weeded through my belongings, old papers and my extensive wardrobe. Emerald Green had said I may have the impulse to dress differently. This had not occurred. And although her shaved head suited her, it would not me, nor was I into army fatigues. I still loved feminine clothes and that was not about to change, crossroad or no crossroad.
Bea suggested I come to her home. As I am in need of maternal guidance, I have accepted with pleasure, knowing full well there will be no maternal guidance. Although she will be there for at least a week, after that she is heading away on an artist’s retreat to Byron Bay and requires someone to feed her dog. I have taken her up on the offer until I decide on my travel plans.
*
I slid the heavy iron door of the warehouse shut. It clanged with its usual metallic sound, giving a sense of finality. Briefly, I rested my forehead against it. I told myself that it was the last time my petite 157centimetre frame would ever have to wrestle with that door again. From day one, it had never liked me, always jamming in the tracks and making me drag it, using my entire body weight, almost pulling my arms out of their sockets. Was it any wonder I constantly had neck and shoulder problems? Wiggling my shoulders, I rolled my neck, reminding myself of the positives, as I was attempting to do more often these days.
Davis loved the door, said it gave the warehouse a sense of history. It made people wonder what was behind.
Swooping my flouncy Alannah Hill skirt under my legs, I slammed the car door and backed out of the driveway. I raised the back of my hand to my face and wiped a lone tear. Farewell, adieu, auf wiedersehen, goodbye. I attempted to busy myself thinking of my favourite childhood movie, “The Sound of Music”. With grim determination, I refused to look in the rear view mirror.
Heading up Boundary Road, I felt a sense of leaving everything I knew behind, and although I had a hollow feeling in my stomach from nerves, I could not lie, there was also the slightest tinge of excitement. On the right, I farewelled my regulars - the convenience store on the corner, my nail bar, the Swiss Gourmet Deli and The Avid Reader bookstore. On the left, Jam Jar - my coffee haven, and Charlie and Liz’s Fruit.
The eclectic and dynamic suburb of West End was extremely popular with young professional couples, just like us, looking for a lifestyle close to the city. It was a suburb known for its strong local identity, high street cafes, ethnic restaurants, interesting bookshops and proud local communities. The positive vibe was palpable and the people friendly. Although only three kilometres from the city, I had always felt as if we were somewhat separated from the rat race of the CBD.
Driving along Vulture Street, I raised my left hand and mouthed a silent goodbye to Southbank Parklands. It had been our favourite training spot. Three mornings a week, rain, hail or shine, we would run from home and meet up with our trainer at a designated meeting spot, under the curling steel columns of the magenta bougainvillea covered arbour.
The sight of that arbour had always bought me a feeling of happiness. However, I now wondered if I would ever be able to roam through the parklands without thinking of my former life with some regret.
The fact was, counselling aside, I was still getting used to my marriage being over. Part of me was afraid that I never would. He had been my best friend, my business partner, my partner in life. Together we were going to conquer the world. Well, that’s what he used to tell me. I guess though, we could only conquer the world if I continued to dream his dreams, and not bother to have any of my own.
As little girls we were told we could have it all. Our feminist foremothers said so and even our mothers agreed, suggesting we could be loving wives, caring mothers and kick-arse bosses if we wanted. We could, they whispered, be superwomen.
So, I had this perfect life all set up. I wanted to find a partner of equal footing, one who made the good times doubly good and made the bad times better.
Davis was it. We had met at university. There were the three of us, Davis, Marty and me, the three musketeers. Even back then we had a business plan. While we studied, both of the boys worked for Davis’s mother, Eileen, in her real estate business.
I, on the other hand, worked at a prestige cupcake shop. They weren’t just any old cupcakes. They were glamorous, melt-in-the-mouth, special occasion cupcakes. I thrived on the creativity, and the nurturing of making edible love for people. I stayed on until I graduated from the University of Queensland with honours. I had a secret dream of one day owning my own cupcake emporium.
However, somewhere along the line I became side tracked. Davis had ideas and they sounded so big and grand, and mine sounded small and pathetic. I had to weigh it up: cupcakes or three million dollar properties. Hmmm? How many cupcakes would I have to sell to add up to three million dollars?
Before I knew it, Davis had me wanting his dream. That’s what happened to Marty as well. We went along with what Davis wanted. We opened a real estate business. He said it was time for some young guns to get into the industry.
Davis said the inner city suburb of West End would be our niche market, that it was about to hit its straps. He had done his research and felt that although it had originally been one of the poorer suburbs of Brisbane, the cottages that housed the working class and migrants all those years ago, were fast becoming coveted pieces of real estate.
It wasn’t the way I had seen my life going, however Davis painted a picture so perfect, how could I resist? The boys knew I had a great business head. They said they needed me. Well, Davis did.
We all want to be wanted, and I was no different.
When I look back on those heady days, I remember nothing but the best. I had loved both of the boys. Physically they were quite similar. In fact, with their blonde hair and blue eyes, they could pass for brothers. However Davis was the one for me. He had charisma, passion and energy enough for all of us. Tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped.
Davis had the power, and power is a very seductive thing. He revved us up and got the dream going. Back in those early days we worked our butts off. No one kept track of the hours, we just did it. We had an absolute blast.
There was little time for seeing other people, but when we got the chance we did.
Who am I kidding? I barely saw anyone, however I pretended I did.
The boys saw plenty.
After a couple of years we moved our business to larger premises right on a prominent corner in Montague Road, where we had phenomenal signage, with our name, Address, blazoned across the front. Our staff continued to grow. We were going somewhere. The boys bought in the sales and I grew the business.
The thing about being a passionate person is that they have their highs and lows. I always knew when it was my job to placate Davis. Marty would give me a look that said: Get in there and do something, Peach. At first I loved the power. I could pacify Davis Riding. Now you had to hand it to me that was pretty clever. To be honest, it was only in the last year or so that I really saw those highs and lows for what they truly were… tantrums! And tantrums aren’t all that attractive. However, I didn’t care.
They didn’t stop me loving Davis. I loved him. Totally!
It took years for Davis to wise up to the fact. Marty caught on first. I loved him too, but differently. I loved him like a brother, a mate, a best friend. Not like I loved Davis. But Marty was a great salesman and excellent businessman, and was also incredibly insightful and sensitive. Somewhere along the way he let me know that he had picked up on my feelings for Davis. However, we both said nothing. Marty goes down as being one of those
