by Ali Berg
Suddenly alert, Bea, Zach and Dino turned around to see a middle-aged woman enter The Nook wearing a long denim pencil skirt and a very loud, very ruffled silk shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck. She clutched a copy of Harry: Life, Loss, and Love in one hand, and carried a plate of biscuits in the other. She moved slowly and deliberately towards Bea, who stayed glued to her seat, transfixed, momentarily forgetting that she was in fact the host. The lady continued to move towards her, her right arm now completely rigid and rising slowly. When she was roughly a metre from Bea, she stood there with what looked like a smile plastered across her face. Bea stared at the smudge of baby pink lipstick on her front teeth.
‘Ruth: royalist, historical romance and family saga reader and recent listener of the podcast By George: A Royal Family Appreciation. It’s a pleasure to be here,’ the woman said, with a slight softness to her Rs.
After a fractionally too-long pause, Bea jumped up, shook Ruth’s hand vigorously and took the plate of biscuits she had pushed towards her as an offering. ‘Ruth, welcome!’ Bea squealed and, on impulse, pulled the unsuspecting woman into a warm embrace. ‘You didn’t have to bring food. That is so kind of you!’
A little embarrassed, Ruth peeled herself away, adjusting her skirt, which had ridden up. ‘Oh, I thoroughly enjoy baking. They are muesli cookies. Diana’s Muesli. The company I started up back in the eighties, in my kitchen. Named after the princess herself.’ Ruth crossed her heart, looking solemn.
‘Diana’s Muesli?’ Bea said, shocked. ‘You mean the multimillion-dollar business? The top muesli brand in Australia? That Diana’s Muesli?’ Bea took in the slightly dowdy-looking woman standing before her.
‘Yes, that one. There couldn’t be two Diana’s Mueslis. Trademarking, right?’ Ruth said rigidly, before laughing. ‘I sold the company to Heinz two years ago. So now I have quite a bit of time to myself to attend events such as these.’ She gestured to the room.
Bea nodded, surprised, before pulling Ruth into the middle of the cafe and shoving a glass of champagne and a cupcake into her hands. Ruth attempted to juggle Bea’s offerings and her book.
‘So, how did you find out about Next Chapter?’ Bea asked.
‘The Next Chapter Facebook page was recommended to me,’ Ruth replied. ‘I don’t usually enjoy Facebook, too many photos of food. Or babies. The photos of dogs I like, especially if they’re in the corgi family, but otherwise I cannot abide it. All that desire to share every insipid thought and minor life accomplishment. I mean, yes, you made homemade Portuguese tarts – big whoop!’
Bea nodded along frantically, hanging onto Ruth’s every word. A guest! She had a guest! An incredibly successful, business-savvy (somewhat odd) guest she was neither previously acquainted with, nor related to, nor dating. She was thrilled. Ecstatic! Maybe I can make this work?
‘Usually my pet ferret would accompany me to such events, but midweek socialising after 8pm interrupts his cycle, if you know what I mean.’ She nudged Bea with surprising force. ‘But an opportunity to discuss books seemed like a worthy excuse for me to divert from the regular.’
‘Yes, oh, I’m so glad you could make it. Beyond glad,’ Bea gushed, taking a bite from a Diana’s Muesli cookie. Delicious!
Zach sauntered over and slid his arm around Bea’s waist. Ruth squinted at the gesture. Zach returned her look with one of his signature smiles, then introduced himself.
‘Republican?’ Ruth inquired, looking Zach up and down suspiciously.
‘Can’t say I’ve given it much thought,’ Zach replied. ‘Bea, it might be time to get the formalities underway.’
Bea nodded decisively and looped her arm through Ruth’s, ushering her towards a table. She slid in opposite her, took a deep breath and watched as Dino climbed onto a chair at the front of the café.
Dino cracked his knuckles. Suddenly, he looked almost nervous, his eyes more alert than usual. Lizzie Instagrammed him at a mile a minute.
‘Uh … thanks everyone for coming,’ Dino mumbled.
The motley crew before him clapped. Lizzie gestured for him to smile more.
Dino pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘So, this is something that’s pretty exciting for Bea,’ he said, pointing at her. Bea blushed a deep red as eyes fell on her. ‘She’s wanted to do something a little different for a while now – and well, this seems just about perfect. I mean, books and coffee – there aren’t many greater pleasures in life.’
A stunted laugh from Zach. One low ‘whoop whoop’ from Ruth.
‘Anyway, I’m not much of a talker. More of a poet. So, uh, I’ll jump right into something I wrote for tonight.’ He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and looked at it for a second too long. It was strange how edgy he seemed, Bea thought. Dino didn’t get nervous at the best of times.
Between the aisles, between the shelves,
We see an image of ourselves.
Not one that sits and stands and waits,
But one that moves and finds, relates.
You can’t be sure, it must be said,
What transformation lies ahead.
But with an open mind, we’re told,
A new beginning will unfold.
He paused, cleared his throat and continued. ‘And now, I’d like to invite the woman who made all of this happen up on stage to explain the rules. The woman whose three great loves in life are Donna Tartt, 25 words or less competitions and a strong skinny latte. Introducing Bea Babbage.’
Bea bit her lip and waved awkwardly as she scurried to stand next to Dino. ‘Oh gosh, thanks Dino, that was beautiful.’ She squeezed his shoulder. ‘So, have you ever wanted to find the perfect book? Are you sick of trawling through books that look good on paper but aren’t right for you in person?’ Bea glanced at Ruth. Her hands were clasped together in front of her chest and she was nodding along to Bea’s words. ‘Well, I know I am. That’s why we’ve launched Next Chapter. Simply bring your favourite book, and spend five minutes selling it to the person who appears at your table. If they like it, they take it. If they don’t, you move on to the next table. Are you guys ready?’
Ruth cheered.
‘And don’t forget to donate to the Breast Cancer Foundation on your way out!’ squealed Lizzie from the corner of the room, before twirling her phone around to take a selfie.
‘On your marks, get set, recommend!’ Bea called, setting a timer on her phone. She jumped off the chair and returned to the one opposite Ruth. She spied Zach pulling up a seat in front of Lizzie, who had brought along the only book she had ever read: Textbook Romance, by Zoë Foster and Hamish Blake.
‘Marrying commoners, I can’t abide it,’ Ruth began. ‘These young princes have no respect for tradition. It’s quite astonishing really, don’t you agree?’
Bea frowned, looking down at Ruth’s book. Prince Harry and Meghan Markle, heads slightly tilted towards each other, grinned up at her. She listened intently as Ruth spouted about the despicable dramatic licence of the writers of The Crown and how Harry, a once wayward prince, had managed, to her great disbelief and disapproval, to charm the pants off a nation. And then her five minutes were up. Ruth exhaled. She smiled briefly and then nodded for Bea to take her turn.
About thirty seconds into Bea drooling over the masterpiece that is Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko, she felt a light tap on the shoulder. Bea turned around as Ruth’s resounding huff signalled her frustration at this disruption. A short, awkwardly dressed man clutching a single, red rose stood before Bea. Her heart leapt in her chest. Another guest! This is happening!
‘I’m looking for Lizzie Babbage?’
‘You’re what?’ Bea asked, slowly rising from her chair.
‘Lizzie from The Bachelor. I’m here to see her.’
Bea stared at the slightly sweating man before her. Typical, just typical.
He leaned in closer, assaulting her with his far too liberal application of cologne. ‘You don’t happen to know if she’s single, do you?’ he asked, grasping the rose
to his chest in anticipation.
Bea rolled her eyes, informed him that Lizzie was married with twins, and watched him scurry out the door as fast as he’d come in. She apologised to Ruth profusely, then finished off her declaration of love to Pachinko, before her alarm announced time was up. Ruth got up and settled down in front of Lizzie, and began her monologue, while Bea stayed put.
‘Well, if it isn’t Bea Babbage herself.’ Dino sat in the seat opposite her, carrying a copy of The Dark Between Stars. His hair was tousled and hung loosely over his eyes.
‘I know you’ve already read Pachinko,’ Bea replied.
‘History has failed us… Something, something.’ His attempt at quoting the novel warmed Bea.
‘Show-off.’ Bea could see Ruth wildly gesticulating, holding the book in front of her and shaking it. Bea was sure she’d just barked, ‘Long live the Queen.’
‘You’re right, I have read this one.’ Dino pointed to the book, getting Bea’s attention again. ‘Sell your own story to me instead.’
‘What?’
‘The Bea Babbage story. Sell it to me,’ he said, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head.
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she shrugged, playing with the pages of her book.
‘There’s everything to tell.’
‘I’m monotonous, clumsy and ridiculous.’
‘You’re mildly hilarious, passionate and pretty damn brave.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Bea said dismissively.
Dino gave her a look which seemed to say, You don’t fool me, Babbage.
Bea glanced down at her book, embarrassed.
‘Your eyes light up when you do that, you know?’
‘Do what?’ Bea asked.
‘When you look at a book you love. They get bigger than they already are, which you would think is impossible, and then it’s like they’re dancing. I’ve never seen anyone so happy. It’s infectious.’
‘I didn’t realise you were watching me so closely, creep.’ Bea tried to laugh off Dino’s sudden candidness, but he didn’t laugh back. In fact, he looked more serious than ever. He opened his mouth to say something when Lizzie approached behind Bea.
‘Bea,’ she hissed.
‘Yes, Lizzie?’
‘It’s Zach,’ she mumbled.
Bea looked up, searching the room for him, but he was nowhere in sight.
‘He just, well, he just hit on me,’ Lizzie said seriously.
‘What?’ Bea felt cold. She suddenly had an intense urge to be under her covers reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.
The timer Bea had set on her phone chimed again. She frantically tapped at the screen to quieten it. Finally, it turned off, but both Bea and Dino stayed seated. Bea noticed that Dino’s hands were now balled up in white fists. Bea simply shook her head. This is just Lizzie. She always thinks everyone is hitting on her.
‘I’m telling you, Bea. He’s been flirting with me all night and just now, he leaned in so close his stubble practically grazed my cheek!’ Lizzie’s voice went up an octave.
Bea glanced at Dino, who was clenching his jaw. She sighed. She did not want to make a scene. Lizzie stared at Bea, waiting for a response.
Bea sighed. ‘Lizzie, I’m sure you misread the situation. He’s just a friendly guy and probably wanted to make a good impression because you’re my sister.’
‘Bea, I’m telling you, I didn’t misread it. This happens all the time, because I’m famous. But I never thought it would happen with—’
‘With who, Lizzie? You never thought it would happen with the guy I’m seeing? Just like you thought my boyfriend Luke was hitting on you in my first year of university, just like you were positive that Jake was going to pick you as his Bachelorette – not everyone is in love with you, Lizzie! I’m sick and tired of you making everything about you! This was supposed to be my night!’ Bea’s voice was just a little too loud. This was the last straw. Bea couldn’t push away her frustration at Lizzie manipulating everything to suit her own agenda. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, but tonight, you don’t get a rose.’
Morning Ramona!
Bedsheets are all washed and ready for a good old iron. No need to put sheets back on Lizzie’s fold-out. She’ll be pulling up in Mount Eliza right about now and thank God for that!
Peace!
B xx
Bea,
I re-washed sheets twice because they had big fake tan marks on them. I could not remove. Sorry.
Also, your friend Sunday came back to return book. I let her in. She presented me with a salad which was very tasty. I hope okay.
Ramona
As soon as the sun rose the morning after the event, Lizzie stormed out of Bea’s house faster than Winston Groom had said Forrest Gump could run. Zach had straight-up shut down Lizzie’s allegations after Bea questioned him. He claimed he was leaning in to show her his favourite passage from Catch-22 when all of a sudden she started screaming. This whole situation was just classic Lizzie. In Bea’s sister’s mind, everyone was obsessed, infatuated and totally head over heels in love with her.
Besides, Bea couldn’t bring herself to believe that Zach would ever flirt with another woman, let alone her sister. He had started looking at Bea with such ardour, it felt as if she were a character in a book and he was scribbling notes all over her. What would he write about her, she often wondered. She imagined it would be something like: a little odd, crazy, poppy seed in teeth, why did she just say that? And what would she write about him? Thoughtful, witty, I wonder what he looked like as a baby? Does he like me more than I like him? Why does he never blink? Gorgeous, insightful, that goddamn face.
Merely thinking of Zach made Bea smile. She just wanted to race from door to door, showing off this new man in her life, pointing to him and saying, ‘People, I’m dating this guy! This guy, with the perfect mop of brown curls, a smile as bright as the Milky Way and a mind as complex and intriguing as Zadie Smith’s.’
This was a new feeling for Bea. Her past relationships had been more fleeting dalliances than anything else and tended to end as quickly as they began. ‘The only thing you’re good at picking is a good book,’ Cassandra had always laughed. Take Lachy, for example. He had approached her last year at a café, where she was celebrating Lizzie’s birthday over brunch. He had asked for her number, and Liz had highly encouraged her to hand it over. Two months later, she had found herself in a relationship she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to be in (he was nice and all, but only ever talked about the cricket). But he had chosen Bea, amongst all the fish. So Bea went along with it, and tried to ride out the mediocrity until it transformed into your basic Nicholas Sparks novel. She needn’t have worried, though. A week later he dumped her at a test match. Said she was too boring! And just when she had started to like cricket.
She snuggled up under her blanket, wishing Zach was lying next to her in the empty space she hoped he would one day fill. Sighing, she flicked her snooze button again and turned a page of Meeting Oliver Bennett, soaking up Zach’s words.
‘It didn’t quite go exactly to plan, Martha.’ Bea had been reading Meeting Oliver Bennett on the toilet again when a pair of slightly more muted than usual, but still effortlessly elegant pair of navy ankle boots had stalked into the neighbouring cubicle. Bea hadn’t let her get a word in before she dished all the details from Next Chapter, except the part where her sister thought her boyfriend had hit on her.
‘I’m telling you, Martha, I just need to keep getting the word out and somehow turn these events into a bona fide money maker. And as soon as I do, I’m going to quit this godforsaken hellhole and start up my own thing. I’m serious. I cannot stand another second here. Who grows up wanting to sell toothpaste with a bunch of idiots and sexist pigs? I’ve started to throw out the worst possible toothpaste names I can think of – and my bosses lap it up. Yesterday they were swooning over my Mint to Be idea. I mean, come on!’
Flush.
Flush.
S
imultaneous flushes. This had never happened before. In the couple of months Bea had been working in Melbourne, she had always waited until Martha had left the bathroom – in fact, they still hadn’t met face-to-face. She liked the anonymity of their relationship. She was free to be whoever she wanted, without judgement. She considered stalling in the cubicle. But then she thought the better of it. Come on Bea. She heard Martha open her cubicle door and went to do the same.
Bea took a deep breath, her hand hovering over the lock. She had pictured this moment for months. What would beautifully-shoed Martha look like? Would she wear a tight black bun, equally fabulous earrings and bright red lips like Bea had always pictured, or would she be plainer from the bottom up and timid – completely throwing her expectations? Leaving the cubicle, Bea paused in the doorway. Martha was already washing her hands at the sink.
Bea’s breath caught again. Martha was nothing short of exceptional.
Older than she had expected, Martha had a peppering of sophisticated grey in her honey blonde hair. Dainty wrinkles feathered her brow and her lips were pursed as if she was about to say the word Tuesday. Her nails were painted immaculately in a shimmering pale pink, and she wore a West Highland Terrier-printed dress that screamed ‘quirky, yet incredibly expensive’.
‘Martha? I can’t believe it’s you.’ Bea turned the faucet on in the adjacent sink, regretting wearing her frumpy yellow lacy top. ‘I’ve been dreaming of this moment since—’
‘Let me stop you right there, Beatrix Babbage,’ the woman snapped in the very opposite of a British accent, spitting out her name like it was poison.
Bea took a step back, aghast.
‘Do you know who I am?’ she said.
Bea shrunk into herself. ‘Um, you’re Martha from Finance?’
The woman sneered – a malevolent sneer. The sort of sneer that could burn down George Orwell’s house.
