Page 16 of A Part of Me and You
‘I’m so sorry for all this,’ I sniffle, handing over my debit card as the unaffected shop lady packs my new dress into a very fancy paper bag. ‘It’s not like it was a big row or anything, it’s just the thoughts that it triggered, you know, it got to me and I haven’t let anything get to me so far. Not this time. This time I was meant to be strong. That’s why I’m here. To be strong. For her. To do the right thing. For her.’
I am rambling to a stranger and the poor woman is as white as a sheet behind the small counter as she hands me the very trendy bag.
‘You know, I got some gorgeous new stock in just after you left,’ she tells me, as if on autopilot. ‘Some really nice stuff so if you want to come back again and try on more, you’re very welcome. I can do discount so don’t worry about price. No point you shivering on your holidays.’
‘I can’t come back again. There’s no point me buying a lot of nice clothes, not now,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t have time to wear them.’
Was she not listening to a word I said? Maybe it’s a good thing she wasn’t. Maybe that’s how she was trained, you know, to be professional and not indulge in anything more than small talk with strangers. Just take the money and run and all that. Maybe I shouldn’t be ranting and raving like this to someone who has no idea of why I am here or what little time I have left.
‘Okay, well the dress you chose really suits you,’ she says, tugging at her hair. ‘I’m glad you came back for it. It’s very you. It suits you. It suits your hair, I mean, your wig. Sorry! I’m not thinking straight. Thank you. For your custom.’
Apart from her annoying hair fiddling, she is almost robotic and I feel like shaking her by the shoulders. A dying woman has just broken down in front of her two eyes and she is too wrapped up in her new fucking stock to notice.
I open my mouth to let it all out but then I look into her eyes and I see they are totally glazed over with tears, and the agony in her eyes runs through me, sending shivers down my arms and into my fingertips.
‘You’re not okay yourself, are you?’ I ask her and she hands me a tissue, again mechanically like she is trying to block me out. I wipe my nose and dab under my eyes. I wasn’t stupid enough to wear that cursed mascara again this time.
She shakes her head and keeps glancing at the window, at the door, as if in fear of someone coming in and seeing her.
‘I’m fine, but thank you,’ she says to me. ‘You said red was your colour. There’s a lovely red—’
A stray couple of tears escape from her eyes, causing her to stop and take a breath. She doesn’t wipe them. She tries again.
‘There’s a lovely size twelve—’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ I reply. ‘Forget the size twelve red whatever it is you are trying to sell to me, please. You’re not okay at all, are you?’
She shakes her head again but still purses her lips in defiance.
‘Thank you very much … for your custom.’
She nods and I’m waiting for her to say ‘have a nice day’ like it’s rehearsed in her script but she doesn’t so I leave her to it. She evidently isn’t as prone to public breakdowns in front of strangers as I am.
‘You are very welcome,’ I reply and then I say it for her. ‘Have a nice day.’
I slip off my sandals and damp shorts and lie on top of the bed in my room that overlooks the harbour of Killara, and I breathe in the sea air that creeps in through the open window of our cottage. The blue dress from the vintage boutique hangs on the wardrobe door at the far side of the room and I wrap a tartan blanket over me to lessen the chill of the breeze.
I close my eyes, listening to the sounds of the early evening in this little hidden gem of a place that once changed my life, and I wonder if he is out there, somewhere, walking the streets or on the boats, totally unaware that his own flesh and blood is so close to him, she too unmindful to the history of this village and her deep connection to it.
‘You’re way out of my league,’ he told me on the night we met, looking up under dark wavy hair and I laughed in reply. There was no way I was out of his league. I knew well that he must have had women drooling over his every word. I remember his dark brown eyes, under knitted eyebrows that made me go weak at the knees … though that may have had something to do with the cocktails and vodka Birgit and I had consumed before we bumped into him at the bar. If only he knew what he left behind when he walked away the next morning.
And speaking of the outcome of our very quick encounter, my reminiscing doesn’t last long before I’m interrupted by a raging ball of hormones that knocks once on the door and then enters, hand on hip.
‘I thought you said we were going for dinner soon?’ she says, and I don’t know whether to laugh or shout at her newfound stinking teenage attitude.
‘We can go soon, yes, I was just about to get changed,’ I tell her. ‘Is it still raining?’
She rolls her eyes as if I have just asked her something as obvious as what my name is.
‘Of course it is still raining. It’s lashing out there. I really don’t know why you brought me here. Is there a McDonald’s nearby? I’m starving.’
‘Starving?’ I say to her in reply. ‘Do you mean that in a literal sense because I highly doubt you are “starving”? You can’t be starved after the lunch we had earlier.’
‘Okay then, I’m just bored and I eat when I’m bored. Is there a McDonald’s or even a Subway or a KFC?’
‘No, Rosie, there is no McDonald’s here, not one Big Mac in sight for miles and miles and isn’t that wonderful?’
Her eyes screw up and her face twists and I swear I barely recognize this person in front of me. Who on earth kidnapped my darling daughter and left me with this devil child?
