Being Shirley Read online

  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 unfortuna
tely 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.

  She snuggled down, glad she’d had the foresight to put the electric blanket on. But then she caught the look of invitation in Tony’s eye as he dropped the towel and sauntered around to his side of the bed. She groaned inwardly. It was a look Annie knew all too well. He pushed himself up against her and she wriggled as close to the edge without actually toppling out of bed as she could go. Most nights she’d be in like Flynn, as eager as a beaver, or whatever those sayings were but not tonight. She just didn’t feel like it. Too much swirled around her brain to make way for any pheromones or whatever a girl needed for a rev up. “Sorry, Tony, it’s been a big day and I’m really tired.” She was tempted to throw in the age-old excuse of I’ve got a bit of a headache too but decided that was probably overkill.

  Apparently it wouldn’t have been because Tony was not going to be put off that easily. He suggested with a waggle of his thick black eyebrows that she didn’t have to expend much energy if she didn’t want too and added that she could always lie back and think of England; he wouldn’t mind.

  “Oh, go tie a knot in it!” She gave him a half-hearted smile before she rolled over to kiss him a chaste goodnight. He homed in for the kill but she meant it. She really wasn’t in the mood and so she pushed him off, said goodnight and moved back to the edge of the bed as she tucked the duvet around her to ward off the chilly night air.

  Tony muttered something about her still being annoyed over Craig’s antics and that she needed to lighten up a bit because it was only a joke. He was probably right, she thought reluctantly. She freed her hand from the duvet so she could reach over and flick off the bedside light. Just look at Ngaire’s outfits—she looked as if she’d be far more at home serving up beers in some seedy bar for hardened bikers than living in suburban St Albans on the best of days. Her bunny outfit really wasn’t that big a deal and so what if she had been caught out? Move on, Annie, she’d told herself, because if it had been anybody else on the receiving end of Craig’s little joke, she would have found it as funny as the rest of the Goodall clan had. For some reason, though, it had stung and as she stood at the window with the pot full of potatoes threatening to boil over, she had tried very hard not to cry. She would not give Craig the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to her. He had, though, and she didn’t know why but it seemed to crystallise that things weren’t going right between her and Tony, no matter how hard she tried to fix things. Lying in the dark, with her eyes wide open, she waited until he rolled away from her with a huffy sigh. One hot salty tear slid down her cheek.

  Chapter Ten

  “What’s that?” Tony muttered. It took Annie a moment to realise someone tapped on their front door.

  “It’s someone at the door, I think,” she mumbled, still half asleep.

  Tony grunted that was fairly obvious before he rolled out of bed to pull on a T-shirt and some pants. He drew the door behind him as he went to investigate and left Annie to slowly come to. She glanced over at the red digits of the clock on the bedside table; it was only ten past six. God, it had taken her forever to get off to sleep and when she had, she’d slept fitfully. Roz had starred in most of her dreams, which she hadn’t done for a long time. She was the before Roz, beautiful and vibrant and it was as though she was trying to tell her something. It was still a shock even now to wake up and realise it wasn’t real and that her sister hadn’t been with her for a long time. She wiped the sleep away from her eyes, and wondered who on earth would pop over at this time of the morning. As the realisation hit that it was far too early for a social call, her mind jolted into alert wakefulness.

  What had happened? Something must have happened. As she swung her legs ov
er the side of the bed, she flashed back to the earthquakes. There can’t have been another big jolt; she would have woken up. Surely she hadn’t gotten that complacent about them that they didn’t even penetrate her sleep these days? She shrugged into her dressing gown and made her way down the hall. She could see Tony’s outline silhouetted in the open front door. An icy shiver ran through her. Something was wrong; she could tell by the rigidity of his stance.

  At her approach, he swung round and told her, in the brusque tone he usually saved for the boys under him at work, to go and sit in the lounge.

  “What’s going on?” Annie wrapped her arms tightly around herself as though trying to fend off the inevitable bad news she knew she was about to hear. Nobody knocked on the door before seven a.m. with good news. The jumble of panicked thoughts swam through her head: If it wasn’t an earthquake, then had something happened to her mum or dad or both of them? Had one of Tony’s brothers been in a car accident? “Is everything okay?” Her voice quavered as she ignored Tony’s instructions and pushed past him to see who stood in the doorway, fully expecting to see a police officer.

  Her mind registered Campbell Bennett instead, a middle-aged family man who lived on the corner of their street. She hadn’t seen him since they’d shovelled that horrid post-quake liquefaction off the pavement together after the last round of shakes. Now, though, she stared at him uncomprehendingly because instead of the track suit ensemble he had been wearing then, he was in a suit, obviously on his way to work. But what was he doing on their doorstep at this time of morning and why instead of a shovel was he holding something small and stiff wrapped in a towel? As the realisation as to what it was he cradled dawned, Annie’s knees buckled.