Being Shirley (8 page)

Tony had drained his beer, belched before he stated his case and Annie had tuned him out. There had been no need to listen: he said exactly what she had known he would say.

Now, snuggled under the blanket, she scratched behind Jasper’s ear. “His excuse is that his mum would kill him if we got married in a Registry Office, Jazz. I reminded him that it is actually my day, not hers, but that didn’t go down well. He lives in terror of that woman. Mind you, I do too, and oh crap! I just remembered we have to go to dinner there tomorrow night.” She sighed deeply. Jasper opened one weary eye at the stuffing going out of his cushion. “Oh well, I suppose I will have to face her sometime. Better to get it over and done with sooner rather than later.” Annie pushed the picture of the bleached blonde harridan away. “Tony reckons we will be in our own home by the end of the year, if we tighten our belts a bit but do you know what I think?” Jasper didn’t reply; he had overexerted himself by opening that one eye. “I think all that will happen then is, we will have a mortgage to pay and rates and insurances and all that stuff that goes with owning a house and Tony will have the perfect excuse to keep on stalling where a wedding is concerned.” Annie sighed. “Do you know what else I realised tonight? We have never discussed kids. I mean, I am officially over thirty and I know that people are having their families later in life so I suppose I just assumed we would get married and then start a family. But we have never even talked about it apart from when we have been joking around about Ngaire wanting to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet. I mean, after six years together, we have never got further in planning our future together than buying a flipping house! What does that say about us as a couple?”

Jasper just stretched and closed his eyes.

Annie was woken by the sound of the shower running and she stretched languidly for a moment, having forgotten about the events of the night before. She happily floated in that lovely warm abyss between sleep and wakefulness where the running water from the shower wasn’t Tony going about his morning ablutions but rather the rushing flow of a waterfall on a tropical island. Then the water had gone off and a moment later Tony had banged back into the bedroom and issued a reminder to her that they were due at Ngaire and Doug’s for six o’clock sharp that evening. He’d added that he’d meet her there as he had a big job on and it was way over the other side of town before he slunk out the door, not giving her a chance to protest.

Wide awake now, Annie lay there for a moment and cursed because despite her decision that facing the music was the best course of action last night, in the cold light of morning she really did not want to. If she had her way, they’d stay home so she could pursue the wedding conversation with Tony. She needed to chip away at his defences bit by bit, not head over to the Goodalls’ place for scintillating chatter about car parts (Doug) or how shocking the amount the hairdresser charged these days was (Ngaire) followed by a meal of meat and three veg.

God help the woman, she would not be responsible for her actions if Ngaire mentioned what had occurred last night or brought up the subject of weddings, Annie vowed as she sat up and rubbed at her eyes. They felt scratchy like sandpaper but then, it had been after two a.m. by the time she’d popped Jazz back out and crawled into bed next to the snoring Tony. He’d gone to bed with his nose well out of joint because she had refused to dress up in the bunny suit for a second time. She caught sight of herself in the dressing table mirror now and recoiled.
God, she looked a fright!
Her hair was all over the place, thanks to a night spent tossing and turning, and she had the pallor of an albino rabbit.
Enough of the rabbit references, Annie!
She then pondered whether she should call in sick. It wouldn’t really be a lie because from where she sat, she certainly looked sick but then she realised that with Attila on the warpath, she’d probably demand she produce a doctor’s certificate.
Nope, better not give her any more ammunition
. She tossed the duvet aside and padded towards the bathroom. A hot shower and a hot coffee in that order, followed by lashings of make-up, was the prescription needed.

By the time Annie stepped into the lift of the Albrecht building, she felt much improved. A glimpse at her reflection in the glass doors had confirmed she had re-joined the human race, even if she was still a bit pasty despite the promises of her new BB cream. She went even pastier as she spied who was sprinting for the lift. He forced the doors open with his shoulders. Pervy Justin stepped into the little box with a smirk. “Phew, made it. You’re looking well this morning, Annie.”

If my boobs could talk, they’d tell you to piss off
. Annie remembered what Carl had said; she smiled to herself and stood a little taller. “Good morning, Justin. Actually, I’m not feeling that great.” She rolled her shoulder for effect. “I think I might have dislocated my shoulder using the whip last night.”

As the lift door slid open on to her floor, she snuck a sideways glance at Justin’s gobsmacked face and felt marginally better. She’d have to phone Carl later and thank him for his advice.

***

“How was your day at work then, Annie?”

Annie forgot where she was momentarily as she opened her mouth, ready to tell Ngaire how she had a mouth ulcer on its way thanks to being on edge all the time where her boss was concerned. Today, for instance, Attila had called her in to her office and raked her over the coals for not proofing an email before it went out. She really didn’t think the fact she had accidentally left the letter
p
off a word was going to be a deal-breaker, despite it being a tad unfortunate that the word she’d made the boo-boo on was
pass
. Most people would see the funny side of it but not Attila, sitting there in all her immaculate glory: her hair back in its sleek chignon, black pinstriped suit under which she wore a crisp white blouse upon which a coffee stain would never dare deposit itself. She peered over the top of her glasses, lips pursed to reveals the lines of a smoker in a past life: it was obvious she had been born without a sense of humour or any human emotions, for that matter.

Annie had been oh-so close to telling the woman to shove her job, only in not so polite terms but then she’d realised as she stood there with steam pouring out of each ear that, that would be letting her win. So, instead she’d taken a deep breath and remembered the look on Pervy Justin’s face earlier that morning in an attempt to restore her good humour before she muttered an apology. As Attila waved her out of the room, she’d closed the door behind her and mouthed the word “Bitch.”
Why did she allow the woman to get away with making her feel so inept?
There was just something about all that immaculateness that made Annie, clad in her own business skirt and blouse with its tiny brown stain that refused to come out in the wash—not even with Napisan—feel like a scruffy little girl. It didn’t help that her hair refused to stay put in the low pony she’d tied it back into that morning. Oh well, might as well behave like a child and go and raid the biscuit tin, she’d decided as she pulled the band out of her hair.

Annie realised Ngaire was more engrossed in a chip in her burgundy nail polish as she slouched over the kitchen side of the breakfast bar and studied her jewel-encrusted nails than in a long-winded reply, so she swallowed all of this back and shrugged. “Oh work’s, work. It was fine, thanks.” Last night’s debacle hovered between them. It was the elephant, or rather rabbit, in the room but Annie was not going to bring it up and so far Ngaire had not felt the need to either. She noticed that the usual skunk streak down her future mother-in-laws part wasn’t visible. “Your hair looks nice, by the way. Have you had it done today?” Not that she was interested in hearing about how it was daylight robbery the way Gina charged like a wounded bull just to do her roots, but at least it would keep her off the subject of bunny outfits and weddings. Annie shifted on the hard bar stool and wished she were home, sprawled out on her own comfy couch instead as Ngaire’s tirade against her hairdresser began.

“If it wasn’t for my regrowth, that woman wouldn’t be swanning off to the Gold Coast for the third time this year tomorrow.” With a pat to her new coif, she stood and stalked over to the oven. She bent low to prod at the lump of meat plonked in the middle of the roasting dish. Annie wished she had averted her eyes.
Why did Ngaire insist on wearing skirts that short and if she had to, then why-oh-why couldn’t she at least wear big knickers like every other woman her age?

“Um, can I do anything to help?” Annie hopped off the stool to take her mind off what she had just seen.

“This isn’t far off.” She straightened up as she closed the oven door. “So you can test the spuds and if they’re nearly done, put the peas and carrots on for me.”

Annie dutifully took her place in front of the hob as Ngaire called out from the depths of the pantry, “But make sure you cook the vegetables properly. Last time we ate at your house, I nearly cracked a molar on that broccoli of yours.”

As Annie poked her tongue out at her back, she heard the grumbly roar of Tony’s Ford coming too fast up the driveway. She knew that within seconds, Doug would extract himself from his La-Z-Boy recliner in the lounge, flick the TV off and head outside to check that all was well with his son’s vehicle before they’d both head in, talking engines, sniffing the air appreciatively and looking to be fed.

It was going to be a long night.
Annie stabbed the potatoes. A movement in the garden caught her eye. She wiped the steam off the window above the kitchen sink and spied Tony’s youngest brother, Craig.
What on earth was he doing crouched down on all fours like that?
she wondered as he bunny-hopped across the grass.

***

To: Kassia Bikakis

From: Annie Rivers

Subject: The Bunny Incident

Hi Kas:

I told you in my last email that I was going to be visiting a certain kind of shop in the not so distant future and I did. Like I said, there is a first time for everything and there is also a last. Never again. The whole experience was rather surreal and a little disturbing. I never realised what a sheltered existence I have led until I saw what I thought was a display model rocket ship—I’ll say no more other than the mind boggles as to what tickles people’s fancy—it really does. I didn’t leave empty-handed, though, and despite the shop girl’s best efforts, I managed to keep things relatively tame but risqué enough for me, thank you very much, by purchasing a Playboy Bunny costume. Carl twisted my arm and found out what I’d bought and you can imagine the Bugs Bunny impression that followed, can’t you? He thought the whole thing was hilarious and unfortunately for me, so did Tony and his family. My plan to razz things up between me and Tony kind of backfired when I jumped out at him in my costume. I was hoping to surprise him as he walked through the door from work, you know like one of those girls popping out of a cake? The thing was I surprised him and his mother, who happened to be with him.

Honestly, Kas, I was mortified but despite this, I followed through with my plan to pin Tony down to talk about our future wedding plans. I got the expected financial projection spiel so I have progressed no further. I did, however, glean satisfaction from withholding services last night by way of payback.

We had dinner at the Goodall’s tonight (I went under extreme duress) and I knew bloody Ngaire wouldn’t be able to keep Bunny-gate to herself because I caught his younger brother doing a rabbit impersonation out in the garden for mine and everybody else’s benefit. I hope you are not laughing, even if it is kind of funny. Do you know what else, though? I think Tony told his mother not to mention weddings because it’s the first time in ages she hasn’t brought it up at the first opportunity. Either that or she’s finally given up on the idea. I have to say, Kas, that the thought of even Ngaire having given up the ghost where my big day is concerned makes me feel a little sad.

The late-night news was on the television and Jazz, who was curled up over on the couch, gave a contented mewl. Annie glanced over at him fondly. She couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to her and Tony. They’d driven home from dinner in separate cars and to her it had seemed almost symbolic. Silly, she knew, when it was due to the fact they had arrived in their own vehicles but still it felt like the chasm that had opened up between them of late grew a little wider each day. When had they begun this slow drift with no particular destination in sight?

The anniversary of Roz’s birthday had been and gone but she still felt out of kilter, as if the world had tipped on its axis slightly. Roz continued to lurk at the periphery of her mind instead of being tucked neatly back in the compartment of her brain where she was normally kept. She knew the way she was pushing the wedding idea when she was feeling so uncertain about—well, about everything really—was crazy. Perhaps she was ill? Annie frowned. Maybe this was what bipolar was like: up one minute, down the next. Maybe she should go to the doctor and tell her how she was feeling. The thought made her shudder; she had an aversion to the idea of medication. Or maybe it was more straightforward than a mental health problem. What if Carl had been right in what he said to her that night at Modern Bride? She couldn’t help but wonder whether on some subconscious level she was pushing the wedding as a distraction to facing up to the fact that things weren’t what they should be between her and Tony. That, and the fact that Kas had been right in what she had written in her last email about the idea of change absolutely terrifying her.

Annie pushed all these confusing thoughts aside and decided she’d sign off and, sending Kas and the rest of the Bikakis family her love, she pushed Send before she turned the laptop off. She saw there had been a derailed train somewhere or other and she switched the television off. The news was all doom and gloom anyway, and the mood she was in, she really couldn’t handle watching other people’s misery paraded out for all to see. She tucked the disgruntled tomcat under one arm before she headed towards the front door. The air outside signified a frost in the morning and she felt guilty as she sent him out into it.
Still
, she thought as she deposited him on the ground,
he had a fur coat of sorts, even if it was a bit tatty.
She shut the door before she could soften and change her mind.

Tony was still in the bathroom, she realised as she pushed open their bedroom door. They were finishing the day the way they’d started it. She pulled her flannelette pyjamas out from under her pillow. The water stopped. It was followed by the sound of him humming as he dried himself off. He was obviously in a good mood then, unlike herself. She had just buttoned the top button of her PJ top when he appeared in the doorway with nothing but a towel wrapped around him. It wasn’t his well-defined chest that she noticed, with its smattering of dark hair, as he stood there for a moment but rather the clouds of steam that billowed down the hallway behind him.
I wish he’d use the bloody extractor fan
, ran across her mind as she pulled the covers of the bed back and clambered in.
It was no wonder they always got mould on the bathroom ceiling and it was a sod of a job to clean it off.