like when you kick your toe and for that first moment there’s nothing, and then the pain hits you. It hit me, like a sledge hammer hurting in a place I didn’t know I had.
Two weeks earlier, a staff Christmas party at our home. I was busy topping Atlantic salmon slices with my homemade chilli jam. Felicity was propped on a stool chatting to me, firstly saying that I had the most awesome life. I was so lucky. She even commented on my black and white striped apron with hot pink ties. It was one of those back handed compliments. ‘How… Stepford Wife-ish of you,’ she cooed, batting her lashes, throwing her head back and laughing. ‘You look very…’ she searched for the word, ‘cute!’
She then went on to tell me that Address was the best thing that had ever happened to her, every now and then elegantly recrossing her long tanned legs. The aquamarine mini dress she was wearing riding sky high. Her pretty blonde hair was in waves around her face. A brand new Louis Vuitton clutch on her lap. I remembered thinking could this girl get any more beautiful?
Davis had come in looking for something in one of the kitchen drawers. I noticed the way Felicity turned side on and over a bare tanned shoulder, flashed her eyes at him. I remembered pausing, hands clad in oven mitts, with the kitchen tray in my hand, stunned, and thinking she was a tad obvious. I had this sudden urge to say, ‘Excuse me dear, but I am in the room. Do you mind?’ But so taken aback was I, that I didn’t say a word. Party noises drifted inside from the terrace.
Davis appeared oblivious. He placed his wine glass on the monolithic stainless steel kitchen bench, and rifling through the cutlery drawer he asked me where the gas refill was for the wine opener. There was a feeling, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something was trying to make itself known to me, but I didn’t want to know. I bent to place the salmon into the oven, but still aware, with my back to them, I glanced at the mirrored splashback. I saw Felicity pick up Davis’s glass and seductively drink from it, the entire time her eyes on him. He took it from her, his hand touching hers. Smiling, he put the glass to his lips, where hers had been. Holding her eyes, there was a look flowing between them that no psychiatrist would need to glimpse to decode.
The intimacy of their pose took my breath away. I felt it deep in my gut. My face flushed. I spun around and looked at Davis directly. He caught my look although nervously glanced away. Casually, Felicity slid off the stool and sashayed through the house and out onto the terrace, proudly swinging her new Louis Vuitton handbag, a gift from an admirer she had told me earlier.
Just at that moment the doorbell chimed, heralding the arrival of another guest, leaving us no time to talk. The next morning when I bought it up, Davis waved it away reminding me how inebriated staff became at Christmas parties, and it was the one time of year when bad behaviour just had to be excused. He said it was normal for people to either love or hate the boss, generally the latter.
I honestly accepted his explanation. I wanted to. My focus was on getting pregnant. We had our romantic holiday all planned and nothing was going to get in the way, although, something about Felicity’s handbag kept seeping in to my consciousness, making me uncomfortable.
However now I knew, Felicity Best the girl who had everything, now even had my husband. Well I had fed her to him very nicely. Stupid me! And the handbag… I came to realise that was his calling card.
*
Lost in thought, I walked on until I had reached Oxlade Drive. I skirted down the side of the Merthyr Road Bowls Club and out onto the walkway that ran along the banks of the Brisbane River. I hadn’t realised New Farm was quite so liveable. Davis had always been so dismissive of it. However, it was similar to West End in the fact that they were both cosmopolitan, inner city suburbs, gracing the river.
Continuing along the riverside path, I paused briefly to allow a mother duck to pass as she protectively ushered her little family across the path. With delight, I watched as one by one they gracefully slid into the water. Not too much further along, I came to the Sydney Street City Cat terminal.
For years I’d often said when I had more time, I’d ride one of the City Cats from beginning to end. Well now, because of Emerald Green’s insistence on my personal weekly dates, I had done it. It’s interesting how you live and work in a city and mostly you never see what tourists see. Over the last couple of months, I had seen more of Brisbane than I had perhaps ever seen. And I had loved it.
In gaining awareness about myself and my values, I was fast losing the false sense of self I had been sustaining, and gradually I was meeting the truth, and finally I was meeting me. Where it was going to lead me, I still had no idea. However I was slowly becoming okay with that. Sorry Emerald Green, I was slowly becoming comfortable with that.
My mind ticking over, I headed up Sydney Street, and before I knew it I realised I was heading towards Frank Carmody’s house as if on auto pilot. Although I had been coming to my mother’s house for years I had never been to this part of New Farm. Now it intrigued me. I still couldn’t see much from the footpath, so I leant heavily against the gate, attempting to make a crack I could peer through, to no avail. It was locked – lock, stock and barrel. I could have brought the keys with me, however I hadn’t planned on walking this far.
From under the sturdy knotted branch of a massive Moreton Bay Fig tree, with more than a little interest, I admired the shady street, lined with the mature trees. The view of the neighbour’s mulberry tree soothed me, evoking memories of the huge mulberry tree in my childhood backyard at Johnny’s house. It had been the centre of many activities. There Lou and I had perched for hours in its branches eating an endless supply of the messy berries.
Most of the neighbouring houses were in the Queenslander style and definitely more modest than Mr Carmody’s. Directly opposite, I noticed a large, white, rather handsome cat saunter out of a track of some sort which was positioned between two homes. I hadn’t noticed the track earlier with Marty. Flanked heavily by trees, you would almost have to know it was there to see it. It must have led from the street below.
The cat nonchalantly continued across the road and then sauntered into some overgrowth right beside Mr Carmody’s eastern boundary. There appeared to be another track, which must have led down to the river, so unkempt I imagined it was inaccessible to all except those who knew about it.
Bea belonged to the New Farm Historical Society and occasionally told us interesting titbits, some harder to believe than others. Originally, the suburb of New Farm had been a huge farm. When the farmer divided the land to sell, he put easements in place so he could lead his oxen down to the river. Some of those easements still stood in place today, although there was, of course, not one oxen to be found. Some property owners saw no need to have the “Oxen Easement” clause removed from their title deeds, and every now and then they came up again. Perhaps that was what the track had been.
Hesitantly, I took a few steps towards the track. However, just then the white cat came bolting out, hackles raised, looking like he had seen a ghost, and scaring the living daylights out of me. Hastily stepping back, with one hand to my chest, I watched as he took off back across the road and disappeared into the overgrowth. Heart still pounding, I spun around as a bike shot out of the trees behind me.
Once again I jumped back, my hand to my thumping chest, crying out in fright.
By the look on the rider’s face, it appeared I had startled him.
Instantly he stopped, propping himself on one leg, turning to me. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone.’ He removed his sunglasses. And in that instant there was a flash of energy, almost a recognition.
Narrowing my eyes, I took another step back. ‘It’s… it’s fine. No problem.’ With my arms folded in front of
