Page 5 of The Reality of Us
Dad: Answer your phone, please. If it’s money you need, we’ll sort something out.
Rico: Holy shizballs. Does Fuckface’s penis really have a massive curve in it? Some of the stuff online is WILD. Don’t look. Let’s burn your wedding dress, eat tacos and drink margaritas. It’ll be a fiesta of freedom! Chin up, gorgeous.
Dougie had sent a picture of his cat, Mr Whiskers, and a sweet message about being there for her whenever she was ready to talk. He’d also attached a list of paperwork for her to start getting together.
She scrolled through several texts from her manager, Chris, which ranged from confusion about where she was to optimism about how they could spin the scandal to their advantage by putting on a united front.
Alice dropped her phone like it was a bomb and stared up at the ceiling. Was that … The metal light fitting was made up of Australian birds—an emu, a galah and a kookaburra. Wattle Junction was weird.
Her stomach growled. Right, this was a problem Alice could solve. She showered and dressed quickly, wiping drops of condensation off the mirror. A stranger stared back at her. Alice’s skin was dull with dark shadows under her eyes. No way could she go out in public like this. She dried her hair, her fingers moving deftly, twisting the strands into a crown braid.
If she was recognised, which was likely, she was going to look fabulous. People would wish they could look so refreshed and relaxed the day after their husband ‘accidentally’ broadcast to the world he was a two-pump chump who preferred brunettes. She brushed blush across her cheeks, tilting her face from side to side to make sure her winged eyeliner was even. A few drops of highlighter gave her skin the dewy, carefree look she adored, and she was ready to face the world.
Kind of.
Alice wasn’t sure why she’d expected Wattle Junction’s High Street to look like the Wild West, but she was still disappointed it didn’t. Where she’d been imagining saloons with swinging doors were red brick shop fronts, some with second storeys, a handful of take away places, and at the very end, a sweet brick cottage painted a brilliant white with black shutters framing the front windows. At either end of the main block were two roundabouts, each with a massive wattle tree planted in the middle.
She kept her head down, skirting around the outdoor tables with long bench seats until several stands on wheels appeared in her peripheral vision. They were overflowing with shiny red apples, bananas, and zucchinis that were very similar to what Rico now knew Phoenix’s penis looked like.
Alice squeezed her eyes shut as the opening refrain of ‘We Saved Each Other’ played from the speakers in the ceiling. Would she ever escape Phoenix? It was unlikely now his album had gone double platinum. The back of her neck itched, and she twisted around, catching two women pointing at her. She smiled brightly and grabbed some oranges, apples and blueberries—Alice wouldn’t be adding scurvy to her list of problems—and she was almost ready to bunker down in her room until this whole nightmare was over. Pushing inside the store, a jar of organic peanut butter and two packets of corn thins completed her shopping.
The older woman behind the register grimaced as Alice approached. She’d accessorised her green apron with a frown. “Got everything?” she asked, pushing gold-rimmed glasses up her nose.
Alice started to reply but was distracted by the stack of newspapers in front of the counter. It was a funny thing seeing herself on the front page. She’d never really gotten used to it. They’d used a photo from her wedding. Take a Chance on Love’s logo was stamped in the bottom corner and a computer-generated tear had been placed between her and Phoenix’s faces. Who’s really to blame? was splashed across the top in big, bold letters.
Her basket thudded onto the counter.
Someone said something—in a deep, masculine voice—but it sounded like they were underwater.
The cashier waved her hands in front of her face. “Twenty-four fifty. Alice?”
Alice blinked, her vision clearing and face burning when she realised the cashier knew who she was. “Oh, um. Right.” She rummaged through her oversized tote bag, searching for her purse.
“I’ll be right with you, Owen,” the older lady said.
Oh, God. Not the guy from last night. She’d been so rude to him. Alice’s back stiffened, and she gritted her teeth before she reminded herself to smile. There were probably lots of Owens. Even in a town this small. It was a reasonably common name.
She tapped her card against the EFTPOS machine and reached for her groceries.
“Shame they don’t sell car batteries here, Marguerite,” Damn-It-Was-Definitely-Owen said. He smelt offensively good, like citrus and something musky. Sandalwood, maybe.
“Marguerite? Who’s Marguerite?” the cashier asked.
Alice stared at her Doc Martens covered in painted flowers before turning around to face him. Today’s suit was dark grey and clung to his muscular frame. She’d noticed how hot he was last night but had hoped it was a trick of the darkness. Owen was clearly a guy who didn’t skip any day at the gym—not legs, back or arms. He was muscular everywhere. His dark blond hair was closely cropped and styled perfectly. He exuded the air of confidence she’d been trying to fake for years.
Meanwhile, here she was looking like a piñata that had been hit a few times but hadn’t yet busted open in her cropped silver cardigan with glittery buttons and bright orange denim miniskirt. She was too bright … too look at me. But this was what people expected from her. What she’d taught them to expect.
What did a girl have to do to get access to a time machine?
Owen tilted his head towards her, and she thrilled a little at the question in his eyes. He had no idea who she was. What a nice change.
“She is,” he said.
“No, she’s not. She’s Alice Aspinall. From the TV. The reality show about falling in love with a stranger.” The cashier held up the newspaper. “See. The one with the cheating husband.”
Confusion crossed his annoyingly handsome face, and Alice was in the process of pasting another defensively large, toothy smile across hers when Owen spoke.
“That makes sense.”
