The Happiness Show (17 page)

‘I'll pay a nanny or a granny to come along. Use it as an incentive scheme. You know, keep them all on their toes. Tell them whoever performs the best gets a trip to Asia. A chance to wipe the kids' arses in the tropics.'

‘Maybe. What brought this on?'

‘You know Lizzie, the Australian bird who came over for the Christmas drinks? Well she and her husband and their kids are going and I thought it would be a good way to wind down after the shoot.'

‘It's a great idea. I'll talk to Felicity about it.'

 

*

 

Going for a punt was Felicity's idea. Since Celia's brush with death they had vowed to carpe the diem a bit more and she had taken to putting a list of the things she wanted to do on the fridge. So here they were in Oxford, punting along the River Cherwell. Felicity was wearing a glorious blue and green floral dress and a straw hat. She had thrown a boater in the car for Tom but he refused to wear it. She'd known he would; it was just a bit of a laugh. Tom stood at the bottom of the boat, plugging along while Flick and Celia lay on a mohair rug, licking the insides out of biscuits and playing twenty questions.

‘Can I wear it?'

‘Yes,' giggled Celia.

‘Can I eat it?' asked Felicity.

‘Yes. But it would taste disgusting.'

‘Is it makeup?'

‘Good guess, but no.'

‘I give up.'

‘Is it my cooking?' asked Tom as he sat down.

‘No,' said Celia. ‘It's mud.'

Tom pulled out a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. ‘Great idea this, Flick. But don't think I didn't notice you managed to include some incidental exercise for me in the day's program.' He stretched his neck out and winced. ‘You'll be pleased to know I'm knackered. In fact, I'm a wreck. My neck's stiff, my back's sore, my ankle hurts and I've got shooting pains down one arm. I'm totally out of breath. And I'm only thirty-nine.'

‘You know what you need?' said Felicity, offering him a slice of spanakopita. ‘You need someone to buy you on eBay. A collector. “You'll never believe it: I picked up a 1973 Tom Shorebrook. It needs a lot of work but I'm going to put it in the garage and restore it on the weekends.”'

Tom laughed, feeling his body creak as he stood up. ‘Poor sucker would be fucked for parts.'

When the little family arrived back at the car, they were all happily exhausted.

‘What time will you be home from work tomorrow?'

‘Sixish.'

‘Good,' said Felicity. ‘Don't be late. I have a surprise.'

 

Nature, being nature, did take its course and Jules spontaneously aborted the fetuses three days after the diagnosis. She wasn't a wreck as everyone would have expected, but relieved. Jules made an art out of being contrary at times. She had a curette to ensure she was ‘vacant,' as Dr James put it. And then it was back to square one.

Lizzie went over for a game of Scrabble. Lizzie let Jules win while they talked about what came next.

‘So after your hormones get back to normal, they're monitored for six months and then it's back to the baby business?'

‘More or less.'

‘So will you sign up for IVF again?'

‘I suppose so. My new plan is to get so many frequent-flyer points by paying for the treatments with my credit card that I have enough for a free trip to China to adopt a baby if the IVF doesn't work. But I must admit I'm having second thoughts now I know how dangerous this baby business can be. Who knew you could get cancer from being pregnant?'

‘Not me, sister, not me.'

‘Hey, listen. I forgot to tell you. You know my cousin Helen with the husband who dresses like a child molester?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Well, she told me about this second cousin of ours, Miranda, who was infertile, had eight rounds of IVF with no luck, then her husband left her and two weeks later she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis! And get this, the doctors think she got it through the IVF.'

‘Bullshit.'

‘No bullshit.'

‘Jesus Christ, Jules, did she kill a Chinaman or something?'

‘No, but I think she wouldn't mind knocking off that cunt of an ex-husband,' said Jules, placing her tiles down. ‘FICKLE. That's fifteen on a triple-word score so we are talking fifty-three big ones, thank you very much. If you like having your arse whipped so much, Lizzie, why don't you move to Singapore?'

Lizzie told Jules all about her chewing-gum stunt at Changi airport, which reminded her of something else. ‘Did I tell you about the research I came across about the Russian scientists – and I use the
term “scientists” loosely – who have proven that a caning on the buttocks can cure everything from alcoholism to pneumonia? They have a clinic where people pay $140 to get their arses whipped, with excellent results. I thought I'd get you a voucher to cheer you up.'

Jules laughed. A lot. This was the first time in a long time Lizzie had seen Jules laugh. It was magic.

‘How does it work?'

‘Well, I'm glad you asked, Jules, because I happen to have a whip with me and if I'm not mistaken you are the proud owner of an arse. God, I'd love to see their before and after shots. So the theory is, something about pain and stress releases these feel-good hormones. And these scientists—'

Jules held up her fingers to make quotation marks in the air. ‘These “
scientists.”
'

‘That's right, Jules, these
“scientists”
– and do keep in mind that all you need to be a scientist in Russia is a white coat and the ability to say “test tube” in three different languages – anyhow, these scientists reckon the caning counteracts a lack of enthusiasm for life, and so it can cure addictions, suicidal thoughts and psychosomatic problems.'

‘Okay, that's funny, and I'm not going to do it even if you give me a voucher – but it actually makes a bit of sense. After I have my legs waxed I feel euphoric. And maybe that's why women are so happy after labour. They're off their heads with the endorphins.'

‘Maybe it explains why battered wives stay with their husbands.'

‘You might be on to something. But don't chocolate and sex produce endorphins too?'

‘Good question. I have no idea. There was talk of me flying to Russia for the series and doing an interview with some medico who smacks botties for a living, but the budget couldn't stretch. So will you be seeing Dr James again?'

‘Probably not. Now I no longer have a cancer-ridden fetus inside me, I'm not
important
enough for him.'

‘I didn't want to say anything at the time, but did you realise he was James as in “James! James! James! James!”?'

Jules looked at her blankly. ‘How do you mean?'

‘James as in Para on the Yarra James.'

Jules thought. And then a wave of recognition swept over her face. ‘Oh my God, you're right. Oh my GOD! That slimy born-to-rule mummy's boy who got on with you for a dare! Oh FUCK! I gave him a wedgie. Do you think he remembered?'

‘I have no idea.'

‘Oh my GOD! Why didn't you say anything?'

‘It wasn't a great time.' Lizzie ate the last of the raisin toast and took their hot-chocolate mugs to the sink. ‘You gave him a wedgie and he gave you a …' For once in her life, Lizzie was lost for words.

‘… damn fine fisting?' offered Jules. ‘So, Lizzie, speaking of posh tossers, how's that floppy-haired, wet-lipped, stuttering chinless Tom Shorebrook?'

The mere mention of his name sent a bolt of electricity through Lizzie. Her face caught on fire. She didn't want to say anything; she just wanted to let his name hang in the air for a moment.

‘Getting private chat rooms yet?' pressed Jules.

‘No, Jules, I'm not that tacky.'

‘You used to be.'

‘Well, I've moved on. I have never had cyber sex.'

‘Really?' said Jules, truly surprised.

‘Of course.' And then Lizzie noticed a look in Jules's eye. ‘Have you?' Jules's eyes were definitely twinkling. ‘You have! You dirty dog. You used to be prefect. Shame on you. When? Who? Where?'

‘Oh, a long time ago, Lizzie, when I was young and beautiful.'

‘Well, cough up.'

‘Remember when I went to that conference in Hong Kong a few years back?'

‘When your tongue swelled up after eating those sea urchins?'

‘Right. Well there was this Italian guy there, Lucio. He was so hot. And we were talking work one night in a bar and he told me he had an article in his room on corporate law and globalisation. Subsidies and tariffs stuff.'

‘Sounds very sexy.'

‘Trust me, it was. So I ended up back at his hotel and one thing led to another and …'

‘The next thing you knew you were on the end of his cock?'

‘Something like that. Lizzie, it was the wildest night. I did things that would be illegal in some countries.'

‘Like driving without a seatbelt?'

‘Ha, ha. So we had this incredible night and he had to fly out the next morning and when I got back to Melbourne there was the most pornographic email waiting for me. I don't know how it got through the work firewall. Anyway, I opened a private email account, started to go to cyber cafés and it was on for young and old.'

Lizzie stared at Jules with her mouth open.

‘How did I miss this? How come I get, “You know, my fantasy job would be to host the TattsLotto draw,” “I saw chicken mince on special for three dollars a kilo the other day” and “Did I tell you my mum has nits,” but I missed out on this?'

‘I didn't tell you at the time because it
was
a bit tacky and I was engaged, so I vowed not to tell anyone.'

‘So what happened?'

‘It was all a bit tragic, really. He asked me if I wanted to have a threesome with another woman he'd been having cyber sex with and I felt – now I know this may sound weird – but I felt betrayed.'

‘You were having cyber sex when you were engaged and you felt betrayed?'

‘I know. And get this, he was married.'

‘Get out!'

‘I kid you not. He even sent me an email a few years ago saying that he and the family were coming out to Australia for a holiday and was there any chance I could pick them up at the airport and put them up for a few nights.'

‘In whose room?' asked Lizzie.

They roared with laughter. The front door slammed and Cam came in from work. He walked over and kissed Jules on the head. ‘I could hear you two from out in the street. What are you laughing about?'

The women looked at each other and Jules said ‘Italians' and Lizzie said ‘Cyber sex' at exactly the same time.

 

As Jules walked Lizzie to her car, she gave Lizzie a big hug. ‘Thanks. For everything.'

‘Get your hands off me, you weirdo.'

‘Hey, I'm worried about you and Tom. Be careful. I know how it can get out of hand. Take it from me. It seems intoxicating but it's not worth it. It would have been an appalling waste to lose Cam for a bit of cyber sex with a guy called Lucio.'

‘I'll take that on board.' Lizzie hopped into the car and rolled down the window. ‘Just one thing. What was your email name?'

‘How do you mean?'

‘You know, your private email address.'

‘Oh, let me think. [email protected].'

‘Why, was dirtybackdooringslut taken?'

‘Yeah, by you, Lizzie.'

‘You know, I like the idea of a little lady-loving, but I couldn't do it with another woman in real life. But I reckon I could do it on the net.'

‘Is that an offer?'

‘Is that an acceptance?'

‘Get a Brazilian and I'll think about it.'

Lizzie drove home. As soon as she got in, she checked her emails. There was nothing from Tom and her heart sank. She wondered where he was, what he was wearing and what the weather was like. It was 7 p.m. in Melbourne. It would be about breakfast time there. Maybe he was working already, having a piece of toast or daydreaming on the tube. With the two of them on opposite sides of the world, one of them was always awake.

 

*

 

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,' said Tom as he burst through the door. ‘I'm fifteen minutes late for an extremely good reason: I am rubbish. Hello, darling.' He bent down to kiss Celia. ‘I know you said six. I hope I haven't stuffed everything up.'

‘Not vastly,' said Felicity. ‘I always take into consideration that you run on Tom time, so I just tell you to come half an hour earlier than I actually want.'

‘So I'm actually fifteen minutes early. Well done me, eh?'

‘Dinner will be about two minutes. Celia, go and wash up, darling.'

‘Smells great,' said Tom, taking off his jacket and loosening his tie. ‘What are we having? I'm starving.'

‘Nasi goreng.' Flame licked the bottom of the wok dramatically.

‘Very exotic. Good to see you're wearing clothes. Stir frying is one of the few things that I don't recommend doing naked.'

Felicity plonked the wok down on the table and Celia and Tom started to help themselves. ‘Would you like a beer, Tom?'

‘Lovely. You sit down, Flick. I'll get it.'

‘I'm fine. Just dish me up a bowl. Juice, Celia?'

‘Water, please, Mummy.'

Felicity sat down and handed Tom a Bintang beer.

‘Bintang! This is like we drank in Bali. Where did you get it?'

‘Sainsbury's, believe it or not.'

‘Well done. This is beautiful. I can almost smell the clove cigarettes and hear people asking if I need a ride or a massage.'

‘Now, Tom,' said Felicity slowly, playing with her food. ‘Remember how you agreed to go on a family holiday?'

‘Vaguely,' said Tom absent-mindedly, as he shovelled in the food.

‘Do the words “You buy the tickets and I'll be there” ring a bell?'

‘Kind of.'

‘Well, I've bought the tickets and we're going back to Bali. With Becky and Keith. We're going to stay at the Shangri-La, where we stayed last time.'

Tom snapped his head up. ‘What?'

‘We're going to Bali for a holiday. In two weeks. We're staying at the Shangri-La again. I thought you'd be pleased.'

‘Slow down. I mean, it sounds marvellous, but when did I agree to this?'

‘Remember just before Harry came back and you threw your dinner at the fridge?'

Oh shit. That was right.

‘And you said something along the lines of “Forgive me, I'll do anything to make it up to you”?'

‘Yes, of course. It's just a bit of a surprise.'

‘So are we going on a plane?' asked Celia.

‘Yes, darling.'

‘Magic! Where's Bali?'

‘You went there when you were little. It's a glorious tropical island close to Australia. We're going with Becky and the twins and meeting Keith there. And also that Australian comedian he's been working with and her family. Becky says she has a little girl too.'

Tom completely lost his appetite. The colour drained from his face.

‘Cool,' said Celia. ‘May I be excused?'

Celia left the table and Tom went to the fridge, got another beer and sat back down. ‘Well, that's quite a bombshell.' When he looked up, Felicity looked hurt. She stood up and began to clear the plates. ‘But it's a great bombshell, Flick. It's really great. My head's just processing everything – work, house-sitting arrangements, whether or not my passport is even current …'

‘It is. It expires at the end of the year. And I've spoken to Harry and he says work is sorted.'

‘Well, you've thought of everything.' They clinked glasses. Yes, Felicity had thought of everything. Everything but Lizzie.

 

*

 

‘Are you serious, Jim?' Lizzie frowned as she loaded the dishwasher.

‘It's not my fault.' Jim was putting Scarlet into her pyjamas.

‘Of course, I know that. It's just that you've had at least four sore throats since the start of the year and it's only March. They're all running into each other. You should go and see a doctor.'

‘I don't do doctors, Lizzie, you know that. Now go and give your mum a kiss, Scar. Reuben, teeth, toilet and bed, thank you, Captain Lego.'

‘Jesus, Jim, laconic is one thing but too much “She'll be right” can be bad for your health.'