Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
‘ W elcome, welcome!’ Fern ushered Matthew and me into her home. ‘It’s been too long.’
I’d only met Terry a couple of times, years ago, and barely recognised him when Fern reintroduced her ‘devilishly handsome’ husband to me, mainly because he had stacked on at least twenty kilos since I’d last seen him.
Her house was picture perfect. I felt like I’d stepped into a Vogue Living French provincial – no, Hamptons – feature. I couldn’t imagine her children getting messy and spilling chocolate milkshake on the oriental rugs, or dog hairs littering the cream suede lounge.
In fact, apart from the photos and artwork on the fridge, it was impossible to believe four children lived here – until they appeared in person wearing gorgeous designer pyjamas. After the introductions, Lily, Rose, Thorn and Leaf (a flora obsession, obviously) disappeared with quiet orderliness. Lily, the eldest, carried baby Leaf in her arms.
If it were my house, Angus and Lexi would have been interrupting every few minutes with tears and tales of torture.
We settled on the beautiful cream sofa. In the corner of the room stood a magnificent floor-to-ceiling green Christmas tree, festooned with fairy lights and sparkling baubles in pastel shades of sage and pink. At least twenty perfectly wrapped presents sat on the floor around it.
‘Your tree looks stunning,’ I said.
Terry passed me a glass of wine. ‘We like to put it up early in the hope the kids will embrace the festive spirit and be kind to each other.’
Fern rubbed his arm and smiled.
‘Ah, so that’s what we need to do, Matt.’ I sipped my drink. ‘Our two are constantly snarking at each other.’
‘End of year snarkiness gets to everyone,’ Fern sympathised.
‘Yeah, but the tree might temper it down.’
As I reached to take a cracker and cheese from the table, I spied a glossy photography book, My Eye, My Lens . Not just any photography book, however. The photographer was Sarah Stanthorpe – a woman who’d been in my year at college. We weren’t friends.
‘What’s this?’ I pointed to the publication.
‘Thought you’d like that,’ Fern answered.
Like was unquestionably the wrong word. Having a collection of my photographs published – in full colour, no less – had been my dream. My heart sank further with each passing second. It was agony. And Sarah? She’d thought she was better than everyone else in the course and didn’t shy away from telling us. She’d undermined my confidence with snide remarks like, Kate, don’t you know anything about film or shutter speeds? Why are you wasting your time and everyone else’s?
I couldn’t believe those same feelings of inadequacy were resurfacing now, years later. I wished it was my book sitting on Fern’s coffee table.
‘I’ve been meaning to tell you about Sarah.’ Fern halted briefly. ‘I was at her book launch recently. Her publisher, Venus, is in the same building as Image Ink, sixth floor.’
I felt ill. Gulped my Shiraz.
‘She’s certainly hit the big time.’ Fern exhaled. ‘Was overseas for a few years. These photos are a compilation of her wildlife photography. I think she’s planning a themed series – wildlife, beaches, babies…’
Matthew picked it up. ‘Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted to do, Kate?’
I shrugged. He was right, of course. I was sick with envy.
‘Sarah’s married and has kids,’ Fern continued.
I smiled. Yet another superwoman who could do it all and have it all.
‘But just before the launch, she left her husband. She’s dating a twenty-two-year-old landscaper.’ Fern giggled. ‘Can you believe it?’
Terry grinned. ‘Some people!’
I wrenched the book from Matthew’s hands. ‘Not that I’m bitter and twisted.’
‘Not at all,’ Matthew agreed.
I was desperate to run off to the bathroom and examine it in all its gory detail, but three sets of eyes were upon me, waiting for me to speak. I opened the first page and quickly snapped it shut. I couldn’t do it to myself. Not here. Not with Fern watching.
‘Take it home if you like,’ she encouraged. ‘Have a close look. You’ll be surprised.’
‘It’s okay.’ I put it back on the table.
‘Go on,’ Matthew urged. ‘Maybe it will inspire you.’
I glared at him, signalling the end of that conversation.
Sarah and Fern were living the dream. Terry obviously doted on Fern. From where I sat, they were the perfect couple living in the perfect home with perfect (and quiet) children. And an impressive Christmas tree to boot. So, Terry had love handles, it was clear Fern adored him.
‘Tell me how you’re getting along at Delicious Bites ?’ Fern asked as we dined on yellowfin tuna in white bean sauce. ‘It’s hectic, I know. Sorry I haven’t been more available. How was your meeting with Dana yesterday?’
‘Great. We’ve worked out the first seven days of the nativity calendar.’
‘The what?’ Matthew asked.
Fern turned to him. ‘Hasn’t Kate told you? Every day in December, she’ll be responsible for posting a different festive photo montage on our online magazine.’
‘Like what?’ Terry asked.
‘Anything Kate wants,’ Fern replied. ‘It’s her baby.’
‘Will you be working on weekends and Christmas Day?’ Matthew asked me, sounding confused.
I shook my head. ‘I’ll take photos in advance and schedule publication for the same time every day. Not as time consuming as it sounds. Much of it will be research… putting photos together in an ordered sequence. The online calendar is a side project for when I’m not trailing Graeme around.’ To Fern, I asked, ‘Speaking of which, how does he feel about it?’
She rubbed her nose. ‘I haven’t told him.’
‘Fern!’
‘The nativity calendar is my brainwave, an add-on for Christmas. Graeme rarely checks the online magazine. He has a vague idea, but is so busy…’ She trailed off. ‘Besides, what he doesn’t know, can’t hurt him.’ She flashed me a smile. ‘Or you.’
I wasn’t so sure.
Fern cleared her throat. ‘I know how impressive your photography is, Kate, but the truth is, Graeme doesn’t want the competition. He can be a bit precious.’
‘A bit ? And don’t you think he’s a little demented as well? ’
‘Don’t know about demented. He’s demanding…’ Fern took a moment. ‘And he can be unstable at times.’
Terry smirked. ‘Doesn’t it make you feel proud to work in an industry where unstable nutcases can still be respected and succeed?’
‘I guess.’ The flashback… why had I allowed Graeme to kiss me? Why hadn’t I listened to my inner voice? I’d been wary of Graeme from the start. His superior attitude, his arrogant manner.
Table conversations continued as I searched the deepest recesses of my mind to figure out exactly what had gone on between Graeme and me, but I couldn’t remember anything more than a rushed kiss.
I tuned in as Terry and Matthew talked cricket. ‘What about that batting debacle last night?’ and then the economy: ‘What’s the government doing?’ I listened but felt outside the moment, like one of those people who have near-death experiences and find themselves hovering above their body. My head was spinning.