Tiddas Read online

  ‘What?’ Veronica was in shock. She couldn’t move at all.

  ‘You’ve got a good rack, Vee. You need to show those girls off a bit more. You could so rock a push-up bra.’

  ‘I don’t want my breasts to rock anything,’ Veronica said, slightly offended and suddenly conscious of the underwear she was wearing.

  ‘Listen Vee, it’s about feeling good about yourself. That’s what we’re doing this for. Nice clothes, having your hair done, feeling sexy – you don’t have to do it for anyone other than yourself. If someone else appreciates the result, then that’s a bonus. But today, my tidda, we are going to spend some time and a lot of Alex’s money making you feel as beautiful as you are, inside and out.’

  Ellen motioned her friend to stand and they headed towards the Lexus a few metres away.

  By the end of the day Veronica’s car was loaded with bags: ‘key pieces’ as defined by Sorina the stylist, which included a pair of jeans, a black blazer, white wrap-around cotton shirt, white t-shirt, black lace top, three thin belts, one wide black belt, black boots with killer heels, three push-up bras, a body suit, French knickers, and a red jersey dress. She let Ellen drive back into the city as she checked and rechecked her new, groovier hairdo; she kept running her fingers through the layers of rich browns and burgundy highlights.

  ‘I can hardly recognise myself,’ she said smiling. ‘I love it!’

  ‘You look amazing, Vee. Now for the make-up and you’re all done.’

  ‘It’s fun hanging out with you. I’ve never really had this much fun shopping.’ Veronica’s shopping experiences over the years had included high-end designer stores but she had always gone by herself or had Alex pacing the floor nearby. The only other ventures were to buy school uniforms and sporting gear for her sons. A stylist, someone to help her ‘build her wardrobe and look’, was not anything she had ever thought about.

  ‘I had a ball too. It’s great going shopping with someone who doesn’t have to look at the price tag before she tries something on. It was like being with a Hollywood star,’ Ellen joked.

  ‘You’re hilarious! And bear in mind I hardly ever go shopping, so today was about five years’ worth for me. As for stardom . . .’ She pulled down the sun visor and took another look in the mirror. ‘I do look good.’

  The layout at Avid Reader had been transformed so the bookshop could hold seventy people. Guests were spilling out onto the street. The book launch was only minutes from starting. Nadine was upstairs in the bathroom, breathing deeply. The novelty of doing literary events had worn off years ago, after her sixth book, but she always drew a crowd and sold more books than any other author featured in the front window display on Boundary Street. She liked the owners, and she liked supporting independent booksellers. She also liked that they served wine at their events. Sometimes she even donated a case of Mudgee’s finest just to help promote her hometown.

  Xanthe arrived straight from a tutoring session at the West End library not far up the street. She’d been helping a Year 12 Murri student. The inevitable stress of the Queensland Certificate of Education was fast approaching, and this was one of the love jobs that made her feel she was giving back to community in a small but valuable way. It took her back to when she was preparing for the Higher School Certificate, the equivalent in New South Wales, and how she never imagined at the time she’d be running her own business one day.

  Izzy and her baby bump were dressed in black jersey. She looked neat and felt wonderful, as if her whole body was glowing, gleaming like no other pregnant woman’s before. She now realised what Xanthe had always wanted, and why. She had a full-face of make-up and her hair was dead straight as usual. She’d been filming an Indigenous writers’ workshop at the library all day, and interviewing presenters, guest authors and the organisers about the future of First Nation literature. She wondered how many of them would show up to Nadine’s event since she wasn’t a Murri.

  Ellen and Veronica arrived together, like agent and client, both proud of their accomplishment that day. Ellen was pleased that her tidda hadn’t stopped smiling. Veronica was happy that she felt beautiful, and her new hairstyle had already worked wonders in boosting her confidence. Veronica walked tall in her new boots, her hair swinging as she made her way through the crowd. She grinned at the look of surprise on Xanthe’s and Izzy’s faces when they saw her.

  ‘You look absolutely amazing!’ Xanthe said, kissing Veronica on her cheek, careful not to mess up the perfect face of make-up.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ Izzy said. ‘The cut really suits you, and the highlights . . . I’m lost for words.’ Izzy wanted to walk around and check out her friend completely, but the room was too cramped. ‘Can you spin a little so I can see the back?’ she asked.

  And Veronica responded willingly.

  ‘I don’t want to be rude, but did you get some work done?’ Xanthe ran her hand across her own chest.

  Veronica started laughing. ‘No, but who would’ve thought that a gorgeous bra could make you look and feel so much better.’ She looked down at her chest. ‘And a bit bigger!’

  ‘I told you so,’ Ellen chimed in, proud of her part in Veronica’s one-day transformation.

  ‘I might never take this bra off,’ Veronica said. ‘It makes me feel . . . extraordinary!’

  ‘I’ve created a monster,’ Ellen laughed. ‘A beautiful monster!’

  ‘Good evening, ladies and gentleman,’ an announcement came over the mic in an attempt to get everyone settled and the event underway.

  Nadine had saved seats up the front for her tiddas but they couldn’t get through the crowd clogging the narrow aisle, so they took the first four seats they could find together. Conscious that she’d probably need to pee at some stage, Izzy sat at the end of the row.

  There was a mix of people in the audience, mainly locals who attended many of the store’s events, but also a few die-hard fans who followed Nadine’s career and showed up wherever she spoke. There were also a few starry-eyed males, and a couple of uni students doing theses on Australian literature who sat with pens poised over their notepads. Others were live-tweeting and posting photos on Facebook. As it was a school night, Richard was at home with the kids.

  The program was presented as in-conversation between Nadine and a popular Radio National broadcaster. Nadine was in the hot-seat given she was going to be discussing the controversy around her latest novel, Blood River, a fictional story set during the 2011 Queensland floods. The plot centred on the narrator’s revelation that a number of deaths were murders, callously camouflaged as drownings.

  The girls were all nervous when Nadine discussed the plot with them and suggested that perhaps it might not be seen as the kosher thing to write about, given there was still so much grief in Toowoomba and the Lockyer Valley. But Nadine’s publisher loved the story. ‘Controversy sells,’ Nadine was told.

  And once she’d signed the contract, there was no turning back. The book was already on the bestseller list due to the number of Queenslanders reading it, even though it had been out for only a few weeks. Veronica had read it twice, Xanthe and Spencer were both struggling to get through it, Ellen didn’t think it was Nadine’s best effort, and Izzy still hadn’t got around to it given all that was going on in her life.

  The tiddas knew Nadine could handle the event without any effort, but would she do it without any booze? Nadine was looking more glamorous than usual, wearing a fitted black top, linen pants and shoes with heels. She wore the sapphire earrings Ellen had given her for her birthday, and had clear lip-gloss on. All the women had noticed the extra effort she’d gone to. Throughout the interview Nadine carried herself calmly; she spoke softly and considered every answer, but her hands were held tightly in her lap. She could see her tiddas up the back but didn’t make eye contact with any of them, knowing how they felt about the book.

  When it came time for questions from the floor, Nadine flatly refused to answer any. Some guests groaned out loud with disappointment; others mumb
led their annoyance. They’d wanted the chance to have their say and maybe even get some answers to the questions the author had carefully danced around to date: Did she know anyone who’d died in the flood? Did she speak to any of the family members of the deceased? Did she expect to remain one of Queensland’s favourite authors after this?

  The dim lights of the Gunshop Café still couldn’t hide the glow Veronica felt from within. It had been Nadine’s event, but Veronica had been the shining star; her tiddas were still talking about her new look as they walked along Boundary Street for dinner afterwards. Nadine and her publicist arrived twenty minutes later; after a flurry of rushed autograph signing, the author was clearly in a foul mood.

  ‘Well, that went well, didn’t it?’ she said sarcastically, slumping into a chair and picking up the wine menu.

  ‘Yes, it did, Nadine. You’re too hard on yourself. You walked everyone through your process, you clarified why you wrote the book. I could see people nodding in agreement and understanding what you were saying.’ Nadine’s publicist Claire was good at her job. She knew how to appease her author, make her feel she was brilliant, while also affirming that her latest book was the best yet.

  ‘I need a drink,’ Nadine said, as if she hadn’t heard a word.

  ‘Of course, what would you like?’ Claire said, looking to the others and then scanning the restaurant for the waiter.

  ‘A bottle of the Bannockburn pinot noir, thanks.’

  It was the priciest wine on the menu, but Claire didn’t blink an eyelid. Nadine was the prized author and anything she wanted she could have, hang the expense.

  ‘Ladies?’ Claire asked the other women.

  ‘I’m already looking at the desserts,’ Izzy said, ‘I could easily go straight to the chilled lemon tart with Caboolture strawberries and double cream.’ She put her hand on her belly. ‘I’m eating for two, you know.’

  ‘Oh, I can see how many hills I’d have to climb for that,’ Xanthe joked, getting more and more comfortable with Izzy’s pregnancy every day.

  The waiter approached and after they’d all put in their orders the debriefing continued.

  ‘I shouldn’t have written that book, they all hate me now. I could feel it there tonight,’ Nadine said, remorse in her voice. It sounded as if she was truly sorry for imposing her creativity onto what for many had been a heartbreaking disaster.

  ‘No-one hates you, Nadine. People were there because they wanted to hear your story, about the writing process, about why the book was important to you,’ Veronica said.

  ‘You didn’t even sit up the front! It was like you were embarrassed to know me.’ Nadine looked at Veronica and then the other women one at a time. The mood was getting tenser by the minute.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Nadine,’ Izzy tried to appease. ‘You had so many fans there we couldn’t even get up the front.’

  By the time the food arrived Nadine had downed four glasses of wine and retreated into herself. She hardly touched her salmon but ordered another bottle of wine.

  ‘Well, at least it’s over now, the appearances and all the bullshit media stuff,’ Nadine mumbled to herself.

  ‘Just one more to go. Don’t forget you’ve got the literary breakfast at Bulimba coming up.’ Claire feigned excitement but, after a number of book tours with Nadine, she knew her author was prone to being volatile after a stressful event and a few wines.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Claire, I told you not to book any morning events. I hate morning events, I don’t do morning events,’ Nadine was loud and angry, acting like a prima donna.

  The women sat there staring, embarrassed. They all felt sorry for the young publicist who had to deal with the abuse.

  ‘I think I’ll fix the bill and be off,’ Claire said with a quiver in her voice. ‘I’ll call you in the morning, Nadine. Do you need a cabcharge to get home?’ She pulled her wallet from her handbag.

  ‘I don’t need a fucking cabcharge,’ Nadine growled.

  Claire was visibly shaken, her eyes glassy from wearing the brunt of Nadine’s bad mood. Xanthe got up as Claire walked over to pay the bill.

  ‘I’m sorry about Nadine, she’s under a lot of stress.’ It was all she could think of to say.

  ‘Oh, I know it’s hard to be in the public eye,’ Claire said. ‘I see authors stressed all the time. It’s all good. I’m fine, really. You go back and enjoy the rest of the night. I have an early flight back to Melbourne anyway.’

  ‘You can be a real bitch, Nadine!’ Ellen said angrily as she leant over the table. ‘You don’t talk to people helping you like that. Actually you don’t talk to any-fucking-one like that.’ She sat back in her seat and shook her head in disgust.

  Nadine didn’t seem at all shocked by Ellen’s admonishment of her. ‘Look,’ she started matter-of-factly, ‘I had already told her I didn’t want to do a morning event. It’s breakfast time. I’m boring when I’m sober, and the audience is boring when I’m sober.’

  The girls couldn’t believe what she had just said to them.

  ‘So are we boring when you’re sober? That’s just fucking pathetic. You’re pathetic. I’m out of here.’ Ellen got up, shaking her head angrily, and stormed off.

  ‘Wait Ellen, don’t leave.’ Vee called out. ‘Nadine needs us.’

  Ellen reluctantly returned to the table.

  ‘I don’t need you. Who needs you?’ Nadine’s voice was filled with venom. ‘I mean look at you.’ She waved her hands at Veronica. ‘You think a haircut and a new outfit changes you? And did you get your boobs done as well? Oh my God.’

  Veronica could feel her heart racing and her face burning up. Ellen was restraining herself from getting up and punching Nadine in the jaw.

  ‘I suppose the tits were your idea,’ Nadine said to Ellen. ‘It’s all about sex for you, isn’t it? Well Vee’s nice, don’t turn her into a slut like you.’

  ‘Nadine!’ Izzy said.

  ‘Stop it, you’re out of control,’ Xanthe said, reaching for the wine bottle.

  ‘Oh you’re still here, Xanthe. I thought you’d be at home nagging your husband for sex because you’re ovulating. Nice of you to stay.’ Her sarcasm stung the entire table.

  ‘Fuck you, Nadine!’ Xanthe grabbed her bag from the back of her chair and stormed out. Xanthe rarely swore, and everyone knew it, but Nadine had gone too far.

  Now Ellen and Veronica got up and left.

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ Izzy whispered in Nadine’s ear. ‘I don’t even want to look at you. Are you insane? Sit here while I call your husband to come and get you.’ She walked out onto the footpath so no-one in the restaurant could hear her. But before she could even dial, she received a text from Richard.

  I’m on my way. Ellen called me.

  13

  FILLING A VOID BY LEAVING THE GAP

  Veronica stopped at the doorway of each of her sons’ bedrooms upstairs. Two had left years before but she kept them the same for whenever they visited and wanted to stay the night. The walls remained covered in posters: State of Origin teams, motorcross bikes, ironmen, scantily clad pop stars like Beyoncé and Pink. John’s room had a weight bench and empty protein-shaker underneath it. She didn’t know how he’d cope going out on his own, but Alex had been generous enough to help with the bond on a share-house in West End. John liked the grunge of the suburb and the Lock and Load Bar. Always the baby of the family, he promised to make time for a home-cooked meal at least once a week, but both he and Veronica knew it would be more often than that. He was the only one of her boys who maintained an appreciation of his mother’s cooking.

  The guest room had been converted into a studio of sorts but most of Vee’s time recently had been looking at properties to live in and artist’s studios to rent. Her decision to move had given her a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt for a long time, and the only person she had to please right now was herself. She was aware of the clarity and empowerment a new home in a new location would provide, and could now believe that
a fulfilling future lay ahead.

  She headed back down to the kitchen and slumped against the fridge, staring at the copper rangehood above the stove that everyone in the family hit their head on at least once a year. She laughed out loud remembering the cursing that used to follow. She ran her hand along the teak dining table she’d had shipped back from Indonesia because she’d fallen in love with it at first sight, surprised that Alex had automatically agreed to the purchase. She never knew if it was because he wanted to make her happy, because he too loved the table, or whether he just didn’t care. It was one of the few pieces of furniture Veronica had decided she would take with her when she moved. She wouldn’t be taking the marital bed, the lounges or any of the artworks and antiques that Alex had bought at auction. She would sell or donate them or just give the whole lot away. Veronica had already created a new mental space for herself; now she was in the process of creating a more harmonious physical space for herself too. Her new home, the first that would be truly hers alone, would reflect her new path in life as an independent woman, an artist and a mature-aged student.

  Butch walked into the house and lay at her feet as if knowing what his owner was planning. Dog may be man’s best friend, but in Veronica’s house it was woman’s most loyal companion. She would miss him terribly.

  ‘Oh dear boy, I do love you, but I need a smaller place, and you’re too big.’ She bent down to rub the ageing canine’s belly. ‘Daddy loves you too, though, and you’ll be fine.’ The dog closed his eyes, lapping up the attention. Even though Veronica was as attached as ever to Butch, she was already feeling the relief of having fewer responsibilities. Alex had agreed to take the dog now that Veronica was going to be moving into an apartment. Her relationship with Alex, although strained and volatile for the past eighteen months, was also taking a turn for the positive, and Butch had proven to be a useful olive branch in terms of civil communication. She sat on the ground, stroking her beloved pet’s head. She talked to Butch as if she was handing over ‘custody’: ‘What if I’m too tired at the end of the day and don’t feel like a walk? What if my classmates want to go out for dinner or drinks to discuss art theory? I can’t not go, can I? I need to be part of the cohort properly, right?’ Such scenarios might soon be realities for her, and rather than shirking her responsibilities to the animal, on the contrary, she saw giving Butch to Alex as a responsible act.