Plus, he could not get his money back on what he had already paid, and, if he was going to go to Europe, he sure as heck did not wish to go for five days only. I didn’t even have to think twice when he asked.
Anyway, Davis and I were in the middle of something. The something was I didn’t want to move in with him unless we were going to go forward in our relationship. In fact, if he didn’t see us moving forward, I didn’t see us having a future. Obviously, this affected us in more ways than one.
I told him we needed time apart and I needed time to think. Time away was exactly what I required.
I loved Steve almost as much as I loved Davis. In fact these days, I do love Steve more. And if you had to pick someone to shop with in Europe then Steve would be it.
Steve was like a Staffordshire bull terrier: short, solid muscle, fiercely loyal, a loving family member, but ruthlessly tough and he knew when to stand up for his own territory. In his words: He took no shit! His wardrobe consisted of well-cut jeans and cowboy boots. He never walked anywhere but strode with sexy confidence… gay or not. He headed Brisbane’s top lifestyle public relations company and did wonders for our business. Thanks to him, barely a week went by that one or another of us was not in a publication.
When Davis and I finally got together and Steve found out, he had thrown his arms around me and yelled, ‘Bout bloody time. I was beginning to wonder if he was the poof!’
I loved Thomas equally as much. Although his uber-luxe hair salon, Groove, had quite a celebrity clientele, he still managed to keep all of our tresses styled as well.
Anyway Groove thrived. Whether it was imported beers, or the best herbal tea, or organic coffee and handmade biscuits, alongside the massage chairs and huge plasmas fitted throughout, he was a one man PR team for his own business. Personally, I would pay big money just to have him shampoo and condition my hair. There was something about those big powerful hands cradling my head and giving me the best scalp massage, it was positively erotic. I could moan now even thinking about it.
So back to the trip to Europe… yes I had to go. To be honest I was feeling a little down. Very down in fact. As much as I was excited about the trip to Paris, I knew that I had to do a lot of thinking while I was there.
To lift my mood I had set up appointments with Chanel, Lanvin and Dior. The House of Guerlain awaited my precious skin. Plus I could not miss the opportunity to visit Laduree for possibly the best macaroons and their simply unforgettable thick hot chocolate.
While Steve was at his conference I would have time on my own, a good thing, and when he was finished, we’d play, another good thing!
*
I changed lanes on the Story Bridge, heading towards my mother’s at New Farm. Although it was only a matter of kilometres as the crow flew, as I crossed the Brisbane River, I felt torn between leaving my old life and beginning a new one.
New Farm was not a love of Davis’s, and I could never quite fathom why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that if we lost a buyer to West End, it was often because they had gone to New Farm. Davis used to say that the New Farmians thought they were better than us. I don’t believe the New Farmians gave it any such thought.
As I veered right at the end of the bridge, I was once again confronted by the huge sign someone had painted that said: The more you think about it the bigger it gets. What I couldn’t help think, and not for the first time, was that every time I saw that sign it reminded me exactly of what I wanted to forget. Blast it!
I turned into Brunswick Street and pulled to a stop at the red light. With a French manicured finger tapping my top lip, for the millionth time, I wondered if there had been any way I could have fought harder. Who was I kidding? The relationship had been exhausted. We had spent long enough throwing the blame back and forth. Finally, it was time to exorcise all and move on.
It was unlike me, because usually I held onto things even after they were broken. As a child, I’d had a teddy called Fella. Even after both of his arms, and then legs, had fallen off, I’d treasured him and taken him everywhere.
‘Come on Peach,’ my dad, Johnny, had insisted, attempting to prise my little fingers off him. ‘Surely it’s time to put Fella to rest.’ However, I could not part with him.
‘I don’t care if he’s broken,’ I had argued, through my tears.
However, my marriage was more than broken. It was shattered into little pieces. One minute I had been young in love and planning a family, the next I was nearing mid-thirties and on my own. Where had my life gone?
Slowing the car, I passed Montgomery’s on the left hand side of the road. I played the game that if there was a car park out front, I would stop for a well needed coffee and have a chat with Chilli, my dear friend and one of the owners. However if there wasn’t, I was meant to head straight to my mother’s. With disappointment, I noticed Montgomery’s was as per usual busy, so I continued on. At the next set of traffic lights I checked my rear-view mirror, and saw a car pull away directly out front. However, as like other things, it was far too late.
Minutes later, I pulled into Bea’s driveway. Checking my eyes in the mirror, I jumped when my phone rang.
It was Marty. He was running late to pick me up.
‘Don’t worry,’ I told him. ‘I think I’ll walk down to the New Farm shops, pick up a couple of travel books from Mary Ryans, and have a coffee while I wait. Pick me up when you’re ready.’
I didn’t miss the concern in his voice when he asked if I was okay.
‘Mmmm… just left the warehouse for the last time, that’s all. I’ll be fine,’ I lied.
Briskly stirring the satiny smooth latte on the table in front of me, regardless of my mood, I couldn’t help but revel in its pervasive aroma. I took a tentative sip, testing the temperature, and relaxed visibly. Making an effort to remove the world-has-come-to-an-end look from my face, I sat further back in the chair.
The New Farm Deli owner placed a cannoli, a favourite Italian sweet, on the table in front of me. ‘How are you Bella?’
I wondered if he too like the rest of the world, knew about my failed marriage, or was simply being polite. I attempted a smile and shrugged. ‘Fine thanks Vince.’ And then as an afterthought added, ‘Maria good?’ It was as much conversation as I could attempt.
Within our West End community, personal and professional, my humiliation had been great. There were days when I did not want to leave the house. Sometimes I had come over to New Farm to shop, grateful for the anonymity.
I flicked my long blow-styled locks behind one ear and absentmindedly fiddled with one of my earrings. The numbness I had felt since leaving was beginning to scare me. Shouldn’t I be crying, weeping and wailing? Yet I didn’t feel like hysterics. I felt devoid of everything
Swallowing hard, I attempted to distract myself. I smoothed my skirt, crossed my legs, and examined my impossibly high, black toe-peepers, bought all that time ago on the trip with Steve to Paris in a quaint little shop in rue St Honore. I had always loved the fact that as I walked the green sole could be seen from behind. Today, I was almost mesmerised by them, flexing my calf first one way and then the other.
The day I had bought them, I had been playing a game with myself. Again, if I found the right pair of shoes, everything in the world would be alright. I told myself later, they were definitely the right pair of shoes. Funny, I had chosen to wear them today.
*
Davis’s proposal, when it came, was always going to be our special little story, the one that we would bring out and tell our grandchildren. Steve and I had spent four days in London