Chapter 16 #2
Michelle took a deep breath. ‘I think Ilse is right,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘I think saving the business will be a long shot, but we can still save our reputations if we go public. Or at least, if you go public.’
Blinking back tears, Katrina fumbled with her robe and quavered, ‘Michelle, my greatest skills are getting stains out of soft toys and coaching the dolphin-kick drill. Why would anyone believe me?’
‘For exactly that reason. Because you’re a good wife.’ Michelle leaned in, gimlet-eyed. ‘Come on, you’ve said it yourself. And you were great onstage at the gala – you held that room.’
Katrina groaned, remembering her impromptu gala speech. ‘I was drunk. A mess.’ She was struck by a sudden thought. ‘What about the clients? Do you think any of them will speak for us, instead of me?’
Michelle’s face fell. ‘Every appointment’s been cancelled.’
Lord, give me strength. Katrina clutched the barbecue for support. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s suicide. I can’t do it.’
She’d have to accept Shane Worsley’s job offer after all, and maybe compete in the Senior Kickboxing Championships.
Didn’t most martial arts stars have aliases, like The Rock?
If she changed her name, no one would connect her with Dreamwives.
Her professional alias could be The Grey Rock!
She’d have to download a hair-colour app and find out what shade of silver looked good against her skin.
How would Justin feel about having a kickboxing mother? He might be proud of her. Hamish certainly would.
Tightening her robe again, she turned to look at Justin, who had sunk onto the sofa beside Rolf. Then her eyes flicked to the bag on the floor as Justin said, ‘But what if I did this?’
Rolf wrinkled his nose and shook his head. ‘He’ll just take your rook. Why not use your knight?’
‘But won’t he just . . .’ Justin trailed off, motioning, and Rolf nodded gravely.
It was a peaceful scene: the old man, the young man, staring at the screen as they wrestled with the problem. Everything seemed almost preternaturally calm, and safe enough for Katrina to risk a harmless question. She padded through the glass doors, back into the games room.
‘You’re not going anywhere, are you, sweetheart?’ she asked gently, waving at the duffel bag.
Justin didn’t look up from the iPad, but his face knotted into a scowl. ‘Oh, I’m going somewhere. Dad’s coming to pick me up – I’m moving in with him.’
* * *
Justin’s announcement seemed to ricochet around the games room, hitting Katrina in the heart before whizzing past Michelle, who’d followed her inside.
Katrina was holding it together – barely – but Michelle could see how shattered she was because her eye twitched, her veins throbbed and her lips trembled as she croaked, ‘Sweetheart, I didn’t tell you about Dreamwives because I knew how people would jump to conclusions.
They’re making it out to be seedy and degrading, and it’s not at all.
It really is an event management company but the events are very small and exclusive—’
‘And private,’ Justin said with a sneer, his eyes fixed firmly on the iPad.
Rolf shot him a surprisingly sharp look, but didn’t comment – and that was when Michelle realised she wasn’t just a spectator at this three-ring circus. Any minute now, she would have to deal with her own fallout, as Rolf realised what she’d been up to these past few weeks.
‘That’s right, they’re private – because it’s weak to want a wife, isn’t it?
’ Katrina was feeling her way, using a voice so rigidly bright that it almost broke Michelle’s heart.
Nothing about that voice was convincing.
‘People are afraid and embarrassed that they need someone to listen to their boring stories, and sympathise with their problems, and put up with their—’
‘Weird sex stuff?’ Justin interrupted, his caustic tone bringing tears to Katrina’s eyes. When Michelle saw those, she knew she had to intercede.
‘No sex. No physical contact at all.’ She whipped out her phone and scrolled through some of her email attachments.
‘It’s right here in our client contract, see?
A no-contact clause, signed by everyone we do business with.
No touching, no abuse, no coercion, nothing remotely sexual.
’ As she held the screen towards Justin, who deliberately averted his eyes, she couldn’t help thinking about Filippo.
Nothing sexual? That was a laugh. Though the sex had been all in her head, of course.
‘So you say.’ Justin’s tone was snarky. ‘Why should I believe you?’
‘Because my daughter doesn’t lie,’ Rolf said, with lofty condescension. Then he shot Michelle a reproachful look and added, ‘Mind you, she keeps secrets. A lot of secrets. Lying by omission, they call it.’
Michelle coloured, but she wasn’t ashamed – she was angry. Lying by omission? Would that be the same as seeing women on the side without mentioning it? Getting sacked from the public service without mentioning it? Bankrupting your own businesses without mentioning it?
Michelle decided not to say a word because all that stuff was water under the bridge. But if Rolf wanted to bring up her so-called ‘secrets’ at a later date, she wouldn’t hold back.
‘Sweetheart, that picture of me in the garden – I was just helping a client chase a pet.’ Katrina was wringing her hands.
‘And that ridiculous hair? With the red glasses? I was being a mum, Juzzy. A mum of five, who spent the whole night talking about her non-existent kids with a lonely guy who wants a big family.’
‘Yeah, right.’ The teenager’s voice was so full of scorn that Michelle’s burgeoning anger shifted away from Rolf and targeted Justin instead. What right did the privileged little prick have to dismiss his mother like that?
‘It’s all here in the client questionnaire,’ she said coldly, flicking through to that particular document and shoving it in Justin’s face. ‘Complete specifications: the kids’ names, ages, hobbies, allergies; the lot. If you’d read it, instead of sitting in judgement—’
He batted away the phone and surged to his feet. ‘I don’t believe you! Why should I? You’ve both been lying and lying! Product launches! Retro parties! It was all a lie! It was all sex work and you should have told me!’ Rounding on his mum, he shouted, ‘You’re a liar! And a . . . a prostitute!’
‘Oi.’ Rolf rose too, but not as gracefully as Justin.
Once on his feet, he swayed like a hammock in a hurricane.
‘That’s not how you address your mother, my lad.
Keep a civil tongue in your head.’ Talking back was anathema to Rolf and always had been.
Michelle had never been allowed to do it as a child.
‘You owe her some respect,’ he continued, ‘for your food and clothes and that dingus you’ve been playing chess on. ’
Justin scowled, though Rolf’s gruff admonition had left him slightly more subdued. ‘She didn’t pay for it, Dad did,’ he mumbled, then brightened at the sound of someone banging on the front door. ‘Speaking of Dad, here he is now. Come to get me.’
Michelle saw Katrina flinch as someone outside yelled, ‘Open up! It’s me! And I’m not just walking in like I own the joint!’
‘God,’ Michelle muttered. ‘I hope the media didn’t hear that.’
But Katrina was already following Justin, who had shouldered his duffel bag. ‘Please, sweetheart, wait,’ she begged. ‘Listen to me, I know people are being cruel but you’re not being fair . . .’
They disappeared, leaving Michelle near the TV, unsure of what to do next.
It was nearly half past eight. If she left right now, she might make it to Alexandria in time for her Stott and Speyer health check, though she would have to roll up looking like a heap of dirty laundry, with Rolf at her side.
‘You’re just like your mother, always keeping me in the dark,’ he said. ‘What’s the matter with you? We’re family, and you can’t even tell me something like this? No wonder you’ve never married.’
Michelle raised an admonishing finger. ‘Don’t even try it.’
‘When did you leave your job? Did you leave your job?’
‘I was let go last month. And before you say a word – no, it wasn’t because I screwed up, it was because I got too old.’
‘Well, you should have told me.’ Rolf sat down in a huff and reached for the TV remote. ‘Just like Katrina should have told her lad.’
‘Oh, right,’ Michelle said sarcastically. ‘I’m sure that would have gone well.’
The words were barely out of her mouth before she heard a man’s voice in the front room saying, ‘Because he doesn’t want to be here. Because he wants to live with me now!’
That must be Craig. Michelle was keen to see what he looked like, so she tiptoed across the kitchen and poked her head through the door to the front room.
‘You can’t, you don’t understand—’ Katrina was pleading.
‘Oh, I understand,’ snarled Craig, who wasn’t quite what Michelle had expected – burlier, with more male pattern baldness. ‘You’ve got your own escort service going—’
‘I don’t!’
‘—and Justin doesn’t want anything to do with it. He’s ashamed of his mother and Hamish feels the same, I expect. Where is Hamish?’
‘Upstairs. Asleep.’ Justin was inching towards the front door, red and flustered. ‘I don’t think he knows what’s been going on.’
Craig whipped out his phone and dialled a number, then spoke into it, staring at Katrina the whole time. ‘Hamish? When you get this message, call me. I’m here for you.’ Ignoring Katrina’s gasp, he turned to follow Justin.
‘Craig, wait! Dreamwives isn’t about sex! They’re lying! Please!’ Katrina scurried after him down the path, towards the road.
Michelle was planning to wade in and provide moral support when her phone pinged.
Her heart lurched as she wondered if Filippo had left a message, though she knew she was being unrealistic – it was probably a calendar reminder for her pre-employment health check in thirty minutes’ time.
God, if she didn’t leave in a minute, she could kiss that job goodbye.
Why would Stott and Speyer reschedule, when they must have a raft of more punctual applicants to draw from? It was now or never.
But when she checked her phone, she saw it wasn’t a reminder or a message from Filippo. It was a text from an unknown number: Stay away from Filippo. He doesn’t need your so-called ‘services’.
Michelle slumped against the door frame. Oh, God. This was obviously Bianca, laying claim to him. Had she found Michelle’s number on Filippo’s phone? What a nightmare. A perfect storm.
A drift of music snagged her attention and she realised Rolf must have worked out how to turn on the TV.
She also noticed that Katrina was staggering up the front path, bedraggled, sobbing, still in her pyjamas and robe but with only one slipper on.
There were no journalists in sight and no cars either; Craig must have driven off with Justin.
Katrina looked distraught, in pain – as if her guts had been ripped out of her.
What must it be like, watching your child being snatched away like that?
I can’t leave her. Not now. Michelle would have to let the Stott and Speyer job go. Finding another job might be hard, but finding good friends had always been harder. Katrina was someone she didn’t want to lose. Who knew what Katrina might do in the black depths of despair?
If Dreamwives was going to drag them down, they’d go down together.
Michelle stepped forward, ready to offer whatever was necessary – a hug, a chair, reassurance, sympathy, advice, black gaffer tape. She braced herself, ready to deal with whatever came next, as Katrina stumbled up the steps and through the door, panting and wild-eyed.
Then she rounded on Michelle and screamed, at the top of her voice, ‘You’ve ruined my life!’
Out in the games room, the low drone of the television immediately got louder. Rolf must have turned it up.
‘This is all your fault!’ Katrina screeched. ‘You started all this and now everything is ruined!’