Page 42 of Love Is…?

There was a pause.

“Jayde?”

“Sorry. I was remembering your outfit from last night, and…” She paused again. The silence grew and recalling the way Jayde had looked at her when she’d opened the door at her dad’s house caused a sudden flush to creep up Tessa’s neck. If she was the reason for Jayde’s pauses and moments of silences, then…wow.

Jayde’s voice interrupted her musings. “Tessa?”

“Oh!” Mutual pausing. “Yes. Dress code. Right.”

It was Jayde’s turn to laugh. “I reckon casual. We’re not going five star, I’m sorry.”

Tessa frowned. “Jayde, you didn’t need to choose a restaurant based on its plethora of stars.”

“Oh, but I did, in a way. You’ll see.” Then she delivered a tiny hum, like she’d remembered something. “Oh, yeah. The other rule.”

“There’s another one? Come on, who wrote this curriculum?”

Jayde chose to ignore the clearly rhetorical question. “I’m paying.”

Tessa pulled her phone away to frown at the screen, then slapped it back to her ear. “No.”

“Yep. Done deal. See you at seven next Wednesday. I’m punctual, by the way.” Then Jayde hung up, and Tessa stared at the black screen.

Angel called from the lounge. “Do I need to refer you to the orthopaedic team at Royal Melbourne Hospital? I hear they do excellent bone reconstruction there.”

Tessa walked over, sat on the sofa, flicked her phone onto the cushion and gestured. “So, looks like you got your wish.”

“What wish?”

“You wanted to meet Jayde. Next Wednesday at seven. She’s picking me up for our dinner.”

Tessa foundGrace in one of the five art studios on the school’s campus the next Tuesday. There weren’t many students at the school, seeing as it was a half-day because the teaching staff were involved in professional development for the afternoon. Grace’s small group of friends, all studying art or textiles or some form of creative expression, were spaced about the room, utilising easels or large work desks. Tessa opened the door, knocking as she entered.

“Hi. All good in here? Thought I’d swing by and see if you’re ready to go.” She absorbed the long but relatively friendly look from Hira. Tessa had managed to thaw the most disdainful of Grace’s friends by pontificating about how those born at the beginning of Generation Alpha were placed in a philosophical dilemma regarding social media and the shaping of the issues in society. Hira had been relatively impressed. Hence the look. Hira was a tough audience. Justine, Kirralee and India turned as one to stare at Tessa, delivering a slight wave and a generally amenable hello. It was synchronised indifference. Those three were Tessa’s next project, because she’d realised early on that the girls regarded Tessa as a threat. A threat to their tight circle and so the not-really animosity but not-at-all warmth wasn’t about Grace having a chaperone; it was more a worry that Grace would direct her attention to someone new. It was a normal friendship response, particularly if that friendship group had grown in strength for a number of years.

“Hey, Tessa. Just finishing up now,” Grace said over her shoulder, gathering her materials. “Do you guys want a lift home?”

“Nah. Dad’s picking me up. He was going to when classes finished, but I said we were staying until later to get some work done,” Justine explained.

After the friends exchanged hugs—the gesture made Tessa smile because she remembered doing the exact thing in high school, even if she’d seen the person not five minutes earlier—Tessa and Grace climbed into their black SUV parked in the school forecourt. With Marina demonstrating her ability to navigate traffic like water around rocks, they soon arrived home, and Grace disappeared into her bedroom.

An hour of ‘Grace Taylor Timetabling’ included emailing the school to confirm details for a couple of excursions later in the month. The task was slightly onerous as Grace’s participation in off-campus activities always required more detail in case of a ‘what-if-something-happened-to-Abigail-Taylor’s-daughter’ scenario. At the start of the year, Abigail had insisted that all the girls have ‘scenario planning’, not just Grace. As she’d told the school principal, Felicity Davis, one student shouldn’t receive more attention than any other. The principal had been in total agreement and so it seemed most of the excessive ‘Grace only’ documentation came from the teaching staff. Either they were alarmed at the thought of losing a celebrity’s child, or of the forest of paperwork that such an event would result in, but most likely of enduring a discussion with Felicity. The woman was entirely terrifying.

“Tessa! Are you busy?”

Tessa lifted her head from the family iPad and its schedule tabs.

“Nope. What’s up?”

“I need some help with English.”

Tessa nodded. That was a subject where she could definitely offer assistance. She made her way into Grace’s bedroom, noting the double bed tucked into the corner, the open doorway to theenormous walk-in robe, the modern desk, the lack of electronics, except for the laptop which Grace tolerated because it was necessary for school.

Grace was a throwback to a time when the internet didn’t exist, when a small group of physical friends was all you needed rather than four million likes from complete strangers on TikTok, when an evening of board games and chat was an actual choice rather than the consequence of parents confiscating their child’s phone.

Her friends loved Grace for who she was, and her outlook on life. Another theory that had bubbled inside Tessa’s brain was that Grace’s friends were envious. Grace was the most down-to-earth child of one incredibly famous parent and another parent who was gradually becoming just as well-known, yet she wasn’t nearly as over-scheduled as her friends. Grace had mentioned last week that other students assumed that she must attend so many parties, and functions, and meet celebrities every weekend that her contacts list regularly liquified her phone under the stress.

“Can you imagine? I would absolutely,absolutelyhate that sort of life. Mum and Sam know it, too. They understand me, and never push. I always get asked if I want to go to something, but I’ll only go if the event is in honour of Mum or Sam or both of them. They deserve all the recognition, and every award. But going to a thing that’s all air and disco balls because some famous singer farted is not my idea of a good time.” Grace had stared hard at Tessa when she’d delivered this explanation and Tessa had lost it, falling sideways into the interior of the car door as they travelled to school. Marina, the driver, gave a quick cough, and Tessa, still laughing, caught Marina’s frown of concentration in the rear view mirror. Concentrating on the traffic or concentrating on not bursting into laughter? Probably both.

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