Thirty Days: Part One (5 page)

“I’m driving home from work. Then Mum and I are going out to dinner.”

“Oh. Okay. Don’t worry about it.” The line was quiet. She said no more.

“I’m worried, Sammy, talk to me.” Someone had to speak.

“At a later time. Just don’t watch the news tonight.”

“Well, now you’ve said I shouldn’t, you know I’m going to.”

“Abi! Just don’t watch it,” she snapped.

“Where are you?” This wasn’t like Sammy at all.

“At the Sunshine Plaza. I was going to see if you could meet me, but we’ll do it another day.” Her voice was hesitant.

“No. We’re doing it now, stay put. Meet me in the food court,” I ordered.

“It’s fine. I’m leaving anyway.”

“Don’t leave, give me fifteen.”

Ending the call, I turned the car around and headed back towards Maroochydore. I was nervous. Was she pregnant? I shook my head. No way would Sammy be pregnant. Not Ms. Responsible. Anyway, why would that be on the news? I couldn’t think of another reason.

The car park was empty, which was weird for a Thursday afternoon. I pulled up not far from the doors and hurried to the food court just inside the entrance. Sammy was there. She looked sad, sitting at a table by herself. Puffing, I closed the gap swiftly and pulled the chair from the table opposite hers. She looked up. A half smile greeted me. Her expression was miserable.

“What’s eating you?” I asked immediately. She closed her eyes tightly. Whatever it was, it seemed to be causing her a lot of distress. I watched her take breath after breath without saying a word. My worry increased. This was bad. Finally, her lips moved.

“Fuck,” came out of her mouth.

“Okay…” The atmosphere was intense.

She gnawed on her lip, then released it, leaning forward. “Why is it that I always have to do this shit?” she queried.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged.

“Suck it up and say it, Sammy,” she huffed, egging herself on.

Whatever the problem was, I knew it would change my life in some way.

“Sammy, just say whatever it is.” I was fearful, but she needed me or did I need her? It wasn’t clear.

She moaned before rolling her eyes, and then she said it. I wish she didn’t because it started the cyclone that would continue to tear my life apart.

“Mike is engaged. Her name is Monique, and she’s a dance instructor. That dipshit ex-fiancé of yours is walking down the aisle, that’s if he doesn’t freak out again. Oh, and he’s running for mayor this upcoming election. Tipped to win apparently. There, I said it.”

She seemed relieved for a moment and then heartbroken. I guessed that was for me.

“I…shit, I’ve got to go.” I stood. My heart broke all over again. I couldn’t think, so I ran.

The smell of rubber filled my nose as I screeched the tyres on the exit. Home was my only destination. No tears fell. There was only anger.

***

The door unlocked even though my hands trembled. Mum was not home yet, and Bella had not met me on entry like she always would. I needed her right now.

“Bella,” I called out. She never barked. She never came. The search commenced. “Bella, sweet girl, where are you?” There was no sound. My entire body began to shake, and I tried to walk faster even though my legs felt like jelly. I knew something was wrong. Finally, I found her in one of the guest rooms by a single bed, her chest barely rising. Running towards her, I could see her eyes, which looked almost lifeless. “Bella baby, no!” I screamed as tears gushed. “Help, please help me, my baby is dying.” Nobody heard my plea.

Scooping her into my arms, she went limp. I didn’t know what was wrong. But she was sick. As we rushed through the front door, Mum was walking down the path.

“Abigail, sweetie, what’s happened?”

“She’s dying, Mum. Help me.”

She did.

We arrived at the veterinarian clinic where Bella was taken from my arms on entry.

“Please wait here,” our veterinarian said, sporting the same look the surgeon gave us when Dad died. My baby wasn’t coming home.

“Abigail, Pamela.” Her voice was filled with sympathy.

“Please, no,” I cried.

“I’m so sorry. Would you like to say goodbye?”

I knew the vet had been crying because her eyes were still glistening. Nodding, we followed her into the room. Bella’s smooth black coat was stroked by hands that never wanted to let her go, my hands. Her paw hung limply in my grasp as she was given the injection to put her to sleep.

“It’s okay, Bella Bonanza, Mummy’s here. Close your eyes, baby. I love you, sweet girl,” I sobbed into her ear.

A minute later she was gone, and I died along with her. Everything that belonged to that part of my life was extinct now.

***

A single tear slides down my cheek. Hurried hands wipe it away and no more follow. Parvo virus took her life. Parvo virus took her from me.

“I need you, girl. Life is not fair. I’m sorry I’m cursed.” I lie down on the couch and pull my mother’s blanket to my chin. “Bella.”

***

I’m awakened by something tickling my cheek. “Baby girl,” I say, half asleep.

“No, petal, it’s me.”

“Mum?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

Grabbing her arm, she topples on top of me. My arms wrap around her tightly. “I love you, Mum.”

“Oh, Abigail. I love you, too.”

I’m scared to let her go, but I release my hold.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She smiles a half-smile. The look in her eyes tells me she needed to hear me say those words. I can’t actually remember the last time I told her I loved her.

“No, thank you.”

“How long have you been asleep on the couch?”

“That would depend on what time it is.” We both laugh, I’m not sure why. “I’m going to my room, okay?” I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed.

“Okay,” she whispers as an unsuspecting tear streams down her face.

“Mum?”

“Run along, petal.” She turns away from me, hiding her face.

Intervention

Déjà vu wakes me with the sound of an air horn blasting. My body jolts upright as the door bangs against the wall.

“Sammy, fuck off!” I yell. She laughs.
Cow
. “Why are you here?”

“Would you believe it’s because I missed you?”

“Would I believe it’s because you like to torture me.” She laughs harder. “You’re evil,” I say, flipping her the bird. She just winks at me. Her flawless makeup and black dress suit that shows off her curves annoy me. My infuriation increases. “No lunch. No water tipping. No nothing,” I state firmly.

“Good, because that’s not why I’m here. Just making sure you’re going to be at Trish’s tonight. You promised.”

“I said I would. Now leave.”

“Good.” She walks over to the bed and bends down towards my face. “Sleep tight, Dorothy.” She squeezes my cheeks together.

“Ouch! Fuck off, Ginger.”

“Big baby,” she teases.

I throw my pillow at her, but it misses.

“See you tonight.”

The door closes. Her giggling lingers.

I hate Sammy.

***

Walking out to the road, Mum asks how I plan on getting home tonight. She has to work the nightshift again. Why she works so much is beyond me. Dad’s life insurance covered everything we’d need.

“Taxi or something,” is my initial response. But she shakes her head and purses that damn mouth of hers. “Someone will probably give me a lift, Mum. Don’t stress about it.”

“Please don’t drink too much, Abigail.”

“M...U...M!”

“I worry.”

“You never worry, shut up,” I say, climbing into the Gecko car. It’s a Ford Festiva that is green in colour. Somehow it got that nickname. How, I’m unsure. “Trish’s house is not far. I can probably walk home if it comes to that.” I shrug, turning up the volume of the radio so Mum stops talking.

“You look pretty, petal.”

“Whatever. I’m only wearing an everyday dress, nothing spectacular.”

“Well, I like the green on you. It’s pretty against your eyes.” She stares blankly at me.

“Watch the road, will you?” My hands shelter my face in pretence of a likely car wreck.

“Really, Abigail?” she tuts, annoyed.

“What?”

“You know your eyes are just like your father’s?”

“Yes, I know. Mum, stop talking.”

She does.

We pull up outside Trish’s. It’s a three-storey monstrosity. Trish comes from money…a lot of money. She’s also marrying into wealth. Her dad is a big time solicitor, her mum a paediatrician, and she has grown up and become some sort of shopper. No, seriously, she is an interior designer, I think. Trish spends most of her days shopping for shit for other people’s homes. Stuart, her soon-to-be husband, is some fancy architect. They are nice people, yet I don’t want to be here. I’d rather be home in bed.

Mum says goodbye and, of course, tells me not to drink too much for the third time tonight. She drives back down the long driveway we came up, and I stand watching until the lights are gone. Throwing my head back, I look at the sky. The moon is full, yet dull. Clouds obscure its view as they float across a gloomy skyline. How I wish I could climb up and perch myself on the moon. Even with its doom and gloom it still looks like a much happier place to live.
If only
.

“Abigail, what are you doing standing out there?”

Trish. Here goes nothing.

I grit my teeth before turning towards the door. “Hi, Trish, how are you?” I fake happiness, stalking forward with outstretched arms.

“I’m good, darling. I’m so glad you could make it. Come in.” She hugs me for a millisecond, her long dress silky against my inner arm as we embrace, then steps inside. “Well…come in,” she orders when I pause.

“Sure thing. How’s Stuart?” I mutter in an attempt to start conversation.

“Good, Abigail. He is up on the terrace, second level. Everybody is up there, actually. I’m just going to grab some more wine from the cellar. I won’t be long.” She disappears. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be waiting for her return, or if I’m supposed to go up.
Awkward.

Looking around, I notice everything seems the same as the last time I visited. Fancy furnishings, a kitchen big enough for a restaurant, and oversized canvases hang on the walls. Abstract objets d’art, is how Trish explains the pieces. My fingers begin tracing along the red felt of their pool table, and I smile thinking about the games we’ve played on this thing. So many memories. Probably why I don’t come here often.
Why am I here?
It dawns on me that Sammy just said I had to come…she never said what type of function it was. Was I supposed to bring a gift?

The staircase is now directly in front of me. Trish still hasn’t returned and many voices can be heard, so I begin my entry into this…well, whatever it is.

“One, two, three, four, five, six…” I count under my breath as my feet hit each step. Upon reaching the top, I exhale and straighten my dress.
I’m nervous.
A vision of blue eyes, red hair, and pale skin confronts me. Thank fuck!

“Abi!” she calls out.

“Ginger,” I croak before clearing my throat.

Sammy takes my hand in hers. “Seriously…Ginger, still?”

“Yes.” I nod.

“I hate it.”

“I know you do.”

After a few glasses of white wine, I’m relaxed. Maybe a night out, catching up with old friends is what I need. Stuart fills me in on a new high-rise that is being built on the Gold Coast. Sophie shows me the fifty ways her new rock shines under different lighting, and Ange asked me how I was after the lunch situation. I reassured her that everything was peachy. She didn’t buy it, but didn’t push the issue either.

“Abi.” The call of my name comes from one Jackson Mosby, Sammy’s man candy. He is definitely all sorts of fine.

“Mosby.”

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

“Sure thing. What’s up?”