Three Wishes (5 page)
Lyn momentarily considered throwing the portable phone against the wall.
“Bitch,” she said.
“Bitch,” repeated Maddie, who had an unerring ear for inappropriate new words to add her to vocabulary. She applauded with chubby joyful hands. “Bitch, bitch, bitch!”
LOVE. KIDS. CAREER. WOMEN WHO STRIKE THE “TRIPLE” JACKPOT!!!
While most of us find it incredibly difficult to juggle career and family, some women seem to have hit up upon that elusive magical formula.
At just thirty-three years of age, Lyn Kettle is the
founder and managing director of the hugely successful business Gourmet Brekkie Bus.
Brekkie Bus specializes in mouthwatering Sunday morning breakfasts delivered straight to your door. As every Gourmet Brekkie Bus fan knows (this reporter is one of them!), these breakfasts are to die for. Flaky croissants, eggs Benedict, freshly squeezed juice—and of course, those incredible pastries!
Lyn, a pencil-thin blonde (obviously she doesn’t indulge too often in her own Brekkie Bus breakfasts!) first conceived the idea just three years ago, when she was managing a successful café. Since then, the business has gone from strength to strength with franchises across the country and interest from overseas buyers. Last August Lyn scooped the prestigious Businesswoman of the Year Award.
But running Gourmet Brekkie Bus doesn’t stop Lyn from spending quality time with her husband, computer whiz Michael Dimitropolous, her eighteen-month-old daughter, Maddie, and her fifteen-year-old stepdaughter, Kara. Lyn works from home and her mother takes care of Maddie two to three days each week.
“My family is incredibly important to me,” said Lyn from her exquisite harbor-side home. For the interview, she wore a beautifully cut suit, her blond hair elegantly styled, her makeup flawless.
A huge vase of roses adorned the dining room table. I asked if it was her birthday.
“No,” said Lyn, blushing a little. “I’m very lucky. Michael often buys flowers for no particular reason.”
But that’s not all! She also finds time to teach aerobics two nights a week. “I love it,” said Lyn, crossing her shapely legs. “It’s my time-out. I couldn’t live without it.”
Lyn also loves skiing (Aspen this year!), reading (per
sonal development books are always a fave!), and mountain biking (yes, really!)
And here’s an interesting tidbit! Lyn is a triplet! Her sister Catriona, a marketing executive at Hollingdale Chocolates, is identical to Lyn. Gemma, who isn’t identical (although she does bear a striking resemblance to her sisters!) is a primary-school teacher. The triplets are all very close.
“My sisters are my best friends,” confided Lyn.
Their mother, Maxine Kettle, is president of the Australian Mothers of Multiples Association, a regular speaker at events for mothers of twins and triplets, and author of the book
Mothering Multiples: The Heaven, the Hell,
which has sold in countries around the world. Their father, Frank Kettle, is a well-known Sydney property developer. Their parents divorced when the girls were six.
“We had great childhoods,” said Lyn. “We split our time between Mum and Dad and we were perfectly happy.”
What next for Lyn?
Another baby might be in the cards, and she is considering expanding the Brekkie business to include Gourmet dinners and lunches.
Whatever she does next, you can be sure it will be a success for this remarkable young woman! What an inspiration!
To order your Gourmet Brekkie delivered straight to your door, call Gourmet Brekkie Bus now at 1-300-BREKKIE.
Lyn shuddered as she handed back the magazine to her mother. “Thank God she included the plug for the business. I don’t know what Kara’s problem is, I’m the one who looks like an idiot.”
“I do,” said Maxine. “It’s the photo. Kara looks quite dreadful.”
Lyn took back the magazine and looked more closely at the
photo. The photographer had caught Kara mid-grimace, her mouth pulled down sourly, one eyelid drooping unattractively. It wasn’t the photographer’s fault; Kara had scowled and sulked and sighed throughout the entire session. She was only there at her father’s insistence.
“You’re right,” said Lyn.
“I know I am.” Maxine looked at Maddie, who was chattering with animated delight to her own reflection in the china cabinet. “Lyn, what is on that child’s face? She’s filthy!”
“Vegemite. When Gemma and Cat read this, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Well, I don’t see why.” Maxine got down on her knees and held Maddie’s chin firmly while she rubbed at the Vegemite with a handkerchief. Maddie kept her eyes fixed on the little girl in the china cabinet and smiled secretively. “You said they were your best friends.”
“Exactly! And I never said any such thing.”
She picked up her keys from the coffee table and looked at Maddie, who was now busily shredding pages from
She
magazine.
“Kiss for Mummy?” she asked, with little hope.
“No!” Maddie looked up, affronted. Lyn leaned down toward her and Maddie shook an admonishing finger.
“No!”
“Oh well.”
Lyn picked up her briefcase. “I’ll be back around six. I’ve got to pick Kara up from her friend’s place after the meeting at the bakery.”
“You look absolutely
dreadful, Lyn,” announced Maxine.
“Thank you, Mum.”
“You do. You’re a skeleton, all pale and drab and miserable-looking. That color doesn’t do you any favors of course. I’ve told you girls not to wear black, you refuse to listen. The point is, you do far too much. Why isn’t Kara’s mother picking her up? I mean
really,
why won’t Michael put his foot down?”
“Mum, please.”
Lyn could feel a scratchy tickle at the back of her throat. She put down her briefcase and sneezed three times.
“Hay fever,” said Maxine with satisfaction. “It’s that time of year for you three. I’ll get you an antihistamine.”
“I don’t have time.”
“It will only take a minute. Sit.”
She disappeared down the hallway, heels tapping a brisk rhythm across the tiles, Maddie running along behind her. Suddenly exhausted, Lyn sat back down on her mother’s puffy cream sofa.
She looked at the familiar photos that lined the walls. The traditional Kettle Triplet pose: Gemma in the middle, Lyn and Cat on either side. It pleased their mother’s sense of balance to have the redhead separating the blondes. Identical dresses, identical hair ribbons, identical poses. Three little girls with crinkled eyes, laughing at the camera. They were laughing at their father of course. When they were children they thought he was the funniest man to walk the Earth.
She could hear her mother talking to Maddie in the kitchen. “No, you may not have one. These are not lollies. There is no point in looking at me like that, young lady. No point at all.”
Some of Lyn’s friends complained about their children being spoiled by doting grandparents. She didn’t need to worry about Maddie missing out on her discipline quota with Maxine. It was like sending her to boot camp.
On the coffee table was a typed document Maxine was obviously in the middle of proofreading. Lyn picked it up. It was a speech for a parenting workshop her mother was running called “Triple the Heartache, Triple the Fun!”
“She’s made a career out of being our mother,” Cat always complained.
“So what?” Lyn would say.
“It’s exploitation.”
“Oh, please.”
Lyn flicked idly through the speech. Most of it she recognized from previous speeches, articles, and her mother’s book:
Sometimes you may feel like a traveling freak show. Eventually, you’ll get used to the stares and the approaches by strangers. I remember once I counted the number of times I was stopped by well-meaning people wanting to look at my daughters as I walked through Chatswood Shopping Center. It was—
Fifteen, thought Lyn. Yes, we know,
fifteen
times!
It has been calculated that it takes twenty-eight hours a day to look after triplets. That’s tricky, considering we only have twenty-four at our disposal! (Wait for laugh)
I’m not so sure you’ll get one, Mum. That’s not actually very funny.
Monozygotic twins—meaning one egg—share 100 percent of their genes. Dizygotic twins—meaning two eggs—share only 25 percent of their genes, like any normal sibling.
Gemma would be offended to hear herself described as a “normal” sibling. When they were in second class, Sister Joyce Mary chalked a picture of the three-leafed shamrock on the blackboard to illustrate how “the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost were three persons but one God.” Gemma’s hand shot into the air. “Like triplets! Like us!” The nun winced. “I’m afraid the Kettle girls are not like the Holy Trinity!” “Yes, but I think we are, Sister,” said Gemma kindly.
When Gemma told the story to their mother, Maxine explained that her analogy might have been reasonable if they’d all come from the one egg. However, as only Cat and Lyn were identical and Gemma was a “single egg” they probably couldn’t be
compared to the Holy Trinity, which was a lot of nonsense anyway. “I don’t want to be a single egg!” wailed Gemma. “What if we were
Siamese triplets?” asked Cat. “With our heads all glued
together?” But their mother had turned up the car radio to drown out Gemma.
Sibling rivalry is obviously a complex issue, which I will be discussing at length. On other hand, you may feel envious of mothers of “singletons” and worry that your babies are actually closer to each other than to you. This is perfectly normal.
That was a new one. Surely their profoundly practical mother had never worried about anything like that?
“Why did you tell that journalist Gemma was a teacher?” Maxine came back into the room and handed over a glass of water and a tablet.
“I think she might still do some casual teaching every now and then,” said Lyn, putting the speech aside. “How was I meant to describe her?”
“Yes, well, that’s certainly a point,” said Maxine. “Odds-body! Jack of all trades! I called her the other day and she casually mentioned she was off to do
stilt walking
for some promotion at Fox Studios. Gemma, I said, are you actually capable of walking on stilts?”
“She wasn’t,” said Lyn. “She told me she kept toppling over. But apparently the kids in the audience all thought it was hilarious.”
“Hilarious indeed. Gemma is a
drifter.
I read in the paper today about that murderer in Melbourne. They called him a drifter. I thought to myself, that’s how people would describe Gemma! My own daughter! A drifter!”
“She doesn’t drift far. At least she only drifts around Sydney.”
“I’ll grant you that.” Maxine, who was sitting on the sofa in front of Lyn, suddenly took a deep breath and pressed her hands
to her knees in a strangely awkward gesture. “Yes, well, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. A little issue.”
“Have you really?” Her mother wasn’t in the habit of
meaning
to say things; she generally just said them. “What is it?”
At that moment, Lyn’s mobile began to ring and vibrate on the coffee table. She glanced at the name on the screen. “Speak of the drifter. I’ll let her go to voicemail.”
“No, answer it. I’ll talk to you about it another time. You’re in a rush anyway.” Maxine stood up briskly and removed the glass of water from Lyn’s hand.
“Tell Gemma to water that poor man’s flowers,” she ordered cryptically, and went tapping off again down the hallway, calling out, “Just what are you up to now, Maddie?”
“Cat Crisis!” announced Gemma happily. “Guess where she is!”
“I give up, where?”
“Well, all right then, I’ll tell you. She’s sitting in her car outside the
woman’s
place!”
“What woman?”
“What woman, she says.
The
woman! The woman dastardly Dan had sex with! Cat is
stalking
her. I think Cat is perfectly capable of boiling a rabbit, don’t you? Or a puppy. Even a kitten.”
“Can you please be serious for once in your life?” said Lyn. “What’s she doing there?”
“Wait till you hear how she found her! She was like an undercover detective.”
“Gemma.”
“I am being serious. Deadly serious. We have to stop her! She says she just wants to see what the woman looks like, but that sounds a bit passive for Cat, don’t you think? She’s probably planning to throw acid at her, something to horribly disfigure her. Can we drive there together? My air conditioning isn’t working.”
“I’ve got a meeting,” Lyn looked at her watch, “in half an hour.”
“I’ll see you soon. I’ll wait out front.”
“Gemma!”