How to be perfect, p.28
How to Be Perfect, page 28
But last night they’d had an argument about Sydney. After the ceremony, he’d decided, she would move there with him. That was what he’d always wanted, for her to follow him wherever he went. To have her with him. That’s what a wife does.
But Elle said no. She said no because she ‘hated Sydney’. She said no because she ‘loved Gurva’. She said the business ‘needed her’, that Alma ‘needed stability’. She said she ‘needed independence’, that this was ‘always their arrangement’.
And the way she told him all of this—lying next to him in bed, heads together in apparent intimacy. So close, but pushing him so far away.
He felt that familiar rage pulsing inside him. He felt himself needing to react. He tried to step away from it, but she was right there, talking at him, in his face, sounding so sure, so reasonable. He stood up and went to the French doors for some air.
She followed him, and then …
Now he wasn’t sure what had happened between them, but suddenly she’d been out on the deck, crying, and he was inside. He had closed the doors and she was out there, naked, banging on the glass.
‘You make me do this,’ he remembered shouting through the glass door.
He’d known that for her, this was the worst: she was humiliated, furious, because she would have to come another way into the house, and be seen—naked, cast out—by whichever staff member let her back in.
Why did I think she was going to marry me after that? Ben Bont wondered as he climbed into his little Cirrus.
Because she’d told him she was going to.
• • •
Frances and Troy were setting up the bar at Abi Black’s wedding.
It was an unusual gig, because there was no alcohol. Well, there was very little: Abi had instructed them to order a few bottles of excellent champagne and have them hidden—chilled, of course—waiting for a secret signal. Mostly they’d be serving four kinds of kombucha, lots of water with berries in it, and some elderflower cordial on ice.
‘This will be a piece of piss,’ Troy had told Frances. ‘A wedding with no booze! Your biggest problem at most weddings is dealing with all the pissheads. We can do as many jobs as you like for these friends.’
Abi and Arden had asked Frances and Troy to come down and do this gig after they’d heard that Troy had lost his job over the Elle problem. ‘Some money and a weekend in the country, plus Arden would love to see you,’ had been Abi’s gambit, and that was all Frances had needed to hear before she said, ‘Absolutely.’
She and Troy and baby Denny had driven down the day before, and now Alex and Arden had absorbed Denny into the farm’s crèche of what seemed like a hundred children. Since Frances couldn’t hear him whingeing, he was surely happy enough.
‘This year’s going to be different,’ Frances told Troy as they were polishing glasses.
‘No more bloody resolutions,’ Troy said. ‘No more giving something up, taking something else on. Can we just try “being” for a while, please?’
‘That’s exactly it,’ said Frances. ‘I feel like now I’ve stopped trying to be better, I am actually getting better.’
She’d also found a counsellor, eased up on the restrictive diet, and prepared a submission to the hospital about the inappropriate behaviour of one Dr Darling. ‘I really am.’
‘Well, that’s the best start to the year I could hope for,’ said Troy.
They were grinning at each other like idiots.
• • •
Adrian had brought a date. His book was ready for publication in May, and Fran was the associate publisher. They’d been working pretty closely together, and when he’d asked her to come, he’d genuinely felt nervous.
Alex had been horrified when he told her. ‘Dad! Haven’t you learnt anything? She’s in her thirties—she’s going to want children!’
‘Since when is that the kind of thing you worry about?’ Adrian had asked his younger daughter. ‘Leave that worrying to me. Anyway, she’s already got a little boy, Thomas.’
‘Even worse!’ Alex pouted. ‘We don’t need any more children in this family.’
‘Really?’ Adrian asked. ‘Is there a strict limit that I didn’t know about? When did we cross it? After you, by any chance?’
‘Dad, you’re such a dick.’ But he could see that Alex, just like Arden and Abi, was secretly pleased to see Adrian behave more like Adrian. It had been a long time.
He’d finally filed the divorce papers, and Elle would get the Brighton box, he’d get everything else—and that was that, he thought, as he drove Fran into the grounds of the Daylesford farm, which were buzzing with activity.
‘Things must be pretty crazy,’ Fran said, looking at the posse of kids playing in the paddock, ‘having two ex-wives and so many children around.’
‘It was,’ Adrian said, ‘for a while. Now, it’s pretty sorted. I think next year is going to be the Year of Calm. Hopefully, it starts today.’
• • •
Grace was sitting by Lake Daylesford with her sister, Leisel.
They’d been walking since early in the morning, but for the past hour, tired out, they’d just been sitting, watching the water. Leisel had brought Grace up to date on everything that was going on with Mark and the kids and the campervan, and Grace had listened, and nodded, and said little.
Now, Leisel looked at her watch. ‘Gracey,’ she said gently, ‘we’ve got a wedding to go to, you know. You’ve got a dress to put on.’
‘I know.’ Grace was picking apart some tufts of grass with her blunt fingers. ‘Lee, do you think I should?’
‘What kind of a question is that?’ Leisel said, laughing. ‘I can’t answer it. Only you can.’
‘But you have an opinion?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I think it’s hard to be in a relationship with a force of nature like Abi,’ she said. ‘I think in every relationship there’s a dynamic of energy where one’s steady, and one’s not, and playing your part in that gets tiring sometimes, whichever side you’re on.’
‘You and Mark?’
‘He’s steady,’ Leisel said. ‘And often, it drives him crazy. Being the one who’s always calming the waters after a storm is wearing, right?’
‘Right.’ Grace looked back to the water. ‘I just don’t know if I wanted all this. I mean, we fought so hard for it, but I’m talking about me—I’ve never aspired to it.’
‘Well, to be fair, until late last year it wasn’t on the menu, Grace,’ Leisel said. ‘You haven’t had as much time to ponder this.’
‘True.’
That morning, Grace had left the house at dawn. She warmed a matcha tea and took it down to her bench, under the angel trumpets.
There, on the bench, was a little wooden box, along with an envelope addressed to Grace.
Inside was a pearl necklace, and a piece of paper.
She knew instantly what it was. It wasn’t a gift. They were Abi’s pearls, the necklace she’d worn all the time when Grace had first met her—when Grace was Arden’s tutor, visiting a nice middle-class home in the suburbs to help a little girl with her maths.
The piece of paper just read:
You freed me from these beautiful chains, Grace Adams. Never forget how powerful you are – A x
‘I know you love Abi,’ Leisel said now, by the shores of the lake.
‘She’s everything,’ Grace found herself saying. ‘Even with her infuriating temper, and ego, and inability to consult, and chocolate, and ex-husband baggage … Life is in colour with her.’
Leisel laughed. ‘Had you already written your vows? Because I think you just did.’
‘So, this is the bit in the movie when we go back to the farm and I get my dress on?’ Grace asked.
‘What movie?’
‘Arden has a theory that we’re just drawing out the drama. For a better movie.’ Grace smiled. ‘I fucking love that girl.’
‘Then yes, we’re up to that bit in the movie. Let’s hustle.’
And Leisel pulled her sister up and pushed her back into her bridal station wagon.
• • •
The ceremony was meant to happen at sunset.
Half an hour before, Abi was posting:
You can have your happy ending, GDs. But it just might look like a new beginning. #truelove
‘That,’ Grace said, over her shoulder, ‘is some soppy shit.’
Abi turned to face her. Her bride looked like she’d stepped out of a Pre-Raphaelite disco, all flowing wavy hair and floaty chiffon layers and glittery eyelids.
‘Arden?’ Abi asked, although it was obvious who was responsible.
‘Arden.’
Grace held out her hand. Around her wrist, she had wrapped Abi’s pearls.
‘You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life, Grace,’ Abi said. ‘The sunset will be embarrassed showing up next to you.’
‘Thank you, you look incredible. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.’
Abi was wearing what she called her pearly peasant dress: a simple shift but beaded to within an inch of its life. ‘It’s so heavy, you’ll never be able to carry me over the threshold,’ she said and laughed.
They just stood there, looking at each other. Almost a decade of history passing on a current between them.
‘You know,’ Abi said, ‘this is the moment. Not out there, in front of everyone we’ve ever freaking met. In here, you and me. This is the moment.’
Abi and Grace kissed. And then a herd of children came piling through the door.
‘Muuuummmm. Euuuuw! It’s time!’
• • •
That morning, Elle had started with every intention of going through with this ridiculous wedding charade.
The night before, she’d tapped on Ocean’s window, motioning for the confused nanny to come and let her in the front door. Wrapped in a chair cover snatched from the deck, Elle had gone and slept on the floor of Alma’s nursery, right next to her cot.
There had been no sleep, really, just the familiar roll-call of rationalisations in her head of all the reasons she was still at Gurva, at the most perfect place in the most perfect part of Australia, with the perfect man and the perfect baby.
As she had showered and began to put on her exquisite wedding dress—flown up from Sydney in its own seat from a designer friend of Ben’s—she listened to the rising hum of activity around the farm. She glimpsed Ben through the picture windows, directing staff to put a chair ‘here where the view is just so’, or move this tower of flowers ‘over there, where the light will catch them’.
And Elle thought, This is the ugliest thing I have ever seen.
On her buffed and polished skin, Elle could still feel the grime of what had happened last night, of the effort of holding up her head while Ocean, and then Mauna, had watched her walk down the hallway with a slight limp from the force of the door hitting her as she’d tumbled through it. She felt it all over her, like a light dusting of shame.
And she thought, I am not ashamed.
She looked through the French doors to Ben. He had come to check on her first thing this morning, and she had kissed his cheek and apologised to him, told him she would be a better wife in this new year.
From the garden, he looked up and gave her a little wave, mimed covering his eyes to avoid seeing the dress.
‘I am not fucking marrying you,’ Elle suddenly said out loud, to no one. ‘I’m not even pretend-marrying you.’
And right then, on the dressing table, her phone started to flash.
It was Zoe.
I’m outside. At the gates. COME.
• • •
‘You may kiss the bride,’ had just been said when all hell broke loose at Abi and Grace’s wedding.
Arden would later say that she wasn’t sure what happened first: the car screeching up the driveway, or the plane buzzing overhead.
But it was the car.
As soon as it came to a halt, Zoe fell out of the back door. ‘Damn, I missed it!’ she said, as more than a hundred heads turned towards her.
Then Elle got out—still, bizarrely, wearing a wedding dress. Over the top of the elaborate, mostly sheer designer gown she wore a baby carrier, with Alma snuggled on her chest. She looked around with something on her face that seemed like fear, and then pushed her shoulders back and put one arm around Alma.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Elle said to the members of the crowd who could hear her, ‘I really haven’t had a minute to change.’
And then a big, tattooed man climbed out of the driver’s seat. It was Matt.
Faerie Arden gasped audibly, and Frances rushed out from behind the bar.
• • •
Abi and Grace were still in each other’s arms, holding on very tight. ‘I’m so sorry for all the mess,’ Abi was whispering into Grace’s hair. ‘I promise to never lose sight of you again.’
It was Grace who became aware that the crowd’s murmur had turned into a roar, and that now a small plane was flying low overhead—it looked dangerously low. She pulled away from Abi and, hand in hand, they stood and watched their crowd of nearest and dearest gazing up at the sky.
Abi had a fast thought that it might be photographers. She’d finally turned down the offer from the magazine, but surely they wouldn’t be going to these lengths. She wasn’t Nicole Fucking Kidman.
Then, through the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Elle, and the look on her face as she stared up at the plane—and Abi knew. It was Ben Bont.
Abi kissed Grace again quickly and stomped as best she could through the crowds to Elle and Zoe. ‘What. The. Fuck?’ She looked at Elle, shook her head. Looked at Zoe.
‘We didn’t know where else to go,’ said Zoe.
‘Bullshit,’ said Abi. ‘There are a million hotels between here and Byron Bay. Perfect places to hide out where you are not going to ruin someone’s wedding. And what …’ she caught proper sight of Elle now, ‘are you wearing?’
‘Abi, it’s a long story, but I had to get away, and we just ran.’ Elle was looking directly at Abi, her arm still protectively curled around the baby on her chest. Abi felt like she was seeing this woman for the first time. She looked … genuinely scared. ‘Everything’s been so fast, and I haven’t even had time to buy something to change into. And I don’t want to ruin your wedding but I do want to see my boys.’ She looked around wildly, then up to the plane. ‘And I need your help … with him.’
The ridiculous small plane was circling, surely looking for somewhere to land.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Abi. ‘Get inside. Where’s Adrian? Adrian!’
Adrian’s date was looking at him. ‘Isn’t that …?’
‘Yes, it is, it’s my ex.’
‘And she’s wearing a wedding dress.’
‘Apparently so.’
‘At your other ex’s wedding.’
‘Yup.’
‘Okay. Year of Calm?’
‘Uh-uh. Please excuse me.’
By the time Adrian got over to Elle and Abi, Arden was telling her mum that Matt was the man who’d given her the pill at Gurva, and Abi was having to be restrained by River.
‘Please, Adrian, make yourself useful and punch that man,’ Abi yelled.
‘Can we focus, please?’ asked Zoe. ‘Ben’s going to land in a moment.’
They all looked up. It was true: Ben Bont had obviously decided that the long paddock next to the woods would do just fine, and he’d already taken one pass. The noise from the plane was deafening.
‘I’ll take care of the guests,’ yelled Frances, and she and Troy kicked into action, grabbing some of the local waiters to herd the crane-necked guests over to the marquee for drinks and nibbles.
Now it was Grace’s turn to stand in front of Elle in her wedding dress and look her up and down. ‘What are you wearing?’
Elle sighed. ‘Where are my boys?’
‘What do you care?’ Abi asked. ‘You were very happy to see the back of them when their modelling shift was over.’
‘Abi,’ Elle gave another sigh, ‘I know you think I’m a monster, but I let you take them that night for their own protection. They’ve been through enough, and I didn’t need them being around that man.’
‘So, are we supposed to believe,’ Abi said, ‘that all the heinous things you’ve done, you did because you’re dating a bully?’
‘You finally met your match, right?’ asked Arden.
‘Arden,’ Grace said evenly, ‘enough. There’s no pleasure in someone else’s fear, no matter who it is.’
‘Do you know something, Grace?’ asked Adrian.
‘I know a bit,’ said Grace, looking over at Leisel. ‘Elle, come inside.’
And two women in wedding dresses walked together into the farmhouse, one leaning over the other to peer at the cute baby.
‘This is the strangest wedding!’ said a woman’s voice nearby. It was Grace and Leisel’s mum, here from Sydney for the occasion. ‘I knew a lesbian ceremony would be different, but three brides?’ Leisel put an arm around her and guided her to the marquee.
The plane, with a roar, was down, and Ben Bont was climbing out.
Matt started towards him first, but Abi—surprising herself with the speed she could move in her beaded dress—managed to get to Matt before he got to Ben.
‘No,’ she said, looking at Matt with undisguised fury, ‘no one is beating anyone up on my farm, at my wedding.’
‘Then what?’ said Matt. ‘He’s used to getting what he wants. And that baby is his baby.’
‘We’re going to talk.’
Ben Bont had to climb over a fence to reach the house. He looked around for a moment, taking in the scene of all these people dressed in formal wear, standing around with little glasses of fizzy kombucha, staring at him. ‘Where’s Elle?’ he shouted.
‘You won’t be seeing her,’ said Abi. ‘Please leave.’
‘You.’ Ben sneered. ‘As if—’
‘This is my property and you will get off it before I call the police,’ Abi said, and then added, ‘Fuckhead.’
