‘You shoulda told her years ago,’ Scott cut in.
Amy gave him a level look. ‘You know I couldn’t have. Remember what she was like before she introduced me to Liam? She was so thin because she was always too worried to eat, she spent all her time stressing she’d screwed up in convincing me to leave home, she didn’t sleep. All that changed after she introduced me to Liam. Even when we were fighting about me breaking up with him she wasn’t as stressed out. Angry, yeah, but not stressed out and worrying all the time. Remember?’
‘That was ages ago. Things are different now.’
‘Yes? Now she’s pregnant, and she’ll blame herself for leaving me while she worked overseas for all those years. She’d be devastated that she was the matchmaker and that she’s been nice to him all these years. Remember
your
reaction when you found out?’
Devastated wasn’t quite the word. Scott had been homicidal when he’d dropped in to see Amy one afternoon and found her nursing a couple of bruised ribs and a split lip. He’d tried to pressure her into filing charges or telling Jo at the very least, but Amy had refused every time. In the end he’d let it go for her sake, but she knew the memory still upset him.
‘Yeah,’ Scott said heavily, pouring himself a cup of tea. ‘Still doesn’t mean I’m not right though. So keep talking. You told Jo about Liam and . . .’
‘No, it wasn’t that.’
He paused with his cup in mid-air. ‘Then what was it? You mean there’s more?’
‘Yeah, we fought over Ben too.’
‘Martindale? Why?’ Scott was on full alert again.
Amy relayed the rest of the story, her voice thickening with tears as she came to the worst bit. ‘She said I was like Mum, Scott.’
Her words were met with a stunned silence.
‘No,’ Scott said finally, shaking his head vehemently. ‘Nah, Ames, you must have heard her wrong. Jo’d never say anything like that. Fuck no.’
‘She did.’ Much to her frustration, she felt her eyes tearing up again and sent Scott on a search for a box of tissues. She had to settle for a roll of toilet paper and his apology because he hadn’t had a chance to get to the shops.
He sat silently across from her, staring intently out his kitchen window, giving her the space she needed to pull herself together before speaking again. ‘You want me to come help out with the police?’
‘No.’ Amy dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a square of toilet paper before putting her glasses back on, collecting their cups and taking them to the sink. ‘I can take care of that.’
‘You want me to kill him?’
‘
No!
’
‘Alright. So what are you going to do about Jo?’ he asked. ‘She needs to know about Liam and I reckon after the way she just behaved, you can step back a bit from worrying about her feelings and just tell her what happened.’
‘I don’t know, Scott. Like I said, she’s pregnant and—’
‘Yeah, and she’ll deal. She’s got Stephen to help her out, and we both know she’ll be a fantastic mum so there’s no worries there.’
‘Yeah.’ Amy nodded reluctantly.
‘You trust Martindale?’ Scott asked, abruptly changing the topic.
Amy considered this. Did she trust Ben? She thought she did. He was naughty, funny and sarcastic. More importantly, despite her initial wrong impression, he’d never once been cruel or mean. ‘Yeah, I do.’
‘You sure? Because you’ve made some pretty bloody awful decisions with men over the years. Remember that short, skinny guy? Keith, the
arteest
.’ Scott rolled his eyes. ‘You still owe me for the time he bailed me up in your bathroom and offered himself as a nude model for my portfolio.’
Amy’s jaw dropped. ‘He didn’t! You never told me that!’
‘I’m sure I did, and what about that other one–Clive, was it? The one that used to do all those self-help courses to find himself but got lost when he came bushwalking with us two years ago.’
Amy pressed her lips together and nodded. ‘Okay, yeah. They were pretty atrocious.’
‘Hell, yeah. Seriously weird shit, Ames.’ Scott glanced sideways at her. ‘At least the one you’re with now looks like a real bloke. Sounds like one too.’
‘He is. He makes me happy.’
‘Yeah? Well as long as he keeps making you happy, I’ll keep my nose out of things. I’m sorry for being a dick the other day. I was just pissed off over the break-in and worried about you. Forgive me?’
‘In a blink, m’love.’ Amy gave him a small smile that went south again when she remembered what Jo had said. ‘I know this is probably a stupid question, but Jo was out of line, yeah?’
‘So far out she’s left the ballpark.’
‘I’ve never felt this angry at her before.’ Amy looked down at her hands in her lap.
Scott reached over and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. ‘I know, squirt. But remember, you have a right to be. It’ll be okay. Just give it a while, cool down and then make her really crawl when she gets her head out of her arse and says sorry.’ He tweaked her nose. ‘You feeling better?’
Amy hauled in a deep breath. ‘Yeah.’
‘Good, because I’ve got something I’ve been meaning to ask you . . .’
‘Yeah?’
‘What’s with the slobbering lump in my hallway?’
The next afternoon, Amy was having her bimonthly coffee and gossip with Harry Lawson while Harry’s hair treatment worked its magic. It was widely rumoured that Harry was a big player in Perth’s criminal underworld, but as far as Amy knew, he was just a huge, somewhat hairy cupcake. Whenever he came in for his beard and hair trim, he made a point of bringing her flowers and tried, at least for the first two seconds, to curb his language. Knowing Harry’s predilection to use the F-word as verb, noun and adjective, usually at full roaring volume, Amy always made a point of scheduling him at a time when business in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes was quiet.
Her phone rang, interrupting Harry’s story about his son’s latest run-in with the police.
‘You want to get that, luv?’ Harry asked while nibbling away at the chocolate cake Amy had just served him. Harry was the only one of her male customers who required a proper dessert fork to eat.
‘Would you mind?’ Amy wrapped a black towel around his thinning pate.
‘As long as I’m eating, she’ll be right. Besides, from what you’ve just told me, you’ve had a fucker of a weekend. This is fuckin’ good cake by the way.’ He took another delicate bite.
‘Thanks, Harry.’ Amy quickly fished her phone out of her bag, hoping it would be Jo calling to apologise. She squashed down a small twinge of disappointment when she saw it wasn’t, then lit up like an electrical storm when she realised it was Ben. ‘Hey,’ she breathed.
‘I’m looking for a petite sexy blonde with a shoe fetish, would you know if one’s available?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll see if we have any in stock,’ Amy replied, grinning.
‘See that you do. I’m in desperate need. Not that I can do anything about it. I’ve got bad news, I’m afraid.’ In the background Amy could hear the sounds of traffic and some sort of public announcement.
‘Let me guess . . . you have to fly somewhere and want to cancel coming to my place and enjoying my delightful company this evening?’ They’d made plans, but with all the melodrama Amy had forgotten about them until just now.
‘Unfortunately yes. I have to fly to Sydney for a round of meetings in addition to a few radio and talk show appearances to bolster my local profile,’ Ben said. Amy heard a car door slam. ‘It’s either that or go back to London, and since Marcella’s story’s still hot, I’d rather be flayed alive.’
She smiled at the irritation in his tone. ‘You gonna be back by Friday for our trip?’ She crossed her fingers, hoping he’d say yes. On a whim–or fit of insanity, depending on how one viewed it–she’d come up with the idea of taking Ben on a trip to the country, more specifically to her hometown, George Creek.
She’d thought he’d be resistant since he was such a city boy. Instead, she’d been pleasantly surprised by how quickly he’d agreed to her plan. His interest had seemed so genuine, the last tiny bit of resistance she’d felt against falling hard for him dissolved. She trusted Ben and knew she was doing the right thing in not snooping about him. If anything, Jo’s criticism had strengthened her resolve. Although it was so easy to find out information about people nowadays, looking him up still felt the equivalent of hiring a private investigator. It implied a whole lot of things she didn’t want to have marring their relationship.
‘If I’m not back by Friday, I’ll be kicking some arse,’ Ben growled. ‘I have to go. See you soon. I do believe I’ll miss you.’
‘Miss you too.’ Amy hung up, catching sight of her goofy grin along with Harry’s curious expression in the mirror.
‘You got yourself a new one, have you?’ He’d been coming to Babyface for four years now. Over that time he’d managed to winkle a good number of details about Amy’s life from her. She didn’t mind. For all his gruffness and roughness, Harry reminded her of a favourite potty-mouthed uncle.
‘Yeah, Harry. But only because you’re married to your lovely lady, otherwise I woulda snatched you up,’ Amy said, referring to Tracey, Harry’s wife of twenty years and a formidable woman to say the least. She checked his hair. ‘Want to come to the back with me and we’ll wash this out so I can make you handsome?’
‘Whaddya mean? I’m already fuckin’ handsome. Look at me.’ Harry puffed out his beer belly and gave Amy a big cheesy grin, his snaggly, startlingly white teeth contrasting brilliantly with his bushy black beard.
Amy clasped her chest and theatrically fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Smitten, Harry. I’m completely smitten. How about
more
handsome?’
‘Too right, ya fuckin’ are. If I get any better lookin’ my missus’ll not get anything done all day.’ He beamed.
‘Hurry up, Romeo,’ Amy called out, gesturing for the basin.
‘You got that shampoo for sensitive scalps you used last time?’
‘Sure do,’ Amy replied, settling Harry before getting to work giving him a head massage. She never skimped on spoiling her clients and had never once let a bad mood get in the way of good service.
This
was something she was good at. The attention to detail paid off. Most of her clients were regulars, or referrals from regulars. After the first year of opening her businesses, she’d never had to advertise and, more often than not, she had to turn people away.
Over the years, whenever she’d doubted her worth due to her father’s abuse, her mother’s apathy, or her own less-than-stellar track record with men, Amy’d always had her work to remind her that she was good at something.
To Amy, Jo had always been the real success story. Since Amy had been born, Jo had managed to raise her and shield her from their parents, and later got her to safety when they’d needed to leave home. After that Jo had gotten herself a chemical engineering degree between working shifts as a roughneck on the rigs up north, allowing Amy to get her hairdressing and barber qualification and open Babyface and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.
Amy had always worshipped her sister. Jo had sacrificed so much for her–given so much. It had been the least Amy could do to shelter Jo from some of the more yucky things that had happened in her life. Surely Jo hadn’t meant what she’d said yesterday? It was just worry about the baby. It had to be. She’d come around and apologise. It’d just be a matter of time. For now, Amy would get Harry taken care of and then do her best to dwell on the good stuff.
She and Ben were going on a holiday together. Like a couple. On holiday. Excitement washed over her as the reality of her situation sank in and her worry over her fight with Jo temporarily abated. For the first time, she allowed herself to think of herself as being in a serious relationship with Ben Martindale. She had a boyfriend. And they were going on a holiday. Things were going to be alright.
Later that afternoon, Amy made sure the salon and barbershop were well taken care of by Mel before piling Gerald into the car and reluctantly making her way to the Fremantle police station. She was expecting a nightmare few hours of paperwork and a bunch of invasive personal questions but, much to her surprise, she was in and out of the place in only a short amount of time–albeit feeling only marginally relieved.
All the police could officially do was put Liam’s abusive letter on file so that it could be used as evidence if he did anything else. Amy had felt disheartened at that until a wonderfully helpful senior constable named Kerry promised he’d go around and have a talk with Liam when he was next home from the rigs.
Amy hated to think what Liam’s reaction was going to be. She doubted it would be pleasant but hoped he’d take the warning and back off instead of doing anything stupid. The last time she’d openly had a confrontation with him when he was angry, she’d stumbled away with a bruised jaw and a two cracked ribs.
As if sensing her distress, Gerald hadn’t wanted to sit on the backseat of her car and was instead perched next to her in the front, regarding her with a floppy jowled expression that she liked to think of as wise. If wrinkles and bad teeth were an indicator of wisdom, Gerald had it by the bucket load.
‘You gonna protect me if I have any trouble, boy?’ she asked him as she turned the car towards her home, switching on the radio and filling the air with Lady Gaga. Gerald just noisily licked his nose and sniffed at the scents coming through the passenger side window. Amy had left it down a little for him while she was in the police station and small spatters of rain were now flying in and beading on his box-shaped head.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
She began determinedly singing along with the music but no matter how loud she sang, she still couldn’t drown out all the worries rattling around in her head. Right now, Liam was the least of them.
It was going to be a long week until Ben returned on Friday, and Amy prayed things would be sorted out with Jo by then. As much as she wanted to, she knew she really couldn’t buckle on this one. Jo owed her an apology. The problem was, she had a feeling Jo wasn’t really in a state to come to the same conclusion any time soon.
Amy’s heart ached for Jo, knowing full well how much her fear over her impending motherhood must be eating at her. At the same time, Amy experienced a surge of frustration that Jo was making things harder for herself than they needed to be. Heaving a sigh big enough to rival the ones Gerald specialised in, Amy pulled her car into her driveway, deciding to break out the ice cream and maybe call Myf, who would put a rosy glow on everything and make it all okay.