Other People’s Diaries (34 page)

His eyes met Alice's and lingered.

‘Definitely time to finish it, yes.'

Alice paused, knowing there was something to be said, but having no idea what it should be.

‘Thank you all. This isn't how I envisaged it would end. I'm sorry and I hope you can get on with your lives.'

They stood up.

Rebecca slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped up to Alice. ‘Alice …'

‘It's okay, Rebecca.'

They looked at each other, then Rebecca nodded slightly and turned toward the door.

Claire held out her hand to Alice. ‘Thank you,' she said simply.

Alice squeezed her hand softly.

Megan slung her rucksack onto her shoulder. ‘You'll be sorry to have me out of your life.' She smiled slightly.

‘Devastated,' Alice replied. ‘Be happy Megan.'

And then it was just Kerry and Alice.

‘Kerry, I'm sorry,' Alice blurted out. ‘I should have told you I was married, I just … I'm really sorry.'

To her surprise, Kerry smiled. ‘Me too.'

She looked at him. ‘What?'

‘I'm sorry too,' he said cheerfully. ‘I like open fireplaces.'

For a moment, Alice didn't know what he was talking about. Then she remembered his last email inviting her away for the weekend. She felt the heat rush to her face.

‘I …' She felt like a fish with her mouth flapping open. ‘I haven't told my husband.'

Kerry didn't miss a beat. ‘Told him what?' he asked. ‘That you turned me down?'

Alice wouldn't be put off that easily. She shook her head. ‘That I wasn't honest with you.'

Kerry touched her arm briefly and then moved his hand away. ‘You were honest enough to help me when I needed it,' he said. ‘It's okay.'

He hesitated before continuing.

‘I'm changing some things too, Alice. It's time to stop complaining about what's wrong with my life and make it right.'

Alice looked at him. He'd shaved off his goatee and he looked younger. Less glib and more vulnerable.

‘Do you think maybe you can fix things with Sandra?'

Kerry shrugged. ‘I don't know – maybe. For now, though, I need to fix things with me.'

He put his arms on her shoulders and pulled her toward him, kissing her gently on the cheek. ‘Your husband is a very fortunate man, Alice.'

Their eyes locked for what seemed a long time, before Kerry dropped his arms.

He grinned suddenly.

‘You know, you're pretty good at this group stuff. What do you say we start a book club?'

L
illian locked the car door and walked toward the house.

She started as a human-shaped shadow moved against the wall.

The shadow stepped forward and became a man. His hands were held out in a gesture of surrender.

‘Lillian, it's me. Ross. I'm sorry, I thought you could see me.'

Lillian held her hand to her throat, heart thumping. ‘Ross, what are you trying to do, scare me to death?'

‘You haven't been walking. I just wanted to talk to you. I came around after dinner, didn't expect you to be out. I just sat down to wait for ten minutes and then figured I'd wait another ten.'

Lillian looked at her watch. It was nine fifteen – he'd been here for hours.

‘Come inside.'

She walked up the stairs, unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Ross followed her, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of an armchair.

‘Can I get you a cup of tea?' Lillian asked.

Ross shook his head. ‘No thanks.'

Lillian sat opposite him. ‘What's wrong, Ross?'

‘You haven't been walking,' he said.

‘No.'

‘Are you okay? Is it because of the – the illness?'

‘No, I'm fine.' That was true. Lillian felt as good as she had in years.

‘You've been avoiding me then?'

There didn't seem much point in lying. ‘Yes.'

To her surprise Ross smiled broadly. ‘That's great.'

‘It is?'

‘If you're avoiding me, it must be because you like me, but are worried about doing anything about it in case you're really sick. Right?'

Lillian looked at him for a moment, various arguments running through her head. She opened her mouth to deny it, but suddenly couldn't summon the energy.

‘Right,' she acknowledged.

‘Okay then.' Ross stood up, brushing his hands down the uneven creases in his trousers. ‘Well I don't care whether you're sick or not. We'll figure it out. So I guess I'll see you in the morning then?'

Lillian smiled.

‘I guess you will.'

C
laire stepped into the empty house, flicking on the lights. So that was it. Eight weeks and one marriage later Claire was finished with the Red Folder Group.

Claire's life had changed suddenly when Peter left. It was no longer defined by looking after him or waiting for him to come home. She'd met with a client earlier that day, but apart from that she'd spent most of the time at home.

That morning she'd left her bed unmade and dirty dishes on the counter in some kind of rebellion. She'd deliberately ignored the newspaper spread all over the sofa and dropped her bath towel on the bathroom floor. Claire didn't know what she was trying to prove, but it felt good.

She had also bought a Billy Joel CD which she'd played over and over.

The computer now sat in the middle of the dining room table. A copy of
Design Your Own Website
was beside it, bristling with yellow Post-it notes. Money was very tight and there was definitely none to spare for website development. So Claire had decided she would do the work herself.

Despite Megan's insistence that building a website from a template was simple, it was proving a daunting task for Claire.

She considered doing some more work before bed, but decided against it.

Before shutting the computer down, though, she clicked to her inbox. There was one unopened email.

Dear Ms Menzies

I write to ask whether you would consider me for a job with your company.

How bizarre. Why would someone be asking her for a job?

She flicked back to the email.

I heard you interviewed on the radio yesterday and think Fix Your Wardrobe sounds great. I have always been interested in a career in fashion and would love to learn how to be an entrepreneur like you
.

I am finishing off my senior year so would be available after school and on weekends
.

I look forward to hearing from you
.

Andrea Brown

Claire stared at the email. What the hell was an entrepreneur like her? Someone whose website resisted all of her attempts to bend it to her will? Someone whose marketing plan consisted of pulling in a favour for a five minute segment on local radio? Someone whose house, which doubled as an office, was on the market and was littered with half-finished business plans?

And then she smiled.

She hit the reply button and started typing.

Dear Andrea
, she wrote,
I am so glad you like Fix Your Wardrobe
.

She paused for a moment.

While all our positions are currently filled, we are anticipating significant expansion in the next twelve months. We will keep your details on file and contact you as soon as a suitable vacancy arrives
.

Regards

Claire Menzies

CEO Fix Your Wardrobe

K
erry walked up behind the ute, shaking the load to test it. There was an esky, an ancient swag and a half-empty duffle bag stuffed with a few T-shirts and shorts. He wouldn't be needing much in the way of clothing.

What he would need would be some proper camping gear. But he'd pick that up on the way.

The plan, such as it was, had occurred to him on Sunday. His parents had made it crystal clear they had only been selling at the markets because they'd thought it was good for him.

Their excess plant supply had been taken care of with one phone call to another nursery and by ten o'clock on Sunday morning he was a free man.

Last time they'd spoken, his mate Brian had mentioned that he was heading to a big motorcycle event up north. At the time, Kerry hadn't even thought about going, but all of a sudden he had an idea. A weekend of motorbikes and then a month or so of travelling.

After that, who knew?

The only glitch had been Sandra's reaction.

In hindsight he hadn't picked his time perfectly.

In fact, his timing had probably been perfectly wrong. Sandra was already furious about the article. She was convinced everyone would be talking about her as well as Kerry.

‘Who gave you the right to make my life public?' she'd asked when he arrived to collect Annie on Sunday. ‘Do what you like with your life but keep the hell out of mine.'

Like an idiot, he'd told her that, actually, he was doing what he wanted with his life.

He'd thought she'd be pleased that he was finally moving on and doing something positive. Instead she'd exploded and he'd been thankful that Annie was in her bedroom gathering her toys.

‘So how do you expect me to explain all this to Annie? Tell her Dad's just gone bush for a while to find himself?'

Kerry had tried to tell her that she didn't have to, that he'd talk to Annie himself.

‘What do I do with Annie? I'm not like you. I can't just throw it all in and piss off.'

Kerry had been tempted then to tell her he knew her business was slowly bleeding to death. For one crazy moment, he had even thought about telling her to stop fighting and give up. To come away with him and see if they could make it work. But sanity had prevailed.

‘Mum has offered to help out. Now they've scaled down the business, she'll have more time to spend with Annie. It will be great for both of them.'

Sandra had been slightly mollified, but had still been frosty when he returned Annie that evening.

Now, Kerry sat behind the wheel of his ute and flicked on the dim cabin light. He picked up the block of foolscap and pen sitting on the seat beside him.

Dear Sandra
,

When you took the lease on the salon, I thought you had chosen to go your way without any regard for us. I am starting to wonder if maybe it wasn't the other way around the whole time. Maybe ‘us' wasn't going anywhere because of me
.

I've realised that there are better uses for that ‘hunk of metal' than sitting under the house. The guy who has been hassling me about selling the Aston Martin to him for years couldn't believe his
luck yesterday. I thought maybe you could use the money to give your business a good go. No loan, no strings – it's yours
.

I'll call Annie in a couple of days
.

See you in a month
.

Love
,

Kerry

Kerry slipped the bank cheque in with the letter, sealed the envelope and threw it onto the dashboard. He started the engine and shifted into gear. One more stop, to slip this into Sandra's letter-box, and he was on his way.