Hindsight Read online

  I rub my head, hoping that the pain will magically disappear and take Anya with it. As if that’s not enough, my stomach is still churning at the prospect of telling Chris about my meeting.

  “Mummy! Come and look at the bunny rabbit,” Molly calls out.

  “Coming, angel!”

  Urghhh. Where’s an earthquake when you need one?

  Ethan runs over to me and throws himself around my waist, tossing me off balance again. These shoes certainly aren’t made for backyard parties.

  “Mum! You’re here! Did you see the snake? I got to hold him,” he says.

  “Did you, Eth? Cool, what did he feel like?” I say, stroking the streak of silver hair nestled in his dirty blonde mop. He was born with it and we call it his little piece of Grandpa Bill — my Dad — who was completely silver by the time he was thirty. Apparently he hated it, but changed his mind when all of his friends started going bald. It makes me smile each time I see it.

  Ethan continues, “He was warm, and smooth, and really strong. No wonder he crushes other animals before eating them. Can I get one?”

  “What about Cal? What if it eats your little brother? I’ve kind of got used to having him around,” I say.

  Ethan is a regular wildlife expert, for an inner-city kid. He’s constantly in the small backyard of our house, overturning rocks and peering into crevices to introduce himself to the inhabitant. To date he has never been bitten or stung by any creature he’s held, poked or accidentally squeezed.

  “See Mum, it could live in an enclosure and be with me all the time. Don’t worry about Cal, he’d probably grab and squeeze it, we’d have to protect the snake from him. Please Mum, please?”

  The number of legs is important in a pet. Snakes make all the hairs on my body stand on end. It’s just creepy to move without legs. Then again, spiders freak me out too; they have too many legs. My preference is for animals with the standard issue four legs, fins or feathers.

  “Sorry Eth, no snakes. Maybe another form of wildlife — like a guinea pig.”

  “They’re not wildlife - they’re rodents. How about a lizard?”

  His tanned face highlights his blue-grey eyes, which twinkle, probably in hope of charming me into submission. The soft fleshy contours of his face remind me of when he was a baby. The vast majority of his nine-pound birth weight was cheeks. They were puffed out as though each one held a tennis ball and they sagged over his jaw line like a St. Bernard. Still huge in his toddler days, his cheeks would bounce up and down in time with those flat feet splatting on the ground. They were the sort of cheeks that beg to be kissed and nuzzled.

  “Maybe, for Christmas, if you’re really, truly, wonderfully good all year,” I say. Christmas is nine months away, long enough for him to change his mind a dozen times and end up wanting something else — hopefully.

  “Mum-my!” Cal squeals as he runs over to me.

  My balance is again in jeopardy as Callum, chunky toddler with broad, flat feet and thighs like a female Bulgarian weight lifter, crash tackles my legs. He looks up at me with his father’s eyes — deep pools of melted dark chocolate.

  “Callum Lukie! How’s the cutest little two-year-old in the world?” I say, picking him up and kissing the protruding cheeks inherited from his brother. He smiles at me, revealing the fangs that prevent his jaw from closing properly, and resulting in loads of drool escaping on a regular basis. He’s in desperate need of a haircut, but it’s something I’ve been delaying because then he will look like a little boy instead of a baby.

  Usually the only time spent with my boys is when they are asleep. Each night I creep into their bedrooms and lay down quietly on their bed for a while, listening to each snort, snuffle, gurgle and fart.

  The three of us spend a little time together until another animal is pulled out of its enclosure and grabs Ethan’s attention. Shortly after, a bag of crisps is opened, which Cal can hear at fifty metres.

  “Hey Juliette.” Chris’s older brother, Rob, calls out as he comes towards us. “Looking all glammed up. You know this is just a seventh birthday party don’t you? Not too many kids here requiring representation from a PR professional such as yourself.”

  “You can never get them too early, Rob. Child stars usually peak around this age and then crash and burn into oblivion during puberty, before they resurrect themselves in their thirties. I could get six or so years out of this lot, and then another twenty on the other side of their drug, gambling, alcohol and sex addictions.”

  Lauren looks at me with horror.

  “There’s nothing hotter on a woman than a mercenary mind,” Rob smiles. We greet with a hug and kiss, Rob bending his perfect V-shaped frame down to my level. He is as tall as Sylvia is short. The greeting and farewelling is always a highlight for me; Rob could quite easily stand shoulder to shoulder with any Hollywood hunk on the red carpet. He reminds me of Alex O’Loughlin from Hawaii Five-0. Chris is more of a suburbanised version of Rob’s Hollywood.

  “I’ve just come from work, I’m not this glam on my days off,” I say.

  Chris lets out a snort.

  “What are you snorting at?” I ask him.

  “When was your last day off?” The expression on his face tells me that he already knows the answer.

  “Ummm, well it was, probably sometime around Christmas.” That’s only eight weeks ago, not so bad.

  “No, you didn’t take time off except for Christmas morning.”

  “Oh, well, it was probably New Years then.”

  “No, you went to a media party.”

  “Hmmm, Valentine’s Day? That’s it. We went out to dinner,” I say.

  “No, you cancelled that afternoon because some bozo was proposing to his girlfriend and you had to do a press release.”

  “OK, when was my last day off then? Refresh my memory.” There’s a big difference between Mr Right and Mr Always Right, isn’t there?

  “Doesn’t the fact that you can’t remember tell you something?” Chris raises an eyebrow.

  “That I have a lousy memory?”

  “No.”

  “That I’m bad with dates?”

  “No.”

  “That I have a husband who has a really good memory is also good with dates?”

  Chris shakes his head and gets that familiar look on his face. The one that says, ‘I rest my case’. If he were less of a softie he’d have made a great lawyer.

  Rob swigs his beer and says, “Juliette, you’re almost the perfect woman — financially independent, hot and unable to commit. It’s a pity Chris found you first.”

  “What do you mean, unable to commit? I’m married, to your brother, remember him?” I say, showing Chris’s hand in mine.

  “You remember that day, don’t you Rob. The one where you stood next to me, handed me the rings?” Chris asks.

  “Is that what that was?” he smiles, “I thought it was just a good piss-up.”

  Chris shakes his head and looks at me, “No, mate. It was much more than that.”

  “Alright, perhaps that’s the wrong word, more like too busy to be a needy, time-consuming wife. You know, not hard work or high-maintenance.” He’s a builder, give him a break.

  “Are you serious, Rob?” Lauren looks as though she is about to launch and beat him to death with her party sized sausage roll.

  “What? What did I say?” he shrugs.

  “Where do I start? Needy. Time-consuming. Hard work. Is that all women are to you?” she says.

  “I think he’s just referring to the ones he’s met so far, aren’t you Rob?” He’s in need of assistance. Chris is useless, too busy laughing to be of any help to his flailing brother.

  “That’s right, thanks Juliette. I am making sweeping generalisations about the fairer sex and I apologise, Lauren. I’m sure that women are complex creatures who have countless fine attributes as well as all those other fine…” he looks around the group, Lauren appearing battle-ready, “…attributes that I am already so familiar with, but the penal co
de prevents me from discussing it any further.” Another swig of beer.

  “What’s a penal code?” she asks.

  “It’s the code of ethics men have to abide by,” Rob answers.

  “What are you on about?” Lauren asks.

  Chris is unable to hide his amusement and is now in hysterics.

  “It’s the code of ethics men have to abide by if they want to continue using their penis instead of growing a vagina. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for another beer,” Rob says, leaving the group.

  “Your brother is so disgusting, Chris,” Lauren says, trying not to laugh.

  “You did ask the question, Lauren. Besides, what do you expect?” Chris answers. “He’s a simple man. His life consists of working, drinking and shagging. Although not in that order.”

  “Where are the kids?” I ask Chris.

  “Ethan’s wandering around with wildlife in his paws and Cal was with Aunty Jeanette before,” he replies as he looks around the backyard quickly, “but he’s moved on. Look, there he is.”

  My eyes follow his pointing finger and the pit of my stomach drops like a skyscraper elevator plummeting eighty storeys. I suffer an intake of breath so sharp it induces a coughing fit, as Cal plays chasey with Anya and then launches into her arms as she lifts him up and spins him around. A flood of giggles escapes his smiling little face.

  My attention turns to Chris, to see his reaction, and I notice that he is laughing and smiling at the sight in front of him. A feeling of betrayal takes hold like a demonic possession and I struggle not to burst into a green-eyed rage. No one else seems bothered by it, in fact their reaction mirrors Chris’s. If it were anyone else mine would be the same, but it’s not anyone else, it’s her. Then, just to top it off, she holds Cal, flashes her luminous teeth and waves at us as though they are starring in a nappy ad, her long, glossy, chocolate hair swishing around in slow motion.

  “Awww, look at that! She’s such a natural. I hope Anya meets someone else and has more babies soon, look at her and Cal. How gorgeous,” Lauren is in raptures.

  “Yes, gorgeous.” The words cut like razorblades. “Is she seeing anyone?” I ask, hoping for news of impending nuptials and an imminent departure to somewhere distant and dangerous, say, Zimbabwe, Siberia, or Alaska.

  “Ummm, well…” Lauren starts, “she said that there is someone, but he’s not really available right now. He has a lot of things to clear up with his current partner first but that he’s worth the wait.”

  I’m not normally a paranoid person, but what’s the odds she’s referring to Chris? Look at her around him — like a giddy teenager. Recognising an opportunity for negative PR, the words are out of my mouth in an instant, “I didn’t picture Anya as a homewrecker, that is shocking.” The gloves are off.

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s like that, Juliette. Anya had that happen to her. She’d never, ever steal someone else’s husband.”

  “She could steal me for a night,” Rob says, re-entering the group with a fresh beer.

  “She’s not like that, Rob,” Chris says, a little too quickly.

  Everyone looks at him. Rob’s hands fly up to the surrender position.

  “I mean, she’s a nice lady, a good Mum. Not one of your one-nighters,” Chris says, blushing.

  Like a knight in shining armour, he comes to her verbal rescue and marks his territory at the same time. Perhaps she’s not the only one interested in a more than platonic relationship.

  Chapter 3

  I excuse myself from the group and ask Chris to come to the kitchen, under the guise of getting a glass of water to swallow my pills. But in reality it’s probably the only opportunity I am going to get to talk to Chris without Anya superglued to him. As if she needs any help to look more appealing.

  It’s almost physically impossible not to walk in Anya’s direction and punch her. Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but it’s not very good seventh birthday party etiquette.

  My stomach growls and flips inside me as we enter the sanctity of Sylvia’s kitchen. The time has come, but Chris’ smile prevents me from speaking. Instead, I use my PR smile to cover the fact that nausea has invaded my body.

  “Chris, I…”

  He sweeps me into his arms. With these shoes we are the same height, perfect for kissing and not getting a sore neck.

  “Are you ready for our date night? I even got some ice-cream for dessert — honey and nougat, your favourite,” he says with a smile that suggests pleasurable ways of eating it.

  “Chris, I…” My mouth is full of marbles and the words can’t squeeze past.

  “Mum’s keeping the boys with her so that we can have the whole night and a sleep-in tomorrow, so we can…” He holds me close and his lean, muscular arms wrap around me as though we are shutting off the outside world. His scent fills my mind with thoughts and feelings I am usually too busy to appreciate.

  “So we can what?” I ask, already imagining what we can do.

  “So we can take our time, be together, just you and me; no kids, no phones, no work, just us,” he whispers into my ear, his lips teasing my neck. He has the most kissable lips, perfectly formed — I often catch myself staring at them when we talk.

  A sigh escapes as his lips brush against mine. Oh God, yes, yes, yes. My body wants to leap onto him, wrap my legs around his hips and disappear into another room. I consider not attending the meeting tonight, what harm would be done? Other than Al cancelling the contract for me to represent all of his clients; the goal I have been working towards for five years, the contract that has placed me on top of the pile of Melbourne’s boutique PR agencies. Damn it.

  “That sounds great, but…”

  My body tenses up inside Chris’ arms and my eyes are averted to his shoulder. In response he loosens his grip and steps backwards, our bodies no longer touching. He knows.

  He sighs, “You’re working? Tonight? But, this is the seventh date night you’ve cancelled in a row.”

  The distance between us now is more than just a couple of feet; it’s a separation.

  “I’m so sorry, Chris. It’s an emergency meeting. It’s really important, I’ve got no choice.”

  “You’ve always got a choice,” he says looking at me. “Tell me, Juliette, am I important?” Those perfect lips are now pressed together in a tight line.

  “Of course you are, Chris.” Not that he’d believe it at the moment, in fact, not for about three years.

  “Just not as important as this meeting, as your business,” he says.

  “Please, Chris, don’t make this a competition.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this before now?”

  “Because I was…”

  “Never home? Too busy? On the phone or laptop constantly?” He leans against a row of cupboards, his broad hands clenching the bench top.

  “I didn’t know about it until I got here. I don’t even know what the meeting is about.” Which is not strictly true, it’s a DUI, but clearly there’s something more to it. “This craziness will only be until the new staff settle in and then…”

  “We’ll see even less of you?” he interrupts.

  “No, just the opposite.” My voice is full of forced optimism, trying to convince him, and possibly myself. “My role will be one of a general manager, less hands on. This craziness is only temporary.”

  He doesn’t move, not a muscle.

  “It means more family time, Chris, me home more often. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Juliette, it’s what I want. But what do you want?”

  Silence. Not for a long time, but for long enough.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our problems aren’t just about what I want, they’re about what you want too, because it seems we want different things.”

  Hundreds of small snakes slither in the pit of my stomach, each one twisting and turning in a different direction.

  “No, no. Soon there will be plenty of time for us…”

&n
bsp; “I’m sorry Juliette, I’ve heard it all before. This just isn’t…”

  Cyclone Ethan bursts into the room and interrupts us.

  “Mum! I’m sleeping here tonight — we’re camping out in the lounge room, cool hey? Did you see the baby croc? Can I get one?”

  Chris holds my stare, his eyes boring into me.

  “And Mum, it’s only five weeks to go until the concert. You will be there, won’t you?”

  My mind is stuck on what Chris was about to say. This just isn’t… what? Working? How a wife should act? Fair on us? A problem, enjoy your night?

  “Ummm…”

  “Mum?”

  Clearly, Anya is waiting in the wings for the day my world comes crashing down. She may not have to wait too long.

  Chris hurries out of the kitchen just as my phone rings. It’s Al. It could be good news. Maybe the meeting has been cancelled?

  “Hi Al,” I say, trying to sound professional.

  “Juliette, you need to be here earlier. We have a crisis situation unfolding. Get your butt in here now.”

  “Oh but…I…”

  “I’ll ask you one last time. Do I need to call Sonya?”

  Does he? Does he need to call my rival? I look at Chris in the backyard, talking animatedly to Rob as Lauren places her hand on his shoulder. Clearly he’s angry with me, and he deserves to be. But at the same time, don’t I have the right to pursue my goals too? Especially the ones I’ve worked my arse off for five years to attain?

  “No, Al. I’m on my way.”

  “So, you’re heading back to work, Jules?” Rob asks as I head back into the group.

  “Rob, she’s got to work. You know that,” says Lauren, nudging Rob in the ribs.

  Chris has his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground and scratching at the grass with the toe of his shoe. He hasn’t looked at me once.

  “Yes, it’s an emergency. I have to leave now…”

  “An emergency? How can you have a PR emergency? Will someone be Photoshopped to death?” laughs Rob.

  “Rob!” Lauren openly slaps him, her brunette ponytail swishing behind her. “You know Jules’ commitment to her work. Bad PR happens all the time, not just during business hours,” she says as she nods in my direction.