Versace Sisters (5 page)

Sera should have been relaxed and relieved. They had
escaped Joan's scathing tongue with little damage done.
Everyone was comfortable, the snacks were cute and kitsch
and the team was knitting industriously. But she wasn't
relaxed at all. Instead she could feel a familiar fashion-disaster
headache forming around the edges of her mind.

How could she have misread the footwear zeitgeist so
badly? How was it possible that both Mallory and Chantrea
had picked up on the espadrille trend while she – the
proudly up-to-the-minute Sera Walker – was so obviously
out-of-step with the look of the moment?

Her fashion radar had clocked the espadrille, taken
careful note of the new look, but had somehow miscalculated
the shoe's fashion trajectory. She knew they were
going to be big – almost as big as white linen – but not
yet; not tonight, for goodness' sake. Besides, they were in
four years ago. How dare they come back into fashion so
quickly?

She shook her foot vigorously, now thoroughly disenchanted
with her bejewelled flip-flops which suddenly
seemed gaudy and silly.

'You look gorgeous tonight, darling,' Chantrea said to
her with a smile.

'White linen is going to be so big this season,' Mallory
said.

'Love the chocolate toenails,' Jacqueline added.

Sera smiled vaguely at them all, their kind words sailing
past her, wasted. She surreptitiously checked out Jacqueline's
footwear as she pretended to concentrate on her
knitting; even Jacqueline's standard issue ballet flats seemed
more appropriate than her own spangled sandals. With a
final angry glare at her stupid, shiny flip-flops, she forced
herself to tune back in to the conversation and focus on
helping Chantrea with her mohair scarf.

'Oh my . . . well . . . those nibbles do look absolutely
intriguing, but I think I'll say no,' Jacqueline said with the
tiniest of shudders, as Mallory passed around Sera's kitsch
hors d'oeuvres.

'So Chantrea, how was work today?' Sera asked.

'Oh, it was a fairly standard Honkers flight, complete
with vomiting child and blocked toilet, but back in time
to pick up Sally, which is always a plus,' Chantrea said with
a faint smile which didn't quite reach her tired eyes.

'I can't imagine how awful it must be to have other
people bring up your child,' Jacqueline said.

'Excuse me?' Chantrea demanded, her face flushing
with instant anger. 'What do you mean by that?'

Sera and Mallory swapped nervous looks while Sam
bowed his head over his wool.

Chantrea was a prickly sort at the best of times, but
particularly defensive about the amount of time Sally spent
in child care.

'Why nothing, darling,' Jacqueline replied, all wide-eyed
innocence. 'I'm just saying –'

'Yeah, well don't, Jacqueline.' Chantrea's spiked hair
seemed to bristle with energy. 'It's all right for some whose
work week doesn't get more stressful than Thursday bridge
morning and a weekly appointment with Mr Sheen but
some of us have a bit more on.'

Mallory wanted to laugh, but one look at Chantrea's
face told her that this wasn't the time for girlish giggles.

'Oh dear, I'm sorry if you thought I was attacking
you. I wasn't, I was just sympathising with your situation,'
Jacqueline replied quietly.

'More hors d'oeuvres girls,' Sera thrust the tray of
nibbles between the women in an attempt to ease the
discomfort.

Chantrea sighed and ran her hands through her hair, her
short burst of anger spent. 'Oh, I'm sorry, too, Jacqueline.
I know I'm touchy about childcare.'

'So are your girls at school yet, Sam?' Jacqueline asked,
happy to focus on a safer topic.

'The older one, Isabelle, is in Prep this year but our –'
a look of pain crossed his faced and he corrected himself
'– er,
my
little one, Alexandra, is in the kindergarten room
at Baby Face Childcare with Chantrea's Sally.'

'How lovely, and does their mother share custody?'
Jacqueline asked.

'Jacqueline!' Chantrea said sharply.

'No, that's okay, Chantrea,' Sam reassured her. Turning
to Jacqueline he explained, 'Their mother died two years
ago so I'm doing the single parent thing.'

'Oh, my dear, I am so sorry.' Jacqueline touched
her fingertips to her temple with concern. 'And it's so
much harder for a man to do the work–kids thing than a
woman.'

'JACQUELINE!' This time, a chorus of voices admonished
her.

'Okay, I think it's time for some pav,' Sera announced,
carefully checking to ensure her leg was fully covered
before she rose from the table. Jacqueline needed distracting,
and her giant airy meringue was just the thing for
the job.

Thankfully, Jacqueline became distracted with the serving
of her dessert. And with the help of more wine, the
group relaxed into laughter and idle chatter, the big issues
of life put to one side for the moment.

The white light stippling across the charcoal carpet told
Joan it was still night time. She'd long accepted she would
never again enjoy the luxury of a full night of unbroken
sleep.

She stood up, slipped on her maroon velvet slippers and
shuffled down the hall to tend to her impatient bladder.
She was fully awake now, she realised, as she washed her
hands and squinted at the blurry reflection in the mirror. It
was truly a blessing that your eyes went at the same time as
your skin's elasticity, she thought. If you got a clear view
of what your face looked like after ten rounds with Father
Time you'd give up for sure.

She shuffled down the hall to the kitchen to make
herself a cup of tea. In Joan's mind tea was the answer
to everything, a cure-all that never failed to remedy any
ailment – from conniptions to the shakes, that little black
leaf worked magic. It had never occurred to Joan that her
complete dependence on the Tonic of the Colonies was
most likely the cause of her insomnia.

Waiting for the kettle to boil, her eyes darted around the
room, drinking in the memories that were always so much
more potent at night. This had always been her favourite
room of the house. So stylish at the time it had been decorated.
She remembered when the olive-green doors and
orange laminex benchtops were the height of fashion. She
remembered the moving-in day and how as a young bride
she had unpacked her first shopping bags as excitedly as a
little girl playing house. Bonox, Vegemite, Bex, Arnott's
Iced Vo-Vos, Gravox: all lined up in orderly domestic
rows ensuring her success as the dutiful wife she had vowed
to be the week before in front of family and friends at
St Matthias'. It didn't take too many more trips to Donahue's
market before the novelty of grocery shopping wore
right off, though.

In her mind Joan saw the hordes of friends and neighbours
laughing and drinking in the kitchen and living room,
she heard the Beatles on the stereo, saw martinis in stylish
glasses. All the girls with their Audrey Hepburn fringes,
elaborate black eyeliner and up-to-the-minute fashions.

The photograph that stood on her nightstand had been
taken right here in the kitchen on their first anniversary.
She was wearing a bottle-green sleeveless dress with a tight
bodice that ballooned out at the waist to a knee-length
skirt. Barry was slim and blond, but quite severe-looking.
He never smiled for the camera, or much in real life for that
matter. No one looking at the young couple would guess at
the silence that had already grown between them, or how
hard Joan had to work just to keep up the appearance of a
happily married life.

Even now she kept the photo beside her bed only
because it seemed the right thing to do.

In the photo she was serving Barry a drink from the
lead-crystal punch bowl that had been handed down from
her great-grandmother. It was tradition to give it to the first
bride in the family.

Sera had seemed pleased when Joan had handed it on to
her on their wedding day but Joan doubted that she appreciated
the significance of the piece. She looked at the bowl
now, shoved in the corner of the bench, overflowing with
the detritus of family life. Everything from Lego and bills to
hair elastics and prescriptions blocked the glorious sparkle
of the bowl. She hadn't seen the cups in years. They were
probably all broken by now.

Joan sighed and looked out the window at the crazy
paving patio that had been a feature of the backyard since
before Tony was born. A huge sadness crept over her as she
remembered the summer it was laid.

Her tea had finished steeping. She dropped the teabag in
the sink and wandered back to her room.

'Muuum!'

The wail travelled down the hall to shake Sera from
slumber. She tried to focus on the glowing red lines of her
clock radio. Six am. Fantastic, a sleep-in.

She sat up and rummaged quietly in her bedside table
for her make-up bag, and expertly applied a layer of
powder, blush and lip gloss and ran a brush through her
hair. In eight years of marriage Tony had yet to catch her
once without make-up on in the morning, and she wasn't
going to let it happen anytime soon.

'Mmmm . . .' Tony stirred and opened one eye. The
other side of his face was mashed into the squashed pillows.
'Hello beautiful,' his husky morning voice greeted her.
'Come here and let me look at you,' he pleaded with arms
outstretched.

'Don't be silly,' she snorted, slipping out of the bed.
'I've got a least an hour of work to do before I'll even look
human, let alone beautiful.'

*

Downstairs Sera's spotlessly neat kitchen was filled with
autumn sunshine, which made the ugly space almost bearable.
She always left the kitchen perfect before going to
bed at night. At least that was one area she could keep in
order.

Bella was just the same, she remembered, though her
sister was a major neat freak about all her living areas. Sera
was more interested in styling and decorating her home
than keeping it immaculate, especially with two small children
thwarting her every move, but she knew she'd never
let her home fall into the kind of chaos she and Bella had
grown up in.

Just remembering the pigsty that had been their home,
and how their mother never seemed to notice the mould
in the shower or the stains on the carpet, was enough to
spur Sera on to extra cleaning efforts in her own home.

Marlene's housekeeping indifference had spilled over
into her mothering, Sera thought, trying to remember a
time when her mother had shown concern or worry over
her. And yet Joan flew into a maternal frenzy if Tony broke
as much as a toenail. On the rare occasions they spoke, her
own mother would never even ask how she was. Not that
Sera cared any more. She shook her head defiantly as she
stood and enjoyed the early morning sunshine that poured
through her kitchen windows. Marlene was just too caught
up in her own dramas to think about her daughters. Which
reminded her of Joan's message the other night; she still had
to call her mother back. Probably some minor drama she
needed someone to listen to.

'Stuff her,' Sera announced to the empty kitchen.
It wasn't as if she needed to be mollycoddled anyway.
She turned to the tap to fill the kettle and caught sight of a
dirty brown used teabag flung thoughtlessly into her stainless
steel sink. A tannin stain had spread an ugly and dark
shadow across the shiny surface.

'For God's sake,' she spat angrily. Was the woman
trying to melt her brain on purpose?

She suddenly remembered the brochure that had
arrived in yesterday's mail. She sifted through the rubbish
in her crystal bowl, sighing at the mess it contained. The
punch bowl meant a lot to her; she was humbled to think
that she'd been entrusted with the care of such a family
heirloom.

The ceremonial handing over of the bowl on her
wedding day was a sign that Joan was on the verge of
accepting Sera into the family; a really significant moment.
After the wedding she had placed the heirloom in pride
of place on the long kitchen bench to show Joan how
much she treasured the gift, but try as she might to make
it otherwise, every member of the family used the bowl
as a dumping ground. Out of desperation she'd filled it
with water one day and floated a couple of orchids on the
surface. That night Tony, out of habit, tossed his mobile
phone and keys into the floating garden.

And when the kids came along she'd had to push the
bowl back to a safer spot at the back of the bench. She
didn't want to put it away because it was such a pleasure
to look at, especially when the sun hit it at a certain angle,
throwing tiny refracted rainbows around the kitchen.

Right, she was going to clean it out today, she decided.
She'd wash it until it sparkled and maybe use it for fruit
instead. She'd get on to it after taking the children to
daycare, as soon as she'd taken the lawnmower in for a
service, but before she made dinner, and maybe after her
DJs' shift . . . She sighed in defeat. Maybe tomorrow.

Sera rifled through the paperwork in the bowl and
found the envelope she was after. She felt a twinge of guilt
twist as she opened it, looking over her shoulder before
slipping out the letter.

Dear concerned family member,
the form letter began.
When the people we love reach a certain age and perhaps are
no longer able to effectively look after themselves or are perhaps
a little too distracting to be minded by family members in their
own home, we want to ensure they're cared for in a loving and
sympathetic manner.

Here at Sleepy Hollow Aged Care Facility we genuinely
care for our guests, offering a wide range of programs and
activities to help keep minds and bodies active. For example,
daily lectures include: 'Our Friend Fibre', 'Life Between
Meals', and 'No one's Trying to Steal Your Purse'. Our
exercise and gaming program is extensive, including such
activities as: 'Wheelchair Rambles', 'Constructive Criticism
of Others', 'Cane Jousting' and everyone's favourite 'When-I-was-Your-Age
Bingo'.

'Whatcha readin'?' Tony came in and headed straight for
the Saeco espresso machine.

'Nothing, just some junk mail.' Sera shoved the brochure
back into its envelope and slipped it to the bottom of
the pile. She'd throw it out. What was she thinking? Joan
was hard work, but this was her house, after all.

While her husband fixed himself some toast to eat in the
car, she picked up the last envelope in the pile. It contained
fabric swatches for the children's room. The current state of
the kids' room made her eyes hurt. It was always so ugly.
Mismatched furniture, different paint schemes, toys spilling
out all over the place. She was thrilled to have discovered
a gorgeous Designer's Guild fabric that worked for both
genders. By making the whole space uniform she knew
it would look beautiful, and the kids would be so happy.
How could they not be happy in a beautifully decorated
space? It always worked for her. When she surrounded
herself with beauty she felt relaxed and at ease.

The swatches spilled out into her hand and she gave
a squeal of excitement. The quality was better than she'd
expected. The colour combination of acid green with pale
orange contrasted perfectly with a darker pumpkin hue.
One fabric was in wild 70s floral shapes, which would
look wonderful on Maddy's bed and covering a matching
tub chair, while the bold geometric-striped version in the
same three colours would look just sensational on Harry's
bed. Their Roman blind could be in the pumpkin with the
green pelmet and the walls could be in the lemon. It would
look incredible. Of course it would cost a small fortune, but
it would be worth it for ten years of beautiful wake-ups.
She knew the kids would like it . . . they just had to; she'd
already paid the non-refundable deposit.

Tony dropped a kiss on her cheek and rushed off.

'Hi Mum, bye Mum,' he garbled through Vegemite
toast as he rushed past his mother in the corridor.

'Your wife should feed you a proper breakfast, Tony,'
Joan called after him. 'It's not good for the digestion, eating
on the run, you know.'

'Why should Sera make me breakfast, Mum? I'm perfectly
capable, and I'm late. See ya.' The door slammed shut.

'Morning, kids,' said Joan.

'Nanna!'

Sera put the kettle on again. Tea would be needed
ASAP. She smiled at the kids' greeting of their grandmother.
The children adored Nanna, and no wonder – she
spoilt them rotten. Sneaky lollies before bedtime, horrible
cheap variety store clothes they loved, and Joan ignored
Sera's rules and let them watch her mind-numbing soaps
about ugly people in ugly houses.

'Morning, Joan,' she said as she delivered her mother-in-law's
morning cuppa.

'Morning, Sera. Good God, did you just walk past the
cup with the teabag? It doesn't look very strong.'

'Three dunks, Joan, just the way you like it. I can make
it again if you like.'

'No, it's okay, I'll suffer in silence.' Joan gave the hot
beverage another cursory glance and put it on the side
table. Sera quietly moved a coaster under the cup to protect
the teak.

'Look what I've got, kids: presents!' Joan leaned over to
the side of the Jason recliner and pulled out two Best and
Less bags. Oh great, Sera thought.

The children swung around from their cross-legged
position in front of the television, rushing to investigate
their gifts.

'I know you're sick of your baby blue and pink doonas
in your room,' Joan began.

What? No! Sera thought.

'So I went out and bought you brand new bed linen.'

OH FUCKING HELL, NO! Sera's brain shrieked as a
smile froze solid on her face and her eyes started to water.

'YAY! Look, Mum, look! It's Dora the Explorer!'
shrieked Maddy. 'I love Dora!'

Sera looked over, expecting to see Joan smirking. But
she was just smiling at the children, enjoying their pleasure.
Harry was struggling to get his bag open, but finally the
contents spilled onto the carpet.

'SPIDERMAN! Spiderman, Spiderman, Spiderman!' he
chanted his hero's name in delight. Just when Sera thought
it couldn't get any worse, Joan brought out more parcels.

'Now, I know how much your Mum likes everything
to match . . .' Was that a sarcastic twinkle Sera could see in
the old bat's eye? '. . . so here's the rest of the linen.'

The kids cheered at their sudden boon. Sera felt lightheaded.
Matching Dora and Spidey fitted and flat sheets
and – dear God, no, please don't let it be possible – yes, the
icing on the cake: matching valances.

In all her days of being excruciatingly aware of aesthetics,
avoiding colour clashes, subtly rearranging cushions in
friends' houses and choosing to sit on waiting-room chairs
with fabric that complemented her day's outfit, Sera had
never seen anything in worse taste. And she was stuck.
This stuff was going into her house, into her own children's
bedrooms. Her precious children would surely be influenced
by this crime against interior design. She tuned back
in to the conversation. 'Remember that win at Bingo last
week?' Joan was telling her grandchildren. 'Well, I thought
who else would I rather spend my winnings on? You can't
take it with you, you know.'

That was it. Sera had to intervene. 'Kids, Joan,' she said
sweetly. 'I am so sorry but I've already paid a deposit on a
gorgeous bedroom suite ensemble in one hundred per cent
cotton.'

The children and Joan all looked up at her as if she were
speaking a foreign language.

'It's a beautiful colourway, in hues of pumpkin, tangerine
and lime.'

'Good lord, sounds like a salad,' Joan said unhelpfully.

'I no like pumpkin,' said Harry, his bottom lip firmly
stuck out and the Spiderman doona clasped firmly to his
little chest.

Sera wasn't giving up. 'I have the swatches here to show
you. It's a very pretty story, to suit both boys and girls.'

'Story? I like a story.' Harry's ears pricked up.

Sera ran into the kitchen to get the colour swatches,
then dashed back to explain to her little boy. 'No, darling,
not that kind of story. Silly mummy! A "story" is what the
interior designer calls the range of different fabrics that are
the same kind. See?'

She fanned out the colour swatches for the children's
approval.

'I want story. That's not story, that's sewing. I want
story,' Harry whined.

In desperation, Sera turned to Maddy. Surely her stylish
daughter could be relied upon to make the right decision.
'Maddy? What do you think? Daisies, look.' Sera held out
the swatch to her little girl.

Maddy, more diplomatic than the average five-year-old,
said, 'I really like your material, Mummy, but I love Dora
more than anything in the whole world. More than even
fairy bread.'

Sera caved in. She couldn't take away their doonas, she
wasn't that bad a mother. Sure, she forbade them from
playing outside before guests were due so they didn't wreck
their designer outfits, and yes, she had been known to pop
the odd fair streak in her little girl's hair – it was just so
dark – and okay, she'd considered cosmetic surgery for her
little boy's sticky-outy ears, but she wasn't about to destroy
their happiness over interior design. Yet.

'Sorry about raining on your linen parade,' Joan
apologised as Sera slumped in defeat. 'A case of miscommunication.
I guess.'

'Never mind,' said Sera, heading for the kitchen to toss
the swatches into the bin. She fished around the bottom of
the crystal bowl, took the letter from Sleepy Hollow and
rested it on top of the pile.