Three’s a Crowd (44 page)

‘In that case, I'd love to.'

Mel considered her. ‘What about your Mr Wonderful? You won't be missed on a Saturday night?'

‘He's got kids, he's with them tonight.'

She raised an eyebrow. ‘What, are you allergic to the little darlings?'

‘It's not that,' Rachel shook her head. ‘It's . . . a long story.'

‘Can't wait to hear it,' Mel said with a glint in her eye.

They finished up and headed for the local pub. Coming straight from work they were hardly dressed to go anywhere more upmarket, not that Rachel would have wanted to. Laidback was definitely her preference. Mel bought the first round and sat down opposite Rachel at a table outside in the beer garden. It was a gorgeous, clear autumn evening; the air was heavy with the scent of sea salt. It occurred to Rachel that she really didn't get out enough, and that sitting at home in case Tom dropped in had its limitations.

‘So, out with it,' said Mel. ‘I want to hear the curious tale of Mr Wonderful. And don't leave anything out.'

Rachel smiled. ‘His name's Tom, actually.' She took a breath. This felt like confession, but in a good way. ‘And up until last spring, he was married to one of my best friends. Then she died.'

Rachel waited while Mel picked her jaw up off the table. And then she proceeded to relate the whole tale, from woe to go, without leaving out anything. It was liberating, it was a relief, and it was complicated, to say the least. Mel had to stop her at one point to go and get them more drinks.

‘That's quite a story,' said Mel when Rachel had finally brought her up to date. ‘And you seem so normal.'

‘I'll take that as a compliment.'

‘As you should,' said Mel. ‘What I want to know is, is Mr Wonderful wonderful enough that you want to take on this whole palaver?'

Rachel took a moment, sipping her wine. ‘Yeah, he is.'

‘Well, here's cheers to you,' she said, raising her glass.

They toasted. ‘So what about you. Is there a Mr Wonderful in your life?' Rachel asked her.

Mel grunted. ‘Not so much. I'm having what they call a dry spell.'

‘So how did you come to be running a juice bar?' asked Rachel. ‘Did you break up with a boyfriend?'

‘Why do you ask that?'

‘You asked me the same question when I applied for the job.'

‘So I did,' Mel nodded. ‘But no, it wasn't a broken heart that led me to this, it was a broken spirit. I used to work at the top end of town for an investment bank, in the days when that still held some cachet.'

‘I remember those days,' Rachel nodded.

‘Yeah, well they weren't all bad. I bought my own apartment, a very nice one, right here in Bondi. And I bought myself a hybrid car, because despite being a loathsome investment banking type, I had my principles.'

‘Good for you.' They toasted again.

‘Of course that meant I hated my job for the most part,' she went on. ‘So I plotted my escape. I bought my little piece of the franchise, but I kept on the existing manager and the staff. Then when I could smell the crash coming, I bailed. I cashed in my share options while they were still worth something and I paid off my apartment and gave my manager notice. With a glowing reference, I might add, so he walked straight into another managerial position. I made sure of that.' She took a long, slow drink of her wine. ‘Some of the people I worked with were not so lucky. I know of three guys who worked for the bank who committed suicide when the crash finally came.'

‘Wow,' said Rachel quietly. ‘That's rough.'

Mel nodded, staring down at the table. Rachel wasn't sure if she should draw her out, ask her about it, if she'd known any of them personally.

‘Another round?' said Mel, moving to get up. She obviously didn't want to talk about it.

‘Don't you dare, it's my shout,' said Rachel.

By the time she returned to the table, Mel's mood had picked up. ‘So, what shall we drink to?' she said. ‘Love in all its manifestations?'

‘I guess,' said Rachel, raising her glass to Mel's. ‘But I reckon you still owe me a story.'

‘Oh, I've got nothing on yours,' she said.

‘Come on,' Rachel urged.

‘I've had the odd “prospect” over the years,' Mel assured her. ‘But after a while, the flaws always float to the surface. And I'm not a hard bitch, I'm not just talking about the guy only, I'm talking about the inherent flaws in every relationship.' She paused to take a drink. ‘You don't see eye to eye on this and that, he doesn't listen, you don't squeeze the toothpaste tube the right way, then there's the whole minefield over the toilet seat,' she groaned. ‘It's all stupid stuff, but you end up breaking up over it.'

Rachel was trying to remember what used to bother her about Tom when they were living together . . . Surely there was something . . . Maybe because they weren't actually a couple that kind of stuff just didn't get to her in the same way.

‘Anyway,' Mel continued, ‘I don't know whether it's because I'm getting older, or what it is, but nowadays I just feel less and less inclined to try, because it seems like no matter how great things are at the start, it's bound to come down to that screaming match over the toilet seat.' She took a sip of her wine. ‘Though just between you and me, I worry that I'm making excuses, that I'm just intrinsically relationship averse.'

Rachel thought about it. ‘I don't know. My friend, Catherine, she said that my problem with relationships is that I'm risk averse.'

‘What?' said Mel. ‘You're currently in the relationship equivalent of midair acrobatics without a safety net.'

Rachel grinned. ‘Let me qualify.
Up until
Tom, I've been risk averse, according to Catherine. That's why she thinks he could be the real thing.'

‘I thought your friends didn't know about you two?' she frowned.

‘Oh, sorry, Catherine doesn't know it's Tom. I had to make up an alias.'

Mel winced. ‘That's quite a tangled web you're busy weaving there.'

‘Tell me about it.'

‘Have you thought about how you're going to unravel it?'

‘Well, the plan is to take it gradually,' said Rachel. ‘Tom reckons that we should start to spend more time together, quite openly, but innocently, or platonically, I guess you'd say. And then we're kind of hoping that people will come to the obvious conclusion and start making mention of it themselves. You know the kind of thing – “Oh, you're seeing a lot of Tom” . . . “Is there something going on with you and Tom?” . . . “You and Tom are becoming quite an item.”' She looked directly at Mel. ‘What do you think?'

‘Are you intending to hand out those snappy one-liners to your friends on little cards?'

Rachel pulled a face at her.

‘What can I tell you?' said Mel, holding out her hands. ‘You can't keep all of the people happy all of the time, yada yada. Some of your friends will be fine, no doubt, they'll be happy for you. Others'll take issue, but that's the thing. It's their issue, not yours.'

‘That's what Tom says,' Rachel nodded.

‘Ah, who cares what people think in the end,' Mel declared with a wave of her hand. ‘At least you can quit all the sneaking around. It must be exhausting. You can have some normality finally.'

Rachel gave a wry laugh.

‘What?'

‘I don't know if we're ever going to have much normality.'

‘Why do you say that?'

Rachel couldn't believe she was finally going to be able to talk about this out loud to someone. ‘Think about it. Okay, it's out in the open, everyone knows, most importantly his daughters know, and so what do we do then? Have sleepovers at his house, in her bed?'

‘Eew,' Mel grimaced. Then she shrugged. ‘So, he'll get a new bed. You'll go shopping for a bed together, it'll be your bed.'

‘And then we put it into her room?'

‘Hmm,' Mel thought about it. ‘Is there another room you could use? Can some rooms be changed around, maybe?'

Rachel shook her head. ‘The place doesn't really allow for it, but it's not just that. The thing is, it's Annie's house. If you knew her, if you saw it . . . She was a very distinctive woman with a very distinctive style. The house is all her.'

‘Well, that's not all that unusual,' Mel offered. ‘Not many blokes are into interior decorating, you realise.'

‘It's more than that.' Rachel twirled her glass by its stem. ‘Does anybody actually do this? Start a new life with a new woman in the dead wife's house?'

‘There's your answer. He has to sell up, obviously. You can find your own place to start your new life.'

‘But I don't think that'd be fair to the girls. They shouldn't have the memories of their mother pushed aside like that.'

‘Snap.' Mel drained her glass. ‘You did say it was complicated.'

‘I did.'

They sat silently for a while as the buzz carried on around them; the music played, guys put the word on girls, girls accepted, or knocked them back. Like all the gin joints in all the towns . . .

‘See, this is what I'm saying,' Mel said finally. ‘It's like every relationship is doomed. It all starts off fine, and then you settle down and the cracks start to appear.'

‘Well, that's just depressing,' said Rachel.

Catherine arrived at work, still shell-shocked. She hadn't slept well, and she'd felt like a caged lion all weekend. She paused at Brooke's desk with a perfunctory ‘Good morning' as she was handed her messages. She walked on slowly, glancing through them. She stopped suddenly, taking a few steps back to Brooke's desk.

‘This one,' she said, ‘from a James Barrett, did he have anything else to say?'

‘No,' said Brooke. ‘He asked for you, I said you weren't in, he gave me his details, asked if you could call back.'

‘Hmm.' Catherine proceeded through to her office, put down her briefcase and sat in her chair. She flicked through the rest of her messages, but she wasn't actually reading any of them. She was still thinking about James. And what Rachel had said. But she had to control how this played out.

She stood up and walked back out to Brooke's desk. ‘Brooke, if Mr Barrett calls again, tell him I'm in a meeting.'

‘Of course, Catherine.'

She went to walk away, then she turned back again. ‘Actually, Brooke, always check with me first. You know the drill.'

Brooke nodded. ‘I'll say you're in a meeting, let me just check if she's available.'

‘Good.'

Catherine went back to her office and closed the door. She wanted to know if he called. If he kept calling. Just how persistent he was prepared to be. Because this was too important. If she was going to risk opening this particular can of worms, as Rachel had suggested, she had to be absolutely sure about James, that she could trust him, that he was someone who would do the right thing.

‘Hi,' said Rachel, surprised, as she turned around to serve the next customer. ‘What are you doing here, Tom?'

Mel looked up. ‘Ah, so Mr Wonderful, we finally meet.'

‘Why'd she call you that, Dad?'

Tom put his hands on Hannah's shoulders. ‘My daughter, Hannah,' he said, by way of introduction. ‘And I'm guessing you're Mel, Rachel's new boss?'

‘Yeah,' she said, recovering. She looked directly at Hannah. ‘Doesn't everyone call your dad Mr Wonderful?'

Hannah frowned, glancing sideways up at her father.

‘It's true, Han,' he said. ‘I get it all the time, everywhere I go.'

‘La-
ame
,' she rolled her eyes.

He grinned, looking at Rachel. ‘Hannah and I were wondering if you were having a break any time soon?'

She hesitated, glancing at Mel.

‘As a matter of fact, she's due for one right now,' said Mel.

‘Are you sure?' Rachel asked her.

Mel turned around, her back to Tom and Hannah. ‘Oh, quite sure, I owe you for the foot-in-mouth thing just now,' she said in a low voice. ‘And by the way . . .
hot
!'

‘Okay,' said Rachel, smiling across at them. ‘Let me make you some drinks first. What would you like, Hannah?'

They waited for Rachel to wash her hands and shed her apron, and then they walked across the road to the reserve overlooking the beach, where they found an empty bench to sit down.

‘You're not having juice?' Tom asked, watching Rachel open a bottle of water.

She shook her head. ‘I'm all juiced out.'

Hannah giggled, slurping through her straw.

‘So Lexie called,' Tom went on, ‘about the barbecue next week.'

Rachel nodded. ‘I'm looking forward to it. We haven't all got together for such a long time.'

He gave her a meaningful look across the top of Hannah's head while she was focused on her smoothie. ‘Yeah, it'll be a good chance to catch up.'

She knew what he was getting at, they'd already talked about it. The first time they would all be together as a group – their ‘coming out' party. Rachel vacillated between feeling enormous relief and sheer terror, as though she was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to take a step off. When she'd said that to Tom, he'd reassured her that he'd be holding her hand on the way down. Rachel wasn't sure that was such a comforting idea.

‘So, do you want to ask Rachel, Han?' Tom was saying.

Rachel looked at them.

‘No, you do it, Dad,' Hannah said, nudging him.

‘Okay then. Well, we wanted to know if you'd like to come over tonight after work to watch a DVD? Just me and Hannah,' he added quickly. ‘Sophie's going out.'

That did make it more appealing, but still Rachel hesitated. ‘I wouldn't be imposing on a father and daughter night?'