Don't Tell Eve (16 page)

In Kate’s opinion shopping centres were designed by sadists. They were not logical, they were not convenient and it was impossible to go in, buy what you needed, and leave. Instead you were taken past everything you didn’t want but that your acquisitive children did. Ideally, she would never, ever, take the boys near such a place, but sometimes she had no choice. When this happened, she considered the trip to have been a success if they hadn’t stolen anything, hit anyone or jumped off anything high.

This trip, though, had begun unusually smoothly. The boys had brought with them some of their magic tricks and had played quietly in the back of the car on the way. They’d only bitten each other once, and this, it turned out, wasn’t due to aggression but curiosity: a wish to find out whose tooth-prints were the most vampire-like. They’d stayed with her in the car park, and hadn’t strayed as they’d passed pet shops and toy stores. In fact, they’d all managed to arrive at their destination, Kmart, with as little fuss as Kate had ever known. The experience had verged on surreal.

Once inside Kate found a trolley and pushed it around the overcrowded aisles, trying to keep an eye on the boys while
filling it up. It made sense to pile in as much as possible, so by the time she’d reached the counter, a pyramid of necessities was balanced precariously and she was also carrying a few extra bits and pieces in her shoulder bag. The twins trotted behind her, chatting enthusiastically about the theory of the Indian rope trick and the many possible uses for invisible ink. They sounded almost like normal children.

As it happened, Zoë had also decided to visit Kmart that afternoon. She didn’t normally spend time in large discount stores and it showed. She was wearing very high heels and one of her own designs, a garment that seemed to have been made out of several deconstructed crocheted rugs. The boys, who were standing in front of her in the checkout queue, had stopped talking in order to stare more intensely at what they could glimpse of her underwear.

When Kate finally noticed their silence she didn’t immediately turn around. Instead, she closed her eyes and told herself that of course it had been too good to be true, they had run off, they’d fallen down a stairwell, they’d been kidnapped, they’d been run over. Prepared, then, for the worst, she glanced behind her, just in case.

‘Zoë, hello.’ Kate had met the unforgettable Zoë at a party of Jess’s some time ago.

The boys remained silent, stunned that their mother seemed to know this amazing woman.

‘I wouldn’t have expected to see you here, I wouldn’t have thought —’

‘I do pop down this way from time to time. I try to avoid Saturday mornings, or late afternoons, of course – you know, when it’s littered with revolting children – sorry, I don’t mean
your
children – lovely boys, obviously. And so sweet-looking, I didn’t know they were so cherubic. Maybe we can use them in an advertising campaign some time. I like to use kids in my campaigns, it gives the clothes a more down-to-
earth feel.’ Zoë beamed at the twins who, unequipped to deal with the glare, replied by inspecting their footwear.

‘Yes, quite,’ said Kate.

‘But, well, shouldn’t they be in school or something?’

Kate wasn’t quite sure what Zoë meant by ‘or something’ – a juvenile remand centre maybe? ‘Yes, normally they would be, but they’re having a bit of time off.’

‘How sweet – and lovely for you to have them close by.’ Zoë tilted her head to the side a little, in a gesture she thought appeared sympathetic, not patronising. ‘I hear things have been a bit difficult lately, a friend mentioned, well …’

‘Yes, well, yes.’ Kate tried to smile.

The combination of overfilled shopping trolley, boys and Kate’s pathetic smile, inspired in Zoë the desire to perform a spontaneous act of kindness, and she knew exactly how to help. ‘You know, I’m having a party on Sunday night – why don’t you come along?’ She raised her hand as Kate shook her head. ‘I know, I’m sure you don’t feel like it, but there’s nothing like socialising to make the world seem a whole different place.’

‘Thank you, but —’

‘No, no “buts”. I want to see you there, with bells on. Or not, whatever you like. Jess’ll pick you up, she’ll be driving. How about I call her now?’

‘No —’

Ignoring her, Zoë pressed the speed dial on her phone. ‘Darl, it’s me. Can you give Kate —’

‘Kate?’

‘Kate who you used to work with!’

‘Right.’

‘A lift on Sunday night?’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve a feeling she might decide against it if we don’t give her a hand.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Excellent, thanks so much. See you soon.’ Zoë turned back to Kate. ‘It’s all settled.’

‘That it?’ The checkout assistant had awoken from her usual zombie state and had been listening to the conversation after recognising Zoë, whose picture and clothes she saw regularly in the magazines next to the counter – the magazines that told shocking stories of celebrity cellulite, horror hair days and cosmetic surgery disasters, as well as providing tips on how readers could be just like the celebs. She hadn’t wanted to interrupt but the queue was growing. She couldn’t believe that Kate wasn’t out of her mind with excitement about being invited to the party. The checkout assistant had read about Zoë’s parties.

‘Yes, thanks,’ said Kate, and handed the assistant her credit card. It wasn’t rejected, to Kate’s relief.

‘Now, start thinking about what you want to wear because you are coming, my dear,’ said Zoë, as her three items were scanned. She liked this good-deed business.

‘Oh, yeah, you have to go,’ said the checkout assistant, having now assumed full human form.

‘Oh alright, alright, I will,’ said Kate to both of them.

As she pushed her overflowing trolley towards the exit, Kate congratulated herself. She’d almost got through the shopping trip. It had been expensive – even discount stores were expensive when you didn’t have any money coming in – and she felt bad about all the plastic bags, but the boys were still with her, oddly docile, and all she had to do now was make it back to the car. Maybe she
would
go to Zoë’s party.

Then an alarm sounded. A painfully loud alarm.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger.’ This was too cruel, Kate thought, too cruel.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger.’ The boys repeated after their mother, telepathically agreeing that this was the perfect time to end their silence.

‘Okay, boys. You know the procedure. Empty all pockets. Immediately.’

By the time the security guards had reached them, Kate’s two little boys were sitting on the floor and had emptied their pockets. Various magic-trick components had came out, as had a tiny packet of cards, a harmonica from a Christmas cracker, a whistle, the shell of a ballpoint pen, some unchewed bubble gum and some chewed bubblegum. But there was nothing, nothing at all from the store. It began to seem suspiciously like the boys hadn’t set off the alarm.

‘How strange,’ Kate said to the guards. ‘It must have been someone else – or maybe it’s faulty? It’s not my boys anyway,’ she added, a hint of triumphant in her voice.

‘Please open your handbag, madam.’ The security guard’s tone indicated he’d seen Kate’s type before.

‘Well, certainly, but I don’t think —’

The boys’ eyes opened very wide indeed as the guard pulled out a number of small, unpaid-for items from the depths of their mother’s vast shoulder bag.

‘Oh God.’ A bribe was going to be the only way to ensure this didn’t get back to her husband or her mother – or the principal. ‘I can explain, really —’

When Jess arrived at Kate’s house on Sunday evening, wearing eyeliner, flat knee-high boots and a short, psychedelic shift dress – three huge concessions that she wouldn’t have made for anyone but Zoë – she found Kate in dirty grey tracky daks, Ugg boots purchased, Jess guessed, during the Stone Age, and an oversized hoody. Her hair appeared to have been rinsed in olive oil. She was dressed, then, for another exciting night in – at least Jess hoped so, as Zoë’s door bitch wasn’t likely to permit the substance-abuse-recovery look.

‘You’re not coming like that.’

‘I’m so sorry, I meant to ring you – I couldn’t get a baby-sitter for the boys. I’m so sorry you had to come over this way for nothing.’ Kate hoped her expression conveyed apologetic rather than guilty.

‘That’s alright, we found one.’

Astonished, Kate turned around as her two small betrayers slid into view.

‘We thought you should go out, so we called Dad. He’s coming round now. We were going to tell you but we didn’t want to you to ring him and tell him not to come,’ said the one with the three and a half fingers on his left hand.

‘He’s bringing pizza,’ added the one with four.

‘And Coke.’

‘And a DVD.’

‘So you have to go out now.’

‘You heard them.’ Jess hadn’t counted on support from the diabolical duo. ‘But you’re not coming in my car unless you shower.’

The instant she stepped into the small yellow hatchback Kate began to talk, and it quickly became apparent to Jess that the poor woman had been spending too much time alone. Anecdotes about Kate’s children were entertaining, but in small doses. She hoped that by the time they reached the party Kate would have exhausted herself and moved onto a slightly more inclusive topic. She longed to ask about the doll, but that would involve revealing herself, so instead she watched the road and nodded when the narrative seemed to call for it.

What Kate wanted to talk about was the doll, and Jess was the type of person who’d probably be able find out who had sent it and why, and she certainly wouldn’t gossip – that wasn’t her style. So, while Kate tried to work out a way to bring up the topic, she talked about the boys, which she was able to do without thinking. She also wanted to talk about her night with Oliver and his humiliatingly polished brush-off. Not that she needed a second opinion. She knew she’d been mad to think he would have been interested in taking it further.

The adventures of the boys took up the whole trip.

Just about everyone who was anyone, as well as those who weren’t yet anyone but might soon be someone, were asked to Zoë’s annual Winter Solstice party. Entry was by invitation only and there were bouncers as well as a door bitch. This year, the door bitch was a minuscule girl in sprayed-on caramel leather pants and a matching halter-neck. By day, she was Zoë’s PA.

‘Zoë’s probably in the kitchen – you know what she’s like,’ she said to Jess, treating her to one of the three friendly smiles she planned to give away that evening.

Fond of food, that’s what, Jess didn’t answer. For someone whose life revolved around making revealing, sexy and outrageous clothes for people terrified of their own appetites, Zoë spent a lot of time in her kitchen, and for her what went down didn’t immediately come up. ‘Thanks,’ she said, as she took a last gasp of fresh air and plunged into the crowd. Kate followed, nervously smoothing her hair.

‘So, what you do you think?’ Zoë was sipping a salad-based cocktail and dipping a piece of bread into oil and birdseed.

The question was directed at Jack, who was standing next to her, having arrived straight from the restaurant. ‘I like it. Kind of more pared-down than I’d imagined, but there’s still a sense of … I don’t know … Zoë-ness about it.’

‘And you’d be talking about?’ They were both kissed from a distance, in traditional style, while Jess helped herself to the liquid salad.

‘The place,’ said Jack, waving his free hand around. ‘I haven’t been here since the renos were finished.’

He and Jess had been together when the renovations were started, but even then he’d always scurried from the room as soon as the never-ending, all-consuming topic came up, so he wasn’t jaded by the process and therefore was able to be appropriately enthusiastic about the end result.

In fact, the result was impressive.

Outside, the house was still a traditional three-storey Victorian terrace, but the interior had been gutted. Gone were the smoky, ineffective little fireplaces, gone were the pokey dank rooms, gone was the narrow, dangerous staircase. Downstairs was now a clean oblong box, with a few pieces of classic Nordic-designed furniture here and there. On the walls hung part of Zoë’s collection of contemporary nudes and, in specially lit alcoves, she’d placed pieces of suggestive tribal art.

Not that any of this could be seen through the crush, but Jack was being agreeable.

‘Jack, would you do me a favour?’ asked Jess.

‘Sure,’ he said, automatically.

‘See the woman with the red hair – short bob – in the courtyard, standing by herself?’

‘Yep – great hair.’

‘Go and tell her that.’

‘Why?’

‘I think she’d appreciate it.’

‘Sure – who is she?’

‘Her name’s Kate, I used to work with her. They got rid of her a couple of months ago.’

‘Of course, she came to that party we had, didn’t she? I remember that hair now – and her twin boys and that bloody awful husband. He was a rude bastard, wasn’t he? Looked bored, said nothing, then fell asleep – on the sofa, for God’s sake. The snoring was the most noise he made all night.’

‘Maybe don’t open with that anecdote – he decamped a few months ago.’

‘Lucky escape.’

‘I don’t think she’s feeling very lucky right now.’

‘Poor thing, of course I’ll say g’day.’

‘You are a sweetie.’

‘It’s what I keep telling you.’

That’s exactly why you’re being let off the hook, thought Jess, as she watched him go.

Just across from Kate, but with only their legs on view due to the sculptural qualities of the wall dividing the courtyard, David was talking to Phil.

‘You know what? I’m tired of it all, I really am – but what else can I do? It’s a good job, I love editing and I love commissioning. But you know that suicidal Sunday-afternoon feeling? The gloom that descends when you remember you’ve got another week of work ahead? I used to get it occasionally, but now it’s every weekend. My head is constantly pulsating with the white noise of anxiety.’

‘That’s good, better than ordinary Monday-itis.’ As Phil said this, he opened a text on his mobile, scowled and deleted it, then did the same with three more. ‘Jesus, woman.’

It took David a little longer than a second to realise that Phil wasn’t referring to him. ‘No, it’s not.’

‘What? I mean the phrase, it’s good.’

‘Oh, thanks. The thing is, I know I should probably see a doctor, but I don’t want to take pills – and that’s what they’d give me, they always do.’ David stared mournfully at his empty salad glass.

Phil did his best to be supportive. ‘Have you thought about sex?’

‘What?’ said David, puzzled. ‘Why would I?’

‘To take your mind off work.’

At this David’s misery seemed to increase exponentially and Phil had a disturbing premonition that tears might be next.

‘Between you and me? I can’t remember when I last had sex.’

‘Ah.’ Now it was Phil’s turn to be confused. ‘Days? Weeks? Er, months?’

‘Years.’

As David studied his shoelaces, Phil stepped back, as though such entrenched celibacy might be contagious.

‘I know, I know, it’s not exactly fashionable to admit it.’

Phil thought quickly. ‘No, no, monks and nuns manage it and I’ve heard there is a weird trend towards it within that twenty-something, greed-is-good Christian set, but …’ He was feeling extremely uncomfortable now. It was fine to talk about people’s sex lives, but only if they were active. Searching around desperately, he saw Zoë through a cut-out section of the wall and mouthed ‘Rescue me’ while David stared glumly into space.

Whether she would rescue him, Phil wasn’t sure, but it was worth a try. She really did look good.

Zoë wondered how Phil had got in; he hadn’t been on her list. However, as hostess it was her duty to take care of all the guests and just because one happened to be a complete-and-utter-prick-bastard-dickhead-tosser – she hadn’t forgiven him for the adjective he’d chosen to describe their previous meeting – it didn’t mean she was going to be petty about his surprise appearance. That he was no less attractive than when they’d last met also worked in his favour. ‘David, Phil, so glad you could both make it.’ She kissed both, leaving lipstick prints, which she then half-heartedly tried to rub off. ‘Sorry, forgot to blot, but I really like this colour, don’t you? It’s called Siren.’ She pouted so they could enjoy the full effect.

‘Very nice,’ said Phil, trying to ignore Zoë’s plump, crimson lips. ‘Your timing’s perfect, we need your help – David here has a little problem.’

David stared at Phil. What had he been thinking? This was Phil –
Phil
– in whom he’d been confiding. Phil was
a Lothario, not an agony aunt; salads were not made to be drunk.

‘He’s in need of a girlfriend.’ Phil turned to David. ‘You are in need of a girlfriend? Not a boyfriend?’

David blushed before mumbling into his glass, ‘Girl.’

Zoë, who was wearing a vintage scarlet bias-cut satin dress, and looking as if she’d be more comfortable lying on a piano in a dark, smoky bar, licked her lips. ‘A challenge, oh, I love a challenge! Right, what kind of girlfriend are you after then, David?’

Reluctantly, David realised he was going to have to take part in the intervention. ‘What do you mean “what kind”?’

‘Day-time, night-time, ornamental, temporary, full-time, long-term; blonde, redhead, dark-haired,’ here she gave her own glistening locks a flick, ‘tall, short, thin, curvy; serious, frivolous … I could go on …’

‘Um.’ Given the smorgasbord presented, David didn’t feel that a response along the lines of ‘Just female will do’ was quite apt.

Sensing his friend was floundering, Phil helped. ‘Given the desperate nature of the situation, just female will do I think.’

‘Phil, you’re not helping. I need something to work with here,’ said Zoë.

‘Fair enough, yeah, let’s narrow it down then.’ Phil gave the matter his full concentration, just for a second, ‘Okay, what about we start with someone single?’

‘Right, good point. Mind you, that really cuts down the list. Single, who do I know …?’ Zoë thought about it. ‘There’s Jess, of course, she’s single these days – oops – not officially, but we all know it’s a secret, don’t we?’

Phil cut in quickly. ‘Yes, we know, but be serious.’

‘Well …’ Ten women were named.

Phil had slept with all of them, at least once. ‘So,’ he said. ‘They’re all single right now?’

‘This is about David, not you, Phil. Somehow I don’t think you need my help to find a special friend for the evening – this information is not for your personal use.’

‘I don’t think that’s fair but fine, I promise I won’t hit on any of them … at least not tonight.’ In fact, it wasn’t going to be a difficult promise to keep as Phil had already decided exactly who he wanted, only he wasn’t looking forward to having to prove to her that he wasn’t the bastard she took him to be.