Versace Sisters (21 page)

For the first time Mallory truly appreciated the large open-plan
living space of her home for a reason other than the
aesthetic. She was still unaccustomed to negotiating the
cumbersome wheelchair about and the wide front hallway
and fashionably large front door were a blessing.

Vince closed the door behind them and tossed her hospital
bag onto a beanbag in the sunken living room.

Thanks to Sera's hard work, the house was immaculate.
The floors gleamed and every surface was clear of clutter.
Sera had mentioned that she'd popped in to do the dishes,
but she'd obviously worked her fingers to the bone. The
place hadn't been this clean for years. Mallory hadn't
discovered it yet, but the fridge was crammed with homemade
casseroles and pasta sauces, and the pantry shelves
groaned with baked treats from well-meaning neighbours,
friends and the school community.

Vince pushed her over to the large glass-topped kitchen
table where he replaced a dining chair for her wheelchair.
As she passed the stairs, she caught sight of herself in the
floor-to-ceiling mirrored wall. She'd gasped with shock.
When she'd groomed herself this morning in the hospital,
she'd thought she looked fairly good, considering her
ordeal. But out of the realm of the damaged, ill and elderly,
back home in her normal environment, she couldn't
believe the vision that flicked past her eyes.

She was truly an invalid. Her face was devoid of life, her
eyes were like sunken wells and the bruises yellowing beneath
the cuts and scars gave her a creepy jaundiced look. Her
broken arm was plastered from her fingertips to her shoulders
and her broken leg stuck out straight in front of her.

It felt strange to be at home. Mallory was nervous, vulnerable
and unsure how she would cope. She had no idea
where she would sleep, how she would mother Tilly, do
the washing or go to the toilet without the aid of the nurses
she'd come to rely on.

She knew her friends would be there for her, of course,
and Tilly was a big girl and was going to be a great help.
But most importantly, Vince was there for her. He was
still hers, he was home and he was going to help her get
through this dreadful time.

There he was in the kitchen: what an amazing guy,
popping on the kettle and fussing over a cake that had magically
appeared from the pantry. She smiled at him but he
seemed to drop his gaze just as their eyes met. He retrieved
her bag and efficiently unpacked it, tossing the laundry into
the washing machine and running the other bits upstairs.
She heard him moving about on the floor above as drawers
opened and closed. She was going to be safe in this man's
hands, she just knew it.

Her mind wandered and began mentally designing her
next art-piece, something in driftwood for the kitchen
wall, perhaps. Vince reappeared downstairs again and continued
making her tea. He brought it over to her and set
her up nicely with a magazine, the cup of tea and a slice
of nut loaf.

'Where'd the cake come from?' she asked as she nibbled
the corner.

'That old bat that lives up the road, next to the florist's,'
he said. 'It's been like Darling bloody Harbour on a Sunday
here recently. God only knows how everyone found out
you were coming home, but the freaking doorbell hasn't
stopped ringing with people bringing around food. I feel
like putting up a sign to tell them to stick their Meals
on Wheels efforts – a man can't put his feet up for five
minutes.'

'Oh, they're so sweet and thoughtful. Who were they,
so I can thank them?'

'No idea who half of them were. Anyway, forget them,
how are you doing? Do you need any pain relief?'

'No, darling, I'm feeling great, thanks. And thanks so
much for today, you've been wonderful.'

'Well, I've made your morning tea, unpacked your bag,
I guess my duty here is all done. Is there anything at all
you need?'

Mallory looked up at her husband with a watery smile.
'Just you,' she said in a small voice.

'Yes, well, about that.' Suddenly Vince looked decidedly
uncomfortable and, turning away from Mallory, he
leaned on the kitchen sink that overlooked their swimming
pool and tennis court. 'I'm afraid I've got some rather bad
news.'

Mallory looked at him, her face frozen in disbelief.

'I'm so sorry to do this to you, Mallory, you're a great
girl and all but it's just that I have to do the right thing by
my son.' He moved out of her line of sight.

Mallory turned to stone. A gurgled questioning sound
was all she could manage. Her head tried to follow him
but the plaster cast at her shoulder prevented much movement.

'Whoops,' he said as he moved back into her eyeline.
'I haven't said this very well, have I?' He smiled down at
her. 'Sharee's pregnant and I have to be with her and be a
father to my boy. You know I actually always wanted a son
and, considering you weren't able to give me one, it's just
wonderful to finally have one.'

'But you had a vasectomy. We could have had a son,
I wanted lots of babies!' Mallory was confused: she knew
she was focused on the sub-text here, but she couldn't face
what he was really saying.

'Yeah, right, what with you from your family of all girls,
that's all I needed, a house full of chicks!' He laughed as if
he'd just made a light-hearted pun. 'No, apparently one of
my swimmers snuck through, it's truly a miracle.'

Mallory's desperate pleas were hushed. Her bruised and
battered eyes stared silently up at this stranger.

'Oh, crap, look at the time. I must be off. We have an
obstetrics appointment. Sorry, babe.' He leaned forward
and stroked her hair apologetically as if she were a puppy
left outside on a rainy day. And with that, he left. The slam
of the front door resounded throughout the empty hallway
and the living room.

Mallory sat statue-still while the silence invaded the
corners of her house. There was no pain now. It was all
gone. Everything was all gone. A little voice inside her
whispered,
I told you so
.

Fifteen minutes later she tremulously reached out to the
tepid tea. Her clumsy left-handedness knocked the teacup
over. The stream of taupe liquid trickle across the table and
onto the floor. She had no way of cleaning it up.

'What?' Tony had his mobile flattened against one ear and
his left hand protected the other one from Cold Chisel's
'Cheap Wine' blaring from the juke box. 'Mum's there to
mind the kids,' he shouted into the mouthpiece. 'Come
on, we're at the Royal, it's just around the corner.' He
listened to the few snatches of excuse that were audible
above the pub noise. 'Hang on, Sera, I'll just go outside so
I can hear you.'

Tony sidled through the crowd, dodging schooners as
they sloshed past. He left the public bar to stand on the
skinny patch of sidewalk on Broughton Street.

'Sorry, honey, that's better. So why don't you come
down? I'd love to see you. The guys are all here. We're
celebrating completion of the Potts Point job. Some of the
wives and girlfriends are here too.'

He rolled his eyes as the list of reasons came streaming
forth.

'You look fine, Sera,' he tried to reassure her. 'You're
beautiful . . . you don't have to blow-wave your hair . . .
just chuck on some jeans or something, it's just a pub.'

He knew he was fighting a losing battle. It was impossible
to get her out of the house with no notice, especially to
the pub. He gave up. 'Well, honey, I'd love to see you. If
you can make it down, it would be great. We never go out
together anymore. Okay, bye, love you.' He sighed and
clicked end call on his phone. A grey Volvo shooshed by in
the rain-slicked street, spraying his jeans with mist. He felt
so alone. He missed her. He missed having a partner, a girlfriend,
someone by his side. They weren't united anymore;
they were no longer a team. It was as if they were just two
people living under the same roof – like flatmates.

He went inside and up to the bar to wait for service.
More and more each day he could feel Sera pulling away.
Every time he kissed her or tried to hold her she'd merely
endure it. She didn't push him away or anything, it was
more subtle than that. It was her lack of enthusiasm when
they embraced that was so heart-breaking. He just adored
her. She was so clever, she managed her life – hell, all their
lives – with such efficiency. And she was so sweet, she was
one of those people that everyone who met her gushed
afterwards about how
nice
she was, so
charming
, so
delightful
.
And she had the cutest little smile when something tickled
her fancy. I used to tickle her fancy, he sulked.

Tony was well aware that a woman's libido dropped
off considerably after babies. He wasn't expecting to have
sex with her every time they touched or anything. But he
knew she was worried about that, he could read the signs
when he reached over for her in bed at night to hold her
and her rigid body lay there frozen, emitting every possible
message that it just wanted to be left alone.

But he only wanted a cuddle. Was that too much to ask?
It wasn't always about sex. Contrary to popular belief, men
did have other needs, he thought, shaking his head and
starting to feel quite indignant about his plight. He was just
after respect, affection, conversation: the simple delightful
elements of every healthy relationship. But, come to think
of it, he was actually pretty horny right now.

The Royal was at its frenzied best. The pool tables were
packed and the beers were being knocked back in a fashion
that suggested the punters feared imminent prohibition.
Freddy and George, two of Tony's apprentices, invited him
to join them in the men's for a few lines.

He laughed. 'Not for me, boys, I'm a family man, you
know, not into that stuff.' He was having an in-depth
discussion about flooring with Shane Peterson, his chippy,
and was feeling nicely mellow. He guessed he'd drunk
more than he should, but it didn't stop him from saying
yes when one of the lads slapped a shooter in front of him.
The flaming sambucca took his chilled, mellow feeling, put
it in a blender and transformed it into a shaken and stupefied
sensation.

The men leaned into a circular bar table in the middle
of the room and began a deep and meaningful conversation
about women, which neither would remember in the
morning. Shane suddenly leaped wide-eyed into the air.
'What the . . . ?' he exclaimed and turned. 'Oh, it's you,'
he accused a petite platinum blonde who had just accosted
him with a butt pinch.

The girl's locks were piled atop her head with stray
pieces stringing about her face and neck. Tony could tell
she was young. It wasn't just the unlined visage that smiled
prettily up at him awaiting an introduction, but also the
bizarre get-up that only someone with the confidence of
youth would wear. Skinny-leg jeans clutched her calves
and a billowing top scooped down to proudly display rock-solid
breasts. A tiny useless piece of quilting stopped under
the bust-line in a flimsy pretence at being a jacket.

'This is Tony. Tony this is Taylah, she's . . . umm . . .
an old friend.'

'An old root, you mean, Shane,' she joked and put out
a hand made twice as long by the length of her pearlescent
fingernails.

'Nice to meet you,' said Tony.

Taylah smiled and shimmied in response. 'Nice to meet
you, Tony. Hey Shane, why are you keeping all the good
ones from me? This guy's gorgeous.'

'Aww shucks,' Tony said. He glowed at the compliment
and instantly decided that the girl before him was a charming
young lady.

Shane muttered something about watering the horses,
and scarpered. Tony smiled broadly and fell into an easy
conversation with the provocative Taylah. The flirting was
like flint on a stone to Tony, who revelled in the seductive
sparring. It had been a long time since anyone so attractive
had paid him any attention.

The sambucca and the Bailey's that followed numbed
his body and he was hardly aware that she'd snaked one
arm around his waist, under his jacket. She was very sympathetic
about his lower back pain that had gotten worse
lately. And said she knew the perfect cure.

'It's all about stress management,' she advised. 'You
need to relax. To let the stress out, you need release.'

'Really?' he asked, fascinated by this insight. 'I usually
just see a chiropractor.'

'No, there's a better way to get release than that, beautiful
Tony.' She gave him a look so lusty that only a dead
man would miss the innuendo.

Tony's heart pounded. She was so sexy.

'Nobody needs to know,' she said. 'You deserve a good
time.'

He
did
deserve a good time.

'So, Tony,' she whispered loudly in his ear to drown
out the pub ruckus, 'there's a quiet room out the back, do
you want to come?'

The tiny nymphette wrapped Tony's great log of an arm
around her waist and tugged him into the direction of the
rear stairway. Tony stumbled to the ground and staggered
back to his feet again.

'Sera!' A shout came from the other side of the bar.
'G'day, Sera, how you doing?'

The guys loved Sera. Often, when they were building
locally, she'd bring them lunch or a slab of beer at knockoff
time. George and Freddy swept her off her feet in a big
bear hug.

'Sera, Sera, Sera!' the chant went up in greeting as each
of Tony's team kissed her on the cheek or hugged her
hello.

Shane sidled up to Taylah. 'That's Tony's wife,' he
whispered. 'You lose.'

'Damn,' she said, and blended into the background to
sniff out another target.

'Sera?' Tony said thickly, his addled brain trying to
process this latest development. 'Sera!' he called out when
the reality of his wife's arrival finally emerged through the
fog. He lumbered over to where she was surrounded by
his men. The crowd parted to let the boss through. Tony
grinned a big goofy smile and threw his arms out, knocking
a glass of wine from a rather displeased patron's grip. 'Sera,
you came! You came!'

'Hello, drunken one,' Sera said, and endured his crushing
embrace with a squeal and a laugh. 'What have you
been up to?'

'Just a few drinks with the lads. I'm so glad you're here.
Let me get you one. Bar-keep, a glass of your finest chardonnay
for my missus! And a round for the boys!' Tony
leaned against the bar and beamed at his wife. ''T's so good
to see you. Jeez, you look good.'

'Good to see you too, Tony, how was work?'

'Work's great, drinks after work are great, I'm great.
Jeez, you look good.'

'I know, Tony,' she said, patting him on the back of the
hand. 'You just said.'

'But you do,' he insisted. 'You always do, you're gorgeous.
And so lovable, everybody loves you, you know
that, dontcha? Everybody.' He turned to the room. 'Who
loves Sera?' he yelled into the crowd.

'YEAH!' the crowd yelled back. The rabble was pissed
enough to love anybody at that point.

The jukebox finally stopped its homage to INXS and
someone with a bit of musical taste took over the DJ-ing.
'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' by Green Day came on.

'Remember this?' Tony grabbed Sera's hands and stared
earnestly in her eyes. 'Remember? Dance with me – come
on.'

They wrapped their arms around each other, enjoying
their bodies moving in time to the song that had meant so
much to them nine years ago.

*

Back in 2000, on the day they had met, Tony had been the
last to board the plane, his overgrown black curls flopping in
his eyes, and his cheeks flushed with running from the bar at
the end of the terminal to his flight from Hobart to Sydney.

'So sorry,' he'd said to the flight attendant as he tried
to juggle his laptop, brown suede jacket and fumble in his
pocket for his boarding pass. He flashed her a cheeky smile.
'I was deep in conversation with an old Digger at the bar,
couldn't get away from him.'

He finally retrieved a slightly soggy boarding pass from
the back pocket of his Calvins. 'Ah . . . Oops, I seem to
have used this as a coaster.' He grinned again.

'Never mind, sir,' Sera said. 'Your seat is easy to find:
it's the only empty one.'

'Oh dear, did I keep everyone waiting for long?'

'Never mind,' Sera said again, her professional demeanour
firmly in place. 'If you could just take your seat, the
captain can get us all on our way.'

Tony found himself staring at her lips, watching them
move as she spoke. 'Oh, of course, yes, I'll do that,' he said,
snapping out of the moment.

As he apologised his way toward his seat, Tony felt
flustered and slightly confused. He put it down to the
Guinness. He threw his jacket in the overhead locker as
the seatbelt sign dinged, then squeezed past the two other
passengers into the window seat, pushing his laptop under
the seat in front.

Sera's face was a mask as she delivered the safety
routine, her hair tamed by pins and spray, and those lips
hidden behind a veneer of red gloss. In his mind Tony
saw her face break into a smile, her hair fall soft and
golden onto her shoulders and those lips – ah, those lips.
Right then, he decided, he had a mission. He would
make that beautiful girl smile – not just a regulation Air
Australia smile, but a true smile, just for him – by the end
of the flight.

*

Sera's heart had banged so noisily in her chest when the guy
with the curls came on board that she was sure he would
hear it above the clipped professional voice she struggled
to maintain. There was something so endearing about his
ridiculously messy hair, his cocoa coloured eyes – even his
scent gave her tingles of pleasure.

He didn't make any effort at subtlety during the quick
pond hop, taking every opportunity to try and make her
laugh. 'Nuts?' she'd asked when serving drinks. 'No, perfectly
sane,' he'd replied.

His charming attempts at winning her smile were actually
working a treat, but only on the inside. She wasn't
going to give in that easily. It took all her will power to
remain professional and cool. She rushed back to the galley
a few times to lay a cool flannel on her burning cheeks and
take some deep, calming breaths.

She'd had plenty of passengers try to pick her up in
the past. It was one of the downfalls of the job. She'd
even accepted a few offers of dinner and one had actually
become a relationship for a short time. But she'd never felt
anything like this.

After landing, Tony stood and retrieved his things. He'd
been pretty sure she had a fun-loving and cheeky personality
underneath – he'd seen the sparkle in her eye as she
snubbed his gags – but he had failed to crack her professional
shell . . . hadn't he?

One last chance; she stood at the door bidding her passengers
goodbye like an automaton: 'Good evening, thank
you for flying Air Australia. Good evening, thank you for
flying Air Australia.'

Surely she'd personalise her farewell for him, he thought,
as he reached the door. Hadn't they bonded?

'Good evening, thank you for flying Air Australia,' she
said to him.

His shoulders slumped. He hadn't touched her. Despondent,
he stepped onto the air bridge to make his way up the
tunnel.

'Excuse me, sir?' He turned as he heard her voice.
The same mask of polite indifference greeted him. 'You
dropped your boarding pass,' she said and handed a crisp
piece of board out to him.

'Oh, that's not mine,' he started, but when he looked at
the paper he could see a phone number written across the
top. He took it and looked back at her.

The open smile that wreathed her face was as genuine,
pure and giving as he'd known it would be. Dumbstruck,
he could do nothing but stand there, holding the pass
and smiling back. 'Thank you for flying Air Australia,'
she said once again, but this time it smacked of mirth and
warmth.

He'd practically skipped down the concourse. The
baggage carousel reminded him of a merry-go-round, the
planes were a flock of doves and the taxi queue was a daisy
chain.

As soon as he got home, with shaking fingers he dialled
the number that was written on the boarding pass.

*

The Fringe Bar was jumping with its usual crowd of revellers
when Sera walked in later that night. She should have
suggested something more intimate than Oxford Street's
ultimate party venue, but she needed to be sure her mind
agreed with her gut before she took this thing any further.
After all, this Tony guy was a complete stranger.

The music was thumping, the joint was jumping – and so
was her pulse. She'd never been so nervous on a date before.
What was it about this guy that made her so edgy?

She was sick of being single but she hadn't actively
looked for a partner in months. It wasn't worth the letdown
and the disappointment – she just knew they'd be
turned off once they saw her scar. She was sick of walking
the lonely road. But maybe this would be different.

Her eyes went instinctively to the table in the corner
window just as Green Day's haunting hit started with its
opening lyric.

At that moment Sera's eyes met Tony's. She walked
over, they both started speaking at once – 'I was just thinking
of this song!'

It became their song and Green Day their band.

*

'Do you remember, Sera? Do you remember?' Tony's eyes
were closed as his head hung, supported by her shoulder.

'I remember, baby,' she murmured, at peace in his
secure hold.

'God damn it, Sera!' His mood switched in the classic
manner of the truly intoxicated. He pulled back and
gripped her upper arms. 'What happened to us? It was so
perfect, we were so great. What happened?'

'Don't do this, Tony, not now, not here,' Sera begged.

'Then when, Sera, when? In between your bloody
manicures? Will you schedule me in?'

Sera nervously glanced around. Interested looks were
coming their way; conversations halted.

'Tony,' she said, as calmly as she could, 'let's go home
and talk there.'

'No, Sera, this is hopeless, you don't care about me.
Taylah does, Taylah thinks I'm hot!'

'Who is Taylah?' Sera's voice was ice.

Taylah, witnessing the spectacle, took a step back and hid
behind two security guards who were standing at the ready.

'Doesn't matter, no one! What about this Sam character?
You spend more time with him than you do with me.'

'Tony, you're making no sense.' Sera was getting angry:
this was not her idea of a night out. 'I'm going. Are you
coming?'

'No, I've had it, I'm sick of just being the service provider
in that house. I'm staying with my mates, they care
about me.'

Sera looked around at the slack-jawed beer-guzzlers and
the bright, speedy eyes of Freddy and George. 'Yeah great,
Tony, have fun.'

'I will, Sera, you better have a good hard think about us,
because I'm jack of this shit!'

She picked up her coat and headed for the door. She
turned back to ask him once more to come home but he
was at the bar ordering whiskey.