After the Party Read online

  ‘More?’ She stopped at the doorway. ‘That sounds ominous.’

  ‘Ben, would you excuse us for a minute?’

  Giving her a grateful smile, Ben fled the room and Jamie closed the door behind him.

  ‘Would you like to take a seat, Angel?’ Jamie pulled out a chair.

  ‘No, I would not. You know I detest sitting,’ said Angel, folding her arms.

  Jamie silently rebuked herself. Of course Angel would stand. The woman had a treadmill in her office and it wasn’t unusual for her to conduct entire meetings from it, convinced that ‘computers will kill us all, one day’. At first, Jamie had found it distracting, trying to talk serious business over the sounds of a whirring machine and a woman huffing and puffing. But after a while it became second nature. What Jamie had come to learn was that Angel only ever made sense when she was talking business. In most areas of her life, exercise included, she was quite nuts. But her business acumen was undeniable. While she couldn’t sustain a long-term personal relationship to save herself, she excelled at client relationships and had an uncanny knack of keeping her customers in a state of ecstatic bliss. The money was pouring in.

  Jamie leant against her desk. Nutty or not, her boss deserved the full truth. ‘Well, Angel, the thing is …’ She paused. ‘Jared has secured a job promotion in Dubai and he moves there in six weeks.’

  ‘Well, good on Jared. But I have to say it doesn’t sound like the ideal way to start a marriage. Him overseas and you here.’

  Trust Angel to assume I couldn’t possibly be leaving.

  ‘The thing is, Angel—’

  ‘Will you please stop saying “the thing is”.’ Angel put her hands on her hips. ‘Just say the thing.’

  ‘I’m moving to Dubai with Jared.’ Jamie took a breath. ‘I’m leaving Spin.’

  Angel’s eyes narrowed. ‘No you’re not,’ she said in a steely voice.

  ‘I’m afraid I am.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘Look, I really am very sorry, Angel. You have been wonderful and I appreciate all the opportunities—’ Jamie stopped. Angel had flopped into the chair. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘No,’ she said in a puzzled voice, as if not quite believing she had actually sat down. ‘I’m not all right. I was going to retire and let you run the business. Make you Executive Director and sign over a 20 per cent equity stake. The works.’ She splayed her hands. ‘But now you want to leave me.’

  ‘Angel, why didn’t you tell me what you were planning?’ Jamie was shocked. Angel was so devoted to Spin and she was the youngest 62-year-old Jamie had ever met. Retirement simply wasn’t a word she’d ever associated with her.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning?’ said Angel in an accusatory tone.

  ‘Jared only told me on the weekend.’

  Angel grunted, considered the neon orange lacquer on her fingernails, then fixed Jamie with her gaze. ‘So what are you going to do over there in Dubai?’

  ‘I was thinking of starting my own consultancy.’

  Angel snorted. ‘You don’t know the first thing about that place.’

  ‘I can learn.’ Jamie stuck out her chin. She could handle Angel’s disappointment, but not her insults.

  Angel leant forward. ‘But think about it, Jamie darling. I’m giving you your dream. The top job at Sydney’s best PR agency. I thought we’d moved on from the days where women had to throw away their careers for a man. I mean, aren’t you even going to think about it?’

  This was the closest to begging that Jamie had ever seen Angel come. What she was offering was a dream come true. She’d worked so hard and given so much of herself, was she really going to throw it all away simply because Jared had been given a job that might last only one year, two at most?

  Angel was still staring at her and Jamie couldn’t meet her gaze. ‘I can see you’re thinking about it.’

  ‘I am tempted,’ admitted Jamie. ‘It’s a very generous offer.’

  ‘I tell you what.’ Angel placed her hands on the armrests. ‘I’ll give you one week to come up with two business plans. One for this place. And one for your new business in Dubai. You present them to me and I’ll give you my honest opinion about which one I think you should pursue. And I think you know that if nothing else, I am always honest.’

  Jamie looked out the window. As eccentric as Angel was, she did make sense when it came to business-related matters. The idea was a good one. After all, it was no good running off to Dubai without a proper plan in place. This way, she’d get to assess the true viability of the idea, while also keeping alive the possibility of taking over at Spin.

  ‘All right, Angel, we have a deal.’

  At Jamie’s outstretched hand, Angel sniffed and rose from the seat. ‘Darling, you know I never shake unless I absolutely have to.’ She shuddered. ‘All those germs.’ And out she swept from Jamie’s office.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ava and Lisa approached the front gate to St John’s and Lisa reached for her daughter’s hand.

  ‘You know, darling, it’s all right to feel a little nervous on a Monday, after the weekend and all.’ She squeezed Ava’s fingers, enjoying the softness of her little fingers.

  ‘I’m fine, Mummy.’

  Wish I could say the same.

  Lisa had to talk to Principal Valentic and while she wasn’t looking forward to it, she knew the conversation was necessary. School was the only way Ellie’s mother could have found out about the party. Maybe the principal could shed light on how it might have happened? She also needed to raise the idea of enrolling Ellie into the school, temporarily. Her mission was to make the little girl’s life as normal and stable as possible and to Lisa’s great relief, it had started well, with Ellie waking happily and eating a tonne of Weet-Bix for breakfast. She was even quite happy to stay and play with Jems and Scott while Lisa dropped Ava up to school.

  Ava dropped her mother’s hand. ‘You’re all sweaty, Mummy.’ She wiped it on her uniform. ‘Yuck.’

  ‘Sorry, darling.’

  They walked side by side, Lisa’s hand aching with emptiness and her stomach like a cement mixer of nerves, rolling over and over.

  They were inside the school grounds now, surrounded by arrivals and drop-offs. ‘Hey, Sienna!’ Ava charged off in the direction of another little girl whose face had lit up with recognition when she saw Ava’s.

  ‘Wait, you haven’t said goodbye. And you forgot this,’ Lisa called out and held up Ava’s backpack.

  But her daughter had already melted into the sea of oversized royal blue hats, checked uniforms and black leather shoes.

  Lisa located Ava’s locker—the one with the ladybird sticker—deposited the bag and returned to the playground. There weren’t many parents around now. Most had retreated back to their cars or to the front gate where a regular group that Lisa had dubbed ‘the exercisers’ congregated every morning, talking in furiously hushed voices before bouncing off, presumably to the gym. The fitness levels of the St John’s mothers were really quite extraordinary. By Lisa’s estimate, approximately 90 per cent of them were involved in some kind of daily exercise routine. Why else would they turn up to every pick-up and drop-off in a uniform of leggings, natty vests, high ponytails and sleek runners?

  She suspected Principal Valentic did not entirely approve of such casual attire. There she was, near the monkey bars, with fishnet stockings poking out from beneath her fluoro-yellow high-vis vest. The headmistress was unlike any school principal Lisa had ever met. For a start, she wore fishnet stockings on a regular basis, not in a tarty way but in a very grown-up, chic sort of way. She wouldn’t have been out of place in Jamie’s office, but here in the schoolyard she was like a Thai orchid in a field of carnations. Almost sculptural.

  Lisa approached slowly. ‘Ah, Principal Valentic?’

  ‘Call me Jane,’ boomed the exotic flower, turning on her stiletto to face Lisa. ‘Who are you?’

  Lisa swallowed. Her throat was suddenly dry.
‘I’m Lisa Wheeldon, mother of Ava Wheeldon in KV.’

  The principal took a step closer. ‘Talk to me,’ she demanded.

  ‘Well, um, everything’s fine with Ava. She’s very happy and has made some lovely little friends—’

  ‘Excellent, excellent,’ Principal Valentic cut in. ‘I think you’ll find the parents of St John’s generally have a very high level of satisfaction, particularly with our kindergarten program.’

  ‘Yes, yes. It’s all great.’ Lisa paused.

  ‘Yes?’ intoned the glamorous giraffe.

  ‘It’s just that … something a little strange happened at Ava’s party over the weekend and I thought you could possibly help me to figure out how it occurred.’

  From there, Lisa went into her rehearsed speech about the party and the additional child (without mentioning Ellie by name) and wondered aloud how someone might have managed to get a copy of the invitation when they had only been distributed within the school grounds.

  ‘So, I guess I’m just wondering if it’s possible that someone, you know, took an invitation from one of the children’s bags, or—’

  ‘A security breach?’ Principal Valentic folded her arms. ‘Not possible. Our front gates are locked every morning at 9 am, and they do not reopen until 3 pm.’

  Lisa shifted weight, nervously. ‘Well, is it possible that there was a student who left earlier in the term? Like, maybe the child came for the first couple of weeks, got the invitation, and then left the school, but came to the party anyway?’

  ‘No, Mrs Wheeldon. It is not possible. The year began with thirty-two students in kindergarten and that’s how it has remained. How many children were invited to this gathering?’

  ‘Uh … The entire class. All thirty-two.’

  ‘Thirty-two invitees? I mean, really!’ she huffed. ‘A little over the top, don’t you think, Mrs Wheeldon? Here at St John’s, we pride ourselves on our three core values of simplicity, modesty, and—’ The principal’s face went blank, but the slip in the mask was temporary. ‘And those values inform all that we do,’ she said firmly.

  ‘I was just following the school’s inclusive party policy,’ Lisa said meekly.

  ‘Yes, well, that policy is currently under review.’ Principal Valentic shifted her gaze to a melee of four boys, scrabbling on the ground. ‘Cooper O’Connor,’ she barked, the scrum dissolving as a little crew of scraped knees and untucked shirts picked themselves up dejectedly from the artificial grass. ‘In my office at recess. And tuck those shirts in.’

  The boys cowered next to Lisa, who felt like giving them all a hug. Thankfully, the bell started to chime and the playground mayhem reached a new pitch as children raced from all directions to find their spot in the line-up.

  Lisa took another breath. She’d also practised this part with Scott, mostly because it involved telling a lie. ‘Uh, Principal Valentic. Just one more thing. I have a friend who’s had to go … go away to … um … look after her … ah … her sick mum.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘Your friend’s mother.’ A flicker of irritation crossed the principal’s face.

  Oh bugger.

  She and Scott hadn’t thought to think up a particular type of illness. Lisa’s eyes dropped to the principal’s chest, drawn to the merest hint of a neon pink bra poking cheekily from beneath her blouse.

  ‘Oh … ah … she, um, has cancer. Breast cancer.’

  The principal met Lisa’s gaze, her eyes softer. ‘I had an aunt who died of breast cancer.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. That’s terrible for you.’ Lisa’s left eye start to twitch. She hated lying.

  ‘Olivia Bryant! Step away from that skipping rope. You nearly took an eye out.’ The principal was back to business mode, eyes roving like heat-seeking radar over the chaos of the playground. ‘Tell me, Mrs Wheeldon, what can we do to help?’

  ‘Well, I’m looking after her child, a six-year-old, Ellie, turning seven in September, and I was wondering if she could attend St John’s for the next six weeks or so.’

  ‘A temporary enrolment? We’ve had a few of those before. Parents on secondment, that sort of thing.’ The principal held up a hand. ‘See the office. Fill out the forms. Seven in September did you say? Right, then she can go into Year One where we do have a couple of spaces. She can begin on Wednesday at the athletics carnival.’

  ‘Oh, gosh, thank you, I didn’t think—’

  But the principal was already striding away. ‘Generosity!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘That’s the other core value at St John’s. We help those in need.’

  Lisa left the playground quickly, handbag clutched to her chest in a defensive gesture against the children swarming about her like clouds of midges. She had given up on the idea of giving Ava a proper goodbye involving a hug and kiss. If Lisa escaped the playground with her life, she would be happy. At the admin office, she collected the enrolment forms and at the front gate, she exhaled, aware that she’d been holding her breath since the abrupt end to her conversation with Principal Valentic. What a scarily confident woman! No wonder the school did so well academically. The woman ruled with an iron fist. A child dare not do badly.

  Lisa leant against the school gate, exhausted. She’d been sure Principal Valentic held the key to discovering the truth about Ellie, but their conversation had left her just as confused as before, and the principal now seemed to have her pinned as a troublemaker. At least she’d agreed to let Ellie attend the school. Thank goodness for the school’s core values!

  The usual crowd of exercisers was still there and the huddle tightened as Lisa approached.

  ‘That’s the one I was telling you about,’ one of them whispered, before she felt a tap on the shoulder.

  ‘Lisa, I was hoping to catch you,’ cried Heather, flicking her ponytail. Lisa hadn’t noticed her in the group, but the scrum was so tight and everyone looked so identical it wasn’t surprising. ‘What an exciting weekend. Tell me, whatever happened to the poor little abandoned girl at the party?’

  Lisa felt the other exercisers edging closer, ears positively flapping. Oh god. Now she was the talk of the entire school.

  ‘Well, she’s still with us.’

  ‘Still with you? Oh, how traumatic!’ At that point, the exercisers moved in en masse, murmuring consolingly and surrounding Lisa in what she presumed to be a supportive gesture but, from the outside, might also have been mistaken for a murder of crows descending on a carcass.

  ‘You must join us for coffee.’ Heather clutched Lisa’s arm.

  ‘But aren’t you all off to the gym?’

  ‘No, no, no,’ she laughed gaily. ‘We hate gyms. Can’t stand them.’

  ‘For a walk, then? Or a jog?’

  ‘Hon, I haven’t exercised since the nineties. We just wear this stuff cause it’s comfy.’

  The other women giggled. ‘Seriously,’ said one of them. Lisa thought her name was possibly Kimberly. ‘You should get some. They’re the most gorgeously comfortable things you’ll ever wear.’

  But tracksuits are comfy. Why not them?

  ‘I’m not quite sure they’re me,’ Lisa muttered.

  ‘Of course they are.’ Heather linked her arm through Lisa’s. ‘Now we’re going to take you for the best coffee in the suburb. You’re free? No little one around?’ Heather stopped and looked down and around as if Jemima might appear around their ankles at any minute.

  ‘She’s home with Scott. Let me just check with him that it’s okay for me to take a bit longer.’

  It’s my chance to ask them for help! Maybe discover a clue as to who this Missy Jones could be …

  Lisa pulled out her phone as Heather bounced off down the street.

  ‘I’ll go ahead and save us a seat.’

  Lisa knew the café. She passed it every day on her way to the school but she’d never thought to go inside. Speakeasy featured a graffitied exterior with old gin crates out the front that served as both stools and tab
les. At first, Lisa had assumed it to be a bar, until one day she took a closer look at the menu and discovered the place was unlicensed. No alcohol at all.

  Oh, of course! Irony.

  Speakeasy was the kind of place that served its food on planks of wood, rather than proper plates. So impractical for things such as poached eggs which tended to run like yellow rivers, forcing one to eat quickly before the inevitable spill. Plates and their practical ‘lips’ were far too underrated these days, in Lisa’s view.

  On the way down to Speakeasy, the exercisers talked companionably with her about the amazing coffee they served. Single origin. Sourced from Lake Kivu in Rwanda. Had Lisa heard of it?

  Lisa hadn’t—her knowledge of emerging coffee-growing regions was not what it could have been—but she was happy to try!

  Within thirty seconds of arriving at the café, Lisa understood it wasn’t just the coffee that attracted the women of St John’s.

  ‘The usual, ladies?’ The barista had a curled, 1920s moustache, with Brylcreemed hair and khaki-green eyes. It didn’t take much to imagine him in a tuxedo, and the visual was extremely pleasing. Perhaps the modern term might have been ‘hipster’, but in Lisa-language he was a dreamboat. A modern-day matinee idol.

  ‘I see we have a new member.’ The barista winked at Lisa. ‘What will it be, hon?’

  ‘A cappuccino, please,’ she said with more confidence than she felt.

  ‘Almond? Rice? Cashew?’

  ‘Uh … just the normal. From a cow.’

  The barista smiled, and the lines around his eyes crinkled in a way that made Lisa feel a little breathless. ‘And are we eating this morning?’

  The menu. Right. She tore her eyes from the gorgeous man before her and quickly scanned the clipboard, feeling her confidence return as she noted the familiar rollcall of eggs, smashed avocado and bircher muesli. ‘Just some banana bread, thanks.’

  She felt the table collectively inhale. Was banana bread the wrong thing to order?

  ‘Good on you,’ whispered the lady on her left, distinguishable for being the only other one at the table with brown hair. ‘No one ever orders food.’