Miss Spelled (2 page)

So far his parents have resisted every invitation to come over for a barbeque or even a cuppa. They constantly have charity balls to attend or luncheons with business partners and just can’t seem to make the pilgrimage to the other side of the city.

‘Must do it differently in the posher suburbs,’ Maureen says.

Mum perks up and replies, ‘Oh yes, love, they’re all class over there. Okay, Lou. You’d best get a move on if you want to get ready for tonight, sweets.’ She hands me my handbag. ‘God knows you’ve waited long enough to hear someone ask this question, you don’t want to delay it any further.’

‘Mum! It’s not as though I’m an old maid or anything.’ I can feel my face flush with embarrassment.

‘No, but you’re not getting any younger either, so off you go,’ she says chasing me towards the door. ‘Have a wonderful night, love.’

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Lou,’ Dad calls out.

‘Well, that doesn’t narrow it down by much, Dad.’

He sends me a knowing wink and smile.

‘Don’t pay any attention to your father, Lou. He’s crude,’ Mum says to me before shifting her attention to Dad. ‘You’ll have to shape up when we meet the St. James family, Rodney, perhaps even put a shirt on— one with a collar—and proper pants. No more elasticised waists.’

‘What’s wrong with this?’ Dad asks posing catwalk style in his singlet and shorts.

‘Oh, where do I begin?’ Mum rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

Mum holds me in her squishy arms and squeezes as though she’ll never see me again.

‘Don’t worry love, I won’t let him embarrass you when the time comes to meet Aiden’s family. I’ve got it all sorted.’

‘Good luck, love,’ Maureen calls from her chair as she resumes analysing her magazine. ‘Enjoy the romance while you can. Before you know it he’s sitting on the couch in his Y-fronts, belching, farting and expecting you to bring him another beer.’

‘I re-it-er-ate again,’ says Dad. ‘There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing and I would never be so uncouth as to burp or fart in front of the St. Jameses. I’m a fucking gentleman, for God’s sake.’

I leave them to it and can hear Dad belch like a wharfie and the three of them cackle with laughter as I approach my car, which is parked right out the front of the salon. Suddenly, a swarm of butterflies lift off inside my stomach. Could this be the night? I’ve tried not to let myself get carried away with the thought of Aiden proposing, because then if he doesn’t I will have ruined a night that was meant to be lovely and romantic, but there’s still a little light inside of me that hopes he will ask me to marry him.

My cottage still makes me smile each time I park my car in the driveway. When I bought it five years ago, it was in desperate need of rescuing— or demolition, as Ben suggested. But with Dad’s help, it was transformed from a sad, unloved little house into one bursting with pride and confidence again.

Of course, taking out a mortgage at the age of 25 meant missing out on those years of frivolous spending and holidaying like my friends and colleagues. Each holiday period was spent sanding, painting, laying tiles or working in the garden. My friends came home from their overseas jaunts, raving about partying in Mexico or Los Angeles, trekking the Inca trail, or skiing in Canada, but they didn’t have a house of their own like I did. There’s still a lot to do, but it will get done eventually. Renovating is a marathon, not a sprint.

I go inside, throw myself in the shower and get ready for tonight. My favourite dress, a red number with wild tropical print on it in shades of yellow, green, turquoise and deep blue is ready to go. A dab of foundation, which does nothing to cover my freckles, a swish of blush, lick of mascara and light coat of sparkly pink lippie follows. A spritz of my favourite citrusy fragrance that reminds me of sunny spring mornings and my makeover is complete. My three-inch, red satin heels propel me to the staggering height of five foot five. Along with a sheer black pashmina and matching clutch, I feel like a movie star about to step out onto the red carpet.

With the remaining 30 minutes, I sit down and attempt to relax with a cup of chamomile tea. It doesn’t work because my adrenal glands have kicked into overdrive while my imagination throws forth images of tonight—how Aiden will propose to me, my reaction and how happy we will be planning the rest of our lives together.

I attempt to distract myself by thinking about which part of the house will be tackled first in the next week, seeing as today was the end of Term Two and there are now two weeks of holidays ahead of me. It doesn’t work. Instead, I pack my bag into the car, lock up the house and make my way against the traffic, into the city to Aiden’s apartment. The drive is only 30 minutes long and quite enjoyable, although the traffic heading in the other direction would be unbearable. Parts of Punt Road are at a virtual standstill, but that isn’t unusual. I park my car in one of the spaces provided for Aiden’s apartment in the below-ground parking area, and take the short walk to the Langham Hotel, our meeting place.

The Langham is quite busy and I take my place at the bar, sipping on an icy cold glass of Sav Blanc. The wine does a little to soothe my nerves, and the packet of peanuts temporarily stops a growling tummy that had no hope of holding food in it earlier today. My nerves have been on high alert all day.

30 minutes later, Aiden arrives in his work suit. Even if I hadn’t seen him enter the bar, it would be obvious that someone very good-looking had arrived. The majority of females in the room turn their heads to gawk in his direction.

He has removed his tie and opened the top three buttons on his crisp, pale blue shirt, revealing a light smattering of brown chest hair. Even though his legs are covered in dark grey trousers, I can still see the muscles of his thighs as he walks towards me. He’s got yummy legs— runner’s legs. In fact, every part of him is yummy.

I watch the flow of his tall, lean frame as he makes his way over to me, perfect white teeth visible through his smile as he approaches. With his glowing tanned skin, short hair, sparkly honey-coloured eyes and long legs, he could be a poster boy for the young, professional city-dwelling lifestyle. I am so, so, so, so lucky. I still can’t quite figure out what he sees in me because if there’s one person on the planet who is the complete opposite of all his ex-girlfriends—of which there seem to have been many—it’s me.

Raised to be part of society’s elite, he has dated aspiring models, actual models and trust fund recipients who could be models if they could be bothered working. In fact, if all of his exes were corralled into a room, they would still have a lower combined body fat percentage than me.

‘Hey sweetie, how are you? Am I late?’ he asks, reaching down to kiss me.

‘No, you’re right on time,’ I say with a little giggle.

It’s pretty embarrassing but for the first ten minutes of being with him, my adult maturity leaves me and I regress into a star-struck teenager incapable of doing anything other than giggle and gaze at her rock god.

‘Happy anniversary! How was your day?’ he asks, sitting next to me at the bar.

‘Happy anniversary to you too!’ I say, leaning in to give him another kiss. ‘It was great. Oscar and Xavier had a little punch-up over the iPad, Tilly and Georgia were upset because they both had the same new pencil case but made up by play lunch and Lachlan fell over and required a Band-Aid on his knee.’

He laughs. ‘Sounds a bit like my day, only with children who are more mature than some of the adults I work with.’

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing that can’t wait. Did the kids like the flowers I sent you?’

‘They loved the flowers you sent me, thank you. When they were brought in the entire class gave an appreciative
woo
! They’re beautiful.’

‘Not as beautiful as you,’ he says, holding my hand.

Tiny rainbows float inside me, happy rainbows. Maybe some unicorns too.

‘Mr St. James, your table is ready,’ says the maître d’.

‘Great, thanks,’ Aiden says as he helps me off the bar stool. ‘I’m not sure about you, but I’m starving. Lunch was a no-go today. I was too…’ He shakes his head.

‘Too what?’ I ask, because something is bothering him.

He gets a small furrow between his eyebrows when he’s troubled, and it’s sitting there right now.

‘It’s…nothing. Tonight is our special night, let’s not spoil it by talking about my day,’ he says as he leads me over to our table by the window overlooking the Yarra and Southbank Promenade. It’s dusk and Melbourne is just starting to breathe its nightly luminescence, the lights bringing a whole new life to the busy city.

Within minutes, the waiter has brought over a bottle of Verve Cliquot, popped the cork and poured two glasses. The tiny bubbles rise inside the glass, one after the other. My insides feel much the same way.

‘To us…to the happiest year of my life,’ he says. ‘I love you, Lou Mercer.’

* * *

After we share a decadent chocolate mud mousse dessert and sip on Cointreau over ice, we enjoy a slow walk up the Southbank Promenade which delivers us to the Eureka Tower. The city, which can look so grey and menacing during the daylight hours, glitters and glows in all its glory after dark. Some cities were made for night time, and Melbourne is one of them.

‘Here we are,’ Aiden says pointing to the top of the tower, the observation deck with a 360-degree view of Melbourne.

‘Isn’t it closed?’ I ask. ‘It’s past midnight.

‘Not for us it’s not,’ he says with a smile.

A feeling of dread pulses around my body. Just what does he have planned?

‘We’re not skydiving or free-falling from the top or anything, are we? I’m not really dressed for it. And I’d bring up dinner and all that chocolate.’

Aiden laughs. ‘No, close but not quite.’

‘Then what…’

‘Shush,’ he says, gently touching his forefinger to my lips. ‘Trust me.’

He takes my hand and leads me through the automatic doors and into the lift. It zooms us up to the 88th floor where we are greeted by a security guard.

‘Aiden, how are you, mate?’ he says as they shake hands.

‘Great thanks, Davo. How about yourself?’ Aiden replies.

‘Never been better. It’s all ready for you. Come this way.’

My brain snaps into action. Oh no!

‘The Edge?’ I ask. ‘The glass cube that sticks out the side of the building?’ My heart rate doubles because the cube has a glass floor that allows you to look past your feet to the ground — 300 metres below. It’s a long way, especially for anyone afraid of heights, like me.

‘That’s the one,’ says Aiden.

I clasp my hand around Aiden’s and he lets out an ‘ouch’.

‘Sorry,’ I say and swallow hard.

We walk across the deserted floor, over to the glass cube.

‘It is safe, isn’t it?’ I ask. ‘I mean, it’s not going to fall off the building or anything?’ The thought of falling all that way makes my stomach rise to my throat.

‘Safe as safe. It was tested by the developer himself. He came out and jumped up and down 20 times to test it.’

‘That’s it? That’s all the testing that was done?’ I ask, horrified.

‘As well as a bucket load of engineering and stress tests. I tell you, this is safer than most houses. It just looks scary, that’s all,’ Davo says.

I look to Aiden. I don’t want to disappoint him but the terror rising in my gut has left me barely able to stand.

Aiden steps towards me and takes me in his arms. ‘Sweetie, if you don’t want to go in it, we won’t. It’s okay.’

‘But you’ve put so much effort into making tonight perfect.’ How can I let him down now? This must be how he feels about letting his family down if he were ever to leave the finance industry. Such pressure!

Aiden would never do anything to put me in danger or hurt me. Apart from my family, I trust him more than anyone. What if he’s going to propose? He can hardly do it here, in the doorway to the cube. It just wouldn’t have the same impact. There’s a tug of war happening in my body—to stay right where I am, borne out of a complete and utter irrational fear of heights, and the desire to see what happens inside that cube. He’s arranged for us to have after-hours access to it for a specific reason, right?

‘Let’s do it,’ I say, hoping my voice sounds more convincing than I feel.

‘That’s my girl. Davo, we’re ready mate,’ Aiden says.

The lights are turned on as Aiden steps into the cube first and then holds his hand out to me. It is safe. Of course it’s safe. Just look at it. It’s cantilevered against the entire building, hundreds of people step into it each day. But, what if each of those hundreds of people have weakened the supports just a little bit, just a fraction? Multiply that by hundreds and…oh my God…it could fall off the side of the building at any moment and plummet to the ground below.

The football-sized lump in my throat is making it hard to breathe.

‘Lou?’ Aiden asks.

Would we pass out before we hit the ground? Apparently losing consciousness is common when falling from freaking great heights, and it provides a strange level of comfort. There couldn’t be much worse than seeing the concrete rise up to meet you in the fleeting seconds before death.

‘Lou?’

Aiden is smiling, that sexy
GQ
cover boy smile that is impossible to refuse. Even with all of this fear consuming me, there’s nothing more I’d like to do than kiss that smiling mouth.

I shake myself and inhale a deep breath, probably my last, take Aiden’s hand and step out into the enclosed cube. His warmth slows my heart rate a little, and his smile reassures me that everything is going to be okay. If those honey-coloured eyes are to be the last thing I see before being splattered all over the concrete below, then at least there’s no complaining about the view.

‘Right, mate, I’m going to turn the lights off now. Just text me when you’re finished,’ says Davo as he closes the doors and walks away.

The lights go out and I can’t see a thing. It’s pitch black. But despite the temporary blindness, there’s the sense that there is a great, cavernous void between my feet and solid ground, the thought of which makes my shoulders tighten and rise up towards my earlobes.