Page 16 of Tame Me

That was an understatement. The trip from the airport to the home I grew up in was enough to know everything was the same as it had been when I’d left. Even the kitchen I sat in was a blast from the past.

Silence consumed us as we sipped our tea. Except for the clock in the background—I’d forgotten all about the incessant ticking of that grandfather clock.

“Has Chelsea-Lea had her baby?” I couldn’t resist asking.

“Oh, yes, she had a baby boy. Riley. He’s adorable.”

“Oh . . . you’ve seen her?”

“Well, yes.” Mom looked about as uncomfortable as someone who’d sat on a cactus. “I saw her at the Milk Bar Café. She still goes there every Friday afternoon.”

“Oh, really?” If Aunty Ann’s description of the demise in Chelsea’s looks were even half true, then I wanted to see for myself. I glanced at the clock. “Would she be there now?”

Mom’s eyes lit up. “Yes, she probably would.”

“Maybe I should go see her?” My brain skipped to fast-forward as I tried to envisage meeting that bitch again.

Mom put her hands together. “That’s a lovely idea. It’s about time you two were friends again.”

I resisted poking Mom’s eyeballs out. She was still oblivious to how much Chelsea-Lea had hurt me. Either that or Mom was a complete fool.

“How about I drive you up there? I’ve got a bit of shopping to do.”

“Sounds perfect. Thanks, Mom.” She had no idea of the opportunity she’d just opened up for me.

Returning to my room, I changed into the red dress with the white spots that I’d worn for Billy last week. Except this time, I put on a bra. I wore all the same accessories too and as soon as I glanced in the mirror, I knew that an outfit like this was guaranteed to turn heads in the main street of Mildura. Which was exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

Mom talked nonstop during the drive uptown, mostly complaining about how much she still had to do for the party. One of Mom’s biggest faults had always been keeping up appearances. Which, I conceded, was probably why she’d maintained friendships with Alexander and Chelsea-Lea. She’d rather do that than cause a scene.

“I’m off to Foodmart, but I’ll be back in about an hour or so. Does that suit you?”

“Yes, that’ll be great.”

“You have fun, darling.”

“Oh, I will.” She had no idea.

The door to the Milk Bar Café jingled as I stepped through and crossed the wooden floor toward the red-and-white tiled bar. The décor would be trendy and retro if it wasn’t the original 1970s fit-out that the bar had opened with.

A high-pitched cackle at the back of the room confirmed Chelsea-Lea was indeed here. I’ll never forget that laugh. She’d mastered the ability to produce that fake cackle whenever it was required.

Resisting the urge to glance her way and see who else was there, I did something I’d never done before. I strode to the bar, slipped onto a barstool, and ordered an espresso martini.

A caffeine shot was exactly what I needed and a good dose of courage for what I was planning to do.

Chapter Five

The man behind the bar was young, and based on his English accent, I decided he was probably a backpacker who had come to town for the fruit-picking season. I was just glad he was someone I didn’t know.

I angled my chair, and through the mirror that ran the length of the back wall behind the bar, I saw the group of ladies seated in the red lounges in the far corner.

Five women were grouped there, and I recognized all of them. We’d all gone to school together. Vikki sat regal, like a lady at high tea. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in a style that hadn’t changed in the twenty years I’d known her.

Nicole now had short dark hair, but her full bright, red lips hadn’t changed. She’d discovered the retro fashion style decades ago and had been embracing it ever since.

Alice had a young child on her knee, and as she hadn’t been pregnant when I left, I assumed the child must be about three years old. Tiffany also had her daughter with her, who I knew would be at least seven.

And then there was Chelsea-Lea. Aunty Ann had definitely played down the demise in Chelsea-Lea’s looks. Her hair, once smooth and golden, was now wild and frizzy, reminiscent of a bad 1980s perm, and the dark skunk-stripe through the middle part highlighted just how far she’d let herself go. Her skin was pale, and even from this distance, I spied red blotches on her face.

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