Versace Sisters (6 page)

The lift doors parted like theatre curtains on opening night.
Bella was the principal actor on centre stage and the LA
sunshine streaming through the floor-to-ceiling French
windows was her spotlight. She was on. She pasted a smile
onto her immaculately made-up face and began the day's
performance. As she passed the ornate gilt mirror she snuck
a quick peek at herself. Perfect. Her coral shirt was tucked
neatly into her taupe pants. Her ponytail was sleek, her skin
dewy and her lips glistening with gloss.

She headed towards the checkout desk and joined the long
queue. As she waited her gaze rested on an enormous crystal
bowl full of water set on a table in the centre of the foyer.
Large water lilies floating on its surface reminded Bella of the
time Sera had tried to de-clutter her crystal bowl. Hilarious!
Not so funny for Tony's new phone, but a great story.

She thought about her little sister in Sydney. The
crystal bowl had been a wonderful welcome gift from
Joan. Sera was so lucky. Bella didn't have feelings of inclusion
anymore. Not that she ever did really. When she'd
been married to Curtis she was just playing the housewife
role. She'd set the scenes so carefully, down to slippers at
the door and casserole in the oven. Like every part of her
life, really; it had all been an act. She'd so badly wanted to
belong to a clan. Like Sera did. She'd tried to be a family
with Curtis. What a fool she'd been.

In her mind the crystal bowl transformed into a cereal-encrusted
bowl on the kitchen table back on the farm.
'Staring at it's not going to get it clean,' her mother's voice
echoed from a distant time. Marlene was at the kitchen
table filling in one of her many competition forms.

Bella sighed and picked up the bowl, running water in
it to soak, then moved over to give the frying pan the same
treatment.

'I've got to get to school, Mum,' she said.

'Not till you've put those sheets out to dry, my girl, they
stunk of mould last week.'

'But Sera has to be on time today, she has an excursion.'

'Does she?' her mum muttered. 'How am I expected to
pay for that?'

'I've already paid. It's just to the petting farm up the
road. It was only five bucks.'

'Good girl. Pass my bag, will you?'

Bella passed her mother's tatty old leatherette handbag to
her. She wished her mother had a bag like Carrie's mother.
A different one each day to match her outfit. Always neat
and tidy.

She felt a slight warmth at the 'good girl' from her
mother. It was nice to be appreciated. She waited for
her mother to give her back the five dollars.

'Ah, here it is.' Marlene pulled out a dog-eared Scratchy.
'Thought I'd lost it.' She began scratching madly with her
split, stumpy thumbnail. 'Dishes aren't going to do themselves,
my girl. Thought you were in a hurry to get to
school or somesuch?'

Looking back, Bella could see that Marlene had simply
given up on mothering. She was over it by the time she'd
found herself pregnant with her fifth child and was happy
to hand Sera over to the eldest. Bella knew that in a big
family everyone had to pull their weight, but sometimes
she worried that Sera would think she was her real mother;
not Marlene.

She loved her little sister so much and wanted to be
there for her; but she got so tired sometimes and just
wanted to read magazines on her bed, instead of bedtime
stories to Sera.

But Marlene's gambling problem had kept the family
constantly broke; their grocery money squandered on
poker machines, Tatts tickets and horses. Bella had been
devastated the Christmas morning that Marlene told three-year-old Sera that Santa had 'got lost' and there would be
no presents that year. She was determined it would never
happen again. So from then on, Bella saved her supermarket
pay for stacking shelves to buy Sera and the boys
birthday and Christmas presents.

But no matter how many gifts she bought her little sister,
it never lessened the guilt she felt over Sera's accident. She
tried so hard to make amends for that one fateful minute
in time – in every area of her life. She strove to be perfect
at everything. To be a good friend; the best employee; an
immaculate guest.

As a teenager, Bella's only moments of peace came
when she lay looking at her Versace wall. Gianni Versace
embodied everything she dreamed of. It was all gold, glitz
and glamour.

Even the iconic Medusa face that was the designer's
logo seemed to reflect her own: eyes closed in an attempt
to shut the chaos out; sad mouth. She'd drawn a large
Medusa, coloured it gold and stuck it on the ceiling above
her bed so she could take the shininess of Versace into her
dreams.

The Versace models were tigresses; they were big
and strong; in charge of their lives, their ambitions, their
outfits. She wanted to stride across a Venetian palazzo
in silk palazzo pants; she wanted to lounge on a daybed.
She wanted to know what a daybed was. These were her
schoolgirl dreams. And her wall, decorated with big torn-out
magazine ads, kept them alive.

When she turned seventeen, Bella had been determined
to leave her messy, broken life behind her and hopped a
plane to Sydney. She had planned to leave the destruction
zone of her teens; her gambling mother, her drunk father,
her dishevelled brothers and even her broken little Sera –
all that she felt responsible for – and start again. Start from
scratch and be the very best, most perfect person she could
be. Then she had sat on the plane next to Curtis.

And for a long time she'd fooled everyone. Bella always
looked immaculate. She seemed on top all the time. Her
friends were amazed at how ordered her life appeared.
Perfect Bella. But it was all fake.

She took another glimpse at herself in the mirror across
the lobby and inwardly screeched. What she saw was a
messy, completely fucked-up unit. She left the queue and
rushed to the ladies'. She had serious maintenance to do.

'Watch where you're going, you stupid bitch!' the truck
driver yelled above the blaring of his horn, gunning his
engine to speed past.

Sera swore in shock at the verbal attack, a surge of
adrenalin and embarrassment coursing through her as she
realised she had pulled in front of the semi-trailer without
even looking in her rear view mirror.

'Christ, I've got to concentrate,' she berated herself
aloud as dots of perspiration pricked through the mask of
her foundation.

'Mummy, was that man a road-rager? He looked like a
road-rager, he was mad at you.' Maddy's voice trembled.

'It's all right, darling,' Sera answered, flicking Maddy a
glance in the mirror. 'He's just having a bad day.'

The morning was not going well. They had left the
house fifteen minutes late due to an unscheduled, but essential
handbag rethink. Sera had suddenly remembered her
lunch date with Jacqueline in Rose Bay and knew she had
to have her oversized Coach handbag or she'd just as likely
not get served.

And changing bags was no small task. It wasn't simply
a matter of relocating her phone and wallet; there was her
make-up bag, document holder, refresher towels, keys, hand
mirror, diary, notebook, pens, moisturiser, latest scar cream,
mail, childcare centre payment . . . and the list went on. With
the kids wanting to tell her stories, asking for food, arguing
among themselves and Joan's dour insights and cup-of-tea
requests, it was miraculous she got out of the house at all.

And now Oxford's Street's peak-hour traffic seemed
to be conspiring against her even more than usual: she'd
almost hit a pedestrian and been verballed by a truckie. The
perfect morning.

She zipped in front of the traffic to avoid being stuck
behind an illegally parked car and got another blast for her
efforts.

At last she pulled into the crèche's circular drive and
took her place in the line of DVD-playing four wheel
drives waiting to dispatch designer offspring. The parents
rushed in laden with children and backpacks and scurried
out peering anxiously at their Omegas and iPhones.

Sera swung into the first available spot. 'Come on, come
on.' She shepherded her charges towards the door while
Maddy shrugged on her backpack and managed to drop her
entire herd of My Little Pony toys, hat and jumper onto the
wet ground one by one.

'Maddy, for heaven's sake,' Sera said, exasperated.
'That's what a bag is for, to carry things in. Harry, stop!' she
yelled, pulling the energetic toddler out of the path of an
impatient Mercedes, while simultaneously plucking a pink
pony from a puddle.

She delivered Harry to the three-year-old room and
finally arrived at Maddy's kindergarten room, where she
helped her hang up her backpack and stow the ponies in
her locker. Planting a kiss on her daughter's head, she was
just about to escape when Miss Susan bailed her up. 'Oh,
Sera, we never see you. You must be thrilled with Maddy's
developmental progress of late.'

'Oh, Miss Susan, yes absolutely, we're both dead chuffed,'
Sera assured her. What was the woman beaming about?

'To have learnt how to tie shoelaces so quickly, well,
it's quite an achievement.' Oh, bugger, the teacher was on
to her. Miss Susan obviously knew jolly well Sera had no
idea what she had been referring to. 'She even earned an
elephant stamp from the school director, which isn't a daily
event, let me tell you.'

Sera remembered how difficult that stamp had been to
scrub off the back of Maddy's hand the week before and
how Maddy had cried about losing it. Guilt pounded in her
temple. She hadn't realised it had been an award. What's
wrong with a bloody certificate, she wondered.

Miss Susan continued, as if reading Sera's thoughts. 'We
don't give out certificates because we prefer to give our
kinder group an opportunity to explain their success to
their parents over the evening family meal – it's a chance
for them to shine.'

Good Lord, evening family meal? Sera couldn't
remember quite when that had last taken place. The in-flight
service on the last Jetstar trip to Melbourne probably
didn't count.

'The stamp on the hand acts as a reminder for the child
to tell his or her parents about their goal achieved.'

Sera's headache intensified. Maddy had been wailing that
evening that she had something important to talk about, and
Sera distinctly remembered telling her to stop being a baby
and promised to listen to the story just as soon as she got
Harry off to bed. But then Harry had done a poo on the
bathroom floor and she'd never got around to hearing the
story. Now she was in trouble. Maddy was standing proudly
waiting for the overdue recognition from her mum. But
Sera had to save face in front of Miss bloody Susan.

'Yes, of course,' she began, 'Maddy's been tying her
own shoes all week and it's just the kind of thing we expect
of her. Naturally we're proud.'

Sera's heart sank at her own words. She knew her little
girl was staring at her in amazement. Sera always packed
their bags, tied their shoes, even pulled on their clothes
for them because it was just plain quicker. Sometimes she
meant to help them help themselves, but they were always
in such a hurry.

After Miss Susan turned away, Sera leant down to give
Maddy a hug. She whispered, 'You're amazing, I'm so
impressed. Promise to show me tonight?' But Maddy took
the slight with her as she turned to her friend to discuss
pony games.

Defeated, Sera sadly said goodbye and got as far as the
classroom door before Maddy called out 'Wait' and ran
into her arms, the offence forgiven. 'Bye, Mummy, I'll tell
you all about what My Little Pony does today after kinder
if you want.'

Sera smiled and smoothed the baby hair back into her
daughter's plaits.

'That'd be great. I love you, Madeline,' she said.

'I love you too, Miss Susan – oh!' Maddy laughed.
'I mean
Mummy
.' She skipped away leaving Sera stinging
with sadness.

She trudged back to the car, all urgency to make her
9 am shift momentarily forgotten as her thoughts swirled.
Harry's first steps were at this place. Maddy had read
her first word here. Sera had missed last year's Christmas
concert by accidentally mixing up her roster.

As she waited at the traffic lights, she thought of her
own childhood. Her mother had never been at any of
her school events and it was Bella who helped her learn to
tie her shoes.

Sera arrived at work rattled from her crazy morning.
Luckily there weren't any early customers so she had time
for some therapeutic make-up application.

Sera loved that her job required her to wear 'full face' at
all times. For a woman who wore lipstick, foundation and
blush to do the weeding, getting made up for work was a
serious business that required applying as much cosmetic
product to her skin as humanly possible. Her eye make-up
was a glowing testament to Dior's entire new range of
metallics and her lipgloss was so thick her morning cappuccino
often slipped off her mouth.

Three hours into her shift, she checked her reflection
again to ensure her hair – piled elaborately on her head
and supplemented with several hairpieces – was still firmly
in place and then retrieved her handbag from behind the
counter, glancing at her watch to make sure her break time
had officially started. The girls at the Chanel counter got
very catty about break times.

She headed for the mall, smoothing her uniform and
smiling brightly at the customers. As she rounded the corner
behind Girls' Wear she spotted Sam and his daughters obviously
in some sort of bother, as the little one was holding
herself and jiggling while the older one remonstrated with
her dad, who looked stressed and tired.

'Hi, Sam,' Sera said.

Sam and his little girls looked up blankly at the lady with
the big blonde hair and the huge eyes.

'Sam, is everything okay?

'Er, I'm sorry, do I know you?'

'Sam, you were at my house last week. It's me, Sera.'

'Ohhh! Sera, of course, sorry. I didn't recognise you.
You look, um, well . . . different.'

'Oh, yes, of course, I'm in my work look. Can I
give you a hand here?' Sam's little girl was now doing a
Riverdance-style jig.

'Alexandra needs to go to the toilet but I can't convince
Isabelle to take her in,' he admitted.

Isabelle, mature beyond her years, turned her enormous
brown eyes onto Sera. 'Stranger danger,' she said simply.

'How about me, darling?' Sera asked with a big smile,
holding out her hand. 'Would you like me to help you?'

To Alexandra's three-year-old eyes Sera looked like a
princess, with her cascading blonde curls, rainbow eyelids
and bright pink shimmering smile. She agreed immediately
and eagerly took Sera's hand.

When they emerged from the toilets Sam offered to buy
Sera a coffee in thanks.

'You don't need to do that, Sam,' she told him. 'But I
am on my lunch break so I'd love to join you.'

They wandered to the food court and the girls raced to
the mall's nearby jungle gym.

'Jacqueline's right, it is harder for guys sometimes,'
he lamented. 'The whole parenting thing seems to have
been biased toward women – starting from day one
with the breastfeeding stuff. Don't get me wrong, I know
there's plenty I can do as a father but sometimes I just feel
completely overwhelmed and under-equipped. Like piggie-plaits
for example – no matter how many different versions I
try I have no idea what she means and I just get yelled at.'

Sera laughed. 'Oh don't worry about that, it doesn't
matter which gender parent you are: if you have a daughter
you'll never get the hairstyle right.'

She dropped her smile and touched his hand. 'So how
is it really, Sam? I can't begin to imagine how hard it must
be for you.'

'Yes, I won't try to be brave; the last couple of years
have been tough,' he sighed. 'It's really hard to explain but
no matter how sad
I
feel about her dying or how much
I
miss her or how much
I
need her, the worst bit is that it's
nothing compared to how much those little girls need their
mum.'

His voice cracked on the last word. 'Oh bugger.' He
bit his bottom lip, throwing his head back. 'It's so embarrassing,
sorry, I still can't . . .' Sam held a wad of napkins
over his eyes. 'I still get so damn mad at her sometimes. I'm
really going to have a stern word with her when I see her
again,' he said, smiling wryly.

Sera smiled at him. 'It's okay, Sam, take your time,' she
encouraged.

'What I've found most challenging is establishing the
same kind of unbreakable bond the girls had with their
mum – it had always mystified me.' He took a bite of
his sandwich and continued. 'Like, how she used to say,
"What's wrong?" even though they hadn't told her there
was a problem. And how she'd know to suggest exactly the
right activity. I suggest tickle-chasey and everyone bursts
into tears.'

'Well, you're obviously doing something right,' Sera
said as Alex came over to drop off her jumper and give
her dad a big smooch. 'How did you do it? Cast a magic
spell?'

'Don't laugh, I considered it!' Sam chortled. 'No, one
night it occurred to me that I can't be a woman, I can't be
their mother, but I can be a pretty good dad. I just have to
do that the best way I can. For instance, Grace had a green
thumb, but very formal taste. Our courtyard was sculptured
and meticulously maintained. It was her passion.'

He finished his sandwich and kicked back, his hands
folded behind his head as he got more involved in telling
his story.

'I'm not proud of it, but soon after she died I went a
bit crazy. After the initial shock all I could feel was intense
anger.'

'Really?' Sera asked in surprise. 'How unusual.'

'Well, not really,' Sam explained, 'according to my grief
counsellor, it's perfectly normal. Anyway, I was in a rage
for weeks. I could barely breathe. Luckily the girls were
staying with their grandparents in Noosa. It hit me in waves
when I least expected it. I wanted to kill, maim, scream,
destroy anything that would release this . . . this, unmitigated
fury that she could leave me.

'One day, when I had a savage hangover after a night
of drinking, I felt horrendous and suddenly the rage took
hold. I wanted to take vengeance, to punish her for doing
this to her beautiful innocent little girls – and to me. I just
went mad. I went out to her precious, pristine garden with
an axe. I hacked up bushes, ripped up pavers, chopped
down trees. I even smashed the mosaic table setting she'd
made herself. I really regret that one. But I couldn't see
straight. It went on for hours. I didn't rest until every
retaining wall, water feature, box hedge and succulent was
annihilated.' He stopped and drained the last of his coffee,
looking over with a peaceful smile at his girls as they practised
a dance routine.

'Oh my God,' Sera breathed. 'So what did you do next?'

'I fell into a slump of utter exhaustion. I was filthy, my
hands were bleeding and my clothes were torn. The sun
was setting and everything was glowing a kind of orange
colour. And her garden was gone. All of it, and nothing
I could ever do would bring it back.'

Sam stopped and looked Sera in the eye. 'I know I
sound like a monster, Sera, and I don't really go around
telling people this story. You're just so easy to talk to.'

She took his hand in a maternal squeeze. 'Sam,' she
said, 'I don't know how I would react or what I would
do in your position. I'm not judging you, just listening,
okay?'

He nodded silently and continued. 'So, anyway, as I said
it was all gone. In the same way that Grace was gone.' He
paused for a second. 'And the only option left to me was
to accept it.'

Sera nodded. 'What did the girls say when they came
home and saw what had happened?' she asked.

'Well, that was the blessing in disguise. Rather than try
to be like Grace and create a design masterpiece, I prepared
several sections of the back yard so when the girls came
home we could create the world's best veggie garden.'

'Oh, how wonderful,' Sera sighed in relief.

'Yeah, it's really great,' Sam said, his enthusiasm reflected
in his smile. 'The girls just love it. One section is for our
root veg, one section is herbs, one is for all our leafy veggies
– the girls are even eating spinach now, can you believe it?
And one section is just full of any random flower seed that
tickles the girls' fancy at the nursery. It's like a rainbow
in there: poppies, lilies, sunflowers. There's no rhyme or
reason, and it's the girls' favourite part, of course.'

'How brilliant. You must show me sometime.' Sera
said.

'Yeah, it's been just great and I've learnt the most valuable
lesson from it.'

'What?' Sera asked, leaning forward with interest.

'Well, by just pottering, with no telly, or other distractions
of life – you know, ballet, homework, swimming
– just by working side-by-side, that's when all the little
conversation streams start to flow. That's when Isabelle tells
me about the girl at school who said she was fat, or how
she feels about being the only girl at school whose mum
died.'

'Sam, you're really something else, you know.'

'Nah, just a dad doing his job.'

'Can we go home now, Daddy? My tummy hurts.'
Isabelle suddenly appeared at his side.

Sam leaned over to Sera and whispered with a conspiratorial
wink, 'Tummy hurting means she's bored.'

'Ah, you even speak the code,' Sera replied in admiration.

'Sure, Issy, let's go. Say bye to Sera.'

'Bye, Sera,' said Isabelle as she pulled on her cardigan.

'You're pretty,' Alex whispered.

'You're pretty too,' Sera whispered back and tapped her
on the nose.

'See you at next month's Stitch 'n' Bitch, Sam.' She
waved at the family as they departed.

'Yeah, see you then. Oh, and Sera,' he called as he
hitched two Barbie backpacks over one shoulder and a
purple poncho over the other, 'if you teach me how to purl
I'll bring you a tussie-mussie of herbs.'