Those Pleasant Girls

by Lia Weston

  Evie stared straight ahead. The black dog retrieved the ball, then waited like a sprinter on the blocks for it to be thrown again.

  ‘May I speak frankly?’ Amy crossed her legs.

  ‘I thought you already were.’

  ‘I know a psychiatrist who’s very good.’ She blew another ribbon of smoke out of the corner of her mouth. ‘I’d be happy to do a referral.’

  ‘What? I don’t need a psychiatrist. I’m fine.’

  ‘Evie, I’m telling you this as a friend, and as a doctor.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Evie, tucking her hand under her arm, ‘you’re a doctor. I didn’t think doctors smoked. And, if I may speak frankly, you don’t ever seem to go to work.’

  ‘I only work a few shifts a week,’ said Amy. ‘Frank prefers that I’m home for the kids. I’m sure you understand how important that is. The smoking is my Achilles heel. I’m sure you also understand that.’ Amy stubbed her cigarette out in the box and closed it with a snap. ‘Phil said you’d hurt your hand. May I take a look?’

  ‘You know,’ said Evie, getting out her car keys, ‘it’s sweet that everyone’s so concerned, but I’m absolutely fine. Seeing you and Phil are so close, you can let him know that.’

  Amy’s expression did not shift. ‘Think about what I’ve said.’

  Evie was so cross that she almost ran over an octogenarian while pulling out of the car park.

  She was even crosser when she realised that she still didn’t have a present for Mary.

  Bloody Amy. Bloody Phil. Bloody effing Cameron.

  Evie drove through the backstreets of Fallow Halls, clenching the steering wheel as hard as her hand would allow. Everyone was so nosey. It was fine in theory, when communities banded together and neighbours brought the bins in if you were away, but the reality was far less convenient.

  She tried to look on the bright side. Her pet project had raised a solid chunk of cash. Saint Sebastian’s was all right for the moment, so Nathan wasn’t going anywhere. But it was hard to be happy about earning a building fifteen grand when your own finances were in jeopardy due to your bastard ex-husband. In desperation, Evie had started applying for positions for which she had no qualifications at all besides being both alive and upright, and if by miracle she got one, she’d be facing a two-hour commute each way. She just needed something until the settlement went through. Anything.

  The Mini rolled to a stop next to an overgrown hedge. Evie wound down the window, rested her forehead on her crossed wrists. Tackle the problems one by one. Get a gift for Mary. Ditch the passionfruit flowers from the cake design – no one would know. Pray that Nathan came to his senses about Cameron. Impress entire town with awe-inspiring edible brilliance. Rebuild shattered life. Then, if time, find job, sort out hand. Perfect.

  Red and gold clouds lay in layers above the fields. The sun had left a trail behind, a flaming fingernail scratch down a silken sheet. Evie watched a mess of birds swoop and soar, heading home for the evening, wheeling across the road to disappear into the trees.

  The nausea came out of nowhere – a sinking feeling, a hot prickling sweat. Banana bread. Someone nearby was baking. A wave of panic surged through Evie’s body before she could stop it. She yanked on the door handle and stumbled out of the car, leaning against the metal, trying not to hyperventilate.

  Opposite the overgrown hedge was a cottage with a lean-to collapsing under the creeper’s stranglehold. Statues roamed the garden, rearing up through the greenery. The sunset lit their faces – Grecian goddesses in dampened white, dryads in the undergrowth, and a girl holding a book to her chest. Evie put her hands on her sternum, pressing down, pushing her shoulderblades painfully into the edge of the car roof, fighting the instinct that was tapping at the back of her head. She stared at the girl.

  Up and down the road, windows glowed. Not at this cottage, though. There were no movements within or without. She waited until she was sure.

  The road stayed dark, the streetlight far enough away to be safe.

  Evie slipped across the road.

  The creeper was quickly stripped from the statue’s clothes. The struggle was over in less than two minutes. Evie leapt into the driver’s seat, her palm throbbing as she twisted the key in the ignition.

  All the way back to Sweet Meadow, the girl’s lifeless eyes watched Evie in the rear-view mirror.

  Travis spent so long staring at one of the pages in his physics textbook, it felt tattooed on his eyeballs. Hunger drove him out of the library to Main Street. He riffled through the envelope of money, painstakingly earned through tutoring his stupider peers. He knew his efforts were mostly futile; the Ritter twins wouldn’t be able to conjugate a verb if they had a map and an instructional video.

  The man who ran the chicken shop graciously finished his cigarette before making Travis’s burger. Travis ate chips out of the bag as he walked outside, breathing wisps of hot oil into the air.

  Phil was out the front of the bakery. ‘Got a sec?’

  They sat on the edge of one of the terracotta planter boxes that dotted the footpath but never held plants. Phil took a chip from the proffered bag.

  ‘Had a call from Felix,’ he said as Travis unwrapped the burger. ‘Someone’s been hanging out at night on the playground.’

  ‘Very odd.’ Travis peeled off the paper that had already managed to become sodden with tomato and beetroot juice.

  ‘Description matches you pretty well,’ said Phil.

  Travis concentrated on picking out the onion. ‘I’m sure there’s more than one person in Sweet Meadow with a hoodie.’

  Phil ate his chip. ‘Didn’t mention a hoodie.’

  His mouth full of burger, Travis realised even the Ritters wouldn’t have fallen into that one.

  A ute rolled past, a kelpie in the tray running from side to side. Phil waved to the driver. Across the road the Rose Apothecary door was closed, with a Back In 5 Mins sign in the window.

  ‘It’s not Mary, is it?’ said Phil.

  Travis shuffled the bag of chips, keeping his looming fear at bay. Phil knew.

  A large hand briefly on his shoulder.

  ‘I get it. But you gotta stop.’

  The burger lay in a soaked mess of paper and bun. Travis tried to speak, but couldn’t. Phil took another chip, as if this was a perfectly normal afternoon. He had arms thicker than Travis’s legs and a voice deeper than a mine shaft. Travis had never felt less manly in his life.

  ‘She says there’s someone else,’ said Travis at last.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is it you?’

  Phil sighed. ‘Unfortunately, mate,’ he said, ‘it’s neither of us.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  If there had been an Oscar for Best Supporting Waitress, Mary would have won it for Saturday’s lunch. Zach’s horrible parents were having their usual meal. Zach was spending his usual time thumbing his phone. No one would have guessed that Zach and the girl serving his table had been at all intimately acquainted, if it weren’t for one particular error.

  ‘Happy birthday for yesterday.’

  They were in the corridor, around the corner from Clayton’s office. Clayton was on the phone, having a lively argument. His cut-glass tones – ‘What part of “non-refundable” isn’t clear, exactly?’ – floated through the door. It wasn’t a romantic background, but it was either there or the toilets.

  Mary took the package, wrapped in the sports section of the regional paper. Zach raked his hair back and looked pleased with himself. Mary undid the paper as carefully as she could, hamstrung by Zach’s random stickytaping. The football results finally gave way to reveal the cover.

  ‘Bridget Jones’s Diary,’ said Mary.

  ‘My mum said it’s a classic.’

  ‘I . . .’ Mary sought for something truthful to say. ‘. . . haven’t read this.’

  Zach’s hair fell over one eye. ‘D’you like it?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mary, and threw her arms around his neck. As always Zac
h’s mouth sought hers and her blood sounded in her ears. She arched against him, fierce with longing, until she heard the kitchen door swinging open. They leapt apart, Zach turning to the wall for a moment.

  ‘I’d better run,’ said Mary. ‘Text me after the gig?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Zach.

  Clutching the book to her chest, Mary scampered back. The kitchen was empty. Mini D must be in the bathroom. Mary stowed the book, taking one more incredulous look at the cover, and headed back to the tables.

  The spring weather was finally turning to summer, the evenings stretching across the sky to accompany them home. Mary examined a stain on her work shirt where she’d spilt half a carafe of red wine while trying to avoid the roaming hands of a visiting businessman. She should have thrown it at him instead.

  Travis was by the gates at the bottom of the driveway, reading a book. Mr Bitey, fifteen kilos of floatable temper, lurked in the background.

  ‘Soooo,’ Mini D crunched down the driveway beside her. ‘How long have you been seeing Zach?’

  Mary’s foot slipped in the gravel. ‘What?’

  Mini D glanced at her but didn’t repeat himself.

  ‘I’m not seeing Zach.’

  ‘Just eating his face off in the corridor.’ When Mary stared at him, he said, ‘I went to Clayton’s office. You didn’t notice me.’

  Mary wedged her arms across her chest. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘It’s a bad idea. And I know you’re going to tell me to get fucked, but it is.’

  ‘It’s private.’

  ‘It’s suicide. Therese will slaughter you. Think, Mares. He doesn’t deserve two girlfriends. Even one is one too many.’

  ‘Who’s got two girlfriends?’ Travis slotted his bookmark into Life, the Universe and Everything.

  ‘Zach.’

  ‘Christ, who got second place?’ said Travis.

  Mini D waggled his eyebrows.

  Travis’s astounded gaze slid to Mary. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Mary went through the gates and turned towards Main Street, both boys trailing behind.

  ‘It’s not exactly nothing –’ began Travis.

  ‘All right.’ Mary turned back. ‘All right, fine. It’s something. I really like him.’

  ‘Are you high?’ said Mini D. ‘I mean, seriously. Are you? I’m legitimately concerned.’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand.’ Mary crossed to the other side of the road, aiming a sharp kick at a discarded beer can, hearing it rattle off the kerb.

  ‘Understand what?’ said Mini D, jogging to keep up. ‘That you, an otherwise sensible person, are dating the human equivalent of a tramp stamp?’

  Mary stopped. ‘You don’t know him. He’s nice.’

  ‘He’s cheating on his girlfriend,’ said Travis.

  ‘He’s going to dump her.’

  Both of them bent their heads to the side like parrots.

  ‘Definitely high,’ said Mini D in a stage whisper to Travis, who frowned.

  ‘He can’t dump her yet. Mrs Piece is helping them with their demo CD.’ Even as the words fell from her mouth, Mary knew how pathetic they sounded.

  ‘And will Zach be joining us tonight to meet your father?’ said Travis, hanging on to his book with both hands.

  ‘Zach’s not coming. He’s going to Bianca’s party.’

  ‘With his girlfriend,’ said Mini D.

  ‘He’s got a gig.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you like his music now,’ said Travis.

  ‘It’s not that bad once you get used to it,’ said Mary.

  ‘This is from the girl who once likened Zach’s singing to a car alarm in a blender.’ Travis peered at her. ‘I’m with D – are you sure you’re not high?’

  ‘Go fuck yourself,’ said Mary.

  ‘Hey,’ said Mini D. ‘Travis isn’t in the wrong here.’

  ‘But I am?’ said Mary. ‘Of course I am. Of course. Because you’re both so experienced. You have so much to teach me. You,’ she said to Mini D, ‘are in love with a girl who doesn’t know you exist, and even if she did, she still wouldn’t spit on you. And you,’ she turned on Travis, ‘have never loved anyone, ever.’

  Travis’s jaw went rigid.

  ‘That’s a shitty thing to say,’ said Mini D.

  ‘Because you’re both being so nice to me at the moment.’

  ‘We’re worried, Mares, because you’re dating a douchecanoe.’

  ‘You’re not worried, you’re both being total pricks.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Travis, stalking off. ‘We’ll leave you to it. Have a good evening.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Mary, stalking off in the opposite direction. She held it together all the way through Main Street, through the twists and turns, until Cherry Orchard Way. They were so condescending. They were children. She booted the back gate open and stamped up the steps.

  Evie was sitting at the table, shaping petal edges. There was debris all over the kitchen.

  ‘Dad’s going to be here in a couple of hours,’ snapped Mary.

  Evie looked at the clock, then Mary. She was pasty and small-eyed. ‘What’s gotten into you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Mary felt a fury rising in her that she couldn’t control, and ran up the stairs. Slamming her door shut, she didn’t know if she was going to throw up, cry, scream or all three. She grabbed the nearest object off her dresser and threw it hard across the room.

  The little black box cracked and fell open, one of the useless diamond earrings sprawling out onto the floor.

  With help from an increasingly keyed-up Mary, Evie managed to get the house back to its normal state. The dining room was now almost completely full of cake decorations. You had to crack open the door, slide the latest pieces inside and slam it again. The whole room pulsed against the door, echoing the wound in her palm.

  Evie threw some dips together and chucked chips in a bowl. Crudités were off the menu tonight; she couldn’t properly hold a knife, let alone cut carrot batons.

  Mary had stripped the garden to decorate the rooms. The scent of Asiatic lilies thickened the air. She checked her phone every thirty seconds, like a physical tic. Every sound sent her to the front door on the off-chance Gabe had arrived early. She refused to let Evie shut it, in case they didn’t hear him. A new dress, printed with tiny skulls, had been hanging on her wardrobe door handle for days in anticipation of tonight. After criticising the way Evie was vacuuming and dusting, and then reminding her to put on concealer – ‘You look awful, Mum’ – the birthday girl had finally retreated to her room to change, and had been there ever since.

  Showered, concealer-ed and wearing her fifth-best dress, Evie was now lying in the empty bath, trying not to sweat so much. Her head was full of styrofoam. Besides, the bathroom seemed the most appropriate place to greet Gabe. It would be easier to wash the blood off.

  She leaned into the cool whiteness and shut her eyes, succumbing too quickly to sleep.

  The sound of booted feet woke her up, and then a voice full of tears and rage.

  ‘He’s not coming.’

  Evie prised her eyelids open. Mary was in the doorway, phone in hand, face contorting.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He’s too busy. Got held up. “Had to cut my trip short. Work emergency. So sorry, sweetheart. Hope you liked the earrings.”’

  ‘Oh, babyduck.’ Oh, thank Christ. Evie manoeuvred herself up on her elbows.

  Mary was not wearing her new dress. She wore a very short, very tight black sequined skirt, black T-shirt and cropped leather jacket. Her wrists bristled with bracelets. Heavy black boots anchored her feet. For a horrible moment Evie was reminded of the girls in Gabe’s selfie roll, all hair, eyeliner and nonexistent hips.

  ‘Are you going somewhere?’

  ‘Out.’ Energy radiated from her, hot and angry. The joyful section of the kaleidoscope had disappeared.

  ‘If your father isn’t coming, you could be studying.’

  ‘I’m
sick of studying. Anyway, there’s a party. I’m meeting someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  Mary’s gaze darted all around the bathroom. She sucked her cheeks in. ‘My boyfriend.’

  ‘Your what?’ Evie blinked. ‘Your boyfriend?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  Evie’s good hand hauled her up to a sitting position. ‘Well, why doesn’t he come here first? I’d like to meet him.’

  ‘He can’t. His band’s playing.’

  Evie only knew of one band in Sweet Meadow, unless Mary was now dating someone from the Fallow Halls church. ‘Who’s your boyfriend, Mary?’

  Mary looked shifty. ‘Zach.’

  ‘Therese’s Zach?’

  ‘He’s not Therese’s.’ She lifted her chin, but there was a thread in her voice that Evie immediately recognised.

  ‘Isn’t he?’

  Their eyes met, Mary’s pale in her rings of metallic kohl. ‘He loves me.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mary gripped the doorframe. ‘He cares about me. No one else does.’

  Evie felt as if she’d been slapped. ‘You know I do.’

  ‘No, you don’t. It’s all about the committee, or the carnival, or the cake. You made me do the face painting when you knew I didn’t want to. We haven’t had a proper dinner in weeks. You probably don’t even know what exam I’m up to. You said you’d make Christmas pudding and I bet you’ve forgotten that, too.’

  Evie had. The knowledge sharpened in her chest.

  Mary said then, so quietly she was almost inaudible, ‘You forgot my birthday.’

  The bathroom walls seemed to close in. Evie knew her daughter was hoping for a denial, a reason, any kind of explanation. But there was none she could offer besides getting the day wrong, and even that sounded pathetic. Too ashamed to admit her error, too embarrassed to let Mary know that she was right, Evie looked down at her lap where the tap had been dripping onto her skirt and couldn’t speak.

  ‘I knew it. I knew it.’ Her voice broke on the last word. Mary banged down the stairs. A few seconds later, the front door slammed so hard that the bathroom windows shook.