Fast Forward (7 page)

By the sounds of it she didn’t need to bungy jump, words spewed from her mouth like she’d done three jumps in a row. I now understood what Ryan meant when he said she’d talk my ears off.

“I’m still a little jittery, but I survived, so that’s the main thing,” I said.

She nodded, then rubbed her stomach. “Well, if I don’t eat soon I’ll get grumpy and start telling people off for parting their hair the wrong way or having overgrown eyebrows. Let’s eat, shall we?”

Yep. My very own mini-me. “You stay here. I’ll get us something. What would you like?” I asked.

“Hot chocolate and a slice of chocolate mud cake. With chocolate ice cream on the side. And chocolate sprinkles.”

Okay, the resemblance ends there. No way would I eat that amount of chocolate in one month let alone one day. Although at the mention of the word chocolate, my stomach grumbled and my previously dry mouth salivated. Chocolate cake would be nice, just this once. It
was
my birthday and this technically wasn’t my real body. Besides, it’s beyond help anyway, might as well indulge.

Within five minutes of bringing a tray of chocolate goodness to our table, Diora had wolfed down her cake and ice cream and worked her way through the hot chocolate. All while interrogating me for the details of this morning’s adventures.

“Well, the adventures don’t end there. The day’s only just begun and you’ve got plenty more ahead of you,” she said. “I can’t wait for tonight. It’s going to be so much fun!”

I’d already had quite enough for one day and it wasn’t even midday yet, but what could I do? I just had to appear normal and keep an eye out for a solution, a way of getting back.

“Although,” Diora continued, “If I’m going to be able to cope with your party, I’ll have to have a nap beforehand.” She rubbed her belly. “This little one’s got me so tired I’m falling asleep at eight thirty most nights, only to be woken by a karate kick and triple somersault two hours later.” She downed the rest of her hot chocolate, while I was only halfway through mine.

The conversation was easier than I’d imagined, as she did most of the talking. I mostly nodded and gave single syllable responses, then Diora looked at her e-pad.

“Wow, is that the time? We better go,” she said, pushing her chair back with a screech and using her hands to propel her body up from the chair. “Whoa! Quick, Mum. Feel this.” She grabbed my hand and shoved it onto her belly.

A wave of ripples met with my hand, then they moved further to the side and I saw them. Little bumps rolled along her abdomen, as though a tiny creature was trapped and trying to get out. Well, I guess that was kind of true, although it was a tiny human.

But not just any human. My grandchild. And hopefully it wasn’t trying to get out right now. I mean, of course it would eventually, but please, not today. I’m not ready to be a mother, let alone a grandmother.

“Does it hurt?” I released my hand.

Diora shrugged. “No, but I’ve been enjoying more Braxton Hicks lately, which certainly make me stop and take notice.”

Braxton Hicks? Who’s she talking about? Was he some kind of pop singer? And what did he have to do with pregnancy?

“How long did you have Braxton Hicks for before you went into labour with me, Mum?” Diora asked.

Crap. How the hell should I know? “Umm, I can’t remember.”

“C’mon, surely you have some idea. Was your pregnancy with me that unmemorable?” Diora planted an exaggerated pout on her face.

If only she knew the half of it. I couldn’t exactly say: ‘Actually Diora, I don’t remember it at all, nor do I remember giving birth to you and I certainly don’t remember your (gulp) conception.’ I shuddered at the thought of me with William. And then I remembered what he said about my other birthday present being later tonight. Oh God, I had to find a way back home before then!

“Um, maybe it was a week?” I hoped that was a believable answer and that she wasn’t expecting me to say five months or anything.

“A week?” she exclaimed, holding onto her stomach as if for support. “I’ve been having them for about ten days now. I could pop at any minute!”

Please don’t. Please
.

“Oh well, my next doctor’s appointment is only three days away, so I’ll ask about it then. On second thoughts …” Diora pinched open the e-pad screen and typed something.

“What are you doing?”

“Foogling.”

“What?” I peered towards the screen.

“Foogling. To see what the internet can tell me about Braxton Hicks.”

A shriek of surprise shot from my mouth on seeing the search engine web page. It looked just like the Google logo, only it said Foogle.

“Oh look, three-hundred and forty-seven people on Facebook have been discussing Braxton Hicks in the last hour.” Diora pointed at the screen.

This Braxton guy must be quite popular with young people these days. I wonder if his music’s anything like Ryan’s?

“Braxton Hicks contractions usually last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks before the onset of labour,” Diora read from some website she’d found.

Contractions? Didn’t contractions mean labour? Something told me she wasn’t talking about a pop singer after all.

“And look, this blog tells the story of one woman who didn’t have any Braxton Hicks at all. One day, her water just broke and bam! … Out came baby.”

“Ah, Diora, maybe you should just wait until you see the doctor instead of relying on the internet.” Well, whaddya know. My first piece of solid motherly advice!

“Yeah, you’re right. And we better get walking,” she replied, pushing the screen back into the e-pad and tugging on my arm, both to lead me in the right direction and to balance her weight.

“Diora?” I asked. “Why do they call it Foogle? I’ve forgotten.”

“Seriously? And I thought pregnancy brain had fried
my
memory,” she said. “Facebook bought Google, remember? So now it’s Foogle.”

“Oh, of course. Geez, the bungy jumping must have messed with my head.” I attempted a light-hearted laugh.

We walked, or rather I walked while Diora waddled, moving at a snail’s pace. Surely a bit of weight around the tummy couldn’t make a person that slow? Getting impatient, I forced myself to walk slower, while inside I was still running around in circles after my bungy jump, not to mention the urgent desire to find a way out of this body.

As I waited for Diora to catch up, my eye caught a large poster displayed in the window of a beauty salon:
Take Ten Years Off with our YouthMagic Facial
! It had a before and after photo of a woman about forty, but in the after photo she looked about thirty.
Clinically proven to work*
it said under the heading and there was some fine print at the bottom but I didn’t bother with that. I pushed through the door and into the salon.

“Mum, what are you doing?” Diora asked, panting slightly.

“I must have one of these facials!” This could be it. I’d close my eyes while the beautician did her magic and when I opened them I’d be twenty five—and it would be much more enjoyable than bungy jumping.

“Mum.” Diora tugged at my arm again and ushered me away from the counter, much to the disappointment of the eager beautician. “I’ve already booked you in for a YouthMagic facial, remember? But not at this dodgy salon, at Queen of Beauty,” she whispered.

“You have?”

“Uh-huh. For all three of us, remember?”

I was sick of people saying
remember
, but my eagerness for a magic facial overtook my irritation. Hang on. “Three of us?”

I hoped she didn’t mean the unborn baby was having some kind of pre-natal, transabdominal Foetus Facial. But this
was
the future and after experiencing yolkless eggs, e-pads, PB-whatchamacallit miracle brain scanners and talking self-driving cars–anything was possible.

“You, me and Elaine,” Diora replied matter-of-factly. “Only I’m having the Pregnant Princess Facial.” She smiled and raised her ample bosom with pride.

“Oh, right.” I had no idea who Elaine was.

“And, they’re going to do your hair and make-up. So you’ll be all prepped for your big meeting this afternoon.”

The only meeting I planned to attend would be my birthday party. With my twenty-something friends and no one even close to the age of fifty. I picked up my pace.

“Mum, can you slow down? Don’t you remember what it was like when you were pregnant?”

No, I bloody didn’t! I just wanted to hurry up and have this facial! Although, I had no idea where I was supposed to be walking to. “Yes, of course, sorry sweetheart.” I was getting good at this mother talk.

Ten painful minutes later, we arrived at Queen of Beauty and I’d barely pushed open the door before a woman with a frizzy mop of blonde hair threw her arms around me.

“Oh, Kel. Happy Birthday! This is going to be so much fun!”

I jerked backwards and stiffened my shoulders at the intrusion.

“Mum’s a little on edge after her bungy jump, Elaine,” Diora explained.

“Yes, that’s right. I can’t wait to see the video!” Elaine said, before switching her embrace over to Diora and then placing a hand on her belly. “How are you, sweetie?”

Oh God, I’d forgotten they’d taken a video of the jump. Just routine, they said, for visual evidence if anything went wrong. Not that it ever did, Bungy Ben had assured me.

“Happy birthday, Kelli,” a velvety voice said from somewhere behind Elaine’s curly mop. Elaine moved aside and a large woman with hair rolled neatly into a bun on the top of her head stepped forward and grasped my hands in hers. “Welcome to your morning of pampering.”

This must be the Queen of Beauty herself. A garland of tiny gold beads was strung around the base of her hair bun, looking somewhat like a crown. She wore a black and gold uniform, falling with a liquid-like drape over her curves.

“Thanks,” I replied, glancing around the waiting area which resembled a palace. The chairs for guests to sit on and await their appointment were mini-thrones! Subtle ambient music permeated the air, as did a warm woody scent, while a triple-tier water fountain trickled peacefully in the corner. I’m sure I’m not the kind of mother to favour one child over another, but Diora hit the jackpot with this birthday gift.

I met my reflection in an elaborate gilt-edged mirror on the left wall and startled slightly, but was then drawn to the beautiful design of the frame. Its curves and swirls gave it a classic elegance, but with a hint of modern spark. A lamp stood below the mirror on a small table, the swirly design of the mirror repeated in the gold of the lamp base. “These are beautiful, aren’t they?” I said, tracing the curved design with a finger.

“Of course they are, you designed them,” Elaine said with a chuckle.

My finger froze and I looked up at Elaine, this woman I’d never seen before. “Huh?”

The Queen stepped forward again. “They’ve stood the test of time too, these classic pieces never go out of style. And although I adore your new season designs, I won’t be changing the decor in a hurry. We get so many compliments from clients on the look of our salon and I always tell them it’s thanks to KC Interiors.”

KC Interiors … KC Interiors. The ad I saw in the virtual magazine at the doctor’s! Do I really work for this company, designing homewares? Or could it be that I even own this company?

“My best friend certainly has talent, doesn’t she?” Elaine said to The Queen, who nodded. “Anyway, are we going to get cracking on our YouthMagic facials or what?” She rubbed her hands together. “I think I’m beyond help, but it’s worth a shot,” she said, tipping her head back in a laugh.

“It’s never too late, Elaine. Everyone can be a Queen of Beauty.” The Queen glided towards a long red carpet that ran down the hallway and gestured for us to follow. When I caught up with her, she stopped for a moment and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to feel like a new woman when you walk out of here, Kelli. I promise.”

A hopeful smile stretched across my face. “I’m counting on it.”

“Youth is a disease from which we all recover.”

–
Dorothy Fulheim

After changing into black and gold gowns, the three of us took residence on our respective tables in the group treatment room. Apparently Diora had asked a few weeks ago if I wanted a private room, but I’d suggested we have a group session, so we could chat and catch up. Or more likely, so Diora could chat and Elaine and I could lie there quietly. Although, I got the feeling Elaine could probably give Diora a run for her money.

As I was the birthday girl, I was being treated by The Queen herself, who I found out had the rather unroyal name of Barb and had apparently been doing my waxing for the last ten years.

Elaine’s therapist was Barb’s daughter, Jilly and Diora was to be given the Pregnant Princess treatment by Karina, a beautiful Asian woman with hair that appeared glued in place and who assured Elaine and I that we too would feel like Princesses after our YouthMagic facials. Hopefully, because the only princess I felt like was Princess Fiona from Shrek. The ogre version.

Elaine released a sigh as Jilly lathered cleanser onto her face and Barb did the same to mine. “That feels so good,” Elaine moaned.

“Our YouthMagic cleanser has a proprietary skin-relaxing ingredient, which opens up the pores for deep penetration of the cleansing nano-particles,” Jilly explained.

The creamy yet textured sloshing around my face sure felt great, but I hoped they would ensure my pores were closed on leaving the salon. Enlarged pores were unforgiving in certain light conditions, although they kept photographic airbrush artists in business.

Jilly continued her well-rehearsed script about the powers of Egyptian crushed micro-sand and then her tone lightened. “You know, one of my regular clients calls this the
Better Than Sex
facial.”

“Jilly!” Barb scolded and I held back a laugh for fear of drowning in microscopic Egyptian sand if I opened my mouth.

Elaine had no such fear. “Honey, I’d be happy with a facial even half as good. I’ve practically been living like a nun since my divorce three years ago,” she said. “Well, minus all the praying. Unless you count holy crap, bloody hell and dear God, why me?”