a stand-up comic, Friday’s encouragement until he’d tanked at the pub. He’d been distraught. She’d cried.
Then Liam’s career at Beat FM took off and he’d focused on that. A proper grown-up career. And now, professionally, Liam was exactly where he’d hoped he’d be.
Despite spending weekends with the girls, he seemed to have too much time on his hands. Take the Comedy Channel for instance. Now that it wasn’t forbidden viewing, now that nobody cared whether or not he watched it, he could take it or leave Tosh.0, South Park and most of the talk shows, bar The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. He wondered what Friday and the girls were doing. As usual, his wife was the last person he thought about as he fell asleep.
Liam was at the station the next day, going through the motions, present but not in the moment. Not paying attention the way he normally did, which was a danger because today he was in the studio, keeping it real and pushing buttons, putting listener calls through, and generally keeping tabs on what was going down.
But he was tired. Last night he’d been kept awake, firstly by thinking about Friday and her new flower-sending paramour and then by Brad’s nocturnal antics. Although he hadn’t heard them come home, Liam had certainly heard Brad and his friend in the next room. He’d wrapped a pillow around his head, but still, the noise seemed to go on for hours.
He was daydreaming when all hell broke loose. He was supposed to flip to a stream of morning advertisements, but instead of playing the 8.26-am ads, he played the 8.26-pm ones. One button, big difference. Huge. And he knew what was first up: the Tinkerbell Condom ad. He pulled it as soon as he realised his mistake, but it was too late. Listeners had heard the beginning of the ad and that was the worst part. ‘Fellas? Want to last longer than thirty seconds…’
Chuck would haul him over the coals for the mishap, no doubt about it. Liam had no excuse. It was his fault.
Sure enough, as soon as the program finished, Chuck was in Liam’s office, the door clicking shut behind him.
‘What the hell happened?’
‘Simple mistake.’ That was pretty close to the truth. ‘I flipped the wrong switch. Anyone could have done it.’
‘That’s the point, Liam. You’re not anyone. You know this studio backwards, so what the fuck? We’re in enough shit over that ad as it is.’
Liam’s eyes widened. ‘Yeah, I fucked up. Sorry. It won’t happen again.’
‘It’s all over Twitter. Let’s see,’ Chuck said, scrolling through his iPhone for comments. ‘Disappointed… You’re out of chances Beat FM… reporting you now, lame grab at ratings… and on it goes.’ Chuck shook his head, still staring at his phone. ‘You’ll need to write a bloody report.’ He looked up. ‘Well?’
‘I’ll get on to it straightaway.’
‘Everything okay? You look like shit.’
Liam smiled. ‘Yeah. Bit flat. Tired. It’s all good.’
Liam wasn’t sure Chuck was convinced, but he left it at that. There’d be repercussions for sure. Tweeting listeners were the worst, ferocious, and they generally only commented when they had something to complain about. So be it. Hopefully, one of the other stations would manage a more catastrophic stuff-up this afternoon and Liam’s would be quickly forgotten.
Given that he couldn’t feel any worse, Liam opened the second drawer of his desk and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He was lighting up outside when Jimmy walked over to him.
‘Mate, could’ve happened to anyone.’
Liam grinned. ‘That’s what I told Chuck. He called bullshit on that explanation.’
Jimmy shrugged. ‘Beat FM—focuse
d, relevant and controversial. Listeners turn off if there’s no drama. Who watches The Real Housewives for when they sit around, drinking tea and agreeing with each other? Nobody. People watch in anticipation of Brandi swearing and Kim falling off the wagon and getting drunk. Conflict drives the show.’
Liam took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘Sorry, Jimmy, not following.’
‘Live radio is like reality television. You never know what’s going to happen next.’
‘Except that radio is live. We’re honest.’
Jimmy shrugged. ‘Just trying to illustrate a point. Beat is compulsive listening the way The Real Housewives is compulsive viewing. Same with The Bachelor. Viewers hate missing a show.’
‘The Bachelor? Really?’
‘Yeah. My new girlfriend’s a reality TV junkie. Anyway, the point is, what fun would it be if our station was boring and predictable? This morning there was a fuck-up. We’ll apologise and move on. It’ll be all over the news tonight and the tabloids tomorrow. At least Beat will be the water-cooler conversation for a day.’
Liam stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I guess.’
Jimmy whacked him on the back. ‘It’s the truth.’
Liam watched as Jimmy walked back inside, knowing he was right. As bad as he felt for making a genuine mistake, it would probably result in even higher ratings.
Feeling marginally better, Liam called Friday. He needed to hear her voice.
‘You got flowers.’
‘Yeah. I thought they were from you.’
‘So did Evie.’
Silence.
‘So who are they from?’
‘No idea. Maybe an appreciative client?’
‘Sent anonymously?’
‘That’s how it appears!’
‘Boyfriend?’
He heard Friday sigh. ‘No, Liam.’
‘Okay. I’m sorry about the other day. It’s…’ He trailed off.
‘Liam, speak to me? What is it?’
‘It’s been a difficult few months.’
‘Understatement.’
‘I miss you.’ And he did.
‘I miss you, too.’
More silence.
‘Liam?’
‘I heard you. Do you want to have dinner sometime?’
‘Dinner?’ She sounded surprised.
Liam coughed. ‘It’d be nice to see you without the girls listening in to our every word.’
‘Okay. Why not? That would be nice. Yes.’
‘Great.’
Several hours later, Liam was standing in front of the bathroom mirror practising his lines.
‘You all right in there?’ called Brad from the other side of the closed door.
Liam fumbled. ‘Yeah, all good.’
A short time later, he walked into the kitchen to see Brad cooking spaghetti. ‘Home early?’
‘After last night, bro, I barely made it through the day.’ He opened the fridge and retrieved two beers.
Liam took the offering. ‘Who was the girl?’
‘You saw?’
‘Heard, more like it.’
Brad winked and clinked bottles with him.
Liam chugged back a mouthful of beer. Was this the life he wanted? Brad made it look so much fun, but then Brad wasn’t living the life either. Takeaways most nights and watching television alone or hooking up with random women.
‘How do you keep it up?’ Liam asked.
‘Huh?’ said Brad, looking confused. ‘That question could be taken several ways.’
‘Keep up the enthusiasm for meeting new women all the time. Don’t you ever wonder what the point is?’
‘You know me, I like it simple. I don’t want complications. I can’t see myself settling down, marrying.’
‘You’ve always said that, but I thought once you found the right woman—’
‘Yeah, come midnight, they’re pretty much all the right woman.’
Liam was lost in thought. ‘I’m not convinced.’
Brad grinned. ‘Yet. That’s not to say I don’t envy your stability. Or at least I did.’
‘How so?’
‘You had Friday and two kids. A sweet home life.’
‘But no oomph. Where’s the excitement?’
Brad shrugged. ‘It’s a trade-off, I guess.’
One and a half hours later, dinner eaten and drinking Scotch, they were discussing kids. The younger women Brad met wanted children, which Brad wasn’t keen on, and the chicks Brad met who were his age already had kids and he definitely wasn’t in the market to become a step-father.
‘It’s manic sometimes,’ he confided to Liam. ‘But I don’t want children. I’m happy being an uncle to Evie and Olivia. What about you?’
Liam stared at him. ‘What about me?’
‘Do you want more kids?’
Liam almost laughed. Almost. ‘Are you joking? I have my girls. I don’t want more!’ Liam’s thoughts turned to the son Friday had miscarried. He’d probably never get over the shock and disappointment. Everything had been going along perfectly, just like her other two pregnancies, and wham! Out of the blue, Friday rang him in agony. At the hospital two hours later, it was all over.
‘And if the woman you meet already has a few?’ said Brad, pulling him back into the conversation.
Liam was taken aback.
‘I see. So if a young chick wants to have kids with you?’
‘Brad,’ said Liam, staring at the bottom of his Scotch glass. ‘Don’t care who the woman is. I don’t want more kids. Period.’
‘That’s a deal breaker then,’ said Brad, pouring them both another slug. ‘After this, do you fancy hitting the pub for a night cap?’
Two beers, two Scotches and Brad was ready to party again.
Liam shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘Come on, bro,’ said Brad. ‘You gotta live while you can.’
Brad’s larger-than-life personality was getting on Liam’s nerves. He needed to be alone. Rather than listen to Brad try to convince him to ‘nip down to the pub for a quick one’, Liam escaped to the bathroom and then, afterwards, instead of walking back into the living area, retired to his bedroom, closed the door and fell onto his bed. Their conversation had become way too heavy for a weeknight. Why were they talking kids? Where had that sprung from?
The next morning as Liam drove to work he was still thinking about yesterday’s monumental stuff-up. If only he could rewind the clock. Then he got to thinking about Friday and her morning routine. The girls catching the school bus, Friday drinking tea as she rushed from room to room, tidying, picking up wet towels, clearing empty glasses and closing cupboard doors. Then she’d stack and turn on the dishwasher, maybe put on a load of washing, always separating the clothes into three piles: whites, lights and darks. Friday had a set morning routine. It sounded boring, but it was also strangely comforting knowing that’s what she did every morning.
Liam was starting to feel despondent, overwhelmed. What was he worried about? He was sharing Brad’s great apartment and had more freedom than he’d had in a very long time. He loved it. Really, he did. The surfing, the comedy classes, spending quality time with the girls. So he was missing out on the minutiae of their daily lives—homework, signing permission forms and catching up on the latest round of chatter about school friends, who was fighting, who’d made up, who was dating whom. Evie filled him in when they spoke. As for Olivia, she didn’t often share, even when he was living at Newport. And he had to admit to feeling strong pangs of jealousy and anger that Friday could be moving on with a new man.
No, he couldn’t get maudlin. Life was great. He was his own man. He could even head overseas if he wanted to and travel freely with no forward plans, no destination… just take off and fly away.
25
On Wednesday I arranged for Tommy to come over during the day, which was both exhilarating and terrifying. But at least I was prepared, unlike when Blake had barged in last week like he owned the place.
Still, it took a little b
it of work to get him over. He was annoyed about the roses.
‘Just tell me who sent them,’ he’d said the night before during a late-night phone conversation.
‘I really don’t know,’ I’d replied. ‘I think they were delivered here by mistake. So you’ll swing by at eleven?’
Happily, it was almost that time. I had wine in the fridge, an assortment of antipasto delicacies on a platter (though he was probably a bacon-and-egg burger kind of guy) and was wearing some rather fetching lingerie under my sheer black robe.
I felt giddy when the doorbell rang minutes later and I opened it to find him standing outside looking buff and tanned in boardies and a white singlet.
‘Hey,’ was all I could manage.
I was just about to pull him inside when Stephanie appeared.
Please, no.
Time came to a screeching halt as hundreds of thoughts raced through my mind. I couldn’t let them meet. Why was Stephanie here? Please, could she get struck down by lightning? Now? She had kids. That was plain mean-hearted. Could Tommy please drop dead?
What was wrong with me? I wasn’t a bad person, so why were my worlds colliding like this? It wasn’t on. A death was the only diversion big enough to avoid a complete catastrophe. Really, it was me. I wanted to get hit by lightning and die. At least be severely maimed. Okay, I didn’t want to end up a burden to Liam or the girls, but seriously…
I took a deep breath. Dealing with reality was not pleasant.
‘Stephanie,’ I said, smiling tightly. ‘This is my friend, Tommy.’ I forced out the words.
Tommy, already paranoid that I was embarrassed by him, was indignant. ‘Friend?’
I’d deal with his feelings later.
Stephanie looked him up and down, then down and up, before she stuck out her hand and spoke. ‘Nice to meet you, Friday’s friend, Tommy.’
Friend. The word, only six letters long, was laden with meaning. Then there was Tommy’s wounded expression. Meanwhile, Stephanie was still gawping at his physique.
I was all for gun control, but right now, if I’d had a pistol I wasn’t sure how I’d use it. But I was pretty sure I would.
