Miss Spelled (16 page)

‘I love you,’ he says.

My heart turns to glass and cracks a little more.

‘I love you too, baby.’

That’s enough. I can’t take anymore and turn to walk away. Just then, the door opens. I quick step out of the way as Geneva emerges. Her expensive but cheap-looking outfit makes her look like an billionaire heiress hooker.

Aiden’s phone rings.

‘That’s alright, honey, you get it. I can see myself out,’ she says as she blows him a kiss.

She closes his office door behind her, turns to look up and down the hall. She sees me, gives me a quick once over, then turns on her six-inch Louboutins and teeters off towards Hunter’s office.

My shorter legs once again are an advantage, as I can loiter behind her long strides without raising suspicion. She turns into my old office, goes in and closes the door. She’s brave. Or maybe all that cocaine has eroded her nasal passages so much that she no longer smells odours. As for me, I’ve walked into brick walls that have hurt less than Hunter’s intolerance problems, but hey, each to their own.

Once again, I creep up to the door and listen.

‘What did you tell him?’ Hunter asks.

‘I told him that I am busy fucking you in your suite until the day of this idiotic wedding,’ she says and then laughs.

‘That’s my girl.’

Then, there is silence, except for the muffled sound of groaning. Either Hunter is passing wind again, which will really test the limits of her attraction to him, or they’re having sex.

A million thoughts race through my mind. Should I go and get Aiden, so he can see what his fiancée is up to? He could catch them first-hand. Then he could call off the wedding and probably have grounds to get Hunter sent back to his London lair. It could all work out well, very well. If only Geneva wasn’t the daughter of a very influential resources magnate. A girl with a daddy who could crush a little Western Suburbs girl like me without any effort.

‘Whatcha doing?’ a voice whispers.

My skeleton practically leaves my skin in fright.

‘Jesus, Ella! Don’t do that!’ I say. ‘How can you be so stealthy in those shoes on a tiled floor?’

‘It’s a gift. I should have been a spy, not a receptionist. What’s so fascinating about the door?’ she asks.

‘It’s what’s behind the door that is of interest,’ I say. If she’s in on the plan then she could be a huge help. ‘It’s…’

‘Ladies,’ Aiden greets us as he walks towards us.

‘Aiden! Not long to go now. Sunday, isn’t it?’ Ella asks.

‘Sure is,’ he replies.

In that moment, my glass heart fractures just a little bit more.

‘Are you looking forward to it?’ Ella asks. ‘Or doing the typical man thing and wondering what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into?’

He smiles even wider and his eyes twinkle. It’s almost the look he used to give me.

‘It’s going to be a great day,’ he says.

He’s in love. He actually loves her
.

What’s left of my heart disintegrates completely. There’s a cavernous void in my chest so deep it may never heal again.

‘What’s behind the door?’ he asks.

‘I was just asking Lou the same thing,’ says Ella.

They both look at me as though they are expecting some profound answer, a revelation. A black hole. A time machine. If only. I’d quite happily jump into either one of them at the moment.

‘I…ahh…umm…’

They raise their eyebrows in anticipation.

Right now is the moment that could end this entire situation. Aiden would see the two of them, break up with Geneva and perhaps turn to me. Hunter would be sent back to London in disgrace with Amelia replacing him.

Or, Aiden would find them in a compromising tantric position, and direct his anger and hurt at me, the only one amongst us who knows what’s happening on the other side of that door. The one who works for his nemesis. The one who was, up until a couple of days ago, shagging his nemesis. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger’ may not apply in that situation. Then were will I be? Out of a job and with no hope of winning Aiden back. My face would be the last thing he’d want to see, and the thought of that scares me too much. I can’t jeopardise my plan, no matter how tempting.

‘So?’ Aiden says, gesturing to the door again. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s a…um…a really bad smell. Remember, Ella? From earlier today. I think we need to have the soft furnishings steam-cleaned. That rat family must have made a mess or something,’ I lie.

Ella laughs and winks at me.

‘Hmm, I see what you mean,’ Aiden says. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

He walks away as Ella and I watch after him; a small Aiden fan club.

‘Such a waste,’ Ella says, shaking her head.

You have no idea, Ella
.

‘So, how do I organise a cleaner?’ I ask, trying to move both of us away from the door. It’s probably best to keep my plan under my hat for a while.

* * *

It’s odd that even though Aiden has talked to me a few times, he has no memory of doing so the next time we speak. It’s as though he can’t remember that we’ve met at all. Strange.

Mel and I discuss it at home later that evening, after my extended overtime. Hunter left around dinner time, but seeing as Aiden was still working, it seemed a good idea for me to stay on as well. Not that there was any work for me to do, but it’s just as easy to daydream about Aiden from three rooms away as it is in the privacy of my own home.

‘Why don’t you ring Majique again and ask if Aiden’s memory has been affected?’ Mel says.

It sounds like a logical idea, so I dial the direct number she gave me and ask her the same question.

‘It is possible that Aiden’s memory has been impacted by the spell. If he can’t remember you after any interaction then I would say that your assumption is correct,’ she says.

Not exactly good news.

‘How long will it last? Will he never remember me? Is this like
50 First Dates
?’ I ask.

She is silent for a moment.

‘Impossible to say. It could just be a temporary condition based on the phase of the moon. See what happens during the next moon cycle, his memory should come back with the waxing moon. If there’s no change, then it’s very likely that his amnesia towards you is permanent.’

‘But he’ll be married by the next moon cycle!’ I say. ‘It’ll be too late by then! Aren’t there any other options?’

‘You can cast the same spell on yourself, or I can do it for you.’

‘What? Why would I do that?’ I ask.

‘If he can’t remember you then you have no hope of winning him back by the wedding day. In that case, if I were you, I’d have my memory of him deleted so at least you won’t have to live with what you’ve lost. Does that make sense?’ she says.

The thought rolls around my empty mind for a few seconds.

‘I guess so. But there’s nothing else you can do? Can you make him remember me now? Please, I’m desperate here.’

‘Magic doesn’t work that way, Lou. Don’t forget that when you altered the past, you also changed the person that Aiden is now.’

‘Huh?’

‘Our present state of being is a culmination of all the experiences we’ve had in our lives to that point. Your past determines your character, your personality. In your former life Aiden fell in love with you because he was ready to. In this life, he may not be. Perhaps he just hasn’t had the same experiences and is a different person as a result.’

‘But…’

‘Think about your own life. In your former life you met Hunter and learnt valuable financial lessons from him. As a consequence you bought your own house, had a professional job and seemed to be very stable. In this life, the one you altered with the spell, you didn’t meet him during your gap year, therefore you never learnt those financial lessons. Consequently, you don’t have a house of your own. Do you understand?’

Her explanation sinks in.

‘Yes, I do. Is there no hope?’

‘I can’t answer that question. Only time will tell.’

* * *

After the phone call, I flick my computer on and after a while, realise that the problem with the internet is that it allows lovelorn sad sacks such as myself to pore over images of our lust objects for an indeterminate amount of time, pining for what we’ve lost in a manner that is not conducive to healing and moving forward. Instead, it induces morbidity and encourages reliving the glory days as though time is standing still. In short, it’s not a positive effect on mental health.

What each laptop needs is a tiny but precise retinal laser attached to the top of it that calculates the amount of time one spends moping over photos of loves lost. Once a reasonable amount of time has been reached, say, two hours, a large hand-like device springs to life and hits the morose one in the head as a warning that it’s time to stop gawping, wipe the drool away from one’s mouth and start living again.

If that were the case, then I would have suffered more blows to the head than a professional boxer and may be in a better place right now. But until that patent is certified and all litigation insurances dealt with, I will have to exercise my own willpower and tear myself away from the various photos of Aiden that adorn my desktop.

He loves her
.

Even though she has the moral fortitude of a pimp, is a drug-using conwoman, has a little black book that could put Charlie Sheen’s to shame and a pair of legs that are open more often than a 7-Eleven, he loves her. They say love is blind, but does it have to be completely senseless?

She’s no good for him. She doesn’t love him. She doesn’t respect him. She’s only going to break his heart and hurt him in ways he may never recover from. And I had the chance to expose her earlier today—literally—but didn’t take it. Why?

Because I am an idiot. A novice spell-casting, mortgage-less, muscle-aching idiot who has taken to poisoning another human being in order to win back the heart of a man who has absolutely no memory of her.

Guilt and frustration pile themselves on top of each other like a layer cake, leaving me heavy with the burden of stupidity and meanness.

Hunter is an arse, no doubt about it, but does he deserve what he’s getting? Should he be paying for my mistake? Because none of my actions seem to be correcting the situation. Aiden still can’t remember me and may never be able to.

For the first time since this entire fiasco began, I cry myself to sleep.

Hunter comes in today looking even more tired than yesterday morning. If Geneva’s staying with him, it’s no wonder he looks exhausted. Or should that be sexhausted?

The rest of the day is the same as the last two. Working for Hunter is an absolute chore and my day is only brightened by seeing Aiden every now and then. For breakfast and lunch I have continued to empty capsules into Hunter’s meals, after a quick trip to the health food store for replenishments. Something’s got to happen…soon. He’s got more lactose inside him than a cow.

Dragging my aching, semi-depressed but forcibly optimistic self through the day is a challenge. But it has to be done because there are now only three days left until my deadline. Three days before the love of my life marries a woman who is using him.

Mel meets me in the city after work for our yoga class—the one with Aiden.

‘So, what kind of yoga is this?’ Mel asks.

‘Yoga yoga,’ I say.

‘No, what type—Vinyasa, Oki?’

‘No idea. It’s all the same, isn’t it? You just lay on the floor and stretch a bit, have a little nap, then leave?’

Mel shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I think there are different types, but it’s all meant to be very relaxing.’

We climb the stairs, my thighs still screaming at me, although not as loudly.

The receptionist looks like the very embodiment of healthy living—tight, wrinkle-free skin that is golden with a rosy hue through the cheeks. Her limbs are long and toned and she carries herself like a dancer.

‘Hi,’ I say. ‘We are here to do the yoga class.’

‘Lovely! Have you done Bikram yoga before?’ she asks.

‘No, this is our first time,’ Mel adds.

‘Wonderful!’ Her enthusiasm is a little unnerving. ‘Lovely! I’m Willow and I’ll look after you. Just fill out these forms and sign at the bottom,’ she says. Then she gets two mats and large bottles of water. ‘First I suggest you go to the loo, because there is no leaving the yoga room until we’ve finished, okay? Then I’ll set you up in the room.’

‘Sure,’ I say.

‘Fantastic! Now let me tell you what’s going to happen…’ She waffles on, but I am too busy checking out the crowded waiting room for Aiden’s gorgeous face to listen to her. After our loo visit, we enter the yoga room. The blast of hot air hits me, like opening the door to a furnace.
Holy shit!

‘Oh, my God!’ Mel gasps.

‘Yes, it’s warm, isn’t it?’ Willow says.

‘Warm?’ Mel repeats. ‘You could bake house bricks in here.’

‘You’ll get used to it. It’s very cleansing and detoxifying, and allows our bodies to stretch much further than in a cooler room.’ Her smile tells me she is actually convinced that this level of heat is a good thing.

Suddenly, I spot Aiden in the second row. Even though the room is only dimly lit, his body would be recognisable to me in total darkness. He’s only wearing a pair of shorts - he’s completely naked from the waist up and the thighs down! A small amount of drool makes its way out of my mouth and heads for my chin as my loins erupt into the Lambada.

‘It’s alright,’ I say as I nudge Mel forward. ‘We can both do with a bit of detoxing. How about we set up over there?’ I say, pointing to the space surrounding Aiden.

Before Willow can answer, I have already made my way across the room and am in the process of laying my mat down next to Aiden’s. Victory.

‘Lou,’ Willow says, ‘beginners are best to start in the back row. That way you can watch and learn from the more experienced yogis.’

She begins to pick my mat up and move it next to Mel’s, which is behind Aiden’s.

‘Mel is the beginner. I’ve done this quite a few times now,’ I say.

Willow doesn’t look convinced.

‘I used to do it regularly a few years ago but gave up because of a…um…’
Jesus! What kind of injury would make a person give up yoga?