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

by Tamara Pitelen

  “Thank God it’s you,” he said, smiling at Detective Jenkins and the young officer standing behind him, motioning for them to come in.

  “Jesus Gordy, you look bloody awful old man. You could do with a drink, don’t suppose you’ve a bottle of anything stiff sitting around?” Jenkins said as he entered the house. “Ah, this is Officer Richmond by the way; Richmond let me introduce Gordon Worsley.”

  The younger man gave Gordon a small respectful nod. “Pleasure to meet you Mr Worsley, please call me Patrick, ” he said, offering his hand. Gordon stepped forward and the men gave each other a short firm handshake.

  Somewhere in his mid twenties, Patrick was at least six foot and had the broad shoulders and thick neck of a rugby player. His jet-black hair accentuated his milky white skin not often found in Sydney. His earnest blue eyes shone with health but a long red scar ran down the right side of his face starting at the corner of his eye and finishing just a couple of centimetres from his jaw line. His nose appeared to have been broken at some stage.

  “You too Patrick, call me Gordon. And thanks for coming round at such short notice.”

  He led the two officers into the living room at the back of the house and headed for the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of Glenfiddich Reserve and three small glasses.

  “Ah, not for Richmond thanks Gordo, he’s on duty,” Jenkins said, turning to smile at the younger officer. “Sorry Paddy, no drinking on the job till you’re at least chief inspector.”

  “No problem Sir,” he replied.

  Gordon poured two neat whiskies and passed one to Jenkins. The men clinked glasses and threw the contents down their throats in one movement.

  “Ahhh. That’s better. Now, lets get on with it. Show me what you found Gordon,” Jenkins said.

  “Ok, well I found the Chairman’s head first. Like I told you on the phone, it was in the mailbox. I didn’t see it at first because there were a few letters covering it that must’ve been put there by the postie this morning. I saw the head when I picked them up. I’ve left it there. I don’t want to touch it to be honest. Anyway, I figured his body must be around somewhere so I went looking for it, I think I was in shock to be honest. I found the body out there,” he said, pointing to the big glass doors that stood open at the back of the room. The men walked over and stepped outside to inspect the carcass still lying in a circle of semi-dried blood. Looking at the love heart, Jenkins turned to Officer Richmond, “Paddy, have a good look around, take polaroids before you touch anything then see if there are any fingerprints, foot prints, detritus he or she might’ve dropped, whatever. Go talk to the neighbours, see if they noticed anything unusual or different last night then prepare the body and the head for taking back to forensics. I’m going inside to sit Mr Worsley down for a chat.”

  Jenkins headed towards the door and motioned for Gordon to follow him. “Come on Gordy, it’s time to tell me absolutely everything.”

  Chapter 31: Nip and Tuck

  Monday morning. 10am. I sat quietly as Naomi, Roxy and Arabella discussed me like I wasn’t sitting right next to them.

  “Ok,” said Roxy, “Some serious liposuction I think. I mean, obviously, she’ll have to go and talk to the surgeon about what’s realistic and what he’s willing to do but hopefully he’ll be fine with sorting out her thighs, a bit off the upper arm and under her chin but most of all, that stomach has got to go.”

  Rox paused for breathe and checked her notes.

  “At the same time as the lipo, I want her to have an eyelift, a bit of botox in the forehead and around the mouth, plus collagen injections to give her decent lips. And I don’t think it would hurt to have a bit of dermabrasion on her face to get rid of few faint acne scars, fine lines and freckles.”

  Naomi and Arabella nodded solemnly punctuating Roxy’s monologue of my physical shortcomings with the odd ‘mmm’ or ‘yes, quite’. Occasionally they’d look at me but only to check something like just how deep the wrinkles were around my eyes.

  “And how do you feel about breast implants and a little lift?” Obviously Roxy wasn’t asking me. Naomi and Arabella turned to check me out again, turning their heads to the left and right as they scrutinised my chest.

  “Ummmm, yes, well why not I guess,” Arabella said. “If she’s going to be on the operating table anyway, I suppose it can’t hurt to sort her tits out.”

  Cheers Arabella. No really. Thanks. Thanks a bunch.

  “Then of course there’s the laser hair removal, I’m thinking bikini line, half leg and armpits. That would be all the big stuff sorted really, then it’s just a case of polishing her up with a fake tan, funky hair cut and colour -- I’m seeing very short platinum blonde -- the brow and lash tints, fake nails and so on.”

  “That all sounds brilliant Rox,” said Arabella, smiling. “Any questions from you Darla?”

  “Oh. Um, well, I...”

  “No? Good. It is pretty straightforward I think and you’ll be under anaesthetic for most of it so nothing for you to worry about at all really. Right, I think that’s it then. Rox, just let Darla know when she’s due in hospital. She’ll need to make sure she’s filed all her other copy in advance in case her surgery falls around deadline.”

  Jesus. Typical.

  “Ok, I’m trying to get her in about ten days from now...that ok with you Darl?”

  I couldn’t seem to speak so I just nodded. After all it was only surgery, how bad could it be?

  Chapter 32: Where’s Brad?

  Brrrrriiiiiinnnnnng.

  “Telstra Directory Assistance. What name please?”

  “Harley and Harley Architects,” Gordon enunciated slowly.

  “Answering Yes or No, did you say, Taronga Zoo?”

  Gordon slapped his hand to his forehead and gritted his teeth. “No!”

  “Please wait while you are transferred to a Telstra operator.”

  A male human voice picked up the line.

  “Hi, you wanted Harley and Harley architects? What town are they in?”

  “Yes, Sydney, thanks.”

  Gordon waited.

  “Hmmm, can’t find anything in Sydney, let me do a NSW search...um, no, nothing in NSW either. How are you spelling Harley?

  “H. A. R. L. E. Y.”

  “Yep, that’s what I had, I’m sorry Sir, there’s no listing for an architectural firm called Harley and Harley.”

  “Ok, thanks,” he sighed, “I’ll try something else.”

  Putting the phone down, Gordon got out the A - K Yellow Pages and looked in the directory under Architect. Turning to the page listed, he ran his index finger down the listings but there was nothing even remotely similar to Harley and Harley. Oh well, he’d just choose one at random. Apart a couple of calls and ‘just a minute, I’ll put you through’s, he ended up talking to a older guy called Russell who said he could come round the next day. Gordon wanted a complete redesign and build of the back of his house. He wanted all reminders of the way Chairman Miaow died to be erased.

  Just before hanging up the phone he said, “hey, do you know of an architectural firm with a name like Harley and Harley?”

  Russell thought for a moment. “Nope, I’ve been in the business about 35 years and I’ve never heard of them.”

  “Thanks.” Weird, thought Gordon. Darla must have the name wrong. He smiled for the first time in about 36 hours, so much for the devoted girlfriend!

  Chapter 33: Letter to Daddy

  Dear Poppa,

  I’m writing this letter because my counsellor says that unless I face my issues, I’ll never move forward. She says that if I don’t face my demons I’ll keep repeating the same defensive patterns of behaviour that have kept me overweight, afraid of intimacy and angry at men for so many years. I mean, lets face it, there had to be a pretty big reason for why someone as gorgeous and charming as me hadn’t been snapped up by some handsome millionaire long before now! Only joking Pops. Anyway, what’s this got to do with you? Well, apparently you are one of my biggest issu
es. Yep, that’s right Poppa, you’re my demon! You and the fact that, as I see it, you walked out on me, Mum and Jim. I thought I was over this. I figured, ‘hell, just about everyone comes from a broken home these days; it’s no big deal. Plus it happened so long ago, it’s history now’. Well, it turns out that I was wrong.

  Tobsha -- that’s my counsellor -- described it to me by saying that even if everyone I knew broke their leg at the same time as me, it wouldn’t mean my break was any less serious or painful than if I’d been the only person to break their leg. Get it? I hope so. All I’m trying to say is that I’m only now realising that your divorce from Mum had a huge impact on me and the scars aren’t healing. Just because lots of people get divorced nowadays doesn’t make it any less painful for me. Or anyone else.

  And I have to tell you that although I love you very, very much, I’m also angry with you. Actually it’s bigger than that. There’s a ball of rage burning inside me. And part of me wants to lash out at you, to hurt you. There’s a seven-year-old girl inside me who has kept quiet for over 25 years. She’s been pretending that everything’s ok because she didn’t want Mummy or Daddy to get upset but everything’s not ok and now that little girl is sick of keeping quiet, she wants to scream the house down and yell at the top of her lungs, ‘what about meeeee?’ She feels let down, abandoned. She thinks she wasn’t loveable enough. She thinks she wasn’t pretty or clever or funny enough for you. Maybe if she’d been nicer, you’d have stayed. And, somehow, as that little girl grew up, it all got twisted into her thinking that if she wasn’t good enough for her own father, then she can’t be good enough for any man. So she may as well stay away from men because they’ll only leave once they realise she’s not good enough anyway. So, the girl decided she’d be safe if she hid behind a wall of fat and attitude. She’s still there but now she wants to come out.

  I want to ask you some questions that I should’ve asked you about 20 years ago. Why did you start the affair? Were things no good between you and Mum? Why did you leave us? Were you unhappy? What was the problem? How long did you think about leaving before you actually did? Did you think about the effect it would have on Jim and me? Did you think we’d get along fine without you or did you just not care at that point? And why did you move away to Perth so that we hardly ever saw you? Sydney’s a big place, both families could have lived there. Or, if you had to move, why not somewhere closer like Canberra? Why the hell did it have to be Perth?

  Anyway Poppa, I think that’s enough for now. I’ll talk to you properly about all this stuff later. Lots of love, Darla xxx

  Putting my pen down, I wiped my eyes and went to the bathroom to blow my nose. When I came back, I folded the letter up, slid it into the envelope and licked the seal, pressing the triangular flap down on the back. Turning it over, I licked the stamp and pressed it in the top right hand corner with the side of my fist. I wrote Pop’s address on the front then put it in my pocket and headed out to the letterbox on the corner of the street. As it fell from my fingers and into the big red box, something very large had been lifted from my shoulders.

  Chapter 34: The Shrine

  A knock on the front door pulled Anita reluctantly back to reality. She’d had her first proper date with Adonis the night before and now he was all she could think about. God, he was a hunk! She was falling hard and fast which wasn’t like her at all. Standing in the kitchen in her fluffiest socks, she had been off in her own little world waiting for the kettle to boil. She’d gotten home from work about 20 minutes earlier and immediately changed out of her sensible Jacqui E office clothes and into her mini tartan skirt topped with a green t-shirt that screeched, ‘cover me in honey and throw me to the lesbians!’

  Whoever it was knocked a second time.

  “Shit,” she said under her breath, realising she’d fallen back into the daydream again. ‘Pull it together you love struck idiot’ she thought as she headed over to see who was at the door.

  “Gordon!” She said, surprised to find the man of her flatmate’s dreams standing on the doorstep looking like he hadn’t slept for about a month.

  “Hi Anita, sorry to bother you, is Darla home?”

  ‘Hell,’ thought Anita, clocking his dishevelled hair, the bags under his eyes and food stains down his t-shirt, ‘he looks like he’s having some kind of meltdown’.

  “Ah, no, she’s going to be home late tonight, a dumb work thing she’s got to go to, the launch of some TV new game show called ‘Willing to Bet’ I think.”

  Gordon smiled and for a second looked like his old self, “oh good, because if there’s one thing this country needs, it’s another game show,” he joked.

  Anita laughed, “yep, that’s our Darla, helping make the world a better place... look, do you want to come in for a coffee? You look kinda beat.”

  He checked his watch. “Actually yeah, I might stop in for five minutes if you’re not busy, the last two days would rate up there with the worst of my life.”

  “Yeah, I could tell something was up to be honest. Well, come in then and if you want to talk about it, I’m all ears.”

  Anita stood aside and motioned towards the kitchen. He stepped past her and walked through. Pulling up a chair at the kitchen table, he watched silently as Anita put out cups, teabags, milk and sugar. It took less than a minute for the kettle to reach boiling point again. Anita poured the hot water over the two teabags.

  “Milk and sugar?”

  “Yeah, both thanks. One sugar.”

  After giving him his cup of tea and offering him a biscuit, Anita sat down next to him and took a sip of her tea then, putting the cup back on the table, she looked up at him.

  “So, what’s the problem?” She asked gently.

  In response, Gordon covered his eyes with his hands and groaned. Taking a deep breath, he held back the tears that had suddenly sprung up from nowhere.

  “Look, it probably sounds stupid but someone killed my cat over the weekend.”

  “Killed your cat? What, you mean hit it with a car or something?”

  “No, I mean deliberately found my cat and -- to get at me -- cut his head off with a knife.”

  Anita looked at him dumbfounded as the information sunk in.

  “Oh my god Gordon, that is so fucked up. You poor thing! Jesus I can’t believe it. Did you phone the police?”

  “Yep, all that’s done. They came around yesterday.”

  He took another big breath and re-newed his fight with the tears. He didn’t want to embarrass Anita by breaking down in front of her.

  Questions tumbled over each other in their rush to be the first into Anita’s head. “How do you know someone killed your cat to get at you?”

  “I’ve been getting strange letters from some psycho fan for ages now. I’d just been ignoring them, thinking she’d get bored and go away but in her last one she said she was going to punish me for not having written back to her. Plus she rang my home after I’d found his body and was more than happy to admit it.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ. That’s awful Gordon, I’m so sorry. I hope the police catch her soon.”

  “Yeah, well that’s not all to be honest. That’s why I needed to see Darla. This psycho has seen me in the paper with Darla a few times and thinks we’re an item. She hasn’t come right out and said it but she’s kind of threatened to hurt Darla.”

  Anita recoiled as though she’d been slapped in the face.

  “You are kidding me?” She asked, knowing full well he wasn’t.

  “Jesus.” She swallowed hard. The two of them sat silent for a minute.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty heavy,” Gordon finally said. “I think the police might come round and have a word with her...look, can you tell her what I’ve told you? I’ll fill in the details when I see her. Tell her to be careful but not to worry.”

  “Sure, course, I’ll wait up for her tonight.”

  Gordon threw back his last mouthful of tea and got up to leave.

  “Ok, thanks for the tea and everyt
hing but I’d better get going...actually, do you mind if I just leave a note with all my contact numbers and home address in Darla’s room? She’s only got my mobile number.”

  “Yeah, sure, go ahead,” said Anita automatically as her brain continued trying to process what he’d told her. “It’s the door right at the top of the stairs.”

  Gordon smiled his thanks and climbed the stairs two at a time, pulling a business card out of his wallet on the way and wondering about the best thing to write on the back. His home number of course but also a short message, enough to alert her but not enough to panic her. Hopefully.

  ‘Alert not alarmed’ as Johnny Howard would say, thought Gordon to himself as he turned the knob on Darla’s bedroom door and tentatively stepped inside. He always felt funny going into other people’s bedrooms when they weren’t there. He looked around. It was a big room with lots of light and a balcony overlooking the street. The curtains were wide open and the bed unmade. Clothes and shoes were lying all over the floor and a stiletto hung precariously by its spiked heel from the ceiling fan. Gordon smiled, shaking his head in disbelief as he surveyed the bedroom chaos. Then something in the corner of his eye caught his attention, it was a little table with some photos, incense sticks and other knick-knacks on it. Going over for a closer look, he stared in confusion at the collection of haphazard objects. There were photos, newspaper clippings, matchboxes and coasters from various bars, theatre and movie ticket stubs, a pen and more. It was a little shrine. The only problem, thought Gordon, was that it was a little shrine to him.

  Thoughts and suspicions started whirling through his head. He started remembering snatches of conversation and suddenly they took on new meaning. Little things started clicking into place like pieces of a jigsaw and the face in the picture that was forming made him feel sick.

  The centrepiece of the shrine was a photo of himself cut into a love heart. Someone had kissed it while wearing bright red lipstick and the lip print covered the lower half of Gordon’s photographed face.