Page 38 of Fast Forward

“What are these all about?” she’d asked, to which I’d replied, “I’m designing homewares and maybe one day I can actually get them made. I’d love that, it would be my dream.” I’d twirled a strand of my straight hair around my finger until it slid from my grasp when she looked at me with what appeared to be anger.

“Why are you wasting time on this? Forget about following a silly dream, Kelli. Life doesn’t turn out how we want it to.” My heart had raced and I’d stood up defensively. “Look at you!” she’d continued. “You shouldn’t waste your looks by hiding away in your room with paper and pencils. You’re meant for the spotlight, Kelli. Not for this… childish hobby!”

In her moment of anger – or possibly even jealousy – she tore the page from my book and ripped it in half with a jarring sound that made me shudder. It still made me shudder every time it intruded on my memory. In that moment, all confidence in my ability and sense of achievement was ripped in half too.

Glancing at Mum’s grave, my lips clamped tight, I picked up a clump of dirt from the ground and threw it at the headstone where it dispersed into a spray of dust. On that awful day, I’d run from the room in tears to my dad, who’d calmed me down before going into the lounge room and shutting the door.

Muffled shouting travelled through the walls and then Mum’s sobbing. She must have taken some tablets because she slept the rest of the day. Dad taped my pages back together but it wasn’t the same. Nothing could patch up what had happened. The picture I could draw again but I couldn’t redo that moment.

My lips trembled with sadness and my nostrils flared with anger as I stared at the dusty headstone. Within seconds, I brushed off the dust with my fingers and blew it away with whatever breath was left in my lungs. Liliana’s words echoed in my ears… she wants to tell you she’s sorry. I knew Mum wasn’t herself that day. I knew she was in a bad way and was frustrated she couldn’t follow her dreams. I knew she probably envied me, which was why I went along with the modelling jobs. It made her happy, at least for a while. She kept saying how proud she was of me and I kept wanting to hear it. She wants to tell you she’s sorry.

“I know you are, Mum. I know,” I said out loud, my finger tracing the frame around her photo. I wrapped my arms around the headstone, allowing a few remaining tears to slide down my face. “I forgive you.” A light breeze circled my body as though embracing me too and for a fleeting moment I believed that Mum would be proud of me – and of KC Interiors.

Even though I didn’t know anything about the company until recently, in this life I’d obviously worked hard to get it to where it was today. My muscles softened and a slight sense of achievement brushed over me. The achievement I’d felt after working on my scrapbook. It had been buried away but was now rising from its grave.

My tears dried and I stood, glancing at the sky which had transformed from candy pink to dusty salmon. I checked the time on my e-pad. I’d only need to change into something nice for the party, considering my hair and make-up had already been done. Although after all the crying, I’d need to touch it up a little and that shouldn’t take too long. Before heading back to the car, I opened Foogle on my e-pad screen and searched for KC Interiors.

Pages and pages of results showed up, but I clicked on the main website. It repeated what I’d told Mr Turrow in the meeting, but also had a gallery of pictures of all our products and information on upcoming designs that were currently in production. There was a listing of all our stores, as well as stockists of some of our most popular products. Our latest news section revealed that beginning the following year we would be implementing an in-home decorating consultation service and there was a form for people to register their interest.

There was also a photo of our head office staff; a smiling team of fourteen – including yours truly. Diora was in the photo too and scrolling down to the staff profiles I discovered that she was head of the marketing team – a surprise, but it made sense considering her personality – and was currently on maternity leave. No surprises there. Ryan wasn’t in the photo, so he obviously spent all his time bungy jumping and making – ahem – music.

Maybe I could get back in touch with designing when I got home to the past. I mean as well as the modelling. I still wanted to grace those catwalks and revel in the familiarity of flashing lights. A woman could do both, couldn’t she? Especially now I knew I could do it.

Maybe Grant would invest in the business with me? He could take all the photos of the products and bring out the best in them, like he did with me. But would the business have the same success with Grant a part of it? Would he even want to be a part of it? My mind flashed back to Will at the meeting and how nervous yet eager he’d been. How happy he was afterwards on winning Mr Turrow over. KC Interiors was his life, his passion.

I closed the website and the door on my thoughts, and tried calling Selena. Met once again with voicemail, I typed her name into Foogle and clicked on images.

Holy cow! I was surprised to see what she now looked like. Still beautiful, but… well, you could tell she’d had some work done. Her lips appeared stung by a bee and her eyebrows were in a permanent state of surprise. I clicked on one of the pictures which led to an article titled: I should have Stopped after Three Surgeries, where Selena openly confessed regretting the fourth procedure, saying it had gone too far. I also found a video of Selena accepting her Oscar and felt a twinge of pride at her achievement. In the video her eyebrows were about half an inch lower than the post-surgery brows and I agreed she should have left it at that.

A text message beeped and flashed on my screen, followed immediately by another one. The first was from Ryan.

When will u be back? Hope u have enough time to get ready. R.

On my way now.

The second message was from CareLab:

This message is to confirm your appointment for a mammogram at 9am on Tuesday.

Oh joy! So there’s a fancy brain scanning device available in the future but nothing so advanced for boobs. Wonderful.

I brushed specks of dirt from my clothing and walked to the car, but not before glancing back at the graves, now sheltered from the setting sun by the tall tree to the left. Its branches cast skeletal patterns across the stone, just like the timber in the houses Dad used to build. “See you soon, Dad.”

Chapter 13

Forty-Five Minutes to Go

“Life is just one damned thing after another.” – American proverb

Thankfully, Miss Car remembered where I lived and safely helped me navigate home. If I’d gone into the past instead of the future I would have had no hope, unless there were carriages driven by horses with photographic memories.

Despite living fairly close to the city, my house was situated in suburbia heaven. I pulled into Bellbird Drive, welcomed by rows of round, silver encased lights forming a dotted edge along each side of the road. I frowned on noticing there weren’t any power lines. None at all. Maybe everything was solar powered, or maybe someone – my sister, probably – had discovered an unlimited source of renewable energy and electricity had been given the flick. I chuckled at the thought.

I drove into the driveway of number nine. A middle-aged woman in leggings and a top too tight for her figure stopped trimming her rose bushes to wave at me from next door. The garage was closed and I didn’t know how the heck to open it, so I parked on the driveway and stepped out of the car.

“Hi, Kelli,” she said.

“Hi…” strange woman I’ve never met.

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