The Ex Factor (24 page)

They say every cloud has a silver lining, and in my case it’s the glum look on Erin McInerny’s face when she assumes her semi-regular position in front of my house at dawn the next day. She’s one of more than a dozen reporters and camera crews, but hers is by far the sourest expression.

‘Good morning,’ I say cheerfully as I stroll past the assembled scrum with Reggie, Dolly and Carl in tow. I don’t feel the least bit cheerful, but I can’t resist the opportunity to add insult to Erin’s injury. She’s pouting like a schoolgirl who’s just been given detention.

‘How could you talk to
InTouch
?’ she spits. ‘I thought we had a deal.’

I flash her a big smile. ‘Why on
earth
would you think that, Erin? I’d have given an interview to Kyle Sandilands before I’d talk to you.’

Her pretty face contorts into a scowl and she thrusts her microphone at me. ‘Will you give me a quote now, at least?’ She clearly thinks I owe her, and that audacity sets my teeth on edge. She is
so
lucky the dogs are worn out from an extra-long run at the park, or there would be fur and bottle-blonde hair flying.

‘Here’s a quote for you,’ I say tightly, my faux joviality gone in an instant. ‘Get your bony backside off my property once and for all.’

Reggie punctuates my statement with a menacing growl. It never ceases to amaze me how accurately he can read my mood despite not being able to hear my voice. If only Ms McInerny was so perceptive.

Erin stalks across the lawn to her broadcast truck, a bewildered cameraman trotting along behind her. Sensing their moment, the other journalists dive in with their own questions, and for the first time, I decide to answer them. What have I got to lose now? My story is already out there for all to see.

‘Kitty, has Mitchell seen the story?’ asks a tall man with a shock of black hair and a florid complexion. ‘What does he think?’

‘Yes, he’s seen it. I don’t know what he thinks. You’ll have to ask him.’

A curvaceous brunette chimes in. ‘So you’ve been in contact with Mitchell? Is there any chance of a reconciliation?’

I look directly into her eyes. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Peta Fornelli. I’m with celebuzz.com.’

‘Well, Peta. Have you read the article?’

She nods.

‘Would
you
reconcile with a man who treated you like that?’

She shakes her head vehemently. ‘Hell, no!’

I shrug.
Me either.

‘So, you’re saying there’s absolutely no chance?’ Peta persists. ‘Like, when Mitchell stumbled out of that bar and said he’d never love anyone like Vida – this is like that?’

I hesitate.
Is
this like that? Is this my definite, final – and
public – 
say on the matter? I know that, in spite of everything, I still have feelings for Mitchell. Discovering that his feelings weren’t real doesn’t make my own any less so, more’s the pity. But that’s an issue for a lonely night and a bottle of chardonnay. I’m not about to admit to the world’s media that I’m still in love with the guy who trampled my heart. Not when such an admission would mean signing up for a lifetime of early-morning interrogations about my relationship status on my front lawn.

‘It’s a moot point,’ I say at last. ‘You can’t have a relationship with someone who was only pretending to have a relationship.’

‘Do you think
Solitair
e’s
release date being pushed back has anything to do with this?’ Peta asks. When I blink, surprised, she says, ‘Oh, you didn’t know?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

She leans her head close to mine. ‘I’ve heard the studio’s in damage control. They think the movie will bomb if they release it while the whole world thinks Mitchell’s a total shit.’

Peta looks alarmed when the other reporters titter at this, as though she’d forgotten she’s surrounded by her competition.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure it’s a good film.’ But actually, I’m not sorry. The thought of seeing Mitchell’s handsome face on the backs of buses and plastered across promotional billboards all over Sydney is too much to bear right now.

Peta opens her mouth to ask another question, but a statuesque redhead interrupts. ‘How much did
InTouch
pay for your tell-all?’ she asks bluntly.

I bristle at the rude question. My mother always said discussing money in public was vulgar, and it’s stuck with me. ‘That’s my business,’ I say pertly.

Red rolls her eyes. Clearly she’s of the opinion that, because I sold my story to a magazine, every detail of my life is now fair game.

‘What are you going to do with the money then? Buy a better house?’

I gasp audibly at her impudence. Maybe she and Erin are friends; they both have an equally charming way with people.

As it happens, I know exactly what I’m going to do with the money. I’ve known since the moment I picked up the phone to dial Molly Reid’s number. It’s the whole reason I decided to make my deal with the devil. Well,
almost
the whole reason.

But I’m not going to tell this nosy cow a damn thing.

‘The money has been earmarked for a project that will be underway soon,’ I say in the frostiest tone I can muster. ‘Watch this space.’

Frankie hasn’t been home in five days. Not since my last mortifying encounter with Adam. This isn’t like when Rama died and Frankie stayed away to give me time to get myself together. I know my sister and I know that, this time, she’s pissed off. And she has every right to be.

I made a pass at my sister’s
boyfriend
.

Ugh. Thinking of Adam that way is going to take some getting used to. But I’m going to get used to it – I’ve got to – because I’ve been thinking about it, and the thing is, Adam and Frankie are actually made for each other.

Adam is cautious, while Frankie is impulsive. They’re both sharp as tacks, but he’s more academic and she’s worldly-wise. He’s as emotionally constipated as Hugh Grant in every Hugh Grant movie ever, while she’s forthright to a fault. He’ll help her to grow up and she’ll keep him from becoming middle-aged before his time. She’ll drag him to the top of the highest rollercoaster, and he’ll keep her feet on the ground when she needs it.

He will love her and protect her, even though she thinks she’s fine on her own. They will complement and challenge each other every single day in every single way. Their relationship will be all about checks and balances.

My sister and my best friend are a perfect match, and realising this makes me genuinely happy. Not just happy for them, but happy that – at last – something has worked out the way it ought to.

I just hope Frankie is willing to hear me say so. Something tells me that, after a transgression like this, being sisters
does
mean having to say you’re sorry. There’s no way Adam won’t have told Frankie what happened between us. He’s always been rubbish at keeping secrets; he would have spilled his guts the second he got home. And the fact that I didn’t know Adam and Frankie were together when I kissed him makes no difference. I broke rule one in the sisters rulebook, and making amends will require some big-time grovelling.

Which is why I’ve come to Adam’s house – because I’ve no doubt that’s where Frankie’s holed up – bearing gifts. Well, one gift. But it’s a good one, and I was thrilled to find I’d inadvertently stuffed it into my suitcase along with the rest of the detritus of my brief Hollywood life. Nothing says ‘sorry I stuck my tongue down your fella’s throat’ like a 143-carat emerald Cartier necklace.

I rap lightly on Adam’s front door with my left hand as my right, clutching the velvet jewellery box, grows damp with nerves.

A second later, the door swings open and my sister is standing in front of me, clad in a bathrobe and with a towel wrapped around her wet hair.

‘Oh,’ Frankie says. ‘Hello.’

‘Hey,’ I say, trying valiantly to ignore the unwelcome images that Frankie’s state of undress sledgehammers into my brain.

Don’t think about your sister and your best friend getting it on. Do. Not.

‘How are you?’

‘Fine,’ she says, tilting her chin up defiantly. ‘How are you?’

The look in her eyes tells me this forced civility is torture for Frankie. She’s probably dying to yell at me, and then ask me a million questions about the
InTouch
story. I wonder if I have Adam to thank for this uncharacteristic restraint.

‘I’d be a lot better if my sister didn’t hate me. Not that she doesn’t have every right to. And I’d be happy to beg for her forgiveness if she’d let me.’

A faint smile plays across Frankie’s lips. ‘I suppose she might,’ she says, her gaze zeroing in on the jewellery box. ‘If you show her what you’ve got in the box.’

I hold the box out to her and lift the lid. ‘For you.’

You know that scene in those heist movies where the bad guys open the treasure chest and all you see is the glow of the loot reflected on their gobsmacked faces? This is just like that. The look on Frankie’s face is almost as priceless as the bauble in the box.

‘That’s . . .’

‘Yeah.’

‘But it’s worth . . .’

‘I know.’

‘And it’s really for . . .?’

‘Yup.’

She finally drags her attention away from the necklace and looks up at me. ‘You’d better come in.’

I follow Frankie down the long hallway of Adam’s ultra-modern beachside apartment. I’ve always thought this featureless cube a strange choice of home for a man who often seems to have stepped straight out of a bygone era. Then again, I’ve learned lately that people aren’t always as they seem.

‘Have a seat. I’ll be back in a sec,’ says Frankie, as she ducks into the bedroom that leads off the living area.

I sit on the sofa, displacing a miffed-looking Beryl the Russian Blue, and set the open box carefully on the glass coffee table. The late-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the wide windows catches the diamonds and refracts into a magical, disco-ball-style pattern on the walls and ceiling.

‘So,’ Frankie says as she returns a moment later wearing in a cute sundress and yanking a brush through her tangled hair. ‘Why are you giving me this necklace that’s worth more than our house?’

She sits on the couch next to me and looks at me expectantly.

‘Where’s Adam?’ I ask.

‘He’s at work. You know he works Saturdays, Kitty. Why?’

‘Well, I owe him an apology, too.’

Frankie raises one eyebrow. I’m not sure if that means
yeah, you do,
or simply
get on with it then
.

‘I want you to have this necklace, Frankie, because it’s something that should be given with love.’ I take the box from the table and set it in her lap. ‘I thought it was given to me that way, but I was wrong. I love you and I’m very, very sorry about the way I’ve behaved. Not just when I . . .’

‘Kissed my boyfriend,’ Frankie supplies helpfully.

‘Right. Not just then, although I cannot tell you how much I wish I could take that back.’ I feel my cheeks turn scarlet at the mere though of it. ‘I’m sorry about the things I said to Adam afterwards, too. I accused him of taking advantage of you, of not being serious about you. And I know that was wrong. Adam is the most serious person I’ve ever met.’

‘He’s never
not
serious,’ Frankie says with an exasperated sigh. ‘It’s something we’re working on.’

I smile at my sister. ‘And that’s why I know you’re totally right for each other.’

Frankie’s jaw drops. ‘Say what now?’

‘Yeah.’ I explain my checks and balances theory. ‘Plus, I could never marry Adam. Can you imagine if my name was Kitty Katz?’

She hoots with laughter. ‘Oh my god, I’d never thought of that!’ she howls. ‘But you can hold your horses on the marriage thing. We’ve only been going out five minutes. Although . . .’ Frankie ducks her head, suddenly coy.

‘Frances,’ I say sternly. ‘Although what?’

‘We’re getting a place together. I’ve told him I can’t spend another minute in this soulless shoebox.’ She looks around the sparsely furnished room with disdain. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I want somewhere like our place, draughty and quirky as it is. I need a home with a bit of personality, you know?’

As if my sister isn’t personality enough in any given space.

‘Well,’ I say, nodding toward the necklace, still resting in its box on Frankie’s lap. ‘Now you have enough to buy somewhere. Am I forgiven?’

Frankie launches herself at me, enveloping me in a fierce hug. ‘Yes, you’re forgiven, you lunatic. You didn’t need to give me this insane bunch of rocks for that. Though it
will
look cute with my bikini and flip-flops.’

She jumps up and crosses the room to Adam’s open-plan kitchen. ‘Speaking of money, you need to tell me every single detail of this
InTouch
thing,’ she says as she opens the fridge and pokes her head inside. She emerges a moment later with a bottle of white wine. ‘I wanted to call you and tell you how proud I was, but . . . you know.’

‘I kissed your boyfriend?’

‘You kissed my boyfriend.’ She takes two clean wine glasses from the drainer and skips back to the sofa.

‘You were
proud
of me?’ That’s one sentiment I definitely haven’t heard expressed in the wake of my tell-all.

‘Of course,’ Frankie says as she pours the wine. ‘You did the dignified-silence thing for months while the whole
world
got to have their say about you and your relationship. I mean, Kitty, someone threw a brick through our window and even then you didn’t tell everyone to go get f—.’ She takes a sip and swallows her expletive with her chardonnay. ‘It was long overdue, especially after that bony Brazilian let the cat out of the bag. Which, by the way, I cannot
believe
I had to read about in a magazine.’

‘I would have told you, Frank. If I hadn’t . . .’

‘Kissed my boyfriend. Right. Let’s never speak of that again. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ I say with a grin. It feels so good to have my sister back.

‘So, did you make a nice chunk o’ change?’

‘Half a million.’

Frankie gives a low whistle. ‘Not bad. What are you going to do with it?’

I take a big gulp of wine and square my shoulders. This is the first time I’ve told anyone about my plan, and Frankie’s immediate reaction will tell me if it’s completely bonkers or not.