The Happiness Show (15 page)

 

‘Mr Shorebrook, there's someone here to see you.'

‘Bronwyn, I can't see anyone right now. I'm due in court at one.'

‘Mr Shorebrook, it's Harry.'

As she said his name, in he burst. Slightly tanned, very dishevelled, tail between his legs. He'd lost a lot of weight.

‘I'm so sorry, Tom. I'll eat crow, I'll do anything. I just heard about Celia. Fuck, mate. I am so sorry I wasn't there for you. I feel like a right cunt.'

And with that he collapsed into tears. Tom closed the door and handed him a tissue. ‘You are a right cunt, mate.'

Tom stood by as Harry sobbed. ‘I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?'

‘Forgive, yes. Forget, no. What are you doing here, anyway?'

‘It's over. Stupid slag's buggered off back to her old boyfriend and moved to Wales, of all godforsaken places. What was I thinking? It all started to go to seed when she kept calling me “Daddy” when we were on the job. I've totally fucked up. Lost everything. All for a shaved pussy. The kids hate me and Jill wants a divorce. What a fucking waste, mate. I tell you, take it from me, if you're ever tempted, don't do it. It's not worth it. Have a tug and forget about it. But you're not as stupid as me. You would never be that big a cockhead.'

They sat for a moment and composed themselves.

‘How is she?'

For a moment Tom thought Harry meant Lizzie. Then he realised that of course he was asking about Celia.

‘Oh, she's fine now. She's back at school. You know, everything's fine.'

‘And how are you, mate? You've lost weight.'

‘I'm coping.'

‘Would you have me, Tom? Would you take me back? I'm begging you, mate. I'll never let you down again. You know me, honest as the day is long and after a fuck-up like this I'm going to be paying for it for the rest of my life. I need something, anything, to get back to normal.'

They looked at each other, and then a smile broke across Harry's face. ‘And look at it this way. It'll save you getting new stationery. And you're tight as a nun's nasty even on a good day.'

 

*

 

Keith arrived in Melbourne on a Monday and then the fun really started. The kids were in childcare two days a week, Myrna took them one day and Jim managed to scale back his hours and look after them the other two days – being the Astronaut's Wife, he liked to call it. It was only for six weeks, long enough to get into a routine but short enough to see the light at the end of the tunnel if things got hairy.

The first couple of days were spent in pre-production, which basically meant sitting around a table drinking lots of coffee and talking lots of shit. They mapped out their basic plan of attack, put together a schedule, got a feel for the show and for each other.

The production office was in Richmond, behind a stretch of Vietnamese shops and restaurants known as Little Saigon. Lizzie and Keith took to having Vietnamese every day for lunch. The summer heat brought out all the smells of this little piece of Asia and Lizzie felt as if she were back in the Orient. Their favourite restaurant was called My Dung. But they called it Hello You Sit Here, because that's what the woman said as soon as you walked in.

Lizzie adored hanging out with Keith. They were both kids from the ghetto made good. They were
simpatico
. Keith smoked like a chimney and swore like a wharfie, so Lizzie felt obliged to join in – just to be social, of course. She loved having a few ciggies. They made her feel like she was travelling, which she kind of was. She was enjoying them so much she had to keep reminding herself that it was just for the duration of the shoot.

It was magic being a grown-up again. Putting on grown-up clothes every morning and coming home at night and the clothes still being clean! What a novelty. She lost a few kilos, too, with all the coffee and fags. Not finishing the kids' leftover Vegemite sandwiches, honey jumbles, muesli bars and cups of Milo also helped. Lizzie hated cooking and even supermarket shopping, but she did adore eating. There were things she couldn't live without and they were all foods. Cans of Italian tuna in oil; avocados with balsamic vinegar and sea salt; a macchiato every morning; grilled cheese and tomato on toast. Nana Myrna's Kahlua cheesecake. She often felt like an impostor, reading all the recipes in the weekend magazines, cutting them out and sticking them on the fridge, knowing she would never make any of them. Thank God Jim loved to cook. Otherwise the kids would grow up thinking there was nothing more to food than baked beans, banana sandwiches and tubs of yoghurt.

Over dinner each night, Lizzie told Jim all of Keith's stories. Keith had obviously told them all a million times before, but he had them down pat and she laughed like a drain at every single one. She loved having grown-up stuff to talk about, really interesting stuff as opposed to ‘We went to the rocket playground, Reuben called Scarlet an arsehole and I thawed out that lasagne you made last week.'

Oh, and another thing she adored about being with Keith. When she least expected it, Tom would pop into the conversation. ‘My brother-in-law, Tom – you know Tom, Lizzie?'

‘Sure, Trans-Siberian Tom.'

‘That makes him sound like some kind of pioneer. I think of him more as Tom the tosser. Anyway, there was this time when we were all holidaying in Spain and staying in this really dodgy dive …' And Keith would tell Lizzie all about Tom's escapades. Once he launched into a story about Tom almost having his camera stolen in Siberia.

‘Anyway, then some girl pulled up her top and flashed her tits at them and yelled “Oi, guys, check this out,” and the poor skinheads were so taken aback Tom managed to snatch the camera back and the skinheads buggered off.'

‘Excuse me, Keith, I have to interrupt you there. I was that woman.'

‘Seriously?' Keith was astonished. It took a lot to astonish Keith.

‘Seriously.'

There was a single beat, and then: ‘Well, they probably ran away in fright, then.'

 

If Lizzie got home in time she would put the kids to bed, grab a beer and check her emails. Jim would be in the shed, at a union meeting or watching telly and Lizzie was officially working. She and Tom would launch emails back and forth, chatting during his lunch break, which he was now actually getting thanks to the return of Hardworking Harry.

 

Okay, I give up, what have I done?

 

Ha, ha. I've just been very busy. Court all last week and I'm in it up to my bollocks. How goes it with Keith? He hasn't tried to get off with you, has he? He is a naughty boy when he's off his head.

 

Actually I thought you were avoiding answering the question about whether or not you had ever been to a love hotel.

 

Ha, ha. No. The answer is no, anyway. Don't feel neglected.

 

Fuck it, Tom, I miss you. Look, I'm a bit pissed. I've just had two Stellas and that extra .04% is adding up. But I miss you even when I'm sober.

 

I thought it was just me. I miss you too, Lizzie. Terribly sometimes. Why is it bad to say?

 

I don't know. It's so hard by email. If you missed me, why did I have to say it first?

 

I thought you knew. You are the only person I bother keeping up with. I've got sixty unopened emails here but [email protected] gets opened straight away.

 

I'm blushing. I bet you say that to all your cyber shags.

 

Fuck it. Okay, email filter's off. I never forgot you, Lizzie, and now I think about you all the time. There is something about us that I just can't shake, I can't turn it off. I don't know what to do, or where the fuck it's leading. And I know I shouldn't say it but I don't care. If email is the closest we can get right now, email it is. And I'm not pissed. It's lunchtime here.

 

Oh, Tom. You took my breath away.

 

I dreamt the other night that we were in this place I used to go to a lot called Queenies. It's a London institution. Dark wood panelling, winding secret corridors, confusing jazz, late opening hours. You pulled me into this empty room and we started kissing. Just kissing. I woke up and I had come.

 

*

 

‘Sure, I can drop the kids off. Jules is having her ultrasound today, so tell her to ring me on the mobile if she calls.' Jim had taken the day off school with a sore throat. Lizzie lugged the kids and their bags and their hats into the car and dropped them off at childcare.

‘Bye-bye, twinkle toes,' she said to Reuben as he ran off with his mates.

‘Bye-bye, stinky socks,' he yelled back. Lizzie turned around and Scarlet was nowhere to be seen, until Lizzie spotted her in the doll corner. It was the first time she'd seen Scarlet play with dolls, and for some reason it made her very happy. There was a connection, a primal connection. Up until now she had seen Scarlet as a child. Now she glimpsed her as a girl, a female, a sister.

‘Goodbye, Scarlet the Barlet,' she said as she picked her up and kissed her. ‘I'll pick you up after work.' But Scarlet didn't go back to her doll; she turned around, grabbed on to Lizzie for dear life and cried, ‘Mummy, don't go.' Lizzie felt a pang of sadness. Not guilt, but sadness. She crouched down to Scarlet's height and stroked her hair. ‘I'm sorry, darling, but Mummy needs to go to work.'

‘But I need Mummy,' said Scarlet, sobbing.

One of the carers came over and picked her up. ‘Come on, Ruby, let's take you outside.'

‘It's not Ruby,' said Lizzie, fighting back tears. ‘It's Scarlet.'

‘Oh, sorry. I know it is. I'm a bit muddled. Reuben and Scarlet … Ruby. Come on, sugar, let's take you out to the trampoline.'

And with that the woman carried Scarlet, who was sobbing half-heartedly, out the back. Lizzie walked to her car, sat behind the steering wheel and dropped her bundle. She really let loose. She didn't know where it was all coming from. She could see Scarlet on the slide now, playing happily with the other kids. Scarlet had stopped crying but Lizzie was wailing.

 

The day's shoot was at a suburban Buddhist monastery called Kedo and she met the crew at nine o'clock. Keith was there early and Lizzie arrived late, as usual, bearing coffees.

‘Alright, Lizzie?' said Keith as she arrived. ‘Need anything? Water? A biscuit? A FUCKING WATCH? Don't worry about us. We've only been waiting for—'

‘Yeah, sure. Go back to your own country.'

‘Are you wearing that?'

‘What do you reckon?'

This was their typical morning banter. As Lizzie fiddled with her clothes and applied her lipstick, the crew swapped stories about things they'd heard on radio mikes when actors thought they were turned off.

‘So he's talking away to his girlfriend on the mobile and then suddenly he says, “Is it still in? How does it feel? I'm having a great time. Whoever came up with the idea of the butt plug, anyway? I've got to go, I'm going on stage in a second. I'll pick up some amyl on the way home. Sorry, what was that? Okay, and some milk and cat food.”'

They all laughed so loud that they got dirty looks from the monks, and Lizzie almost didn't hear her mobile ring.

‘Hello?' she said, moving out onto the verandah. She wasn't supposed to have her phone turned on inside the centre.

‘Hello? Hello?' It was then that Lizzie heard someone sobbing. ‘Who is this?'

‘Lizzie, it's Jules. Can you come to the hospital? I'm having an ultrasound and Cam is stuck in a meeting. It's all shit, Lizzie, it's all shit.'

‘What are you talking about, Jules?' She heard what sounded like a muffled shriek. ‘I'll be there in twenty minutes.'

Lizzie walked back into the meditation room, picked up her bag and swung it over her shoulder. Keith made his way over.

‘Are you okay, Lizzie?'

‘No, I'm not. Some serious family shit has gone down. Hopefully I'll be back before lunchtime. I don't know what the actual deal is yet but I'll call you then.'

‘Sure, Lizzie, of course. We're ahead of schedule anyway. We can do those inserts for ep two and maybe see if we can reschedule with the guru.'

‘I'm so sorry, Keith, but I have to go. I'll call you in an hour.'

Keith grabbed her and hugged her a little too long and a little too hard. She pulled away and ran to the car and drove like a maniac to the Royal Women's Hospital, where Reuben had been born, where Scarlet had been born and where Lizzie herself had been born.

She parked in a five-minute parking zone and found her way to radiology. She arrived at the enquiries counter, panting. ‘Julia Fleming. I'm after Julia Fleming.'

The po-face receptionist looked up over her Get Fucked I Own This Hospital glasses. ‘Are you a relative?'

‘Yes. I'm her sister.'

The queen of the hospital tapped away coldly at her computer.

‘She's in ward 51. And your name is?'

‘My name? My name is Fuck You, You Wizened Old Moll. That's my name.'

After racing to ward 51 she finally found Jules, who was sitting in her civvies beside a perfectly made-up bed. She looked grey and numb. And, Lizzie realised for the first time, quite pregnant. Lizzie ran in wild-eyed and panting and Jules collapsed into her arms and wept. As she held her Lizzie looked out the window and saw uni students trudging off to lectures, weighed down by their backpacks, as though they had all the worries of the world inside them. Jules's sobs went on and on and Lizzie thought to herself, It can't be that bad.

But it was.

 

Finally Jules tried to explain. ‘Just go from the top,' Lizzie encouraged, and Jules started and didn't take a breath until she had finished.