After the Party Page 15

  ‘Let’s show your sister, shall we?’

  Cici swept aside the curtain, drawing a gasp from Lisa who immediately leapt to her feet and clapped her hands together. ‘Oh my gosh! It’s so beautiful.’ She paused, eyes widening and shining, looking Jamie up and down as if she were an apparition. ‘I can’t believe it … I mean, don’t get me wrong Jamie, you’re always beautiful, but that dress is just … it’s just … stunning.’ Lisa was always effusive with her praise—so much so that Jamie occasionally doubted its sincerity—but this wasn’t her normal, enthusiastic I’ve-just-patted-a-cute-puppy tone. There was an edge to her voice that verged on incredulity, as if she couldn’t actually believe what she was seeing.

  Cici helped Jamie over to the small, raised podium in the middle of the store, surrounded on three sides by mirrors. Instead of being intimidated by the multiple reflections, Jamie revelled in them, twisting this way and that to confirm she wasn’t being deceived. But from whichever angle she looked, the dress was still perfect.

  ‘Oh my gosh,’ Lisa squealed behind her. ‘The first dress, and it’s THE ONE.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Jamie over her shoulder, trying to sound casual but failing to quell the tremble in her voice.

  ‘Wait right there.’ Cici held up her finger as if she’d had a bright idea, and scuttled out of the room. When she returned, her arms were again full of beaded netting. ‘The veil,’ she announced, stepping up to the podium.

  As the tulle went over Jamie’s head, she instinctively closed her eyes. When Cici was done, she opened them again. The world was white. Everything was blurred. Glowing. How it might look if it were snowing. Magical. Jamie regarded herself in the mirror. Where before she had simply been wearing a beautiful, white gown, she was now a bride. The veil had transformed her. This is how she would be presented to Jared. How she would take his hand and promise to be his wife forever. No turning back. No chance to kiss anyone else ever again.

  Lisa sighed. ‘Oh, I wish Mum were here to see you.’

  Jamie’s palms broke out in a sweat. Her eyes felt hot and itchy. ‘I don’t like it,’ she said in a steely voice.

  ‘What? The veil? Let me take it off.’ Cici reached for it.

  ‘No, no,’ said Jamie, waving her away. ‘All of it. The dress. Everything. It’s not right.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Lisa was again incredulous, but this time in an I-don’t-believe-what-I’m-hearing kind of way.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Jamie snapped, stepping down off the podium and turning her back on the mirrors. ‘Take it off me,’ she ordered Cici.

  ‘Jamie, there’s no need to be rude about it,’ said Lisa.

  ‘I’m sorry, Cici,’ Jamie sighed. ‘But would you please help me take this off?’ She started pulling at the clips on her back.

  ‘Of course.’ Cici hurriedly released the clasps. ‘But perhaps there’s something else you’d like to try? We have many, many beautiful gowns.’

  ‘No, no. I don’t think there’s anything here for me.’

  Lisa was agape. ‘What are you talking about? You’re not going to try anything else? We’ve got a bit of time.’ She checked her watch. ‘Another half-hour at least. Why not try on something else?’ Her tone was pleading.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Jamie.

  ‘Cici, could you give us a minute?’ asked Lisa.

  ‘Certainly.’ Cici gave a little bow before retreating from the room.

  Lisa squared Jamie by the shoulders. ‘What is going on with you? This dress is gorgeous. If I were you, I’d be running around this fitting room doing a happy dance right now.’ She squeezed. ‘You’ve found it. You’ve found the one! Remember what a nightmare it was shopping for my dress?’ Lisa groaned.

  Jamie did remember. She’d tried to forget because it was a nightmare. A nightmare that lasted for weeks and weeks. Six weekends in a row, Lisa and Jamie traipsed all over Sydney, from shop to shop in search of ‘the one’. It wasn’t so much that Lisa was picky. Quite the contrary. She would have been quite content with the first strapless Cinderella-dress she tried in a horrible little shop on Parramatta Road. But Jamie wouldn’t have it. She was determined to do better than a meringue for her lovely-but fashion-backward sister. To twenty different shops they went until finally, almost out of exhaustion, Jamie conceded defeat and allowed Lisa to buy a strapless, Cinderella-number, almost exactly like the one she had first tried on. As much as she wanted her sister to resemble something other than a cake-doll, she found it was actually the right silhouette for Lisa as it accentuated her tiny waist, boosted her small bust and totally camouflaged her trouble area—the thighs. But what Jamie most remembered from the entire experience was Lisa’s joy—not so much over the dress—but over the idea of becoming Scott’s wife. Through the interminable hours of try-ons, it was what kept them both going—the notion that all their hard work was worth it, because it was the frock in which Lisa would finally declare herself as Scott’s wife.

  Jamie couldn’t meet Lisa’s eyes. With her head bowed to the floor, the first of her tears rolled down her nose and into the lush cream carpet at her feet.

  ‘I did something,’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’ Lisa whispered back.

  ‘I kissed someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ben.’

  ‘Your gay secretary?’ Lisa squinted, puzzled.

  ‘Turns out he’s not so gay after all.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lisa thoughtfully. ‘And how do you feel about that?’

  Lisa had done an online course in amateur psychology where she’d learnt about open and non-judgemental questions. It frustrated the hell out of Jamie, who generally liked quick, judgemental responses to her momentous disclosures.

  ‘How do you think I feel about that?’ Jamie snapped.

  ‘Confused? Guilty, I imagine—’

  ‘I feel happy,’ Jamie broke in and slumped to the ground with her bottom on the podium. Lisa took up the spot next to her.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I liked it when he kissed me. I don’t know. It’s like I woke up or something.’

  ‘It was probably just lust. You know, after a few years with one person, you sort of forget what that feels like. Lord knows, if you’ve seen a man floss his teeth, it’s hard to imagine him as a wild animal in bed, if you know what I mean. And maybe Ben reminded you of that pre-flossing, passionate stage.’

  ‘I think it’s more than that.’

  ‘You have feelings for him?’

  Jamie nodded. She couldn’t speak. All through Tuesday, she’d avoided Ben and told herself that the nerves in her stomach were simply related to the anxious excitement she felt about the wedding. But how could she explain the multiplication in butterflies when she thought about the kiss? It was glorious. But it meant nothing, she told herself repeatedly, because she knew that if she stayed on-message and said it often enough, she would believe it. Her infatuation with Ben was simply some strange expression of excitement about the wedding, she told herself, and it was what she had kept telling herself until she was standing on the podium wearing a veil.

  At that moment it hit her.

  This wasn’t just a gown for a big party she was organising. This was the dress in which she would commit herself forever to the one man.

  But was Jared the right one?

  The moment she had asked the question, the tulle had begun to itch furiously on her arms. The veil was stopping her oxygen flow. The bulldog clips were cutting off her circulation. She needed it all removed. Straight away.

  What would she do? She’d spent her best years with Jared. Invested time and effort into a relationship she thought would be forever. That wasn’t something to simply throw away. Jared was a good man. Ambitious and hard-working. Most women would kill to be with a guy like him.

  She felt Lisa’s arm slipping around her shoulder. ‘Whatever you decide to do, I’ll support you.’

  Jamie lay her head on Lisa’s shoulder. ‘Thanks, Lise. I’m glad you
’re here.’

  They were quiet for a few moments. Jamie closed her eyes and into her head flashed images of Ben and Jared, circling each other. She opened them again and noticed Cici half-hiding behind a curtain.

  ‘Cici, I’m so sorry for my behaviour.’ Jamie rose and adjusted the beautiful gown around her hips. ‘This is gorgeous, but it’s been a tough couple of days and I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything at the moment.’

  ‘I understand completely.’ She inclined her head conspiratorially. ‘You’re not the first bride to have dropped their bundle in this dressing room.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I’ve seen it all. Brides walking out. Mothers of the bride walking out. Bridesmaids throwing hissy fits about their dresses. You name it, I’ve seen it.’

  Brides who are in love with their supposedly-gay-but-apparently-straight secretary?

  ‘Thank you for your understanding,’ said Jamie, stepping gingerly towards the dressing room.

  ‘Yes, you’ve been marvellous,’ chimed in Lisa.

  Five minutes later, Jamie emerged in her jeans and flats, which had never before felt so comfortable. Even the air in the bridal shop seemed more fresh.

  ‘Hey, do you have time for another quick coffee,’ said Jamie, linking arms with Lisa as they walked out of the shop with Cici waving after them.

  ‘I’ve got to get the girls to school and introduce Ellie to her teacher.’ She checked her watch. ‘But I can probably squeeze in a quick one. Maybe a sneaky churros as well. I saw a place down the street.’

  Jamie pulled a face. ‘I’m supposed to be watching my weight for the wedding, remember?’

  ‘You mean you’re still going to—’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m sure all of this is just pre-wedding jitters,’ she said lightly. ‘I know you get it. You’re the queen of having second thoughts.’

  ‘True,’ Lisa conceded. ‘Mostly about Ellie at the moment.’ She looked up. ‘I just hope we’ve done the right thing.’

  ‘You have.’ She tugged Lisa to cross the road. But as they weaved in and out of the traffic, it struck her. All their lives, Jamie had been the risk-taker, while Lisa took the safe option. Now, it seemed the roles had been entirely reversed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Was this a primary school running carnival, or the Olympic trials?

  Lisa stood at the entrance to the sportsground, a little overwhelmed. She had fond memories of her own school athletics carnivals. Hazy, but fond. Tramping down to the local oval where a few chalked lines had been painted over the grass. Mums and dads with picnic rugs and deckchairs set up on the hill. The sports teacher interrupting every so often with a squealing loud hailer that never seemed to work properly. Spending 50c on a bag of mixed lollies at the little concrete kiosk.

  It was nothing like this. This appeared to be some kind of sports stadium. Was this really the right place for the St John’s carnival? Lisa pulled out her phone and double-checked the notification from the school. Yes, this was it. Perhaps there was a little patch of grass behind it?

  Lisa joined the stream of parents filing into the ground. At the turnstile, she stopped and took a breath. There was a grandstand! And it was a proper athletics track, with that bright red, all-weather surface—the kind you saw at the Olympics. In the centre of the ground, she spotted a team of adults, adorned in high-vis vests, apparently setting up a range of events for the children. High-jump, long-jump, discus, and … oh, surely not javelin? They wouldn’t let the little ones near a spear, would they? There’d be no telling what Ava would do with it!

  Was this one of the twenty-first century skills that Principal Valentic had warned them about at the orientation session? While Ava had been off learning where the toilets were and how to say the school prayer, the principal had sat the parents down for ‘a chat’.

  ‘School of today is not the school you remember,’ she boomed. ‘Do not bother asking your child where they sit or who they sit with in class because they will not have their own desk or chair. We want agile brains and agile bodies. Constantly on the move.’ She’d actually banged the lectern, to reinforce the point. ‘Your generation had the three “Rs”—reading, writing and arithmetic.’ She gave them a sympathetic smile that read ‘you poor fools’. ‘Here at St John’s, we teach the four “Cs”.’ She counted each one off with a finger: critical thinking, creativity, communication and collaboration.

  Lisa had come away perplexed. Was the school aiming to produce literate children, or the next Bill Gates? The three ‘Rs’ had seemingly been good enough for her. Since when had school become so professional? And why?

  Did the children really need an Olympic-standard sports-ground for their carnival? Surely none of them would be threatening the ten-second mark for 100 metres? And it obviously wasn’t a space issue, for the parents were gathered into one small section, like a tiny bait-ball. Albeit, a very colourful one. Looking at them from afar was like peering into a packet of M&M’s—all primary-coloured in blues, reds, greens and golds.

  Lisa stopped, and mentally face-palmed. Of course. They were dressed in the colours of their child’s sports team. She checked her own outfit. White T-shirt. Blue jeans. White joggers. At least she’d remembered to dress Ellie and Ava in red T-shirts.

  After the bridal shop and a speedy churros with Jamie, Lisa had raced home to take them to school and introduce Ellie to her new teacher, Mrs Booth—friendly but a little flustered as she coordinated the children into lines for the short bus ride to the ground.

  They’d be here by now, judging by the lines of children starting to stream into the ground. Lisa squinted, trying to pick up either Ava or Ellie in the crowd. But it was almost impossible under those oversized sunhats the children were made to wear. She would catch up with them later, after she’d found Heather. How exactly did she plan to help her find Missy Jones, Lisa had pondered, alone in the car on the drive to the carnival. But she knew better than to question. Heather Bingley-Peters wasn’t a woman to be pushed, but as her behaviour at the party had suggested, she was certainly a woman of action.

  Lisa scoured the crowd. Someone was waving at her. Someone wearing the brightest, neon-yellow shirt that she’d ever seen. Was it Heather? Lisa scurried closer. Yes, it was. The shirt was knotted at the waist and she’d matched it with denim shorts and a chic straw visor such that the overall effect was of having just stepped off the beach in Biarritz, rather than having been thrown into a blender with Big Bird.

  Lisa couldn’t help herself. ‘You look lovely!’

  Heather angled her face to allow Lisa to get in under the visor to kiss her cheek. ‘Where’s your coloured T-shirt?’ she said accusingly.

  ‘I didn’t know it was a thing, for parents to dress up.’ Yet another one of those unwritten school rules for parents, like the one about not tooting anyone to hurry up in the car line. The kids were lucky. At least their rules were spelt out clearly.

  ‘I wish I had no idea,’ Heather grumbled. ‘In my next life, I hope to return as a slightly hopeless but very likeable person, a bit like you, but less … denim, perhaps. You have no idea how hard it is to make yellow’—she spat out the word in disgust—‘look good. I really should see about getting Savannah transferred to the blue team. So much easier,’ she sighed and adjusted the knot.

  ‘Heather,’ Lisa began hesitantly. ‘Thank you for offering to help me find Ellie’s mum. I’ve had a couple of ideas overnight and—’

  Heather held up a hand. ‘It’s not just me. I have recruits.’ She tapped the two women next to her, deep in animated conversation, which stopped immediately. ‘You remember Louise and Jayne from the café.’

  Lisa nodded with relief. Thank god it wasn’t that Kimberly woman, the lawyer. She was frightening. Hopefully their paths wouldn’t cross again.

  ‘Thank you for doing this,’ said Lisa gratefully. ‘I’m sure you appreciate the delicacy of the situation.’

  ‘Louise here is a beautician who specialises in genitalia-waxing s
o there is quite literally nothing she hasn’t seen.’

  ‘It’s amazing what people will tell you when you have hot wax in one hand and their penis in the other.’ Louise’s lips were the most brilliant shade of cherry red (to match her T-shirt) and she broadened them into a smile.

  ‘And she is the soul of discretion,’ said Heather knowingly. ‘Believe you me. I wouldn’t trust my lady-privates to anyone else.’ She turned her focus to the other woman, wearing a blue T-shirt. ‘And Jayne here works in IT. She’s told me at least twenty times what she does but I still have no idea.’

  ‘For the twenty-first time,’ Jayne smiled indulgently, ‘I develop test systems to automate medical software and I help software engineers to integrate test protocols and script development.’ She smiled and offered her hand for Lisa to shake. ‘In shorthand, I’m a computer nerd.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Heather said triumphantly. ‘She’s the IT guru of St John’s. Valentic adores her.’

  ‘She’s trying to get funding for a full-time ICT. But until then, I’m kind of it.’ Jayne shrugged her blue shoulders.

  ‘Which is good news for us because today—’ Heather paused as if waiting for a drum-roll ‘—she’s operating some new whizzbang computer thingy to collect all the times and results for the children.’ Again, she waited, as if expecting applause.

  Lisa frowned. ‘I don’t quite follow.’

  Heather glanced in irritation at Louise and Jayne as if to say See! See what I’m working with here? ‘So, she’ll have the laptop which has a record of names and addresses for every child in the school!’

  ‘And the teachers, because there’s a race for them too,’ added Jayne. ‘So, I can at least confirm if anyone from that Daceyville address has ever attended the school, either as an employee or student.’

  Lisa’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s amazing … but are you sure it’s … legal?’

  Heather gave her a look. ‘Do you want to find this woman or don’t you?’ The three women turned to her—yellow, red and blue—it was like being grilled by the Wiggles and Lisa had the most terrible urge to giggle inappropriately, which is something she sometimes did when nervous.