Love: Classified (6 page)

     “I liked the mother best, didn’t you?” he asked.

     I was surprised. The mother was the character I liked most too and would never have guessed Magnus would have chosen her. She was a big, slightly clumsy woman, full of strength and grit. I’d have thought Magnus would have preferred the pretty daughter-in-law, a coquette.

     Alarm bells rang in my brain.
Even from this tiny coincidence, my crazy hormone-addled mind could build up a whole fantasy of us being so right for each other. I mustn’t risk getting too close. Copping so much hurt I’d never recover.

     “Is this how you’d normally spend a Sunday night?” I asked, willing him to throw metaphorical cold water over me by telling me he never watched television, that he much preferred being out on the town, on the prowl.

     “I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering, doesn’t this guy have a life? Doesn’t he have friends to go out with? Why has he spent almost the whole day with a total stranger?”

     “Something like that.”

     “Let’s just say for now that I’ve recently got out of a difficult relationship. And that I’ve taken a few body-blows in the last few months. Things have happened that have rocked me.” He took a gulp of coffee and went on, his voice firmer: “Call it a mid-life crisis, call it whatever you like. The fact is, I’m running away for a while, Virginia. And I placed the ad because I couldn’t face going alone. I hoped someone like you would answer it eventually, though I was beginning to run out of hope. You can run with me, if you want to.”

     “I need to know a little bit about you first,” I said. My voice was trembling and I was suddenly feeling something else for him, the feel
ing I get when Bree’s hurt herself or crying over a dead pet mouse. I gripped the side of the sofa to prevent myself pulling him into my arms. He’d run a mile if I did that, I told myself.

     “Fair enough,” he said.

     His eyes met mine and I thought they were eyes that had seen a lot of life. The bad as well as the good.

     “I’ve been married and I’ve had a full-time job and now both of those have come tumbling down unexpectedly around my ears,” he said. “I’ve got some good mates, guys I was at school and uni with, but they’ve got their own lives. I don’t feel I can go barging into their homes on a Sunday night and ask to hang out with them. They’ve got kids and wives and work to go to tomorrow.”

     He looked into the half-full mug before going on: “What about you? Why aren’t you spending your leave with a boyfriend?”

     “I don’t have one.”

     “I don’t believe that.”    

   The way he was watching me, as if working out my body mass index, made me even more uncomfortable. He was lying. But my nipples didn’t think so and I knew that if he had half-reasonable eyes they’d seen how erect they were under the worn fabric of my tee-shirt.

     At that moment, my cat
Barney stalked into the room, rubbed up against Magnus’ leg, meowed affectionately and leapt into his lap.

     Magnus began to rhythmically stroke Barney’s fur and I heard the animal’s ecstatic purr, loud and clear. Barney’d never been this loving with someone he didn’t know. Was he trying to tell me something?

     “Barney likes you,” I said.

     “Don’t sound so surprised.”
Then he turned to me and said, “There must be someone special in your life. Someone you can trust with your cat and your chooks while you drive off into the sunset with me?”

     He looked as if he genuinely want
ed to know so I leaned back against the sofa, telling myself that this is what couples all over Perth were doing right now: communicating. It was something I was good at, at work at least. I could do it now, too, even in my own house with this devastating man. I took a deep breath and… stopped. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t want him to know anything about me. I was a poor sad fat chick to him. One he might even screw, just to be able to joke insincerely to his mates that ‘once you’ve had fat you never go back’. Fuck him. I wasn’t going give him the satisfaction of winning my confidence. So I talked about food instead. My favourite restaurants. Music I liked. Books I loved.

     Even though I held back, we talked until dawn. Who’d have thought? We’d talked all night and now it was another day.

    “I really enjoyed being with you,” he said, stretching his long legs, standing and flexing his broad shoulders.  “I can’t believe it’s morning. I honestly thought it was about midnight. I reckon that augurs well for us. We’ll probably be perfect travelling companions. Do you agree?”

    “Yes,” I laughed, suddenly excited and optimistic. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think we would. I expected you to be a nerd or a bikie. Not that there’s anything wrong with either.
”

     “Shall I come over tomorrow then? We can work out our itinerary.”

    “That’d be great.”

But he didn’t come.

I waited all day, not even venturing outside to see Jake because I needed privacy if Magnus called my mobile. I knew I was deluding myself. Why would he bother to make contact with someone like me? I rang Jake to apologise for not paying him a visit and to ask about Josie, who’d been readmitted to hospital. “But her leg’s on the mend,” the old man said hopefully. 

    
I cleaned out all my cupboards, fighting a sickening feeling of disappointment.

    
Magnus didn’t call or ring the next day either.
I’m ugly. I’m obese. I’m suburban. I’m boring
, I told myself. Why would a man like him, who looked like a movie star, want to go anywhere with a fat frump like me? 

     
My dreams of travel had come to nothing, as I always half-suspected they would. Magnus must have come to his senses after all. He’d be embarrassed to be seen with someone like me. I remembered my first soufflé – a beautiful thing it was, golden and fluffy like a sun-drenched cumulous cloud. And how proud I’d been when I was twelve of my frothy creation. It had lasted only a few minutes, sinking into a yellow puddle before my parents could see it in all its glory. I felt like that soufflé. Deflated. Worthless. Doomed never to find love or happiness.

     History was repeating itself, I told myself resignedly, as it always did. Memories came flooding back. Playground taunts
, the looks I got, even from teachers, if they saw me tucking into a biscuit or a chocolate. Skinny kids were always encouraged to eat up. Fat ones weren’t allowed anything pleasant. I remembered how a boy in Year Twelve, our final year at school, had asked me to the movies. It was an incident that I’d locked away in a dark hole in my mind until now and I dragged it up into the light again to remind myself of how worthless I was and how ridiculous I’d been to ever believe Magnus had even liked me, let alone wanted to spend long amounts of time with me.

     “Ginny’s coming with me on Saturday night,” the boy
had said to his mates in the school yard, not realising I was approaching behind them.

      “Roly-poly Ginny?
Can’t you do better than that?” one of his friends had jeered, not caring whether I heard or not. “Better to go on your own.”

     That night, he’d telephoned. “Er, Ginny,” he’d stammered. “Er, listen, I can’t make Saturday after all. My Dad’s grounded me for failing that geography test. Sorry.”

     Now Magnus had let me down too. Fighting back tears, I angrily told myself to get a grip. Dreams never came true for women like me. Several times I picked up my mobile to pour my heart out to Peta but couldn’t do it. Even telling my best friend about what a fool I’d been would be too humiliating. Peta would be disappointed in me. And Peta had enough on her plate without having to feel responsible for a lonely vacationer for the next three months. It wasn’t easy having a wayward teenage daughter, a demanding job and no partner to help out. Fighting the longing to confide in Peta, I put the phone down, heavy-hearted.

    
I can’t spend twelve weeks hanging around the house alone
, I told myself when I woke on the third day of my holidays. I’d spent the day before dusting, vacuuming, cleaning windows and making my house so clean and tidy it could have featured in my own publication. Several times I considered making chutney from the bright red tomatoes that were cascading from the patio pots. On this morning, I pulled all the ingredients for Josie’s favourite shortbread from the pantry only to put them all back again. I tried to talk myself into making pesto with the basil that had trebled in size in the sun but didn’t have the heart for the simplest cooking. It was even a struggle to make toast and vegemite.

     In the end I decided to take myself off to the art gallery to see a new French Impressionists exhibition just arrived from Paris.

     As it happened, the postman brought me a big parcel just before I stepped into the shower. He brought it onto the verandah and rang the doorbell and I was so lonely I asked him if he’d like to have a cup of tea with me, but he said he had a busy morning and couldn’t spare the time. I opened the parcel mechanically, my thoughts of holidays and getaways dashed. Even the bright colours and soft fabrics of the clothes I’d ordered did little to cheer me up but I decided I’d wear the new green linen dress once I’d washed my hair.

     Wrapped in my kimono, I blow
-dried my red locks. Mum had always said my hair was my crowning glory and as I brushed it I missed her even more keenly than usual.

     I pulled the dress over my head and was surprised when I looked at myself critically in the full-length mirror. The garment had been so skillfully tailored that it took several kilos off my hips and bum. And even I thought that my hair, swinging across my shoulders, looked pretty good against the green fabric. I remembered some jewellery Mum had left me. I usually didn’t wear any adornments except a watch but today, in my new dress, I needed to prove to myself that I could sparkle without Magnus Winchester.

     I opened the rarely touched bottom drawer of the dressing table and drew out a faded silk box. Lifting the lid, I ran my fingers over Mum’s modest single strand of pearls, the coral beads she’d loved, the wedding ring worn thin as wire over the years. The faintest breath of Mum’s floral perfume came to me and I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t cry. Even after all these years I was still a sad little girl who wanted her Mum.

     Under these well-used things was a small velvet bag. Inside, nestled a pair of emerald earrings Mum had only worn
a few times. They’d been too special for everyday use and had only been taken out for occasions such as that fateful wedding, the last time she wore them. But today I needed the glamorous jewellery against my skin. Needed the confidence boost they’d give me. The emeralds flashed as I fastened them on and even I noticed that they emphasised the green of my eyes.

    
I walked the length of my street to the train station but the morning sunshine on my skin didn’t make me feel any better. As I passed the deli, Jake whistled from the footpath where he was unloading a tray of apricots.

    
“You look stunning,” he said, “Off to meet that handsome fella?”

     “
Oh him!” I said. “No way. What a dud he turned out to be.”

    “I’m sorry to hear that. He seemed like a decent enough chap. Not good enough for our Ginny, though
, I said to Josie. But I’m surprised to hear he wasn’t up to speed. I could’ve sworn he’d turn out all right.”

     “How is
Josie today?” I asked. I wanted to change the subject, but I was also very anxious to hear.

     “Not too bad, according to the nurses.”

     “I’ll have you both in for a slap-up celebration when she’s out of hospital.”

     “Your cooking’s the best medicine, I reckon. You don’t seem to have been doing much of it
the last few days,” Jake said. “Normally, the whole street knows when you’re making a chocolate cake or a marinara sauce. The lovely aromas that waft out of your place! I never give up hoping you’ll leave that job of yours in the city and make a living as a chef instead. I can still taste those sausage rolls you brought along to the street Christmas party, jazzed up with herbs from your garden, and that cake! You don’t have to give away the secret old family recipe handed down from mother to daughter but I reckon it’s your duty as a citizen to share the finished product with the rest of us!”

     “Oh Jake, flattery will get you everywhere
!”

     I knew what Jake was thinking. I’d heard him say it often enough: “Generous to a fault, you are Ginny. When are you going to let us do something for you, for a change? Minding Barney
for a day when you go off on assignment once in a blue moon to a nearby winery or cheese factory isn’t enough for us to do to repay you all the hospitality you’ve shown us.”

     “Tell you what,” Jake said.
“Come inside for a jiffy. Tell me what you think of this cheese. It’s just in.”

     He cut me a fine slither of honey-gold cheese and I took it from the end of the knife. It was divine. Some sort of cheddar, magnificent.
“Where did you find it?” I asked.

    “Bloke I know has a herd of jersey cows, down south. He and the missus have just embarked on cheese production. He came in half an hour ago with their first produce. I’m glad you approve.”