Avoiding Mr Right (25 page)

I was excited about celebrating my birthday in Melbourne.
I had a full day planned so that I wouldn't really miss the
girls in Sydney and James in Dubai. Before I was barely
awake, though, the doorbell rang and there was a massive
bunch of long-stemmed red roses from James. They were
James all over: classy, elegant, expensive. I loved them. I
put them in a vase immediately, then crawled back into bed
and read the card three times:
Happy birthday, babe. Sorry
I'm not there. Love, James.

Somehow I felt something was missing from the
message, some part of James's love had gone, even though
the roses suggested otherwise, and as I looked at the
card again I couldn't blame him. I had been away for ten
months and I hadn't been near as committed to keeping in
touch as he had. I hadn't called him daily like a girlfriend
should. Instead, the calls had given way to Facebook emails
and late-night text messages when I had time. Not even I
would bother waiting twelve months for me.

Shelley came crashing into my room at nine am.
'Haaaaaapy birthday, princess!'

'Do I really behave like a princess?' I was still worried
about how Josie had said I was hard work.

'You
are
a princess, but that's okay, cos I'm a princess
too, and this is our castle. You wanna go out for some
brekky? It's going to be a scorcher,' she said as she
pulled the curtains open and let the sun stream in. It was
already hot.

'Yeah, but let's go low-key – I've got lunch and then cake
at Aunt Nell's to get through . . . My birthday is all about
eating, it seems.'

'Ah, to absorb the alcohol – speaking of which, I'll be
back in a minute.' And she walked out of the room. My
phone went and it was Dannie and Alice together, singing
'Happy Birthday' in their loudest high-pitched voices.

'I'm so glad neither of you took up singing as a career,'
I joked, with tears streaming down my face from laughing
so hard.

'So are we!' Alice said. 'Wish you were here, sis, the sun's
beautiful, the ocean's glistening . . .'

'And I don't have the kids,' Dannie yelled with joy.

'Hey, don't have too much fun today – it is
my
birthday,
remember.'

'Of course, but we're using
your
birthday to catch up
and eat and shop. Liza's working, as usual,' Dannie said, as
Shelley walked back into the room with a bottle of bubbly.

'Sounds like fun, but listen, I'll have to let you go.
I'm off for breakfast with Shelley then a full day of
indulgence. I might do the drunken dial tonight so turn
your phones off.'

'Bye, say hi to Shelley, see ya, ciao!'

I thought of them up there together and I momentarily
wished I was there too, but then Shelley handed me a glass
of champagne.

'It's not French, but then neither are we. It's something
to mark the arrival of your good self on the planet. Happy
birthday!'

'Happy birthday to me, then.' I sipped the foam that
was about to spill over the rim.

Barely awake but already tipsy, we sat at the Espy for
brekky. I knew I'd be having a big day and so wanted to
fill myself with some carbs and protein for the celebrations
ahead. I looked out to the sea and felt completely content.

'I could live here,' I said to the horizon.

'You do live here.' Shelley looked at me confused.

'I mean for longer, I've only got eight weeks left.'

'Oh, don't start on about leaving already! Our celebrations
will turn into a wake, and that's an excuse for a drink
we should save up.'

♥

Mike took me to a funky Italian place on Chapel Street
for my birthday lunch. 'It's Kylie's favourite,' he told me
as we took our reserved table outside. I liked it the minute
we sat down. The waiters were young Italian hunks and
very friendly. Their service was effortless and efficient. They
explained the dishes and the wine with obvious passion,
but I couldn't understand a word they were saying: it was
all in Italian. Mike's bilingual skills came as a complete
surprise.

'What?' he asked, as I sat there mouth agape. 'I told you
there was more to me than being a cop.'

'A Campari Prosecco for the
signorina
?' said Fabio the
waiter, who was back at our table almost immediately.

'Um, yes, I guess so,' I said and shrugged my shoulders
and smiled at Mike. As Fabio walked off I followed him
with my eyes back into the restaurant and saw Campari
bottles lining the walls.

We were still reading the menu when a man rushed
to the doorway of the restaurant yelling, 'You're all drug
dealers, stop dealing drugs to my wife!'

The whole restaurant – inside and out – stopped still. It
was like a scene out of a movie.

'Shit,' Mike said, 'stay put,' and he got up swiftly and
took the man aside, holding him gently but firmly by the
arm. The guy was wearing grey tracksuit pants and a black
T-shirt and I didn't imagine for one second he was packing
a pistol or any other weapon, but he was agitated and really
pissed off.

One of the cute waiters went over to them and asked,
'Is everything all right here?'

'Get him, go get him, I want to see him!' the guy
shouted, craning round, trying to look for someone in the
restaurant. 'You're all drug dealers,' he said, over and over
again. I didn't know who 'him' was, but knew it was someone
that I didn't really want to be seeing there and then. It was
exciting, like an Aussie-style version of
The Godfather
.

'Get out or I'll call the police,' the waiter said calmly.
I had to strain to hear him. Was he trying to defuse
the situation because there was some truth in the man's
allegations? I saw Mike pull out his badge and show them
both. It was high drama. I grabbed Fabio and whispered
in his ear.

'So, should I be nervous or afraid?'

'No,
signorina
, he has just found out his wife is having
an affair, and he is angry and blaming someone who
worked here some years ago.' He briefly rested his hand
on mine. 'Please don't be worried. I think your boyfriend
the policeman is sorting it out.' Before I could clarify that
Mike wasn't my boyfriend, the waiter was gone and so too
was the angry man. Mike was on his mobile. I just sat and
observed the other patrons, who were all watching Mike
with interest. Their eyes followed him as he came back and
sat down opposite me.

'The waiter told me that guy's pissed off because his
wife's having an affair with someone who used to work here
– high drama for lunchtime, eh?' I said.

'Really? Do you believe that?' Mike went back to reading
the menu as if nothing had happened.

'Yes, why wouldn't I?'

'A man who just found out his wife was having an affair
would have been in there looking for the man who was
shagging his wife. Why was he yelling about drugs, that's
what I want to know. I won't ruin your birthday lunch by
following it up now. I've called his details into the station,
so I can check out the claims he made later and write a
report this afternoon.'

'Can I get you a drink on the house,
signorina
?' The
waiter was back, looking at my already empty glass.

'
Vino. Bianco, grazie
.' All of a sudden I spoke Italian
too and I could order wine. It arrived with our bruschetta
napolitano and carpaccio della casa and our meal finally
began.

Just as our calamari was served four men in suits walked
up to the entrance of the restaurant and my heart started to
race – to my untrained eye they looked like drug dealers, the
famous Melbourne's underworld, coming to eat lunch and
make deals and plan cement shoes, right near my table.

'Don't turn around,' I whispered, which of course made
Mike turn around immediately, which I didn't think was
policeman-like at all.

'Oh my God, they're in black suits and everything. They
must be,' and I lowered my voice, '
drug dealers
.'

'God, you make me laugh, the way you stereotype
people. Haven't you noticed that
everyone
in Melbourne
wears black, except you and me?' And he was right: Mike
was always in blue jeans and a coloured shirt.

I wasn't convinced they weren't bad guys but I let it go,
as Mike started writing on the paper covering the table.

'What are you doing?' I was giggly after just one drink.

'I'm writing down the only phrase you'll need in Italian,
for today anyway.'

'How do you even know any Italian? Do they teach it at
the police academy?'

'I'm not sure if you're being a smart-arse so I'll ignore
that last comment, okay?'

'Okay.' I giggled some more.

'Remember my tulip grandmother? The one my gorgeous
yellow car reminds me of?'

'Oh, how could I forget?'

'Well, her second husband was Italian and he taught
her and she taught me. We only ever spoke Italian when
I visited there. I really miss her, she died a couple of years
ago,' he said, without looking up from the paper tablecloth
he was still writing on. 'So I like coming here just so I can
practise. There.' Mike put his pen down and smiled broadly.
I was gobsmacked. Constable Care was also bilingual.

'
Io sono Australiana e non parlo Italiano
,' I read. 'Is that
right? What's it mean?'

'Have a guess,' Mike said.

'I'm Australian and I don't speak Italian?'

'
Brava, signorina
. You are correct.'

I practised on the waiter when he returned. '
Io sono
Australiana e non parlo Italiano.
' Fabio was impressed.

'That is very good Italian for someone who doesn't
speak the language. What other Italian don't you speak,
signorina
?'

'None!' I laughed.

'That is such a shame! I could teach you Italian properly,
and you know you could pass as Italian,' he said to me.
'Perhaps Sicilian.' He was flirting with me, but Mike just
chuckled.

'Are you interested,
signorina
?'

What could I say? It would be rude to say no, and some
Italian lessons would be great.

'Here is your first lesson. You say
sono interessata
if you
are interested. And
non sono interessata
if you are not
interested. But I think you need to also learn to say
interessante
.'

'Which means?'

'It means
you
are
interesting
.' I liked Fabio.

'Yes, she is,' Mike said, with a tone of ownership over the
signorina
. Fabio smiled and walked away, and we enjoyed
the rest of our meal uninterrupted.

♥

Cousin Joe had baked me a beautiful birthday cake with
wattle seed cream in the middle and Aunt had decorated
the kitchen with balloons and streamers, mainly for Will
and Maya's benefit. They had so much fun blowing the
candles out. We kept lighting and relighting them again
and again, and by the time they were done the icing had just
about melted. I couldn't recall ever having a party like this
as I grew up. Mum never made me a birthday cake, it was
always shop bought. Having photos with the kids and Aunt
overwhelmed me a little – it was one of the most moving
birthday moments I could remember
ever
having. I looked
at my aunt: she was completely different to my mum and I
wondered how they could be sisters.

'Can I ask you something, Aunt?'

'Of course, but I mightn't have the answer.'

'Well, an opinion will do. When do you know you're
supposed to get married?'

'Oh, that's a hard one, daught, it's different for everyone.
Sometimes you feel it in your belly, sometimes you know
as soon as you meet the person. Sometimes it's just easier
knowing who
not
to marry.' How much did she know, I
wondered. I hadn't really talked to her about James at all
during my stay in Melbourne and, unlike my mum the
neighbourhood gossip, she never pried for information.

'I tell you what I've come to know from looking at
women around me, and not just my age but women of all
ages, and that is that most women don't usually end up with
the loves of their lives.'

'Really? That's sad. I mean, isn't that the person you
should
marry?'

'Yes, of course it is. But most women marry the man
who will make a good husband and father and provide a
lifestyle for them all. If you can find the man who can give
you that and is
also
the love of your life, then you're one in
a million.'

'And what about marrying your soul mate?'

'Well, if you meet your soul mate, dear girl, then you'll
have the good husband and father and lifestyle because it
will fall into place. And boy we will have a humdinger of a
wedding. You can have it here in the backyard if you like.'
I loved my aunt so much at that moment; she was so
down to earth. No bullshit at all.

'Oh, I've gotta go meet the girls, Aunt. Thanks so much
for the cake and the words of wisdom. You should have
a column in the
Koori Mail
so we could write in and you
could solve our relationship woes.'

'Oh, can't be givin' all my secrets away now, can I – I'll
never get another date!'

Joe kindly drove me to the Prince to meet Sylvia and
Josie on his way to cater a function at Albert Park.

♥

By seven o'clock we were all pretty trashy, but having a
great time. It was my birthday and I would get drunk if I
wanted to. I started talking to a couple of Koori musicians,
Warren and Jason, and their manager Rob, a rather odd,
snobby bloke. Rob's only conversation was the boys or
talking about other bands. When he did attempt to make
small talk it was a disaster.

'So what do you do, love?' he asked me.

'I'm the National Aboriginal Policy Manager for
DOMSARIA,' I said reluctantly. I didn't want to talk shop
on my birthday, but I needn't have worried because being a
public servant didn't impress Rob at all. He just responded,
'Right,' and with that he turned around and started talking
to Jason again.