While You Were Reading

by Ali Berg

  ‘Have I? Have I really? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ Bea couldn’t believe the soap opera that was suddenly her life. If she hadn’t been so shocked, so hurt, she might actually have found this laughable. I mean, betrayal, escorts, salacious affairs – you can’t make this stuff up. This is worse than an episode of The Bold and the Beautiful.

  ‘Okay, yes, Cassandra paid me to spend time with you.’

  ‘Paid you? I did more than that. I spent all of our honeymoon money on you.’

  Bea ignored Cassandra and turned to Zach. ‘Spend time with me? We’ve been dating for over a month! You told me you loved me. We’ve—’ She stepped closer, lowering her voice. ‘We’ve been intimate with each other, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Bea, I’m so sorry,’ Zach said, spinning a spatula left on the bench, unable to look Bea in the eye. ‘I don’t know what to say. I didn’t want you to find out like this.’

  ‘Were you ever planning on telling me? Or were you just going to up and leave, just like Cassandra asked you to? Break my heart in some tragic act of vengeance?’ Bea couldn’t believe what she was hearing from this man with whom, just hours ago, she had shared a bed – shared her body and innermost thoughts and feelings. ‘How many more are there?’

  ‘More?’ Zach asked, genuinely bemused.

  ‘Don’t play dumb with me. How many more women are you stringing along?’

  ‘None! You’re the only person I’m seeing.’

  ‘Ha! Lucky me!’ Bea cackled, feeling slightly deranged.

  The group fell into stunned silence. It was hopeless. Was there really anything either Cassandra or Zach could say to make any of this okay?

  Zach was the first to speak. ‘I didn’t sleep with you until I knew how I felt about you. That was why I waited. I never meant to hurt you. And I was going to come clean, I promise. I was just so afraid that you’d hate me, that I would never see you again. The fear of losing you has been eating me up. You have no idea how conflicted I’ve been. But I know I’ve cheapened what we have. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

  ‘What we have? Please. Next, you’ll be telling me that I was more than just a job. Is that right?’ Bea spat.

  Zach stepped forward, unsuccessfully trying to take Bea’s hand in his once more. ‘Yes! Well, it was only a job at the start,’ he spluttered. ‘You have to believe me when I say that everything we’ve shared was real. Truly.’

  Bea shook her head. Does he think I’m an idiot? ‘Bullshit! I call bullshit! I’m not falling for that. Not for one second. Zach, you’ve been lying to me. And you’ve been bloody profiting from spending time with me! How could you possibly think that I could believe anything you say now?’

  ‘Because – because I’m in love with you, Bea,’ Zach whispered.

  Bea saw Cassandra’s jaw drop. Cassandra pushed forward, trying to interject, but Zach powered on. ‘Bea, you have to know how much I’ve come to care for you. How enlightening your presence has been. You’re so bold, so full of wonder. I know you’ve felt so alone these past months, so lost, yet look what you’re trying to create, what you are creating. And how you connect with people. You are amazing.’

  Bea rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, you’re good, Zach. Oh, you’re really good. Forget escorting, that was an Oscar-winning performance!’ Unexpectedly, Bea felt almost entirely disconnected from her surroundings, as if she were having a total out-of-body experience. She could see Zach’s mouth moving, but she only managed to catch fragments of what he was saying. Something about funds and starting his own personal training business, about not being an editor, the word sorry crushed between each excuse. But all she really heard was: Poor creatures. What did we do to you? With all our schemes and plans? which pulsated through her head on loop. Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, which had kept her company this week, seemed to be speaking to her on a whole new level.

  And then, one last heartbreaking thought pushed to the front of Bea’s mind.

  ‘And what about the book?’ Bea asked. ‘Was that at least real? Or did Cassandra tell you about it? Get you to say that it belonged to you?’

  Zach froze, eyebrows raised, his mouth forming a response. But he didn’t need to say anything. At that moment, Bea knew. She knew that the man who stood before her wasn’t even close to the man she thought he was. She understood now how deep his deception ran, how cunning Cassandra’s plan had been. It was all a lie. One big, ugly, gaping lie.

  Bea had heard enough. No longer able to be in the same room as them, she snatched her bag from the staff cupboard and made for the door.

  At the last moment, she paused, a question dancing on the tip of her tongue. But rather than ask it, she started riffling through her bag. Eventually, she found her wallet and extracted it. Unzipping it, she began frantically grabbing at the receipts and notes crammed inside. She swivelled around and thrust the clump of money and paper at a shocked Zach.

  ‘For the overtime,’ Bea said, her voice wobbling, before turning on her heel and bolting out of The Nook.

  And then when she was finally alone, wrapped up in the cool night air, Bea let the tears fall.

  Dear Ramona,

  Please don’t bother vacuuming up the crumbs or mopping the floors. Just tidy up the chocolate wrappers and empty pizza boxes on the floor and maybe make my bed, if there’s time. Sorry there’s so much mess. I just found out I’m living in a real-life Taming of the Shrew, and, well, my empty Mars Bar wrappers will tell the anger of my heart.

  Yours,

  Bea Katherina Babbage

  Bea,

  The place is very messy. I stay 45 minutes longer. This time is not included in prize small print. Please pay extra next time.

  Also, I hope everything okay.

  Ramona

  don’t speak when your mouth is full of lies.

  Bea aggressively highlighted the annotation in Meeting Oliver Bennett with a bright yellow marker. Her hair, which she hadn’t washed in days, was pulled into a messy bun and she was sitting cross-legged on her couch, wearing nothing but a sweater and a pair of lacy black undies. Bea had spent the past four days consumed with trying to digest the madness that had unravelled in her life. Walking home from The Nook that terrible night, she’d felt a mixture of hurt, betrayal and overwhelming disappointment. This is how Julia must’ve felt when Winston gave her up to the rats, she had thought bitterly to herself, appreciating 1984 in a whole new, very dramatic light. But this morning when she woke in her quiet, cold, empty apartment, she’d felt a different sort of emotion.

  Apathy.

  She was over it. Over Cassandra, over Zach leading her on, being some kind of freaking escort, and she was absolutely and truly over her ridiculous life and everything that came with it. Sick of shedding tears over people she knew would probably never shed tears over her, Bea had a new sense of purpose. Instead of moping, she was going to focus her energy on connecting with the one person in her life who didn’t judge, who didn’t swindle or misguide or disappoint. The person whose heartfelt insights lingered in Bea’s mind. The person who had comforted her when Bea felt entirely alone.

  The real Mystery Writer.

  Bea was going to find out who the true person behind the annotations was if it was the last thing she did. And she was going to do it without letting out one more wail, cry or scream.

  At three in the morning, she was halfway through Meeting Oliver Bennett for the second time. Again, she wasn’t paying attention to the storyline at all. Instead, she sat on the couch hunched over the book, analysing each comment, mark and note with new scrutiny. She poured herself another glass of vodka on the rocks – Hey, if I can’t cry, at least I can drink, she told herself – and then downed it, smacking her lips at the violent taste.

  melbourne never liked me, anyway.

  Bea quickly highlighted and then took out her notebook, scribbling into it:

  Possibly from out of town? Possibly doesn’t live in Melbourne anymore?

  She sighed, cracked her knuckles and
furrowed her brow. She was determined to find something, anything, that would lead her in a direction that was far from her ex-boyfriend, the con-artist. She rolled onto her back, lifting the book above her head. She stroked its hard corners and caressed the battered pages lightly with her fingers, flicking through them aimlessly.

  sympathy looks good on you.

  you were full of rare smiles.

  hold on pretty enigma.

  your farts smell like honey.

  Bea burst out laughing. ‘Oh beautiful writer, who are you? If you can make me laugh at a time like this, what can’t you do?’ she mumbled to herself. Was she officially going mad? She held the book closer to her face, tracing the cursive letters with the tip of her finger. While she was lost in thoughts about what sort of person had such delicate handwriting, the novel slipped through her hands, landing with a smack on her face. She yelped, sat upright and threw the hardback down by her phone. She let it sit there for a moment, its pages peeled open to one side, brushing against the edges of her phone. The phone that she refused to answer as she disappeared within herself. Then she remembered. The phone number. Maybe they will be able to tell me about the owner of the book?

  She retrieved the book and scrambled through the pages, before landing on the number scrawled hastily into the margin. She pointed her index finger at it, picking up her phone from the floor. She switched it on, eyes screwed shut. She knew what was coming.

  6:02pm

  7:36pm

  8:34pm

  8:55pm

  9:44pm

  10:08pm

  Zach: Bea, please. I’m sorry. I love you. Please can we just talk this through?

  A lump started to form in Bea’s throat, but before she could stop herself, she was dialling a number she hadn’t planned to dial at all.

  ‘Bea, are you okay?’ Dino was standing at her door. He was wearing loose track pants and a white singlet that revealed the tattoo sleeve travelling down his arm. His hair was more ruffled than usual and his eyes were unfocused and glazed. It was too early in the morning for him to have walls up, and this was the first time Bea had seen him look so vulnerable. It was unexpected – suggestive.

  ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you to come,’ she said, playing with the drawstrings of the pyjama shorts she had just thrown on.

  Dino pushed past her, making his way to the couch. In a last minute attempt to clean up, she had shoved a glass of vodka, five chocolate wrappers and a bra (which she had ripped off earlier in a fit of feminist rage) into a box under her coffee table. She had forgotten about the Absolut Vodka bottle, which Dino was now holding up accusingly.

  ‘You drank all of this?’

  Bea looked at the floor, sheepishly.

  ‘No wonder you look like shit.’

  Bea rolled her eyes, before walking over to sit next to him. ‘Thank you for coming. I didn’t know who else to call.’ She looked into his eyes.

  He nodded back. ‘Do you want to explain what exactly happened that night? And why you haven’t answered any of my calls since racing out of my café?’

  So, for the first time, Bea recounted the story.

  Dino paced up and down Bea’s living room, fists clenched, pupils dilated and angry. ‘I can’t believe him,’ he spat.

  As she let it all pour out of her, Cassandra’s deceit, Zach’s Airtasker profile and that Zach wasn’t the Mystery Writer after all, she felt a certain peace wash over her, as if she was letting go of all the ruthlessness, all of the deceit and betrayal with every word. She lay flat on the couch, head upside down, soaking up her new, surprising indifference. She watched Dino pacing. His eyes flickered with wrath, his lips pursed as if he’d just bitten into a lemon.

  ‘That bastard.’

  Bea sat up. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll kill him.’ Dino punched his open palm with his fist. Bea had never seen him like this. So livid, so protective.

  ‘Dino, don’t be ridiculous.’ Bea stood up, but he looked straight through her. He was breathing so heavily it made Bea’s breath deepen too. ‘Dino,’ she whispered, placing her hand on his. Dino looked up, finally making eye contact.

  His stance eased just slightly. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just so angry at him for doing this to you.’

  Bea could feel his hand relax under hers. She half-smiled, wanting him to know it was okay, and that she was grateful for his concern.

  He glanced around the room, staring at her disorganised, sad pile of scattered books and magazines. ‘If a book title could sum up your mood – what would it be?’ Dino asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s what my grandma always used to ask me. I used to get into these fits of rage when I was younger, and I could never explain why. My grandma would tell me to try explaining it with a book title, and somehow it helped. I was usually The Very Hungry Caterpillar,’ Dino joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  Bea smiled. ‘Your grandma sounds like a wise woman.’

  ‘She was.’ Dino nodded solemnly.

  ‘You Should Have Known,’ Bea replied. ‘It’s by Jean Hanff Korelitz.’

  Dino gripped her hand, such an intimate act surprising Bea, and then replied, ‘The Amber Fury.’

  She was glad he didn’t correct her, tell her she couldn’t have known. She wasn’t in the mood for sympathy. ‘Hopeless,’ she replied.

  Dino stared at her intently, before responding, ‘Persuasion,’ in an uncharacteristically hoarse voice.

  A shiver ran down Bea’s spine. She bit her lip.

  Dino gripped her hand harder. ‘Everything I Never Told You.’

  Bea inhaled before murmuring, ‘Hunger.’

  ‘Oh my God, Bea.’

  ‘That’s not a book.’

  ‘The Life-Changing Magic of Not Giving a F**k,’ he replied before pulling her face towards his and kissing her with everything he had.

  Her breath caught, taken aback by what was happening, then she kissed him back. She could still taste vodka in her mouth, but his intense minty flavour overcame it. Her mind felt like it was floating as he kissed her with such desire, it seemed he had been waiting his whole life to do so. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, still not taking his lips away from hers, lost in a haze of lust and perfect touches. Dino slid his hand slowly under her loose jumper, trailing his fingertips lightly along her stomach. Her breath caught.

  Bea couldn’t believe how good this felt, how right it was to be held tightly in his arms. No – how wrong it was to be held tightly in his arms.

  ‘Wait. Stop.’

  Dino dropped his arms and leaned back. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘This isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this,’ Bea said, eyes averted.

  Dino wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as if trying to wash her away. ‘Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Too messy. Way too messy,’ he muttered, stepping backwards, placing as much distance between them as possible.

  ‘Let’s just pretend this never happened,’ Bea said quickly.

  Dino simply nodded in reply.

  ‘We’re both not in our right mind. Drunk on anger, and in my case, lots of vodka.’ She let out a weak laugh.

  They stood there for a moment, staring at the chasm that had torn open between them. Bea felt terrible. Worse than terrible – like absolute shit. No, worse than shit. Like the lowest creature to ever roam the world. She was the dung beetle that shovelled shit. How could she do this to her friend? To Sunday? In this moment, she was no better than Cassandra.

  ‘I should go.’ Dino turned on his heel and made his way to the door, collecting his jacket on the way.

  ‘Wait,’ Bea called quietly.

  Dino turned, eyebrows raised expectantly.

  Her heart rattled in her chest. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Shaking her head, she managed, ‘Nothing, nothing. I’ll see you on my next
coffee run.’

  With a final and resounding grunt, Dino half-smiled, half-frowned, then left Bea breathless and standing regretful, in her living room.

  Helloisthisyourbook

  In a fit of rage I tore a page from Meeting Oliver Bennett. Before you block me for defacing a book, hear me out. I recently found out that Mystery Writer is not Mystery Writer after all. I was, of course, distraught, and did things that I regret (like tearing pages from books). But then I realised, it’s not the scribbles that I’m angry at. In fact, the person behind them has been nothing but consistent and comforting since I moved to a new city. So, I’m going to stop relying on everyone else, be the leading lady in my own story – and make it my sole mission in life to find the real Mystery Writer. Will you come on this journey with me?

  312 likes

  Comments (72):

  bookishflavour: Don’t worry, hon. Men suck.

  Misterhottie: You’re ugly.

  Caughtreadhanded: I can’t believe you tore a page out of your book. This hurts my soul!

  StephenPrince: Oh, I’m so sorry to hear I agree @bookishflavour, men do often suck.

  NoOffenceBut: @StephenPrince, you’re telling me! I just saw you on Tinder.

  StephenPrince: @NoOffenceBut: We’re on a break!

  ‘Just do something different.’ Bea stared at herself in the mirror, a scratchy cape wrapped tightly around her neck, her long hair hanging past her shoulders. The past month had been a blur of working so hard and burying herself in Meeting Oliver Bennett that she didn’t have time to eat, sleep or most importantly, think about Zach. Which was proving especially difficult, as Zach would not let up. She had received countless text messages, phone calls and even one very sad postcard featuring a basket of tiny golden retriever puppies that read: ‘I’m lost without you. Please can we put this behind us?’ He was desperate to win her back.