While You Were Reading

by Ali Berg

  In an attempt to get that horrible Next Chapter out of her head, she and Dino had dedicated themselves to planning their next event, which would be so fantastic and extravagant no one would remember the last one. Dino had proven to be indispensable, regularly surprising her with his ability to think outside the box.

  They had also spent the last month avoiding discussing that kiss. ‘I feel weird not acknowledging what happened,’ she had cryptically messaged Dino one late night. ‘There’s nothing to say. It didn’t mean anything,’ he had written back. After that, Bea forced herself to forget, to convince herself that it did mean nothing and that it could obviously never happen again (she wouldn’t do that to Sunday, although she’d avoided her as best she could, in case her guilty eyes revealed her nasty secret). So Bea and Dino returned to being friends who awkwardly hugged, discussed books and, in Bea’s case, got hot flushes whenever the other was around.

  While secret fantasies of Dino and planning the Next Chapter extravaganza were unnerving distractions, Bea still felt a messy void in her heart where Zach used to be. Trying to fill the abyss, and pay the bills, she had started freelancing for a few small clients. She had even toyed with the idea of starting up her own agency.

  And now, in an attempt to further ‘re-launch’, Bea did what Eleanor Oliphant did when she wanted to feel better – she headed straight to the hairdresser. In her case, a small, hairspray-smelling one around the corner from her apartment, for which she had won a coupon for a free cut and colour. She was putting herself at the mercy of scissors that belonged to a hairdresser she didn’t know.

  ‘Oh, darling. You’ve got to give me more than that. Are we talking “I just got a new job” different or “I just went through the worst break-up of my life” different?’ Vaughn the hairdresser asked animatedly. His long silver hair was tied in a sleek ponytail and his manicured eyebrows were raised eagerly.

  ‘Definitely the latter. You don’t know the half it,’ Bea replied.

  ‘Oh, darling.’ Vaughn put his hand on Bea’s shoulder. ‘Did you fall down the rabbit hole?’

  Bea smiled. Isn’t it funny how ingrained some stories are in our lives? And then it reminded her of her first date with Zach. ‘Oh boy, did I fall down the hole. I bumped my head, I bruised my soul.’ She paraphrased the quote, wishing that, like Alice, she had come to and realised it had all been a dream.

  Vaughn nodded knowingly. ‘I have just the look for you.’

  With a thick layer of white goo caked all over her hair and half an hour to sit and wait, Bea picked up her copy of Meeting Oliver Bennett, resuming her search for whoever lay behind the pen. She had called the phone number scribbled in the book countless times, but it kept going straight to the same woman’s voicemail. She now knew the message by heart: ‘Sorry, I can’t get to the phone right now, leave a message at the beep and I’ll get back to you. Probably.’ She had also read and then re-read every single inscription, hoping that once she transported this character from the page to real life, everything in her world would suddenly make sense again.

  Learning that Zach wasn’t who he’d said he was had been painful. And discovering that Cassandra was behind it all hurt even more. But for some reason, finding out that she could no longer put a face to the scribbles was what wounded her the most. It was like she had fallen deeply for the words, given each letter, each mark, each dot, its own meaning. And now that she no longer knew who wrote them, well, it was like she had to start reading them all over again. Why do you even care so much about finding the owner of this damn book? she asked herself repeatedly. But deep down, she knew why. Discovering the annotations and meeting this enigmatic figure had given her the sense of being tethered to something, of feeling a certain connectedness to someone, even as anonymous as the Mystery Writer, when so much of her life felt so empty. It made her want to think differently, to question more and dare to dream just a little.

  Bea flicked Meeting Oliver Bennett open to a dog-eared page and whipped out a pink highlighter. She scanned the pages, reading the words that had become dear friends, crafting an Instagram post in her head at the same time. Her Bookstagram following had grown significantly since she had revealed that the man behind the book wasn’t the man behind the book after all. She had received an outpouring of comments empathising with her, and, most intriguing, offering to help her track down the real owner of the book. She highlighted a sentence.

  you are entirely whole as you are.

  She took out her phone, snapped a photo of the page and typed a quick caption.

  Mystery Writer thought provocation for the day! How to be loved like this, am I right?

  Instantly, a few comments appeared underneath her picture.

  Hear, hear. Hope you’re doing okay, babe xx

  Sah poetic.

  Bea smiled. She scrolled through her feed, liking and commenting on different photos of novels, coffees and bookshelves.

  ‘Ready to wash, darling?’ Vaughn grabbed her shoulders, waking her from her reverie.

  After a blow-dry and copious amounts of fluffing and styling products, Bea stared at her reflection in the hairspray-misted mirror, not recognising the woman looking back at her. It was perfect. An almost white-blonde pixie cut now framed her face, the opposite of her usual black mane. Her skin looked even paler next to her new hair, her black mascara even darker. She looked like a Scandinavian exchange student who had come to Melbourne to study literature, drink wine and meet boys.

  ‘You’re fabulous! Fabulous!’ Vaughn cooed, running his fingers through her newly peroxided hair. ‘But it needs something else. Kristy!’ he yelled towards the back of the salon. ‘Come here, and bring your bag!’

  Seconds later, a small, mousy girl dashed towards them, hairdryer in one hand, purple makeup bag in the other. Vaughn took the bag from her and rummaged through it. ‘Voila!’ he said, taking out a half-used hot-pink lipstick. He turned Bea’s chair around to face him and, before she could speak, swiped the lipstick across her lips.

  ‘Perfection,’ he whispered with pride, swivelling her chair back to the mirror.

  ‘Perfection,’ Bea whispered, grinning.

  ‘So, who is this for?’ Vaughn asked, stroking her hair, admiring his work.

  ‘For? It’s for me.’ Bea shrugged, still not able to take her eyes off her new source of confidence.

  ‘Oh, I know that, honey. But nobody comes in to get their hair did without a place to be after. Where are you going? Wedding? Party? Girls’ drinks? Hot date?’

  ‘Oh, nowhere special,’ Bea admitted. ‘Just a visit to my local coffee shop.’

  Bea was wearing an emerald green knit that made her eyes shine, skinny jeans and her sparkly silver Converse. She had just applied a fresh layer of her new hot-pink lipstick (which Kristy had insisted she keep – ‘It looks better on you,’ she’d declared) and her ice blonde hair was tucked effortlessly behind her ears. For the first time in a month, she felt strong, empowered and – dare she say it – beautiful.

  As soon as she walked through the blue door of The Nook the scents of baking muffins, roasting coffee beans and cinnamon filled her nose. A young man sitting at the furthest table from the door looked up from his phone to trail his eyes over her. She stared him down as she made her way to the counter. She spotted Dino, and before she could stop it, her heart did a somersault.

  ‘One strong skinny latte please, extra hot. It’s freezing out there,’ Bea said in a husky voice that wasn’t her own, staring at Dino’s sturdy arms. He was wearing a burgundy jumper and scribbling in his Moleskine, probably liberating sonnets from his mind.

  ‘Coming right up,’ he replied, turning around.

  ‘Busy day?’ she asked, enjoying the fact that he hadn’t recognised her.

  ‘Mmm . . .’ he replied and Bea let out a laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ He turned to face her for the first time. ‘Bea?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your hair! It’s blonde!’ he exclaimed, staring at her. ‘And
short.’

  ‘I know. Do you like it?’ she replied, butterflies dancing in her stomach.

  ‘Yeah. It’s different,’ he said, still not taking his eyes off her.

  Bea nodded, holding his gaze. ‘Did you like it better before?’ she asked, nervously tucking some loose bits back behind her ear.

  ‘I like it both ways,’ he replied. He blinked twice before turning his back to her to prepare her latte. ‘Oh, by the way, fifteen giant jars of jelly babies arrived for you this morning. I mean, what the hell are you going to do with 5,000 jelly babies?’

  She’d almost forgotten about the Allen’s competition she had entered two weeks ago, writing: ‘I’m 30 and recently single, this might be my only chance of having a family.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m a changed woman. I’m going cold turkey on the material competitions. I live a minimalist lifestyle now.’

  ‘Uh huh, I’ll believe it when I see it,’ Dino replied, his back still to her.

  Bea, after watching Tidying with Marie Kondo on Netflix, had decided to embrace the old adage of less is more and thrown just about everything that didn’t ‘spark joy’ into six large garbage bags. She had needed to rid herself of everything that came close to reminding her of Zach and Cassandra, including many of her – she hated to admit – unnecessary competition winnings. She’d then moved on to folding her underwear in the prescriptive way that would allow it to stand up in a drawer.

  Bea whipped out her phone and scrolled through her Instagram feed mindlessly, trying to steady her heartbeat. The shop was unusually quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. The song ‘Here Comes the Sun’ played softly from the speaker that hung in a corner of the ceiling. The bell on the front door rang.

  ‘Dino!’ Sunday yelled, making her way to the counter. Her eyes were red and her usually tanned skin pink and blotchy. She jutted her chin upwards in acknowledgement of Bea, who smiled meekly back at her. ‘Bea, is that you? Sexy hair.’ She winked, the simple nicety making Bea feel even worse about what had happened with Dino than she had before. Sunday’s own pink hair was thrown up in a high ponytail and she wore a blue button-down shirt paired with black boyfriend jeans and Doc Martens. She looked chic, edgy and carefree all at the same time. Bea started to feel stupid about her own blonde hair and pink lips.

  ‘What’s going on, Sunday?’ Dino stopped making Bea’s coffee and came around to the front of the counter, placing his hand on Sunday’s arm. ‘I’ve never seen you like this.’ Bea’s coffee was left, half-made, on the bench. Bea averted her eyes.

  ‘Oh, it’s stupid, you know,’ Sunday sniffed, sitting on a bar stool. ‘It’s just, I was chilling at ARK café, watching some documentaries about animal welfare on my phone. And one really got to me. Cowspiracy. It’s just horrible, what we’re doing to these animals, to our planet! I can’t stop thinking about it. That’s why I want to work with vegan clothing. I just want to do something to help, you know? But at the moment, I feel like I’m not doing enough, and every time I close my eyes, turn a corner, I can’t stop seeing those horrible images. I just walked past a McDonald’s and burst into tears. I’ve gone crazy!’ Sunday said, welling up again.

  ‘Sunday, that’s not stupid. It means you care. Plus, you are doing something. You’re looking for a job in ethical fashion as we speak, and you’re constantly haranguing customers to donate to a new charity.’ Dino sat on the bar stool next to her. ‘Look, I’ll tell you something I do to make myself feel better. It’s something my grandmother taught me. Tell me a book title that explains your feelings,’ he said.

  Bea looked at the ground, remembering when he had distracted her with the same riddle.

  ‘What?’ Sunday said.

  ‘Look, I’ll start. So Sad Today. Because I saw you cry for the first time,’ he said with a gentleness that was unfamiliar to Bea.

  ‘Okay,’ Sunday sniffed. ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off – because I desperately need a holiday.’ She put her arm on Dino’s and nudged him.

  Bea withheld an eye roll at the movie, not book, title. Dino said nothing.

  ‘You’re right, this does make me a feel a little better,’ Sunday said, more chirpily this time.

  Bea held in a cough, not wanting to spoil the moment between the pair. She took one last longing look at her half-made coffee before slowly backing away towards the front door. Her eyes trained on the floor, she bumped into a man who had just walked in.

  ‘Bea?’

  ‘Zach?’

  ‘Zach?’ Bea stammered, regaining her composure. Shakily, she stepped backwards to where Agatha Christie was sleeping in her dog bed and scooped her into her arms for emotional support. Or to provide some kind of animal shield. She sat down, not trusting her legs to keep her upright. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Zach looked terrible: his hair was ruffled, his shirt was half-untucked, and dark circles accented his eyes. But his face, his body, that sexy, beautiful body, still made Bea tingle and she hated herself for it.

  He took a tentative step towards her, then paused. ‘I had to see you,’ he said, running his hands through his limp hair. ‘You look amazing, by the way.’

  She ignored the compliment. ‘How’d you know I’d be here?’

  ‘Of course you would, Bea. When you refused to answer any of my calls, I had to come straight to the source.’ He glowered at Dino, who scowled right back. ‘Can we go somewhere? Please? Even just for a few minutes.’

  This was typical. Just as Bea was getting closer to some semblance of calm, Zach reared his betraying, lying head. She had hoped that she could declutter him from her heart and peroxide him out of her life, strand by strand. But now, here he was, all doe-eyed and apologetic, begging her to forgive him. This was not the kind of romantic gesture she could stomach right now.

  She held Agatha Christie more firmly against her chest, breathing in her sleepy poodle scent. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said.

  ‘Please, Bea. I’m begging you, just give me a chance to make things better. To explain myself properly,’ Zach said.

  ‘Didn’t you hear her, mate? She said no,’ Dino interjected, taking a step closer to him. Sunday eyed Zach, but said nothing, her expression and power pose doing the talking for her.

  ‘Stay out of it for once, mate,’ Zach said. ‘This is between Bea and me.’

  ‘And Cassandra, apparently,’ Dino said. ‘How is the Airtasker business going? It has some serious benefits, I hear.’ As soon as he said it, though, he seemed to regret it.

  Bea frowned, then sighed. ‘Zach, what could there possibly be to say? The whole situation is unforgivable. I just can’t get into it again. I’m trying to move on. Finally. From you, from Cass, from this whole damn fantasy that happily ever after exists in real life.’

  ‘You have to believe me when I say it really wasn’t all a lie, Bea. When I told you I loved you, I meant it. Truly,’ Zach said, sneaking an awkward glance at Dino. ‘Yes, the way we met was terrible, a huge betrayal and totally thoughtless. But I can’t let myself regret it fully because it brought you to me.’

  Bea heard Sunday sigh and Dino huff. She was sure if Zach stayed any longer, Dino might actually end up huffing and puffing and blowing this coffee shop down.

  ‘When I agreed to Cassandra’s plan, I was desperate. I needed the coin and it all seemed so temporary, so petty. But I was obviously deluded.’ Zach hung his head.

  ‘Understatement of the year!’ Dino burst out. Bea, momentarily forgetting herself, couldn’t help but snort.

  Zach frowned at Dino, then sat down on the bar stool next to Bea. ‘When I got into this ridiculous business, I could never have imagined that you would be you.’

  Bea felt her heart race and her palms become sweaty as she grasped the dog even tighter. She exhaled, not realising she had been holding her breath. Looking into the eyes of the man of whom she had become so fond – who she’d thought she loved – a tight twinge caught in her chest. ‘It’s too little, too late, Zach,’ she said. ‘There have been
too many lies exchanged. How could I ever trust you again? I don’t even know who you are!’

  ‘Let me show you,’ Zach begged, pulling one of her hands to his chest.

  For a moment, they sat there, transfixed, and Bea fell just a little deeper into his gaze.

  Dino cleared his throat, startling them back to reality. ‘Bea, you’re not going to fall for that shit, are you?’

  Bea, pulling away from Zach, placed Agatha Christie on the floor. She took a look at her wayward barista, thinking about the last month. The awkward double-takes, the half-hearted hugs, the total denial of feelings or honest admissions about any saliva ever being exchanged. And then she thought about the month she had shared with Zach. His spontaneity, his wit, the way he would hold her hand with his thumb always gently caressing her index finger. The three squeezes. She thought about that time they visited The Avenue bookstore on the hunt for as many books with the names Zach and Bea in them as they could find, and how he’d charmed a group of young girls reading the latest illustrated Harry Potter book by reenacting, with accents and imaginary wand flourishes, the fight scene from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

  ‘Zach, I just don’t know,’ Bea said. ‘I need time.’

  Shooting up from the stool, Zach grinned widely. ‘I can wait. You take all the time in the world.’ Zach squeezed her shoulder, smiling that blasted sunflowers-blooming-in-the-meadow smile. With a final reassuring nod, and one last menacing look at Dino, he strode out of the coffee shop, at least understanding one thing: how to quit when he was ahead.

  Ruffling her blonde locks, Bea dared not make eye contact with Dino. ‘I need to get some air. I’ll catch you later.’

  ‘Wait,’ Dino called, and Bea’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Your coffee.’ Pushing the takeaway cup towards her, he spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘Just be careful, okay?’

  Eyes still averted, Bea picked up her bag and the coffee, promising to come back for the lolly jars. She walked out of the shop, pulling her jacket tightly around her neck. Before taking a sip of her drink, she looked at the cup. Snaking around it were the words: Never argue with an idiot. They’ll always beat you with experience.