It Started with a Kiss

  Lisa Heidke studied journalism at Queensland University, fled Brisbane and settled in Sydney where she landed a job as an Acquisitions Editor in book publishing (HBJ). After a while there, she headed to ACP where she worked as a feature writer on several national magazines, including Practical Parenting and Bride to Be. After many years living in Sydney’s inner west, Lisa woke up one morning to find herself living with three teenagers on the North Shore (much to her surprise and sometimes horror).

  Website: www.lisaheidke.com

  Twitter: @lisaheidke

  Facebook: Lisa Heidke – author

  Also by Lisa Heidke

  Lucy Springer Gets Even

  What Kate Did Next

  Claudia’s Big Break

  Stella Makes Good

  First published in 2015

  Copyright © Lisa Heidke 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Arena Books, an imprint of

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: info@allenandunwin.com

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 1 74331 975 8

  eISBN 978 1 74343 703 2

  Typeset by Bookhouse, Sydney

  To family, friends and acquaintances who wonder if I am writing about them… yes, I am.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  1

  ‘I’ve been unhappy for a long time. We’ve been unhappy,’ Liam was saying as I sliced tomatoes in the kitchen.

  ‘Liam, I know it’s hard for you right now,’ I replied, trying to sound supportive. But really, I was thinking, ‘Why now? Why start up with me now, when we have a houseful of guests about to descend upon us?’ He’d been distant for weeks.

  ‘You don’t know how I feel.’

  I stopped what I was doing and walked to where Liam was standing. ‘You’re right, I don’t know—’

  Liam pulled away from me, raking his fingers through his hair. I noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring—again. ‘The sleepless nights. The pressure.’ He glanced around at the trays of cheese and canapés. ‘I’m not up for this today. I need space, time to think.’

  I nodded. ‘You need a holiday.’

  Liam’s eyes flicked to me. ‘And you think a week in Fiji is going to do it for me?’ He sounded angry, brittle. ‘It’s not.’

  ‘Okay.’ I walked back to the tomatoes. I said okay because I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t have another response. Of course it wasn’t okay. Liam and I hadn’t been okay for months.

  I glanced at my watch. ‘Can we talk about this later?’

  Liam shrugged, as if to say, ‘Why bother?’

  I watched as he walked out onto the deck, then stood in the middle of it, hands on hips, looking out to sea.

  There were never enough hours in the day. It seemed there was always some area of my life being neglected: Liam, our daughters, my work. I never had a moment where I could just be. Take a breath and stare into nothingness for a few minutes.

  I finished making several salads, tidied the kitchen and bolted into the bathroom to get ready.

  ‘How do I look?’ I asked, self-conscious as always, when I joined Liam outside.

  ‘Fine,’ he answered, without looking at me.

  Fine.

  What did the word even mean? Fine for a mother of two? Fine for a woman of forty-one? Fine for what? Exactly?

  The doorbell rang and, an hour later, Liam and I were full of holiday cheer, drinks in hand, laughing with family and friends.

  But I was on high alert, agitated and nervous. Not only because of Liam’s despondency, but because I am not the most accomplished hostess. Generally, my gatherings are casually haphazard, but I try to make sure people are having a good time—great music, drinks and food (preferably not cooked by me).

  I spied Rosie, my best friend since high school, nibbling on a chicken drumstick.

  ‘Okay?’

  She nodded. ‘Stop worrying, Friday. You, your menu and your house are always perfect in that shabby chic, run-down, endearing way of yours.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment.’

  I peered over at Liam, king of the ten-burner barbeque. He seemed happy, certainly he was more relaxed now that he was sucking back beers with his brother, Brad, and my brother, Auguste, who was over from Perth for a work conference.

  ‘Mum,’ bellowed Evie, our thirteen-year-old, who together with her older sister, Olivia, was playing with Rosie’s new pug puppy, Sharon. ‘When can we get a new puppy?’

  Our beloved labrador, Baxter, had died only two months prior. Fifteen years old, he’d been the subtle glue that held our family together. We were heartbroken he was no longer with us and barking at inanimate objects.

  Liam swung around, immediately looking fed up. ‘Thanks, Rosie. As if I don’t have enough responsibility.’

  ‘Aw, she’s cute,’ I said, patting Sharon’s sweet little face.

  Evie was beaming. ‘So can we?’

  I glanced at Liam, then at Sharon and then back at Evie. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’

  ‘So that means no. It always means no when you say that,’ Olivia snapped. ‘I’m going to my room.’

  Downhearted, Evie skulked off with Sharon in her arms.

  ‘That went well,’ I said, sidling up to Liam.

  He smacked the tongs down on the bench. ‘We’re not getting another dog. I’m drowning in responsibility as it is.’

  I held up both hands. ‘Fine, but, Liam, the girls are still devastated.’

  ‘And I’m not?’ he said, turning his back on me.

  I glared at Rosie and walked over to her. ‘Why? Why did you have to bring her?’

  ‘Get used to it,’ she replied. ‘Shaz and I are a team. A rockin’ team.’ She spied my neighbour, Stephanie, and arched her eyebrows. ‘Ugh.’

  I always do my best to keep Rosie and Stephanie apart, but today it was unavoidable. They’d got off to a bad beginning when they first met years ago. Rosie had hated Stephanie’s pearls (double strand, g
old clasp), her clothes (beige, knee-length pencil skirt, white Peter-Pan collared blouse—yes, blouse) and her hair (elegant, shoulder-length, ruler-straight, blonde).

  After polite introductions, Rosie had immediately called her Stephi.

  ‘It’s Stephanie,’ she’d replied.

  ‘So,’ Rosie said, as Stephanie walked towards us. ‘Still got that massive stick up her arse?’

  ‘Play nice,’ I whispered, silently horrified that Stephanie had turned up to a casual barbeque wearing a formal, bright-pink twin-set.

  ‘Hi, Stephi,’ said Rosie. ‘Still rocking that vintage look. Mad Men all the way, hey?’

  ‘Hello, Rosie,’ Stephanie said through tight lips. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The clothes. Vintage really suits you and the pearl touch is just right, too. For a moment I almost thought you were serious.’

  Rather than hang around and witness the imminent train crash, I turned back to the boys at the barbie. I wanted to smooth things over with Liam. I hated it when we fought, the recriminations, the snide asides and the inevitable silences that followed. I wanted to have a good day; for us all to have a good day.

  ‘Liam,’ Auguste was saying, ‘tell me more about the comedy workshop.’

  I looked at Liam and stifled a laugh, realising Auguste was serious. ‘What?’

  ‘Liam’s keen to try stand-up again,’ said Brad, slapping his brother on the back. ‘Surely you know that, Fri.’

  Well, actually I didn’t because, recently, Liam had been spending more and more time with Brad, at the races, sailing, clubbing, you name it and Liam was front and centre. At least one out of four weekends was taken up with Brad and their brotherly adventures. I normally let it go. Liam was living with three hormonal women, so I cut him some slack.

  But, today, Brad was annoying me big time. It wasn’t just that he was with his latest lover (a very loose term if ever there was one) or that she was buxom and a good ten years younger, but here she was being paraded around in front of my impressionable, teenage girls. Next, Brad would be getting them to call her Aunty Chloe. (To be fair, Brad had never asked the girls to call his paramours Aunty Anything. But it irritated me the way he… shagged.)

  ‘It’s been twenty years since I’ve been on stage at an open-mic night. It’s now or never,’ said Liam.

  ‘I guess,’ I said, remembering the one time I’d seen him perform before we were married, when a combination of nerves and lack of confidence had led to him being booed off stage. Liam had been distraught. I didn’t want to revisit the heartache. ‘But you’re more a behind-the-scenes guy now, and given your workload at the station…’ Liam was the content director at Beat FM, focused entirely on keeping the number-one syndicated morning program across Australia, number one.

  ‘You wouldn’t know what I want, Fri,’ Liam said, gritting his teeth.

  That put me in my place. Liam had always harboured a yearning to try stand-up again, but because I hadn’t heard him mention it for a couple of years, I’d assumed he’d shelved the notion. I tried to diffuse the situation by linking my arm through his but he pulled away. ‘I thought you’d given up on that idea,’ I persisted.

  ‘Actually,’ Liam said, turning the sausages with a bit more tong force than necessary, ‘I haven’t and I don’t want to leave doing what I want to do until I’m in a wheelchair.’

  Embarrassed, my eyes darted in all directions.

  Auguste clapped his hand on Liam’s shoulder. ‘You used to talk about being a comedian when we first met. But then you were also hell-bent on your career and shagging my sister.’

  I smiled. Auguste was doing his best to scatter the heat.

  ‘Bro,’ said Brad, popping the top off another beer. ‘You’re just like the old man. Totally career driven. And it’s paid off.’ He paused. ‘You’re almost as successful as me.’

  Smug bastard, I thought to myself, but Liam didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’m also dealing with temperamental presenters, constant budget cutbacks, advertisers who are never satisfied.’ Liam drained his beer. ‘I want to do something for me. Just before Dad died, he told me not to end up the same way as him. He told me to follow my dreams. Not wait until it was too late.’

  I looked at the three of them, not knowing what to say. Liam’s father had died only three months before. The loss was still raw.

  ‘Ending up dead and dissatisfied like him,’ Liam continued.

  Yet here we were, living in a beautiful home on the Northern Beaches, overlooking the ocean, enjoying another afternoon of sparkling sunshine, but for all Liam cared, we could have been living in a tent in Siberia. His miserable mood was really getting me down.

  This day wasn’t going the way I had envisioned. Why couldn’t Liam be satisfied? It seemed every conversation ended in argument, especially since his father had passed.

  I glanced over to where Chloe was now talking to Rosie. Rosie was quizzing her.

  ‘University? TAFE?’ I couldn’t make out Chloe’s answer, but Rosie’s loud response said it all. ‘Aha! Smiggle salesgirl! Bravo you!’

  The mother in me wanted to save Chloe. But by the time I’d passed around canapés and champagne, I was too busy eavesdropping on my boss, Deirdre’s, conversation with Auguste.

  Deirdre liked to monologue. She’d meet a complete stranger at a bar, flower shop, Bunnings… and within minutes have told that person, it didn’t matter who—short, tall, male, female, young, old—her life story. Right now, she was telling Auguste: An only child, her mother, blonde (think Marilyn Monroe) died (thirty-eight years old) when Deirdre was seven, father (batting above his average) lives (only just) in a nursing home (run by militant Nazis), twelve minutes’ drive from Deirdre’s home (brick Federation, circa 1907).

  And that’s before she gets to her own family. Married thirteen years, twin ten-year-old boys. It’s exhausting. And then there is her sex life, which she was now acquainting Auguste with. ‘Derek and I don’t do’, and then she did bunny rabbit ears with her fingers, ‘sex’. Eek! Her hands resumed normal position and she started up again. ‘… as often as we should (apparently the national average is 2.3 times a week), but my saucy maid’s outfit, bought from Victoria’s Secret when we were on vacation in Honolulu, always gets him going.’

  Thanks for that visual image.

  ‘Going and coming,’ she laughed.

  Auguste looked suitably horrified. I should have saved him. But what the hell. He’d thrown me under the bus a number of times.

  Later that night in bed, Liam said, ‘Why did you laugh at me this afternoon?’

  I was absent-mindedly going over the day’s conversations. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Me taking comedy classes.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘That? I didn’t mean anything.’

  ‘There. You just rolled your eyes.’

  ‘Liam, it’s been a long day. I’ve had Deirdre in my ear, Rosie, Stephanie and now you. I’m tired. Let’s not do this now.’

  ‘If not now, then when?’

  I puffed out a breath. My fear was that Liam’s dream would end up being a nightmare. I couldn’t bear the thought. ‘I don’t know. Sign up for your classes. Go ahead. Anyone would think you’re trying to get away from us. Surfing, out most weekends with Brad. Do you need another distraction?’

  ‘It’s not a distraction. And not that you’d care, but I’ve been looking into it.’

  ‘Okay, okay. That’s great. I want you to be happy. You need to do what makes you happy.’ The last thing I wanted was to fight. And if Liam had his heart set on pursuing this dream again, I wasn’t going to stop him.

  ‘Fri, I feel like I’m being held back.’

  ‘So,’ I said, trying to keep my voice even, ‘I’m holding you back?’

  Liam’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘From what?’

  ‘I want to pursue this comedy idea before it’s too late.’

  Inwardly, I was screaming. ‘Fine, do your comedy. I don’t mind. I’m not the one who’s
been holding you back from realising your comedic potential.’

  Liam rolled over. ‘Sometimes, it’s hard to love you, Friday.’

  I moved as far as I could to the other side of the bed, my temper fuse shrinking by the day. I wasn’t holding him back. Far from it.

  My thoughts drifted to the weekly schedule I meticulously wrote up each week and stuck on the fridge door. I guess to a certain extent, the four of us were leading separate lives, joined only by the activities we were doing. That and transport. Who needed to be taken where and when… a shared calendar of events. Linked by a residential address, our mutual love of sushi and The Voice. It wasn’t a lot and at times it felt tenuous at best.

  2

  Liam was lying in bed, seething. A disastrous end to a disastrous day. He’d felt like an outsider in his own home. His clothes didn’t seem quite right, nor did his temperament, his conversation. Nothing.

  As usual, Friday had been the life of the party, pouring champagne and chatting freely. Laughing easily, like she hadn’t a care in the world. How could she switch on in public, while privately knowing how unhappy he was? He’d even told her so before the day’s invasion.

  He didn’t know Friday anymore. Yes, she was his wife and the mother of his children. But were they friends? They used to be, just like they used to be lovers. But now he wasn’t sure. They hadn’t been genuinely intimate for months. Yes, they still had sex but it was perfunctory. Where was the passion? His desire had gradually ebbed away to near nothingness and the distance between them was growing wider by the day.

  When she’d questioned him about the comedy workshop in front of everyone, laughing as she’d said it, Liam found he couldn’t ignore his anger any longer. Friday could be so insensitive.