The Making of Christina

by Meredith Jaffe

  ‘Mummy, I’m thirs-ty.’ Bianca tugged at Christina’s shirt.

  Jackson and the builder stopped talking.

  Christina crouched down, shielding her little girl. ‘You had an apple juice before we left home, sweetheart,’ she whispered, tucking an errant curl behind Bianca’s ear.

  ‘But I’m thirs-ty.’ Bianca pulled away.

  Christina took her hand, drew her closer. ‘Well, we packed your water bottle and a snack in your bag. Shall we get that?’

  Bianca’s eyes welled with tears. ‘I lefted it in the car.’ Such was her nature that even the smallest incident assumed disastrous proportions. ‘I’m sorry, Mummy,’ she whispered, heartbreak written across her little face.

  Christina enveloped Bianca in a hug. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. Mummy will pop up and get it in a sec.’

  ‘Mummy!’ Bianca’s voice rose another octave.

  Christina contemplated the uphill trek to the car with a reluctant toddler in tow. If she didn’t act quickly, Bianca might have a meltdown. More fool her for bringing a two year old to a client meeting. She could make excuses. Bianca had had a late night. It was hot. And then she felt bad for making Bianca the centre of her poor decisions.

  Out of nowhere, Jackson swooped down and swung Bianca up onto his shoulders. ‘Why don’t you come with me, Missy Moo, and we will find you a nice cold drink of water in the house, hey? If you’re lucky, there might even be ice blocks.’

  Surprised and charmed, Bianca squealed, ‘I’m Busy Bee not Missy Moo, silly!’ Christina watched her swaying on Jackson’s shoulders, clutching fistfuls of hair as they lurched towards the house. She trailed behind, listening to the delighted shrieks and giggles as Jackson pretended to lose his balance and staggered up the hill. But Christina could see he kept a firm grip on those little thighs wrapped around his neck and she couldn’t help but smile.

  Some men just have a way with children, Christina reflected on the drive home. She suspected it had something to do with their ability to tap into their inner child. Her father always loved clowning around, often to Rosa’s annoyance. Then again, with three children of his own, Jackson must have had heaps of experience wrangling mercurial toddlers. Whatever it was, he had secured Bianca’s wide-eyed adoration. Christina could hear her babbling away in the back seat, ‘It was the best play date ever, Mummy. And he says I can visit again, Mummy. Mummy? Please?’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Christina smiled into the rear-vision mirror. There was no point explaining to a two year old that Jackson was just being nice, but it did have one advantage. Bianca seemed to have forgotten all about Jamie’s no-show.

  As it turned out, neither of them saw Jackson again for a while. He disappeared to Vietnam for the new season’s production meetings, leaving written instructions for Christina and the builder. At first, Christina was indignant at the lack of notice, before remembering he paid Peterson Partners for her services; he wasn’t answerable to her. It was a firm reminder that at the end of the day she was just another employee. But the house, though loud with demolishing and rebuilding, seemed hollow in his absence.

  It did offer one opportunity though. Motivated by an imagined Jackson, Christina was determined that on his return he would be amazed at how the project had progressed without his steadying presence. That he would see her as a safe pair of hands he could rely upon. She’d learned a lot about managing people observing Jackson, and Christina put it to good use, in turn arguing, cajoling and praising the team to keep them on time and on budget.

  Della told her she was obsessing. ‘Petersons do not pay you enough to work seven days a week, CC,’ she said as she rolled out homemade pizza dough on the marble slab. Friday night was pizza night in the MacAllister household and Christina and Bianca had a standing invitation. Often Mary-Lou and her tribe turned up too, which made for an instant party.

  Christina pureed the roasted tomatoes for the sauce in the Moulinex. ‘That’s not strictly true, Della. I get paid to deliver a project. If I have to work seven days a week to do that, that’s my problem.’ Like her mother always said, you do what it takes to get the job done.

  Della paused in her rolling. She opened her mouth to say more but, for whatever reason, changed her mind. Christina wasn’t fooled though. She knew Della sensed there was more going on here than professional dedication. But what Della always forgot was that she no longer worked. Each night she welcomed home an adoring husband and every day she relished the demands of two young children. Her sister regularly turned up with her three in tow and often with their mother and a little something for morning tea as well. Rosa and Massimo may have been only be a phone call away but as to popping in for a coffee? Tasmania may as well be on the moon. Once she’d tucked Bianca into bed at seven o’clock, Christina was on her own and what else did she have to do but work on the Plummer project? She knew she sounded a bit pathetic, but imagining Jackson’s delight when he saw what she had achieved in his absence went some way to driving out the prickling loneliness.

  And as unexpectedly as he had disappeared, Jackson reappeared. Christina arrived at the house one day to hear his voice echoing around the empty rooms. She rushed to greet him, pleased to be able to share with him the work that had been done whilst he was away. They toured the house, Christina updating him as they went, jotting down his comments in her notepad, her pleasure bubbling beneath the surface. She lifted the painter’s plastic sheeting taped to a doorway and Jackson brushed against her as he passed. But this time there was no apology. Time slowed. They went from room to room, spending too much time in empty spaces, barely pausing in those where the tradesmen worked. It was not a hot day but sweat trickled between her breasts and warmed her thighs. She concentrated on her notes until there was nothing more to add.

  ‘Have lunch with me,’ he said.

  chapter three

  Passers-by turned to stare at the Mercedes convertible gliding through the traffic. Christina felt self-conscious. No one ever stopped to stare at her in her ten-year-old hatchback. At the traffic lights, Jackson turned up the volume on The Rolling Stones and all anyone who cared to look could see was a crazy blond guy hooting along in his sympathies for the devil as he played the drum track on the steering wheel. Jackson seemed immune to the attention.

  She closed her eyes and felt the sun warm her cheeks. Imagine what it would be like living this life? To be so wealthy that she’d never again have to stress about childcare fees or the mortgage repayments. To be one of those people she read about in magazines who rented a villa in Tuscany for the summer or went skiing in Japan each January. Today’s destination was lovely but not quite so exotic. Not that she had any complaints about Freshwater Beach.

  The sign on the front gate said the graceful timber building had started life as tearooms in the 1880s. The work of local artists hung on every available wall and through the open windows an aqua sea broke in arched waves along the shore.

  ‘Mr Plummer, how lovely to see you again!’ The maître d’ fussed around Jackson, snapping his fingers at a scurrying waiter. ‘Show Mr Plummer and his guest to his usual table.’

  They had barely been seated when a platter of bread, olives and a chunk of parmesan arrived at their table. The waiter presented an ice bucket with a bottle of sparkling water to Jackson.

  ‘Would you prefer vino?’ Jackson asked, although the waiter had already begun clearing the excess glasses.

  ‘No, no, that’s fine.’ Christina assumed he was being sensible because he was driving. He was probably right, best to keep a clear head.

  She ate whilst Jackson shared stories from his recent trip to Vietnam. It turned out he owned a large apartment in a converted colonial building right in the centre of Hanoi. ‘You and Bianca should go and stay there sometime,’ he offered, sliding through the photos on his phone. ‘No one uses it when I’m not there. Sarah hates the humidity.’

  By the main course, he was sharing his vis
ion for the future of TBK. The truth was, most of it went over her head. The numbers were so large it sounded like Monopoly money. But it was a significant shift from the scattered conversations she had with Della and Mary-Lou on Friday nights between the constant interruptions of six kids, and light years from Jamie’s obsessive talk about the state of the Australian music industry.

  By the time the coffees were ordered, Jackson appeared to have exhausted his topic. Christina prepared herself to discuss the comparative merits of various whitegoods or find out if he’d finally decided on a colour for the feature wall in the lounge. What she wasn’t expecting was, ‘Are you married?’

  She’d known Jackson for over four months. It seemed odd to be asking this now. ‘Not any more,’ she answered. The thing was, Jackson and Christina moved in completely different circles. Chances were, the moment this project was finished they’d never see each other again. What difference did her marital status make?

  ‘So you’ve just got Bianca?’ Jackson selected a petit four, sniffed it and returned it to the plate.

  Christina nodded, chose a small chocolate and popped it in her mouth.

  Jackson pointed at the plate, indicating Christina could have the second chocolate if she liked. He didn’t need to offer twice. ‘She’s the spitting image of you, isn’t she?’

  If Christina had a dollar for every time someone had said this. She couldn’t see it herself. When she looked at Bianca she saw Rosa. ‘Bee’s actually a lot more like her grandmother. We just have the same hair.’

  ‘And you’d be hard-pressed to create perfection twice,’ he winked.

  His flirtation rippled over her.

  Jackson drained the dregs of his coffee, signalled for two more. ‘It must be hard being a single mum. Do you get much downtime?’

  Christina laughed. ‘Socialising isn’t exactly high on my agenda.’ Although Della was always offering to babysit. Nagging her to take some ‘me time’. ‘Book a facial, go to a movie,’ she’d say. But the thing was, visits to the beautician or a trip to the movies cost money.

  ‘Doesn’t your ex have her on weekends?’

  Christina shifted under Jackson’s scrutiny. She made it a policy not to badmouth Jamie and never in front of Bianca. The last thing she wanted to be was one of those bitter and twisted women who constantly bitched about their ex. However, there was a big difference between badmouthing and glossing over the truth. How could she admit to a man like Jackson that she’d married an aspiring rock star? So she kept it simple, saying, ‘He works shifts so he sees her when he can.’

  ‘More fool him. He’ll live to regret that decision.’

  Christina wasn’t sure about that. It did, however, narrow the opportunities for Jamie to be a bad influence.

  ‘Maybe one day you’ll meet Mr Right and you can have more little carbon copy CCs,’ Jackson laughed, signalling for the bill.

  Christina blushed. If she had the emotional and economic security a man like Jackson offered, she might very well be the mother of a tribe of children. But she kept her response neutral. ‘It’s hard being an only child when you’re growing up. I used to beg my parents for a baby sister. People think you’re spoilt but I’m not sure that’s true. For Bianca’s sake I wish she had a sibling.’

  Jackson leaned forward and laid his hand alongside hers, whispering, ‘Your ex is an idiot.’

  Christina crossed her legs, fiddled with her coffee cup, vain attempts to squash her feelings. Please God he hadn’t noticed. It had been that long since she’d had sex, it was clouding her judgement. The last time was with a blind date Della had set up. From the moment Christina had split up with Jamie, Della had smothered her with dinner invitations and play dates for Bianca with her daughter Izzy. Della found Christina’s loneliness unbearable. Anyway, the date was a failure. Maybe it was because she and Jamie had only been separated for six months and it was too soon. She only slept with the guy out of pity, for him or for her she wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t a huge success. He was cute and far from incompetent, so it must have been her fault. Or maybe it was because the last time she had had sex with Jamie, ever, was before Bianca was born. Their marriage was already dead by then. Twenty-eight years old and she’d been laid twice in three years. Pathetic by anyone’s standards.

  ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’ she blurted out, crossing her legs against desire.

  Jackson leaned back in his chair. ‘An older brother, Teddy.’

  ‘Are you close?’

  ‘When we were kids we were. We surfed together most days. It was actually Teddy who started the business. Back then, he was a screen printer and he used to make these pretty cool T-shirts he’d flog at the markets.’

  Christina nodded and waited.

  ‘Sarah was pregnant with Simon and I was holding down three jobs trying to keep body and soul together. I needed to make some serious moolah. Anyway, a couple of the local surf shops wanted to stock his shirts and Teddy was like, “Yeah, whatever, mate.” Here he was sitting on a potential goldmine and he was blowing it up in smoke, literally. Drove me nuts.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘You can’t work with someone who’s half cut all the time. There was this huge gap in the market, ours for the taking, but to Teddy it was just dope money. So in the end I bought him out, replaced him with some kids straight out of college. Our boys had started school by then so Sarah came on board and together we took TBK from the garage to the world.’

  Jackson’s story had the smooth delivery of being often told. Christina wondered what else was going on. ‘What happened to Teddy?’

  Jackson waved away her question. ‘When he’s not surfing, he’s sitting on the front porch smoking dope and solving the problems of the world with the old man. They’re both pissheads, they deserve each other.’

  It sounds like harsh judgement to Christina’s ears. ‘And your mum?’

  Jackson stared out over the ocean. ‘Shirley racked off years ago. Couldn’t stand the mean old bastard for another second so she packed up and left us to it.’

  Christina followed the line of his gaze to where surfers bobbed on the swell, thick as summer flies. It was the first time she’d seen Jackson be less than charming. There was a whole other story here, one where Jackson had been hurt.

  The faraway look in Jackson’s eyes disappeared. ‘Yeah well, I see Teddy does all right. He’s got nothing to complain about.’ He snapped open the bill and signed the chit.

  Christina regretted the awkward end to the conversation. She’d read somewhere that successful people often came from unhappy backgrounds, that this was what drove them. It was clear that Jackson’s childhood had been far from perfect, but then without it, would he be the man he was today?

  She excused herself and went to the bathroom. ‘He just wanted someone to have lunch with,’ she pouted, applying her lipstick. She spritzed perfume and smoothed her skirt, unable to contain the deep sigh of frustration. ‘You’re such an idiot, Clemente,’ she told her reflection, ‘he’s a client.’ She walked out of the restaurant feeling that she had regained her composure, but as she fastened her seatbelt Jackson placed his hand over hers and whispered, ‘Can we go somewhere private?’

  Fumbling for her keys, Christina worried how tidy her flat was and when she’d last changed the sheets. As the key turned in the lock, Jackson reached around her and pushed open the door, kicking it shut behind them with his heel. Before Christina knew what was happening, he had wrapped his arms around her and his mouth melted into hers as he kissed her again and again.

  Her reaction shocked her. She had expected an urgent, rough coupling that rubbed hard at the nub of desire. Not this. Not slow kisses that squeezed her throat shut and forced her breath out in shudders. Her eyelids fluttered open and she saw he was staring at her, the blue of his irises eclipsed by the pupils. She let the curve of his body anchor her to the cool wall, inhali
ng the intoxicating scent rising off his skin.

  She was so aroused that tension screamed inside her. The loneliness and longing swirling between them felt so real she could reach out and touch it. Jackson’s mouth against hers filled her body with waves of sticky heat. Her legs trembled, anticipating his bare skin pressed against her, the contour of his muscles, the moment when he would be inside her. She struggled against the urge to rip off her clothes and absorb him into her like rain on a parched earth.

  He pressed his elbows beside her head, his expression agonised, his breath coming in short rasps. Christina waited for him to kiss her again and, as she waited, the air cooled.

  ‘I have to go.’ Jackson pushed off the wall and raked his fingers through his hair.

  ‘What? Why?’ Christina clutched her blouse together at her breast, aware now of how her skirt skewed around her waist, that her thighs were slick from where his fingers had been.

  ‘I can’t stay,’ Jackson said as he tucked his shirt back into his jeans.

  ‘But you can’t go now!’

  Jackson groaned. ‘Oh God, don’t do this to me, CC. I want nothing more than to fuck you inside out but we can’t.’

  ‘What do you mean we can’t?’

  ‘This will never work.’ He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘Don’t you understand? This is so wrong. People who don’t deserve it will be hurt, you included.’ He touched her face, his eyes shiny with tears. ‘I’m an all or nothing kind of guy, CC. If we sleep together, it means I’m putting my whole life on the line for you.’

  Christina had thought no further than hot sweaty sex with this man and now he was standing there, his cheeks wet with tears, talking of something much bigger. She went to touch him but Jackson recoiled. ‘Don’t, CC, please. This is hard enough.’