by Lindy Dale
By the next evening, my from sadness had morphed into anger. How dare he, I thought. What right did he have to up and leave without a word? After the things he’d said and done to me in the name of a joke, he couldn’t be so sensitive when I uttered two words in frustration?
“So you don’t know where he is?” Alex asked me as we wandered around preparing for the evening shift.
“Nup. Don’t know where he is.” He’d disappeared from my life as quickly as he’d come into it.
“I find it so hard to believe he just left. Without a word.” Alex looked at me curiously, as if it couldn’t possibly be true. Sam and I had been like the perfect couple after I had got used to his weird humour and blokish taste in movies.
“Well, he did. But we, sort of, had this fight. I told him about Bali, thinking maybe he’d want to come but instead I got ‘I can’t just walk away, Millie.’” Sarcastically, I put my hands on my hips and imitated his voice.
“What was with that? Did you actually ask him to go with you?”
It was then that I crumbled. All the hurt I’d kept tucked away came bubbling to the surface in a spout of hot tears. “Not in so many words. But he looked at me like I was an utter idiot.”
“But I thought...” Turning from her work, Alex put down the napkins and wrapped her arms around me in that motherly way she had sometimes. “What happened then?”
“I told him to fuck off. Well, that was after I bruised my shin on his bloody coffee table.”
I lifted my leg to display the purplish bruise. Crystal sized tears rolled down my cheeks splashing onto my shirt. They spread across my heart that was broken.
“Oh Millie! You didn’t!”
“I did. And now he’s gone, Alex. He’ll never come back and I love him so much. I just want him back. I didn’t mean it. I was angry at the bloody coffee table, not him.”
Alex squashed me closer. Her hand stroked my hair. She was very good at comforting. “It’ll work out, Chica, don’t worry. I’m sure Sam wouldn’t leave because you had a fight. There must be more to it.”
“Have you checked his Facebook page?”Chantelle appeared from behind the bar. She couldn’t face the thought that something might be going down and she wouldn’t be privy to it.
“Sam’s on Facebook?” Why hadn’t I known about this? There were so many things I was discovering after the event.
“Yeah. I’m on his friend list.”
“So am I,” Alex admitted. It didn’t appear to be an exclusive club.
My mouth fell open. Sam had a whole other life in cyber space that I knew nothing about.
We walked back to the servery. Dinner service had started and customers were beginning to trickle in.
“Listen,” Alex said, taking up her order book and heading out onto the floor, “Why don’t we log on after shift. Bob will let us use the desktop in his office. Then we might get some clue as to where Sam is or you could leave him a message. If nothing else we can check out his photos. He has some really cute ones.”
I glared at her. Technically, Sam was still my boyfriend.
*****
The evening over and our dinner on our laps before us, Alex, Chantelle and I sat huddled in front of Bob’s computer. After giving strict instructions as to how long we were allowed to spend ‘wasting time on his internet account’ and being told not to bother logging in to any porn sites because he was going to check the history after we’d finished, he left us alone. My stomach was filled with a scary anticipation. I felt like I was spying on some secret world I was not meant to find out about.
Why hadn’t he friended me on Facebook?
“Here it is,” Chantelle said, her eyes scanning the page. “Doesn’t look like he’s been online for a few days. These posts are weeks old.”
She leant back in the black office chair, locking her fingers behind her head and stretching. The leather protested slightly. I peered at the screen. Sam’s profile shot sat smugly in the top left hand corner, mocking me. His wall was filled with birthday messages—mostly from girls I’d never heard of—and there was an album of photos marked, ‘Sam Brockton was tagged in five photos by Courtney Delamere.’ The name sounded vaguely familiar.
“Can you click on that?” I waggled my finger at the screen. I knew who she was. Courtney Delamere was none other than ‘That-Slut-Courtney.’ How dare she have photos of my boyfriend? Wasn’t it enough that he spoke to her?
Chantelle clicked on the album, taken on the night of the Ball. Sam was dressed in his tux. His hands were groping Courtney’s breasts and his tongue was in her ear. He was smiling wickedly. Up to his old tricks, it seemed.
“Oh. My. God.” Alex was speaking very slowly all of a sudden.
I stared at the photo in horror. While the cat was off doing good deeds for his friends, the mouse had been doing a bit of molesting of his own. What about his promise that he’d never compromise our relationship? He hadn’t meant it. He’d been with Courtney at the very same time I’d been giving Johnny a pep talk in the loos. I sat back, my chips and gravy going cold on my lap. This Facebook was a sadistic wealth of information, little of which I wanted to know. Chantelle flicked through other photos, each more hideous than the first and all containing That-Slut-Courtney and my Sam. I was revolted yet I couldn’t take my eyes from the screen.
“Turn it off.” I couldn’t bear to see another thing. I shoved my finger onto the keypad, closing the screen down and slamming the computer shut. I didn’t want to know any more about Sam’s secret life.
“Hey, what’d you do that for? There was a photo of you on that page.” Chantelle stared at me. I glared back. Then I put my bowl on the desk, walked out the door of the office, through the dining room, got into my car and drove home.
*****
“Please, Millie, please don’t leave.”
Paige was crying. Silver tears beaded her lashes as she sat on my knee, clinging to me. Adele had graciously given me a month’s holiday though secretly, I knew she was hedging her bets, hoping it wouldn’t work out and I’d come back. But I was going to live my dream. The only problem was it was without Sam. I still hadn’t heard a thing and, frankly, after seeing those photos, I was too hurt to care. I was numb.
“I can’t stay,” I cradled her closer. “I’ve told Mummy I’m leaving. She’s doing interviews for a replacement nanny tomorrow.”
Paige’s plump cherry lips drooped. “But I don’t want a new Millie, she’ll be random and she’ll make me eat yucky stuff.”
My mouth tilted a little at the corners. Paige and I had a special deal about the ‘yucky stuff.’ It was our secret. “What if I leave her a list to let her know things about you? How about that?”
Paige sat up straight in my lap. She looked like a little halogen globe had been lit in her brain. “Doesn’t Mummy give you enough money? Is that why you’re leaving? I can make her give you more; you can have my pocket money.”
I cuddled her warm body to me. She always smelled so good after her bath. Wistful, I thought back to that tiny seed of hope I had once, the one that maybe Sam and I would have a baby one day. A cherub like Paige. “Oh, honeybun, that’s so nice and I would stay if I could but this is my dream, you know, like the one you have to be in the cast of High School Musical? It has nothing to do with money.”
Paige nodded solemnly.
“And if you get the chance to catch your dream, you should do it, isn’t that what we always say?”
Paige nodded again and sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, a forbidden action in the Richards-Shaw household. “But I’ll never be in High School Musical. I don’t look anything like Ashley Tisdale.”
“You never know,” I smiled. Then I had an idea. “Mummy could bring you to stay with me in the holidays. It’s lovely in Bali. One of the houses I’d like to buy is right on top of the beach.”
Paige seemed cheered. “You know Mummy doesn’t do sand, but I’ll come, I promise. We can go swimming and I can teach you how to snorkel. It’s n
ot so scary putting your head under if you have breathing apparatus. You won’t faint when I teach you.”
Eagerly, she jumped down from the bed and ran to her wardrobe, producing a purple snorkel with matching goggles and flippers. She handed them to me, urging me to try them for size. Laughing in this outlandish get-up, I waddled to the mirror to see how I looked. My hair was sticking up all over the place and my face was sucked against the glass like a tropical fish in a tank. Hmm. Paige coming to visit was something I’d organise straight away, as soon as I was settled. Adele had no qualms about packing her onto a plane with a flight attendant for an escort; she’d done it before. The snorkelling? The jury was still out on that one.
23
With working, organising and farewelling taking up a good deal of the time I had left, I hardly had energy to pack for Bali yet, somehow I still found time to think about Sam and torture myself over what happened. Every time I paused, for even the slightest second, thoughts of him came crashing in around me. Images of those photos swirled in my head and anger and hurt began to bubble. Thoughts that he’d cheated gave me nightmares and the realisation he was gone for good, that he hadn’t loved me as he’d said made me sick to my stomach. I’d been another toy in his game. Just like That-Slut-Courtney. But I couldn’t leave without some sort of closure, so for the last days before I was due to leave, I’d rung his mobile and left countless messages, to none of which I’d got a reply. Things went back to the way they’d been before. Sometimes, I’d ask Alex to log on to Facebook when we talked on the phone, to see if anything had changed. Supposing I’d see he’d returned to his old life, wherever that was, I was put out when even his ‘wall’ remained ominously inactive. Yes, I’d now entered a stage of my grieving which, had I had any spare cash, would most likely have manifested itself in copious amounts of comfort eBaying. He had no right to go and leave me, to make me so vulnerable to my demons. And even worse, his silence had me worried. Not that he’d run away with That-Slut-Courtney or anything, but more that something dreadful had happened.
The last chapter in the book of Sam, according to Millie, happened not long after. Paige and I were at the coffee table in the family room, cross-legged on the floor. We were attempting to write Christmas cards to all her First Grade friends. Envelopes and bits of paper lay strewn around us, tiny foiled Christmas stickers were spread across the table and somehow or other Paige had managed to attach a stamp to one of her pigtails with a glue stick. Manoeuvring a card into an envelope that was clearly not designed for it, I jabbed and twisted the paper until I noticed Paige giving me the evil eye. I put it down and looked for another more suitable envelope. The task was not as easy as I’d first envisioned when I put the idea to her. There was I, assuming we’d pop into Big W, pick out a pack of thirty, whack on a bit of metallic gel pen and be done with it. But no. The First Grade cards you chose could make or break the rest of your school life. Nothing but the most expensive, individually packed, sparkly cards from The Card Shop at Floreat Forum would do and now each one had to be lovingly adorned with a Darrell Lea candy cane. Also, all cards had to be written twice, because that was the way Paige’s teacher, Miss Flibberdigibbet, liked it: once in ‘writing pencil’ in case we made a mistake and then traced over in pen. For Pete’s sake. It would have been easier to organising an invasion of Iraq.
I picked up the tape and began to stick a green and yellow cane onto the envelope earmarked for Henry.
“NO! He has to have this red one,” Paige screamed, simultaneously shoving another cane in my direction as she ripped the first away. “Henry doesn’t like yellow. It’s a girl colour.”
God. Even the lollies had to be politically correct. I gave her a look in return, signifying my disgust.
At that moment, as if to spare me the wrath of Paige, the phone rang. I was hoping it was the travel agent with confirmation of my travel plans. I’d spent so long denying myself and saving great wads of money, I was itching to get there and invest it in something. It would be the perfect panacea to my Sam heartache. And who knew, he might pop out of the woodwork, forgive me and want to live there with me forever. Yeah. And Kirby might announce she was going to Harvard, just like Elle in Legally Blonde. I snorted to myself and picked up the phone.
“Hello? Richards-Shaw Residence, Millie speaking.”
“This is Benni Hill, secretary for Kent Brockton calling. May I speak with Bran Richards-Shaw?”
Recovering from that fact that the woman on the other end of the phone was named after a dead comedian, I answered, “I’m sorry, Mr and Mrs Richards-Shaw are unavailable at the moment. May I take I message?”
“Have you got a pen?”
“Just a sec’.” I flipped open the message book that was kept beside the phone and stood, pen poised. “Okay.”
“Could you please ask Mr Richards-Shaw to call Kent Brockton’s office ASAP?”
“May I say in regards to what? Sometimes Mr Richards-Shaw is funny about returning calls if he’s unsure of their nature.” This was code for ‘he’s a grumpy bastard who doesn’t answer his mobile if he doesn’t feel like it.
Benni obviously understood this code. “Tell him the merger has to be finalised before Christmas and we need his signature. It’s crucial, you understand.” She gave me the number and I scribbled it down.
“Is that Kent Brockton, as in The Brockton Corporation in Brisbane? The Kent Brockton who just did that multi-billion dollar deal with U.S. Funky Farms?”
“The same.”
Wow. I knew Adele and Brian were loaded but I never knew they were that connected. Benni kept talking. “The families have been friends for years. Brian and Adele are Godparents to Kent’s son, Sam.”
Sam?
“Heeellllo? Are you still there?”
I attempted to reply but my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“Hello? Could you make sure he receives the message?”
“Oh … um … yes. Of course.” I put down the receiver.
Oh. My. God.
Breathe deeply.
Oh. My. God.
Just bloody breathe or you’ll drop dead.
Oh. My. God.
My boyfriend, disappearing Sam with the washboard abs and the winning way with women, was the godson of my boss. No wonder they’d everyone had been acting weird. At one stage I’d been convinced Adele was suffering from some strange schoolgirl crush. But no. They’d known each other since bloody birth. And they hadn’t seemed to think it was necessary to tell me. Why?
Dashing back to the family room I stood over Paige who was still sitting surrounded by cards. She now had a sticker and a candy cane dangling from each earlobe.
“Like my new earrings, Millie?” She swished her head this way and that for my approval.
“Paige, did you know Sam before?” I needed to confirm it and everyone knew if you wanted information in the Richards-Shaw house you asked the five year old.
Paige’s little brow furrowed. She licked the yellow sugar from her Cupid’s bow lips. “Yes, he was a clown. Remember?”
“No,” I rushed on, “Before the clown time.”—I noticed her lips—“Have you been sucking on the Candy canes before you stick them on the envelopes?”
“Of course not, that would be gross.”
I could tell she was lying but I didn’t have time for discipline. “Paige? Sam?”
She sat for a moment, biting on her lip as if she wanted to tell me but was unsure of the cost. Finally, she relented.
“Oh, you mean that Sam. He comes here all the time. He’s my God-something,” she tittered, knowing she’d said ‘God’ when it was strictly forbidden because it was a swear word. “Mummy gets Cook to make him dinner when you’re at the hotel. He bought me this cool pony for Christmas last year. It’s blue.”
“He bought you a blue pony?” Oh, this was too much. But then if you have infinite amounts of money I supposed redecorating your entire flat in a week and spray-painting a pony for a child were mere whims.
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“Not a real pony, silly. A My Little Pony. Mummy would never let me have a real pony. They’re more dangerous than clowns.”
Oh.
“And I suppose when you said you didn’t know Johnny, that was a fib, too?”
“Sam said we had to be secret until Christmas. He was going to take me to Gold Class to see Harry Potter if I did it. Guess that dream’s gone.”
I sat back down beside her. “Well I’m glad you told me. The truth is always the best way. Have you finished the cards yet?”
“I have one more to do. For Sam. Do you think he’ll like a green candy?”
“He loves green.” I handed her a card and a candy cane, watching as she peeled the matching tape to stick it to the card and formed her missive with meticulous pencil strokes.
Well, wasn’t this fabulous. Everybody had known that Sam was loaded except me. My missing boyfriend was heir to a multi-billion dollar fortune. My poor, poor boyfriend who had to work in a pub to make ends meet was freakin’ loaded and he hadn’t trusted me enough to share that little gem. He’d been lying since the day we met. In fact, he’d lied to all his friends, leading us to believe he was some sort of poor student who’d had a difficult life. And without so much as a second thought. I’d been prepared to forgive his walking out, the silence, the Facebook pictures. Everything. But lying? It was lucky he wasn’t talking to me, ‘cause if he’d been here, I would have killed him, the bastard.
