Versace Sisters (22 page)

Sera'd imagined the dress she'd wear, the death notice in
the paper and even what music she would play at Tony's
funeral. 'Oh, for God's sake!' she shouted out loud at her
own macabre thoughts as she threw back the sheets and
gave up any hope of sleep. Where in the hell was he?

She crept into the laundry to make herself a decaf.
And who in the bloody hell was Taylah? What had gotten
into Tony tonight? It was the hundredth time she'd asked
herself the same questions. She moved into the living room
and looked out the front window at the black sky.

She was waiting while the rest of the hemisphere slept.
But waiting for what? For the cops to knock on the door
and tell her about a terrible accident? For Tony to come
back to say he was leaving her? For the sky to fall in? She
didn't know what it was, but she was on the edge of her
toes, ready to launch, ready to react when 'it' happened.

She'd arrived home from the pub in a filthy mood
and after slamming the kitchen door with little regard for
sleeping children or Joan she'd poured herself a fishbowl of
white wine. Tony was acting like such a dick. How dare
he get drunk and throw accusations around like that? And
who in the bloody hell was Taylah?

Her fury was quickly replaced with worry, then usurped
by self-blame. It was her fault. She flung herself into the
family-worn sofa and stared at the purple glowing bars of the
old electric heater. She had been so cold towards him lately.
No, fuck it! It was his fault: how dare he stay out all night
like this and worry her sick? She was going to kill him.

She took a deep breath and tried to meditate. This
roller-coaster of emotions would give her an ulcer if she
wasn't careful. But she couldn't help it. There was so much
going wrong in her life at the moment; everyone around
her seemed to be losing the plot. Her mother was useless,
she'd just sorted things out with her sister, and now her
husband was acting like a complete bastard! What had she
done to deserve so much misery?

From above the fireplace a row of family photos
smiled down: the kids; she and Tony on their wedding
day, grinning like the madly-in-love couple they were;
she and Bella at her sister's thirtieth, smiling at each
other with affection. For a few minutes, Sera stared
at the photos, remembering the moments, the people
who made her life so rich. The stillness of the house
hung heavy around her and tears began to slide down
her cheeks. She was blessed; truly blessed. Her children,
her husband, her sister, her friends – and yes, even her
parents – loved her and cared about her. She'd been so
caught up with her own petty nonsense that she'd lost
sight of the important things in her life and now here she
was blaming everyone around her for her own discontent.
She felt a flush of hot, red embarrassment flood her
cheeks. She was acting like a spoilt child in a toy shop.

Poor Bella, she was just trying to break free of the
shackles of motherhood that she had wrongly had to carry
for so long. But Sera was scared: scared to let go, scared that
she would have no one to turn to without Bella being there
to tend to her every emotion.

'God, I have to grow up,' Sera whispered to herself, suddenly
shocked by the realisation of how she had behaved
toward those closest to her. She inhaled deeply, her breath
shuddering with taut emotion. It was time to behave like
an adult and take some responsibility for her own life. Fear
swept over her as she wondered whether it was too late to
save her marriage.

*

Sera leapt up as she heard a car. But it just drove by. She
flopped back down and picked up the phone again, but
there was no point: it would just go to voice mail like it
had all night. She tossed it back on the couch.

A surge of fear swelled up from her gut and she almost
burst into panicked tears. But the emotion was forced back
down with anger as she remembered how cross she was at
him making her so worried. She was so confused.

She thought back to the events of that evening. When
Tony had called and insisted she drop everything and come
to the pub, she could have killed him. All day she'd been
looking forward to an early night, tucked up in bed with
her favourite show and a cuppa. And then he'd clicked
his fingers and expected her to come running to his side
because
he
felt like partying? Typical.

After she'd hung up the phone, suddenly her night under
the doona didn't seem so inviting. She'd felt terrible that he
was asking her out and she'd rejected him. She considered
how lucky she was that her husband was begging her to go
out with him. How many husbands did that? Most probably
loved the opportunity to be out without the ball and chain,
yet there was her darling Tony on the phone pleading with
her to come to the pub. She'd been rotten to him lately. She
knew it, he knew it; she knew he knew it.

But they were both pretending all was harmonious in
their marriage. That was dangerous. That was just asking
for relationship cancer. She needed to make more of an
effort. She needed to show him she cared about him. The
Royal was only around the corner.

Darling, drunk Tony had been so happy to see her. The
past month's tension had flown out of the window. It had
been a warm and mutual embrace. She'd laughed with him
as they stumbled around the dance floor reminiscing about
their first date.

And then he'd done the Jekyll and Hyde thing. She
knew it was the alcohol talking, but often it worked like
truth serum. He was right. The poor man, he was right.
Turning up at the pub once wasn't about to right months
of negligence.

Sera's face dropped into her palms and this time tears
of remorse flowed for the damage she'd caused to their
marriage by being so selfish, so self-absorbed. She suddenly
realised why she had done this to him. He was too
amazing. Too good. She didn't deserve him. She wasn't
good enough. He was so perfect and wonderful, supporting
the family, backing her on all of her ideas, taking her
side in the Joan war. She didn't deserve such a great man,
so she'd shut him out.

But seeing him tonight, drunk, aggressive, in all his
imperfect glory, made her see that he was a man. Flawed,
pissed, aggro and beautiful. He was struggling just like
she was. Please let him just have stormed off in a tantrum
and not be in some dreadful accident, Sera prayed. Please,
please let me see him so I can tell him I love him and that
I'm sorry.

She stared again at the blackness outside. A couple of
tentative bright birdcalls warned of the impending day.
It was coming: the sunrise would be here soon. So she
waited.

*

Tony staggered up the front steps, dead on his feet. He was
experiencing the blissful few minutes between intoxication
and hangover but was achingly aware of how brief this eye
of the booze storm would be.

He turned the key as quietly as he could and slipped into
the house. Sera was going to freak. He'd never stayed out
all night before. Now that the alcohol had cleared somewhat,
he realised how crazy his actions had been: walking
mindlessly until he'd arrived at Bondi, at the place where
he had proposed to Sera so long ago. He wasn't angry
anymore, just exhausted and very sad.

He tiptoed into the lounge to crash on the sofa, but
jumped as a white figure stepped out from the shadows.

'Sera, you startled me. I'm so sorry, really, I should have
called –' His words were cut off by her soft lips as they
kissed his. Okay, he was confused now.

'No,
I'm
sorry, my beautiful husband,' she said. 'I can't
tell you how much I love you.' She led him to the couch,
laid him down and stroked his head for the twenty seconds
it took for him to fall asleep.

Jacqueline sighed deeply with contentment as she flipped
through her precious cookbooks, scouring the well-worn
pages for inspiration. She couldn't believe how much her
life had changed in such a short time.

Working with André and the rest of the team at Laurent
Boulangerie had been the best decision she'd ever made.
She'd become friends with the other members of staff, she
enjoyed being recognised in the street by customers and
she particularly enjoyed discovering her obvious talent for
working in the service industry.

Her self-esteem had blossomed as she'd flourished as
a person. She was more confident and relaxed; quicker
to laugh, slower to judge. Her own family were startled
at the transformation but had embraced the new and
improved Jacqueline. The boys were coming to her for
advice rather than treating her like a mere domestic servant,
and even Thomas had begun to discuss work issues
with her.

But the person she'd surprised the most was herself.
She honestly hadn't thought she could be a valuable
employee. She'd taken to her chosen occupation as
smoothly as butter to hot toast. She served her customers
with as much reverence as she served the food.
André was thrilled with the care and precision she took
with presentation. Her smoked salmon on rye had more
finesse than if Neil Perry himself had stacked the capers,
and her tomato-peel rosettes almost had her new boss
swooning in admiration.

It was such a thrill to be working with a sense of purpose;
to have appreciation from the customers and other
staff members. Jacqueline really felt that she was a valued
team member, making a contribution, working towards a
common goal. She got such a thrill when she cleared dishes
that had been practically licked clean.

But it had been a tough road getting to that first day.
For a while there she believed she was going to have to
phone André and quit before she'd even started, given the
reaction at home.

To her surprise, the opposition had been strongest from
her boys, not from Thomas. She'd called them to the table
for dinner two nights after accepting André's job offer and,
instead of a casserole, she'd presented them with her new
job prospect. The three faces had looked at her blankly,
then in bewilderment.

'But you can't,' Joshua had whined. 'You're supposed
to be here when we get home from school. Who'll bring
us our afternoon tea?'

'You're both old enough to let yourselves into the
house and make your own afternoon tea,' she said.

'Yeah, sure, we might be old enough,' spat Damien in
a sulky tone. 'Doesn't mean we want to.'

'Yeah, you're supposed to do it. And how are you going
to make dinner if you're working all day anyway? And do
the other stuff like, I dunno, drop my sports bag off like
today when I forgot it?' Joshua was hunched now, his
bottom lip stuck out.

'Dad.' Damien turned to his father with a voice-of-reason,
man-to-man kind of tone. 'You're surely not on
board with this idea. I mean, you can't both work. You
bring home enough money, you work long hours. We
need Mum here, don't we?'

Thomas had been sitting silently, taking in the family
conference. All faces had turned expectantly to him. As
the man of the house, everybody knew his word was final.
Jacqueline remembered how closed his face had been; how
she'd thought her dream of a life of independence was
finished before it even began.

'All right,' he said. 'Let's look at this logically, men, let's
list the pros and cons of your mother getting a job – from
her position.'

'Okay,' Daniel said, holding up his index finger. 'Con:
she won't be able to bake for us if she's baking for other
people. Con: she won't be able to pick us up from school
as often. Con: she won't have time to get the housework
done, and I really like my room tidied every day.'

'And she won't be able to do tuck-shop duty and I always
get free food when she's on tuck-shop,' Joshua piped in.

'And pros?' their dad inquired with one arched
eyebrow.

'I dunno, more money for stuff for us, I guess,' Daniel
said.

'Okay, everything you've listed is one hundred per cent
based on your own selfish needs. I asked for pros and cons
from her position. What do you think she'd get out of it?'

'Well,' Daniel started slowly, unaccustomed as he was
to thinking of others. 'I suppose it'd get her out of the
house.'

'Good start,' Thomas said.

'And it would broaden her CV, teach her some new
skills.'

'She could bring home some good food – for her to eat,
of course,' Joshua said.

'What about fun?' Thomas asked. 'Does anybody think
Mum might have some fun and satisfaction in going out and
working with people who have similar interests to her?'

The trio had turned their heads to her, sitting in shock
at the far end of the table. She'd been utterly gobsmacked
by Thomas's support.

'Mum?' Daniel asked. 'Would it be fun for you?'

All she'd been able to do was nod and smile, her eyes
pricking with tears. It was the first time her family had ever
asked her that question.

Then Thomas had delivered his verdict. 'Jacqueline, I
do agree with the boys to a certain extent that the family
always has and always will come first.'

She'd nodded her agreement eagerly, sensing a win on
the horizon.

'You do a wonderful job maintaining our family, but
now that the boys are old enough to start taking on more
personal responsibility, and' – he glowered at his sons –
'especially in view of how selfishly they see your part in this
household, I think it would be beneficial for you to have a
little part-time job.'

'Oh, that's wonderful!' she'd cried. She was just so
thrilled to have their support, albeit tenuous. 'I may not be
able to drop everything the minute you call, but I'll certainly
always be here for you all,' she added.

'It'll do them the world of good, Jacqueline, to learn
to be a bit more self-sufficient.' Thomas was reassuring.
'Now, where's that delicious smell coming from?'

*

Jacqueline neatly jotted down some dessert ideas in a brand
new diary and thought back to her first day of work. It
had flown by in a flurry of flour, lattes, high tea and white
paper bags brimming with delicacies. It had also coincided
with payday, and an envelope of cash was waiting in her
pigeonhole at the end of her shift. Sixty-seven dollars. Of
her own. She'd earned it.

She'd stepped out into the sunshine and patted the envelope.
It felt like so much more than sixty-seven dollars. It felt
like five thousand dollars. In the past, when handling her
husband's money, one hundred dollars was like petty cash.
But now her own earnings felt substantial, meaningful.

She'd wandered down the footpath, glancing at, but not
seeing, the wares displayed in the Knox Street boutiques.
She strolled down Guilfoyle Avenue, happy the boys were
off at their own activities that afternoon.

The taupe serenity of Empire Homewares had called her
in. She looked at the price of some candles, then stroked
a toile quilt in admiration. A white china soap dish in the
shape of a pineapple caught her eye. It was so sweet, such a
delightful little piece. She'd turned it over to see the price.
Sixty-seven dollars. What a coincidence, she'd thought.

Then she'd felt the familiar prickle in her fingertips.
Instinctively, she'd glanced back to see that the shopkeeper
was deeply involved in re-merchandising the window display,
then turned back to the soap dish. She'd really wanted it. It
was ideal for the ensuite. Adrenalin started to ooze into her
system, and she'd felt the familiar heat invade her cheeks.

She'd earned sixty-seven dollars that day. At work. You
could buy this if you wanted to, she'd whispered to herself.
But it had taken hard work and time to earn that money.
She put the soap dish back on the shelf. She'd think about
it. As she walked out of the shop she bid the girl in the
window goodbye.

*

Jacqueline pushed the cookbooks to one side and picked
up her shiny new calculator. Her fingers flew over the keys
as she slid her plans around in her mind. After only a few
weeks working at Laurent Boulangerie she'd become
efficient in every aspect of the daily running of the business,
and was even managing orders. It was as if something
had lain dormant inside her and had been ignited into life.
Suddenly she was hungry for bigger challenges.

It had been such a short time, but nevertheless Jacqueline
felt it was already time to move on. She'd only
needed to get her feet wet in order to feel the urge to dive
straight into her new life, she realised. Not that she'd let the
Laurent team down – she'd keep her job, of course – but
there was a new challenge for Jacqueline Bouvier on the
horizon. She was going into business.

She'd already informed Thomas, making it clear that she
wasn't asking for his permission. She didn't need funding:
she had her inheritance accruing interest nicely in a trust
fund. Thomas had blustered for a few minutes about Jacqueline
needing to ensure that the household would remain
in order, but then admitted that she seemed happier than
she had been in a long time, and had pledged his support
again, much to her surprise.

She'd scoured the internet, bought books on starting up
a home business, spoken to local small business owners and
now knew more about OH&S, BAS, GST, and ABNs than
Kerry Packer ever had.

Her company name registration had already arrived in the
mail and The Cake Lady was in business. She had her eye on
three prospective clients; local café owners, who had already
tasted Jacqueline's wares at the school fete and had given
her pavlova, fruit flan and carrot cake high praise. She could
easily see a projected eighteen hundred dollars in turnover
per week, she noted with pleasure, as she tapped away at the
keys. And she'd found a mentor in André, who had been an
enthusiastic adviser as long as she promised not to make any
French desserts that competed directly with his business.

That night, when Thomas arrived home with the boys,
they were shocked to walk in and not smell the aroma of
their evening meal warming in the oven. Although she'd
been working hard for weeks, with precise time management
she'd still always managed to have a hot meal on the
table at the end of the day.

'What's for dinner?' Thomas asked suspiciously as he
entered the kitchen and saw his wife sitting at table strewn
with paperwork.

'I thought you could pop out and pick up some takeaway
please, Thomas. I've been busy with work all day.'

Thomas started to voice his displeasure at the request,
but was drowned out by the boys' high-fiving each other
in excitement. Takeaway was a rare treat. Suddenly the
career-mother life had perks.

'I say, Jacqueline,' said Thomas. 'If this little hobby of
yours is going to impact the family like this, I can't say I'm
at all pleased.'

Jacqueline looked up and took off her glasses. 'Well,
Thomas, considering it's not a "little hobby", but a business,
I can assure you it will impact this family occasionally.
Maybe you can just make the odd sacrifice for me for a
change. Takeaway food once in a blue moon isn't going to
kill you, you know.'

'Well, I don't know if that was the plan . . .' he mumbled
under his breath as he wandered back off to the car to fetch
the family's evening meal.

'Daniel, darling,' Jacqueline said as she went back to
scouring the cookbooks. 'Can you please pop the washing
into the dryer?'

'Sure, Mum,' her son said, now eager to please his new
feisty career mother. 'Muuum!' came his call a minute later.
'Which one's the dryer?'