It Started with a Kiss Page 7

‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘There were displays, expert panels talking about post-divorce dating, sex, divorce parties—’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Life coaches, lawyers, anti-aging companies, private investigators. It was fascinating. Even met a couple of reality TV spruikers who were handing out business cards. So I picked and poked around, then checked out the best American divorce-party sites and now I have a website, Facebook, Instagram, Google+ and Twitter accounts. I’m looking into Tumblr, too. Starting now, I’ll be the go-to person for divorce parties in this town. Party planner extraordinaire.’

  She forced me to clink glasses. Again.

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘What do you mean, you guess? You should see the wedding ring coffins I’ve sourced!’

  ‘What training do you need? Is being a divorcee a prerequisite?’

  ‘Who knows, but I am so it doesn’t matter. Anyway, how hard can it be? I’m sure there are hundreds, nay, thousands of women in Sydney eager to reinvent themselves after having signed their final divorce papers. I’ll see how it goes, but I have high expectations. People celebrate marriage, why not divorce?’

  ‘Because it’s not generally something you celebrate.’

  ‘Bullshit. I bought a Tiffany ring!’

  We both gazed adoringly at the dazzling emerald ring on Rosie’s middle finger, right hand.

  I sipped my wine. ‘Yes, well that’s you.’

  ‘Tish tosh. You’ll have one, won’t you?’

  I sniggered. Rosie and her tish tosh! She sounded sixty.

  ‘A divorce party?’ she persisted. ‘Will you have one?’

  ‘Liam and I aren’t anywhere near divorcing.’

  ‘But if you do, you’ll want to celebrate. Trust me.’

  ‘It seems kind of heartless, celebrating the end of a union, especially when kids are involved.’

  ‘It’s a milestone… and at the end of that long, arduous year of separation, lawyers, negotiations, yada, yada, you’ll feel like having an event to mark its passing.’

  ‘Wouldn’t a wake be more appropriate?’

  ‘You’ve got a lot to learn.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You’ll help me Saturday night?’

  ‘You’re hosting a party Saturday night?’ That brought me up short. ‘This Saturday night?’

  ‘No! Saturday week! Don’t look so alarmed. How hard can it be?’

  ‘You keep saying that. I’m just not sure.’

  ‘You’ll be a great hostess. Besides, I need you. It’ll be a snap.’

  ‘I’ve already committed to seeing Stephanie that night.’

  Rosie shrugged. ‘Dump her.’

  ‘Can’t. It’d be rude. Stephanie’s been sweet and caring since Liam left. She invited me out next weekend just so I wouldn’t be alone.’

  ‘So she can keep an eye on you, you suburban minx!’

  ‘Rosie! I don’t want to offend her.’

  Rosie sighed. ‘She’s so boring. Can you ever imagine her going down on Nolan?’

  I shuddered in horror. Nolan is Stephanie’s husband. ‘I try not to imagine any of my friends engaged in that activity.’

  Rosie waved me away with her hand. ‘Whatever. Now that you’re single, you’ll be doing it soon enough—and loving it.’

  ‘Rosie, you are so bloody inconsistent. A minute ago you were saying Liam loves me.’

  ‘I’m sure he does, but you have to put yourself first.’

  We both sat in silence drinking wine until Rosie spoke again. ‘If I could count up the number of stitched-up women I’ve met over the years—mostly your so-called friends, I might add—you’d think they’d never opened their legs.’

  ‘I think you’re referring to several of the mothers at school, and clearly, they have opened their legs.’

  Rosie smirked. ‘Touché, Fri. I like the new, raunchy you.’

  ‘I’m not raunchy.’

  Rosie winked. ‘Maybe.’ She drained her glass. ‘Okay, bring Stephi along. I could use an extra pair of hands.’

  ‘Not sure divorce parties are her scene.’

  ‘Good. She’ll bail. Win-win.’

  ‘Really?’ I said with a laugh.

  ‘Come on. I’ve already committed to Jo, that’s the woman—Joanne, thirty-five, two kids, adorable, not that I’ve met them. I don’t do kids.’ She paused, seemingly examining her nails. ‘Of course,’ she said, looking up, ‘Evie and Olivia are the exceptions.’

  I pointedly tapped at my watch. ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘Yeah, so, she’s invited twenty-five women. What’s not to love?’

  ‘So many things can go wrong.’

  Rosie shrugged. ‘Like with any party, the secret is in the planning, which is where I come in… and you will help. Better than wallowing in your own filth and depression.’

  I went to answer but couldn’t be bothered. I know when I’m defeated. ‘Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll mention it to Stephanie, too, but I doubt she’ll come.’

  ‘Good and gooder.’

  The house was almost invisible in the darkness when I arrived home. After checking on the girls (both asleep), I wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Evie’s leftovers were still there, so I ate them. It seemed my appetite was returning to normal. I tidied up, checked that the doors and windows were locked and walked down the hall to the bathroom.

  Despite the hot shower, my limbs ached. I wasn’t sure I was up for Zumba. It really was a young person’s activity… and when I say young person, I mean teenager. They weren’t in danger of throwing out their backs or dislocating their shoulders.

  Then I thought about Blake. We’d certainly got up to some athletic manoeuvres at Utopia. Fleetingly, I remembered us naked in his bed. A rush of desire and angst swept through my limbs. What was he doing tonight? Where was he and who was he with? I quickly pushed away those feelings. I had to be sensible now that I was home again.

  7

  A week after moving in for the second time, Liam turned up at his brother’s apartment building at 6.15 pm and opened the security entrance door with his key. Five minutes later, on the thirty-eighth floor, he used a second key to let himself into apartment 3812.

  Brad glanced at Liam as he walked in. ‘You look buggered.’

  Liam shrugged. He walked past Brad, into his new (well, oldish now) bedroom, threw his computer bag on the bed, then wandered through the lounge and out onto the verandah which overlooked chaotic Oxford Street.

  Moments later, Brad joined him and handed him a beer.

  ‘Thanks.’ Liam took it and followed Brad back into the lounge room where the news was blaring on the TV. ‘I’m knackered, looking forward to beers on the couch and some mindless TV.’

  ‘Spoken to Friday?’

  ‘Nah, not much.’

  Brad sucked on his beer. ‘You did say you wanted out, bro.’

  ‘Yeah, but that was then. This time, I wasn’t sure. It was too easy.’ She’d practically thrown him out. ‘Thanks for letting me stay. It won’t be for long.’

  ‘Take as long as you need.’

  ‘What do you think?’ said Liam after they’d watched the sports news. ‘Should I have stayed?’

  ‘How would I know?’ Brad said, shifting in his seat. ‘You’re looking at a man who’s never been married and doesn’t have kids. Hell, I’ve never even owned a goldfish.’

  Liam smiled. ‘True.’

  ‘But I adore Friday. If it were me…’

  ‘If it were you, what?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I’m making a mistake?’

  ‘I didn’t say that…’ Brad trailed off. ‘So long as you’re here, you may as well make the most of it. You certainly didn’t the first time round.’

  ‘I can’t go out and pick up stray women like you.’

  ‘You can if you want to. As much as I love Friday and the girls, you’re my brother and what happens in Paddo, stays in Paddo. And guess what? The Roosters are playing in—’ Brad checked his watch ‘—th
irty minutes. How about you and I take off to the pub, grab some Thai and watch it on the big screen?’

  Liam shrugged.

  ‘Come on. Take your mind off things.’

  Half an hour later, beers in hand, meals ordered, Liam and Brad were standing in a crowded bar, waiting for the game to commence. Liam looked around, feeling middle-aged and overdressed. He was wearing jeans and a navy T-shirt, the epitome of casual but, still, he felt out of place.

  And the women? They all looked Olivia’s age. He shuddered. I have two teenage daughters. I should be at home with them. But Friday and I are separated, I think.

  Brad nudged him. ‘Checking out the talent?’

  Liam jumped. ‘What? No.’

  ‘Take it easy. That’s what we’re here for.’ Brad took a slug of beer and started commentating as Liam knew he would. ‘Check out the redhead over there—leopard print dress.’

  Liam’s eyes widened. It was as tight as, and with the black heels she was wearing… ‘Cute.’

  ‘Cute? I’d tap that. And that one,’ said Brad, glancing around.

  ‘Maybe.’

  Liam wasn’t up for conversation with women tonight, especially these ones. They reminded him too much of his daughters.

  Liam and Brad sat, eating green chicken curry and watching football (Broncos 46, Roosters 23; expected, but still a huge disappointment). When Liam said he was heading back to the apartment, Brad surprised him by coming, too.

  ‘Not hanging out till the bitter end?’

  ‘Nah,’ replied Brad, giving the pub a final once-over. ‘Slim pickings tonight.’

  Back home, they watched some American talk show on the comedy channel.

  ‘You know what got to me,’ said Liam, somewhat philosophically. ‘The routine. Mondays, work, netball training for the girls, usually spaghetti for dinner; Tuesdays, work and gym, usually a chicken stir-fry; Wednesdays—’

  ‘I get it,’ said Brad impatiently. ‘What makes you think life on the other side is better?’

  ‘I don’t expect it to be better necessarily, just different. A break from the same old, same old.’

  ‘That’s why people go on holidays, bro.’

  Liam’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘Just a suggestion.’

  He shrugged. ‘I dunno. I’ve got itchy feet or something. Time to break free, do something wild.’

  ‘The stand-up routines you’ve been talking about?’

  ‘Yeah.’ That’s exactly what he’d been thinking about. He wondered if he had it in him. The skill? The patience? He needed to give it a go, to at least try again.

  Brad had been in the audience the night Liam had bombed. ‘Bro, you needed to be a ruthless counterpuncher,’ he’d said at the time.

  ‘Why don’t you?’ Brad was saying now. ‘Unless you think you’ve become too sensible, boring and middle-aged.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t help being forty-two.’ His brother’s attitude only served to rile Liam more. He knew Brad didn’t mean anything by it, but Liam was angry with him. He’d show him. Liam could and would be his own man. He didn’t always have to follow the rules. Liam was up for anything and wasn’t afraid to step up and out. After he had completed a comedy workshop and written some decent material, he’d perform at an open-mic night. At least he could try. He already had several scenarios rolling around in his head. He just needed to write them down and hone his pitch and delivery.

  Brad was slapping him on the back. ‘It means I’m behind you. Go for it. Do you want to be on TV?’

  ‘Nah. I just want to have fun. Tell jokes.’

  ‘But they’ve got to be funny.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m not humorous?’

  ‘I haven’t seen you laughing lately.’

  Liam stood up. ‘Yeah. Okay. Night.’ He was tired.

  Sensible. Boring. Monotonous. Routine. The words rattled around inside his head as he got ready for bed. At Brad’s, simply watching the comedy channel was something Liam wouldn’t have been allowed to do at home. It would have been too loud and the program material inappropriate, had the girls walked in.

  Not allowed.

  The words rang incessantly in Liam’s head along with his mid-life crisis shouting at him. Liam needed to reprogram himself. He was his own man. He wasn’t being controlled by others any longer. And he certainly wasn’t confined to a boring routine. Not if he didn’t want to be.

  He was forty-two. Forty-fucking-two! Where had the years gone?

  Who cares? I’m in charge now, he thought as he haphazardly threw back the sheets on the futon. Brad’s apartment was temporary, just until he got himself sorted.

  Got himself sorted. It was exciting—the future, the opportunities, all just waiting for Liam to tackle them. The last three months had been a trial run. This time it was for real.

  He woke the next morning feeling completely disorientated, having momentarily forgotten where he was. His head was pounding, his sleep punctuated by odd dreams of him running down empty, cold and dark streets that led nowhere. Liam felt like he’d run a marathon. His body felt heavy and sluggish, but his brain quickly ticked over. After years of marriage, he was free again and back living at Brad’s. He glanced at the time on his iPhone—already four-thirty am? He shrugged. So, he’d be late in to work this morning.

  Wiping his eyes, he walked into the kitchen, ready to make coffee and toast. Bloody hell. It was a wonder Brad could find anything. The place was a mess. How, in a week? Liam searched for milk and bread—nothing. Welcome to bachelor life. Again.

  In the past three months, Liam had really sorted out Brad—what with grocery shopping, and buying him a coffee machine and one of those whiz-bang mixing gadgets that Friday loved. He stared at it for a moment. Mixmaster. They hadn’t christened it yet, but they would. Fri was always using hers.

  Living with Brad, Liam felt like a twenty-year-old again. Except for this morning. Today he felt like shit.

  Liam glanced at his watch. Four-fifty am. For the first time he could remember, he decided to take the day off. As much as he loved his job, he was embarrassed. Maybe even pissed off. Even though no one knew about his situation, the thought of judgemental acquaintances guessing as to his marital status riled him. People whispering behind his back. Gossiping. What did they know? Nothing. How could they possibly know what it was like to be him? To be Liam Campbell, husband, father, proud but not arrogant, ardent Manly supporter. He was also a sometimes bored, brash, middle-aged surfer who masturbated more than he cared to admit, and dreamt of a carefree existence—sun, surf, sand and sex.

  Everyone had issues, didn’t they?

  ‘Hey,’ he said, when his assistant answered.

  ‘Cutting it fine, aren’t you, bud?’

  ‘Yeah, mate,’ said Liam, putting on a husky, sick voice. ‘Been throwing up all night. Can’t get out of bed. Afraid the team will have to soldier on without me.’

  ‘What? Liam Campbell taking a sickie? This must be the second in fifteen years?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Feel better tomorrow, okay?’

  ‘Yep.’ Liam hung up and went back to bed. Let the interns handle the show. They seemed to know what they were doing. Besides, he’d done all the hard work for today’s broadcast yesterday. Tomorrow he’d feel better about everything.

  Unable to sleep, he thought about Friday, back to why he had proposed to her in the first place. Circumstances. Circumstances and a snap decision to act. He would have been happy living with her, but Friday was the kind of girl who wanted the whole deal. Okay, so she wasn’t a girlfriend who bought Bride to Be magazine every month. That was Liam’s first serious girlfriend, Rebecca Darby. With Bec, he’d thought it was cute. At first. Two of her girlfriends were engaged and she was being a supportive, interested friend. He knew this mainly because she told him. Often.

  ‘If I’m going to help them make decisions, I need to know how weddings are pulled together,’ Bec would muse.

  But afte
r her friends married and she continued to buy bridal magazines, he started getting nervous. Then when she’d thrust a scrapbook at him late one night after too many Bacardi and Cokes, he was stunned. The book was filled with clippings of her favourite wedding designers, dresses, shoes, ideal honeymoon destinations, the lot! Liam freaked out and pulled the plug. He was terrified of making a lifelong commitment to being trapped. Marriage first and then a mortgage and babies?

  Liam shuddered at the memory. The night after his breakup, he and Brad had got slaughtered.

  ‘What took you so long, bro? She was manic.’

  ‘What can I say? Ruled by my dick.’ It had taken Liam’s head months to wake up and stage a coup.

  Soon after, he’d met Friday. Until then, he hadn’t been interested in anything serious, having been terrified into singledom. But Friday wasn’t like Rebecca. She didn’t talk about weddings. She didn’t buy bridal magazines and she didn’t gaze longingly into jewellery-shop windows at solitaire diamond rings. She was cool, funny, happy. They’d been together two years when Liam finished his degree and was thinking about his next life move, when out of the blue, Friday told him she was considering moving to Melbourne.

  He’d been dumbstruck. ‘What?’

  ‘My friend, Sandy. You know the one who moved down a few months back?’

  He’d shaken his head.

  She’d ruffled his hair. ‘I probably mentioned her during a footy match. Anyway, she’s after a flatmate. And get this, the practice she’s joined is looking for another naturopathic assistant. She said the company will pay my tuition fees to get fully qualified. The stars are aligning.’

  Liam had felt lost for words. He’d made a snap decision right then to ask her to marry him. She had to marry him. Liam couldn’t let her go. He loved her.

  After Liam proposed to Friday and she’d accepted, he’d been euphoric. He was going to spend the rest of his life with the woman of his dreams. She’d stayed the night at his flat and they’d drunk champagne, made love and laughed for hours. He woke up beside her the next morning in awe. Friday had chosen him. This goddess had chosen to spend the rest of her life with Liam. Why?

  It didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were going to be with each other for the rest of their lives. But still… why him? He considered himself average. If she’d chosen Brad, Liam would have understood. So he’d set her little tests. Why did he do it? To prove how much she loved him? All these years on, he still didn’t have any answers except that he couldn’t believe someone like Friday would really marry him. She was pretty, smart… not that Liam was a dumb mutt, but her star definitely shone brighter.