The Year I Went Pear-shaped: A fat woman's tale of love and insanity

by Tamara Pitelen

  He paused to take another drag from his cigarette while I sat there for a moment, speechless.

  “Y’know, I’m not proud of it,” he continued, “but you wouldn’t believe the so-called ‘happily married’ women I’ve managed to get in the sack with very little effort. God, a lot of the time it’s them that are dragging me into the nearest laundry closet or wherever.”

  I can’t believe I’m hearing this. This is like my worst nightmare and ultimate fantasy all at once.

  “God, I’m sorry Darl,” as he saw the look on my face and mistook it for distaste. “I shouldn’t have said all that. It’s the bloody wine talking. Look, lets just forget it and go back inside for some Tiramisu. I’m sure Tim has finished ‘helping’ Sonya by now,” he joked.

  “Sh-sure. Yep. Absolutely. Time for tiramisu. Just what I was thinking.” So not.

  Chapter 26: Mad About the Boy

  The next morning Gordon woke up to the sound of the phone ringing. His head was pounding and his mouth felt like a small animal had died there thanks to at least two bottles of Tim and Sonya’s Hunter Valley booty. He checked the clock. 10.30am. ‘Who the hell phones on Saturday before midday?’ He grumbled to himself, reaching over for the phone on his bedside table.

  “Hello, Gordon speaking.”

  There was a pause at the other end of the line.

  “Hi Gordon. It’s me.”

  “Sorry? Who’s me? I don’t recognise the voice, it’s a bad line.”

  “You know who I am Gordon. We’re soul mates, remember?”

  A cold shiver ran up Gordon’s spine. He swallowed.

  “Who the hell is this?”

  “Gordon!” She chided. “Stop playing games, you know it’s me. The woman whose been writing you letters for about three years now, I’ve told you my whole life story in those letters, you know everything about me and you know that I love you.”

  “Ok, listen to me,” Gordon said coldly. “I do not want you to call me or write to me ever again. Do you understand?”

  The woman laughed.

  “Oh dear Gordon, I’m going to have to punish you for that. I really wish you hadn’t pushed me that far but you’ve got to know I’m serious. There’s something else I need to tell you as well, I keep seeing you in the paper going to some party or bar with that little magazine slut. That’s going to have to stop Gordon...”

  But Gordon didn’t hear what else she had to say because he’d hung up the phone. He stared at it for a moment. His hands were shaking and a bead of sweat snaked down his forehead. The phone rang again. He picked it up and slammed it back down. Picking it up again, he slammed it back into the cradle over and over again.

  “Fuck off! Fuck off! Fuck off!”

  Finally, taking a deep breath, he lifted the receiver again, and dialled 000.

  Chapter 27: Breaking Up With Brad

  “Jesus Christ, he said what? That he’d have shagged you right there on the balcony if it weren’t for your fake boyfriend Brad Timberlake? Ohhhhhhh Stop! I can’t stand it! Haaaaaa haaaaaa! That is fucking hilarious Darla!”

  At that point Anita fell off the sofa and rolled around on the carpet howling with laughter.

  Even though it was almost lunchtime, we’d only been out of bed for half an hour. Apart from an appointment with Tobsha at 3pm that afternoon, I had a gloriously empty weekend stretching out in front of me and Anita and I were engaged in our traditional, Saturday morning ‘what did you get up to last night’ chat over a strong cup of coffee, or warm, flat Cola, depending on the hangover factor.

  Anita was wearing her pyjama bottoms with a t-shirt that had Muff Diver written across the top. In brackets underneath that, it read, ‘we go down for longer’.

  “Oh for godssake, it’s not bloody funny!” I wailed. “I had my chance to get the Gardener into the sack and I’ve blown it! This is an utter disaster.”

  After a couple more minutes of snorting on the floor, Anita calmed down, sat up, crossed her long legs, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “You idiot, it is so not a disaster. All you have to do is tell him you and Brad have broken up, say it’s been on the cards for a while, you’d grown apart, nothing in common anymore, bla, bla, bla.”

  Hell, she was right of course. It was easy. I’d created Brad and I could destroy him too. Sorry Mr Timberlake but I’m going to have to rock your body right outta the picture! Cry me a river Babycakes.

  I sat up straight in my chair and put my thinking face on.

  “Ok, what’s the best way to get rid of him do you think? Fatal car accident on Pacific Highway? Some strange Asian virus?”

  “Noooo!” She said reaching for her packet of cigarettes and lighter. “Nothing fancy Darla, turn your damned imagination off for a second, that’s what got you into this mess.” She paused to light her cigarette. “Look,” she said, through the side of her mouth, her hands cupped around the cigarette as she held the end in the lighter’s flame. “Keep it boringly simple and clean. He met someone else and just finished things with you. It’s over.”

  “Brad dumps me? Why can’t I dump him? I don’t want Gordon to think I’m the dumped one, that’s not very sexy.”

  Anita rolled her eyes and blew her cigarette smoke at me. “God, you’re an idiot! There is no Brad Darla, no-one has dumped you, you’ve just got to kill Brad off as quickly as possible and I think that’s your best bet.”

  I reached over for her cigarettes and lighter, “Gimme one of those bloody things, you’ve made me all stressed now...look, I just don’t think it looks very good if I’m the one who gets dumped. I think I’ll tell Gordon that I finished it with Brad because I just didn’t think we had a future. I’ll say I couldn’t talk to him anymore, the magic had died, he’d become someone I didn’t know, our paths had stretched in different directions etc etc.”

  “Alright, fine, pull out every cliché in the book. That should work as long as you leave it at that. Just don’t go inventing any long winded stories...”

  “I won’t!” I said, interrupting her before she could lecture me anymore. “I’ll keep it simple and then never mention bloody Brad ever again.”

  “Ok. Good. Anyway!” She said, changing the subject. “Enough about you, lets talk about me for a while, I have exciting news. Guess who sent me flowers at work then called to ask me out on a dinner date?”

  I shrugged. Knowing Anita it could have been one of about 20 men.

  “Adonis!” She said, with a little squeal, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down on her crossed legs.

  “Not the big hunk in the toga that you dragged home from the party the other night?”

  “Yes! That’s him! He’s taking me out to Rokpool for dinner this evening, how cool is that?”

  “That’s so brilliant Nita! So, do I take it from your very uncharacteristic enthusiasm that you might quite actually like this guy?”

  “Well, it’s kinda hard to know for sure because we were both so drunk the other night but he’s a total hottie so that’s not a bad start and I think we really clicked, I just have to see him again to tell whether we really did have a connection or if it was just the drugs and alcohol. And Darla...” She said, lowering her voice, “...just quietly, you have got to see the size of that man’s feet!”

  Chapter 28: Daddy’s Girl

  “Darla, let us begin vere ve left off last time. I vant you to tell me about your Farzer.”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly while continuing a rigorous inspection of my well-bitten fingernails which involved picking and chewing the little bits of skin around the cuticles off.

  “Whaddayouwannaknow?” I said sullenly, my eyes still fixed on my left thumbnail as I picked at it with what was left of the nails on my right hand.

  “How old vere you ven your parents divorced?”

  “I was seven. He left us, me, my brother and mother, to go off with a woman he met through our local theatre group.”

  “Vhat do you sink of zat now?”

  “I
think it fucking sucks. It makes me very sad and angry. He abandoned us. He walked out and never looked back.”

  A ball of anger starts to burn in my gut.

  “I don’t know what’s different about men, Tobsha but that’s one thing they all seem to be able to do very easily. Dump their families. I’m never gonna let a man do that to me.”

  The rage. The rage was coming. Rumbling up from the pit of my stomach.

  “How Darla? How vill you make sure you are never hurt? By never letting a man get close to you? Is zat vhy you have had so many one-night-stands? Because zere is no love so also no chance of getting hurt?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Have you ever asked him vhy he left Darla?”

  The anger was so hot and big now that it filled up my whole torso and was rising up my throat. I was taking small, shallow breaths to try and keep it from overwhelming me.

  “Well, I would’ve thought it was pretty bloody obvious.” I spat. “He got fed up with us. Bored. We weren’t good enough for him so he pissed off with some tart.”

  I was breathing heavily now and could feel my heart pounding in my chest. The anger felt good. It felt hard and real. But my eyes were hot with the threat of tears and I knew that if I let the anger go the pain and sadness would engulf me. The anger was easier to deal with than the grief.

  “If you have never talked wiz him about it Darla zen you do not know. You must let him tell you his side of ze story. You are an adult now. You can understand better zan you could vhen you vere a little girl who only knew zat her Daddy had gone. It iz time for you to face zis. You vill never move forward until you do. Zis iz at ze core of vhy you can never really be happy. I vant you to go home, sit down and write a letter to your Farzer, I vant you to just write and write and write. Do you understand me Darla?”

  I nodded.

  “Keep writing till you are exhausted wiz it. Get everything that is in your heart and gut out onto the paper. Ven you have done zat, you must read it back. Zen you must talk to your Farzer and ask him to give you his side of the story.”

  Chapter 29: Crazy Cat Lady

  The woman was crouched down to stroke the big fluffy cat. It was purring loudly and lifting its head for the woman as she ran her gloved fingers down its throat and over its ears.

  The cat knew this woman. It had found her sitting in the darkness in the backyard of his house on many nights and she always brought a tin of tuna or herrings. Every time she would sit quietly for hours in the shadows of the house, almost motionless, watching through the big window at the flickering colours of the television within.

  The big cat wound its body round her legs rubbing itself against the woman’s calves. It had finished all the tuna. The woman stroked it along the length of its back and down to the tip of its tail, gently pulling the tail straight. She murmured softly in its ears but the cat didn’t understand her words.

  Then the woman reached into her pocket and pulled out something long that glinted in what little light the moon gave. She stroked the cat between the ears a few more times before gently raising its head and, with one quick movement, drew the razor sharp blade along its throat, so sharp that just one stroke sliced halfway through the creature’s neck before it even knew anything was wrong. A second stroke and the head was completely severed. The lifeless body left lying in the pool of its own blood, the fur wet and sticky. Wiping her finger through misshapen circle of blood that was expanding around the carcass, the woman stepped over to the window and drew a love heart on the glass.

  The cat’s head was still in her other hand. She walked round to the front of the house, opened the back of the letterbox and placed it inside. She looked up and down the street. Silence. Nothing stirred. She started walking.

  Chapter 30: Fuzz in da House

  Gordon’s hands were shaking so hard he could hardly press the numbers. His face was wet with tears of rage and grief. He had been sobbing so hard it had felt like he’d been choking. Dry, wracked sobs that tore at his throat. On his kitchen table were a pile of letters with red stains on their white envelopes.

  A warm but efficient woman’s voice picked up at the other end.

  “Good morning. NSW Police.”

  “Yes, hi, De- Detective Warren Jenkins please.”

  “Putting you through to his extension now Sir.”

  Gordon listened to the phone ring four times. On the fifth ring a man picked up.

  “Detective Jenkins.”

  “Warren, hi, it’s Gordon Worsley.”

  “Ah, good morning Gordon! How’s it going? Have you had another letter from the looney fan?”

  “I wish it was just a letter. No, it’s a bit more serious this time Warren, I’m scared to be honest.”

  He told Warren about the decapitated cat and the love heart written in blood on his back window.

  “Jesus. I hate to say it Gordo but I think we’ve got a psychopath on our hands and she’s probably not going to just go away if you ignore her.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting that impression myself but what the hell do I do about it Warren?”

  There was a pause at the other end.

  “Look, don’t panic. I’m going to come round right now with an officer and see if there are any fingerprints or other clues, just sit tight and don’t touch anything, ok? I should be there in about half an hour.”

  Gordon checked the clock on the wall. 9.30am.

  “Thanks Warren, I really appreciate it.”

  “Anything for a fellow club man Gordo! Ok, see you soon.” And he put the phone down.

  ‘Thank God for the old boys’ network,’ thought Gordon as he fell into a seat at the kitchen table and, with his elbows on the table, rested his head in his hands.

  He had met Warren about eight years ago when he’d finally been allowed to join his father’s private and very exclusive men’s club. He’d been the youngest new member ever in the club’s history and his father had to pull hard on a few strings to get his son in about five years before some of the older members felt was appropriate. Club members included Sydney’s most influential men and membership was by invitation only but, once accepted to its inner circle, doors all over town magically opened and opportunities laid around every corner.

  Gordon didn’t get very involved in the moving and shaking, apart from some discreet property speculation, he just liked having a spectacular golf course at his fingertips and somewhere that he could while away a few hours playing pool with his father and some of the other men over several glasses of the best whisky in Australia. Warren, like Gordon, was also fond of whisky and pool and on many weekends the two men were still competing to pot the black until 3 or 4am on a Sunday morning.

  Lost in his thoughts for a moment, reality suddenly came rushing back. Chairman Miaow had been murdered by some crazy bitch just to get his attention. Well, she fucking had his full attention now but she was going to be bloody sorry she’d ever even heard of Dr fucking Ramswell if he could get his hands on her. Gordon felt murderous. He’d had Chairman Miaow for 11 years and had loved that cat with all his heart.

  ‘Fucking, fucking bitch!’ He snarled to himself, the tears coming again. Just then the phone rang. Sighing, he walked over to pick it up.

  “Hello, Gordon speaking.”

  No one replied but he could hear breathing. White-hot rage filled his throat and belly.

  “You fucking insane bitch!” He spat down the receiver. “I am going to ring your insane little neck if I ever get my hands on you. You’re a sick, sick fucking bitch!”

  She laughed, it sounded mocking and ugly.

  “Oh Gordon darling, you only have yourself to blame. I warned you. All you needed to do was write one little letter back to me. Hardly much to ask after the 300 or so letters I’ve written to you over the last three years. We’re meant for each other Gordon, I’m just trying to make you see that but you were being particularly stubborn so desperate measures were called for.”

  “Listen to me you stupid, vindictiv
e little whore. I hate you. Do you understand that? You’re vile. You disgust me. We will never ever be together. In fact, I want you to kill yourself. Will you do that for me? Cut your own fucking throat?”

  The woman sighed. “You’re so passionate Gordon. I guess that’s why I love you. It’s one of the many things we have in common. Now, listen to me Sweetheart, unless you give in to me this is just going to get worse for you. The cat was just the start. And you should tell your mag hag girlfriend that I know where the bitch lives...”

  With that Gordon slammed the phone down. For a moment he couldn’t move his legs and his whole body shook with disbelief, fury and fear. His heart hammered inside his ribcage and he realised he was going to throw up. He rushed over to the kitchen sink just as the bile, acid and partly digested food rushed up his throat and erupted out of his mouth, splattering the silver basin with yellow and brown slime. Three more times he felt his esophageus contract and convulse until there was nothing left in his stomach to come out and he was dry retching. Finally, it was over. Still leaning over the sink, he turned on both the hot and cold taps and watched as everything that had been in his stomach minutes ago, swirled down the plughole. Taking a glass from the dish rack and filling it with water, he rinsed his mouth out and spat the water into the sink, before taking several long swallows of warm water to soothe his throat.

  His mind was in a whirl. The stark realisation that this woman was extremely dangerous had hit him in the gut like an iron fist and he was reeling from the knowledge. Gordon wasn’t used to feeling so out of control and for possibly the first time in his adult life he felt scared and desperate. He knew he needed to warn Darla but he wanted to do it face to face. He’d wait till after he had spoken to the police.

  About twenty minutes later, there was a firm knock at the front door. He closed his eyes and sighed with relief before going to open it.