The Bastard Takes a Wife (12 page)

“More of a dork, I think,” Josh answered.
“She had braces, knobbly knees and hair that she used to wear in
this arrangement like a bird’s nest top of her head because she
couldn’t be bothered combing her hair. Some of the guys at my
school used to call her ‘Stick’ if that’s any indication.”

Sam rubbed the edge of his chin in thought.
Sarcastic arse. “I can see that. She still has tinges of that
hairdo in the mornings.”

“But she always wore the coolest clothes of
all the chicks. And she was pretty funny. Everyone used to laugh at
her all the time.”

Right. It was time to put a stop to this
before Josh gave away any more facts that didn’t need to be shared
~ like the time I’d had the fungal infection on my face from trying
out the latest moisturiser. That was a New Year’s Eve spent without
any kisses.

“Uh, I am sitting right here, in case you’ve
forgotten,” I said. “And people only laughed at me because I used
to fall over all the time and bang into stuff, not because I was
funny.”

“So nothing’s changed then,” Sam grinned.

“Ha ha.”

Josh pulled his wallet out of his pocket. “I
can show you a picture if you like.”

Oh God. Did I mention that this night could
not get any worse? I didn’t want Josh showing old pictures of me
about the place. And I didn’t want Sam getting any ideas about why
Josh had a ten year old photo of me in his wallet. I certainly
didn’t carry one of him.

“I don’t think Sam needs to see how hideous I
looked when I was a kid. How about you put that wallet back in your
pocket? You know I don’t like photos.”

“How about you let me decide?” Grabbing the
wallet, Sam opened it and peered at the faded picture that sat in
the plastic pocket.

I peered over his shoulder cringing at my
teenage self, standing in the garden of the old house under a
jacaranda tree. I was barefoot, wearing tiny denim shorts and a
blue bikini top. My hair was indeed piled on top of my head. Next
to me, Josh had a look of smug contentment, exactly like the one
Sam had quite often had after we’d had sex. His arm was slung
possessively around my shoulder and I was on tiptoes, kissing his
cheek, my hand resting on his chest. I remembered the day it was
taken quite well. It hadn’t been long after Josh and I had declared
our undying love for one another and consummated the relationship
by getting splinters in our bums on the floor of the cubby. Summer
had been hot that year, in more ways than one.

Without a word, Sam handed the wallet back to
Josh. Suddenly, he was quiet. His face had gone from animated to
the way he looked when Scotland had beaten the Wallabies in a
recent rugby test match.

“You and Millie went out?” he asked.

“For six years, on and off. Then I went
travelling. She wouldn’t come because she hates boats and
water.”

“Yeah. I know,” Sam replied, his mind clearly
going back to the day in Lombok where I’d almost drowned us in two
feet of water.

“I came back with the intention of asking her
to marry me but you beat me to the punch.”

A tiny muscle on the side of Sam’s jaw
clenched. I’d never mentioned Josh and now, here he was six weeks
before the wedding declaring he was still in love with me. It
wasn’t the ideal situation.

Patricia, clearly, didn’t think so either.
From the other end of the table, I saw her giving me a look that
could make the Narrows Bridge collapse into the Swan River.

*****

After everyone had gone home and Sam had
taken his parents and Amanda back to their hotel, Josh and I sat on
the balcony of Mum and Dad’s apartment. The dark was all around us
and it was a glorious night but I didn’t notice. I was too busy
staring at my finger, which was doing circles around the rim of my
wine glass. I was trying to figure out how I could get Josh to not
be in love with me anymore.

“Why did you do that?” I couldn’t believe
he’d blurted it out to everyone at the table. He must have known
the damage saying something like that could cause.

“I didn’t mean to. It just came out. Anyway,
its not like it isn’t the truth.” He reached into his pocket and
pulled out a small square box, placing it on the table between us.
His eyes were gooey and lovelorn.

Oh God. My heart began to pound. I could feel
the blood pumping in the veins on the sides of my head. My vision
was suddenly blurry. I don’t know how many times I’d dreamt of this
moment before he’d gone away. Why the hell did he have to do it
now?

“No,” I said, turning away so as not to see
it. “That’s not fair. You put that away this instant.”

“But I bought it for you. Even if we aren’t
getting married, you may as well have it. I could never give it to
anyone else and I can’t take it back.” He opened the box and put
the ring in front of me. In spite of myself, I couldn’t help
looking. It was a beautiful ring, a spectacular solitaire set in a
band of platinum but it wasn’t as nice as the one Sam had given me.
I adored that ring.

“Josh, I’m marrying Sam. I love him. Throwing
a ring at me isn’t going to change that. You had your chance two
years ago. I’ve moved on.”

Josh’s shoulders slumped. He looked defeated.
Picking up the ring he twiddled it between his fingers. Its facets
glinted in the dim light of the balcony. “You mean that, don’t
you?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough but I find it a little hard to
understand. The big wedding, the massive cake, all the talk about
interviews and magazine shoots. That’s not the Millie I used to
know. The Millie I knew would have been happy getting married on a
beach in bare feet. Surely, you haven’t changed that much? Is
marrying him really what you want? You want to be the Princess of
Australia?”

I gave him a sad smile. “I haven’t changed. I
don’t want any of the hoopla. I never wanted it. I’m only going
along with it to make Sam’s mother happy. I want her to like
me.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

I punched him in the forearm. “Don’t be
smart.”

“They’ll never accept you, Mill’. No matter
what you do, you’ll always be the girl in the silver sandals who
phaffs around as a nanny and wears recycled clothes.”

“But I’m so much more than that! I’m
intelligent. I have a University degree. I own my own business. And
I don’t wear vintage because I’m cheap, I wear it because I like
it.”

“And I’m sure Sam’s informed them of that but
has it made a scrap of difference?”

I didn’t say anything. Deep inside, I knew he
was right. Sam might love me for who I was, like I did him but I
would never be a part of his family.

“You could ditch him and marry me,” he said,
pulling a ridiculous face that I knew was half serious.

“Your Matchbox car collection would drive me
bonkers.”

Then from behind me, I heard a cough. It was
Sam. He was leaning on the doorjamb. God knows how long he’d been
there but from the icy look on his face, he’d caught at least the
tail end of the conversation.

“You two seem to have picked up where you
left off.”

“Yeah, but we’re finished now,” Josh replied.
He picked his beer up and drained the rest of the bottle.

Sam walked over to the sofa and sat beside
me. He put his arm around my waist. His eyes met Josh’s square on.
“You won’t mind if I butt in then?”

“’Course not.”

I looked at Josh who was smiling at Sam
trying to pretend the great huge engagement ring sat that on the
table between them wasn’t there.

“And you’ll be taking that back too, won’t
you?” Sam said, indicating the ring with a nod of his head.
“Because if I ever see it again, I may have to stick it into an
orifice that’s only designed to have things come out of it.”

Josh paled. He swallowed, seemingly unsure if
Sam was about to complete said action at that very moment.
Scrambling, he shoved the ring back into the box and put it in his
pocket. “Um, okay.”

“Glad we understand each other,” Sam grinned,
knowing he’d won. “But in case there’s any confusion on the matter,
the only person in this room Millie’s marrying is me.”

Well, at least we had that sorted.

If I wasn’t finding this whole wedding
planning thing as exciting as I thought I would, there was one date
in my iPhone that I was
sooo
looking forward to ~ apart from
the designer gown fitting ~ and that was the cake tasting.

I loved cake. Sam loved cake. If we had a
choice of dessert it was always a shared plate of cake. So, to
celebrate our impending nuptials we wanted the cake that we
considered to be perfect. We’d even discussed flavours and styles,
for Pete’s sake, a feat that should have been nigh on impossible
with the rugby blaring on the TV and Johnny and Simmo sitting on
the floor in front of us. Somehow, the cake seemed super important.
I don’t know if it was because Sam was showing such an interest but
that cake had become the only thing I wasn’t prepared to compromise
on. And the rest, as far as Sam was concerned was an utter load of
trollop. In his own words he had enough tension in his life with
the
Western Force
being second last on the Super 15 ladder
without having to worry about ‘wedding stuff’ too.

I got to the Northbridge bakery that Angus
recommended at eleven the next morning. From the front, it was a
rather unassuming looking little shop with double fronted display
windows and an old fashioned half wood paneled door with a window
in the top half. I was about to ring Angus to see if he’d given me
the wrong address when he came running down the footpath, man bag
flying and knocking two Japanese tourists to the gutter in his
wake.

His attire that day was very cake-related. He
wore a chocolate brown shirt buttoned up and topped with a vanilla
coloured bowtie dotted with miniscule gelato spots that looked like
they’d been made from fondant. His trousers were darker than coffee
beans and had the tiniest of pinstripes running down the leg. On
his lapel, he sported a brooch in the shape of a wedding cake made
from
FIMO
modelling clay of all things ~ there was me
thinking they’d gone out of fashion in the eighties. I knew I
should have kept those teacup earrings Mum used to wear.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to meet you,” he
exclaimed, giving me the double cheek kiss. “The Wellington Street
Car Park was a nightmare. I had to park on the top floor.”

From the pink glow to his cheeks it looked as
if he’d run the three blocks from there at double speed.

“Is Sam here yet?”

“No, I only just got here myself. But I
texted him the address this morning and I left two reminders on the
calendar on his phone. He shouldn’t be far away, seeing as how this
is this only part of the wedding preparations he’s keen to have a
say in.”

“Most grooms like the cake part. I think it’s
got something to do with the free food.”

I looked up at the uninspiring sign hanging
above the footpath over our heads. Its pink paint was peeling
around the edges and the lettering was so faded you could hardly
read it. “Are you sure this is the place?”

Angus smiled and patted my arm in a fatherly
don’t-you-worry-about-a-thing sort of way. “I know it doesn’t look
like much but believe me, Madame Bouchard is the best kept secret
in Perth. If you and Sam want cake to die for, she’s the woman for
you. She was going to have her own TV show, you know, the
Australian version of
Cake Boss
.”

“What happened?”

“She swore at the producer in French after he
said her accent was too broad. Blessing really. She already had a
ten month waiting list and a three book deal with Pan
McMillan.”

I paled. We didn’t have ten weeks let alone
ten months.

“It’s okay,” Angus soothed. “I do so much
business with her, she’s willing to make you a cake at short
notice.”

Cue huge sigh of relief. I had to admit, even
if Angus and I didn’t see eye to eye all the time, he knew his
stuff. The man had more connections than a telephone company.

Pulling the sleeve of my cardigan back, I
glanced at my watch. I scanned the footpath. Sam was nowhere in
sight. “I guess Sam’s running late. Why don’t we go in and I’ll
give him a ring. He won’t mind if we start without him as long as
we save him a few slices.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Angus replied, pulling the
front door open.

“Wait for us!” A shot of pink came hurtling
across the road. Two sets of heels stopped in front of the bistro
tables near the door.

“O.M.G!....
puff, puff
….. That
freakin’ car park is like a….
puff, puff
… total nightmare
today,” Kirby gasped, bending double to catch her breath.

Beside her Mel, looked cool as usual and not
at all like she’d sprinted three blocks in heels. She gave me a hug
and kissed Angus on the cheek.

“I think what Kirbs is trying to say is that
her parking is a nightmare. She has that teensy bloody jellybean of
a car and still it took her five goes to get into a spot big enough
for a fucking semi-trailer. Plus, she hasn’t been to the gym since
she split up with Rambo so we had to keep stopping while she caught
her breath. Isn’t that right, hon’?”

From her bent over position, Kirby pulled a
face. “No. It, like, totally is not. I’m, like, a very good driver,
thank you very much. Ryan used to make me drive all the time.”

“Only so he could get on the booze.”

Kirby stood up straight. She slung her
gigantic pink crocodile tote back over her arm and adjusted her
long blonde curls. “You’re probably right. Useless arse. Anyway,
enough about him, let’s go taste some cake. Is there, like, such a
thing as carb-free?”

“Yes,” Mel replied, giving her a bit of a
shove in the direction of the door. “It’s called fresh air. Now get
in that shop.”