Claudia's Big Break (15 page)

‘Like a novel?' Angie asked.

Tara nodded. ‘I've written a few short stories but my aim is to write a novel. I wrote a lot today.'

‘That's fantastic,' I squealed. ‘See, I was right. I knew you'd find the energy and inspiration here.'

‘It's early days,' said Tara, looking a little shy. ‘But I'm certainly more motivated than I have been in a very long time.'

‘We've been giving her advice,' Sophie told Jack and Angie, as if we were Tara's interfering parents.

‘Here we go,' said Tara, rolling her eyes.

‘For example,' I said. ‘I'll say, “What about a cookbook?
MasterChef
is huge.” And Tara will say . . .'

‘I don't really cook,' Tara replied on cue.

‘In London, it's all about vampires and zombies,' said Angie.

‘Hmm, I don't think they'll make it into my novel either,' said Tara.

‘But the main thing is you're making progress,' I said.

‘Yeah. I had a real breakthrough today. Who knows, if I'm still feeling motivated in a couple of months, I might take more time off work to concentrate on it. I'm owed a lot of holidays and I'm sick of being a wage slave.'

‘Right on, sister!' I said confidently, trying to embrace a more adventurous spirit. (Someone with less spirit would have fretted that she — ie, me — was destined to remain chained to a desk in a cramped, overpopulated sweatbox.) ‘Go for it.'

We raised our glasses and toasted Tara. She looked suitably mortified.

Then Angie turned to me. ‘And what do you do, Claudia?'

I knew eventually the conversation had to shift to me, and were my ears deceiving me? Was Angie talking with a Hyacinth Bucket lilt? (Though I generally tried to avoid watching
Keeping
Up Appearances
, it was one of Mum's favourite shows. She had every episode on DVD.)

I shouldn't have sat down. I should have gone straight inside and joined Levi and Harry who were happily watching
Toy
Story 3
for the tenth time.

‘Yes,' Jack chimed in. ‘What
do
you do with yourself when you're not holidaying in Greece?'

‘I'm an office manager,' I said dismissively. ‘But I'm thinking about changing careers.'

‘What? No more bringing home exotic oils and vinegars?' Tara said.

Jack raised his eyebrows.

‘I work for a company that imports food, oils mostly. In fact, most of it comes from Greece. But I want to make money. I'm sick of being in debt —'

‘You do spend a lot of money,' Tara started.

‘Yes and I don't want to feel guilty about it.' Everyone was silent. ‘I know it's not politically correct in these difficult economic times, but the truth is I don't want to be a pauper, living in your house, Tara, for the foreseeable future. And I don't want to be stuck in an office for the rest of my life. I'm not suited to that job. I'm usually asleep at my desk by ten-thirty every morning.'

‘That's true,' Sophie said. ‘You ring me just to keep yourself awake.'

‘It was only ever meant as a stopgap, it was never supposed to be a career. I want to do something exciting, work outdoors, travel, see a bit of action.'

‘And don't forget, earn wads of cash doing it!' Tara snapped her fingers. ‘You'll land a job like that in no time.'

‘Maybe not, but I liked my job as an events coordinator, and I was good at it.'

‘True,' said Tara. ‘And you did get us great freebies at fancy restaurants.'

‘Wine, too,' Sophie chimed in.

‘Maybe I'll look into something like that again when we get home,' I said.

‘That sounds like a plan,' said Sophie. ‘I know I need to get out more. Since having Levi, I've been defined by him — what happened to me? I can't even remember the person I was before Levi came along. It seems like a lifetime ago.'

‘What did you do before Levi came along?' Angie asked.

‘Corporate law. Litigation.'

‘Snap,' said Angie, clearly impressed. ‘I love it. I love the drama, the pressure-cooker atmosphere, thinking on my feet.'

‘I don't miss that so much,' said Sophie, wrinkling her nose. ‘I couldn't handle the pressure any more, but I miss the freedom. That, and eating lunch with adults.'

‘You miss working?' Tara said, genuinely shocked.

Sophie thought for a moment. ‘I guess I do. I miss the independence, miss having my own money. I miss having contact with people who aren't mothers, you know, normal people who aren't defined by how many children they have.'

‘I didn't realise that,' I said.

‘Why would you? We haven't exactly seen a lot of each other in the past few months, have we?'

Was she trying to tell me I was a bad friend, a distant godmother? I wasn't sure but now wasn't the time to ask. I'd file it away for further discussion on another day.

‘You're bored,' said Tara. ‘Is that it?'

‘I could hardly be bored with Levi around. It's just I'd love to do something creative like you, Tars. Not writing, but maybe decorating —' ‘Huh?' said Tara, taking in her words.

‘I've even looked into doing a six-month interior design course at TAFE, two days a week. It's doable if I put Levi into preschool one more day a week.'

‘Really?' I said.

‘Why? Does that make me a bad mother?'

‘Not at all,' said Tara, jumping in. ‘But you haven't spoken about this before.'

‘Because I don't want everyone thinking it's a stupid idea.'

‘It's not stupid, Soph,' I said. ‘You should definitely give it a go if that's what you want.'

Tara turned to Sophie. ‘Remember Bryan, the stylist you met the day we did the “New Glamour” piece on your home? He's always looking for willing victims to be his work-experience slaves. If you're interested, I could text him and see what he says.'

I clapped my hands. It sounded like a great idea. As far as I could tell, stylists were people who got paid an obscene amount of money to shop. Perhaps it wasn't that simple, but Sophie definitely looked the part. This evening she was wearing a groovy purple kaftan (another Santorini purchase) and skinny jeans. If ever there was a person crying out to be a stylist, it was Sophie.

‘I don't know,' started Sophie.

‘Stop! You've already said you're going to start an interior design course,' Tara said.

‘That might be the wine talking. Besides, I said that I was
thinking
about it.'

‘Not listening,' said Tara. ‘Let's send him a text. It can't hurt.'

That settled, we watched as the sun disappeared into the Mediterranean before tuning into Jack and Angie's conversation.

‘So Jack, Claudia mentioned you're from Yackandandah? Is that how you say it?' Angie giggled into her wine. It was a girly flirty giggle and it annoyed the hell out of me. Yack-and-and-ah. You didn't see me laughing like a hyena when I said the word.

‘Most people don't believe it's a real place when I tell them.'

‘Like when I lived in Woolloomooloo a few years ago,' Tara said. ‘Try saying that after a few drinks.'

‘It must have been fascinating growing up in the outback,' said Angie, directing one hundred and twenty percent of her attention to Jack the lad.

‘Bit quiet. Although we do have the annual toad races. That always brings the punters to town.'

‘Oh Jack,' I giggled as I leant back on my chair and almost toppled over.

‘And that's tame compared to friends of mine up north who travel hundreds of kilometres to attend the annual Hog 'n' Dog pig-hunting gala day,' Jack continued.

‘Imagine if ants were as big as tigers,' Levi was saying to Harry as the two boys walked out onto the patio to join us.

‘Yeah and . . . and tigers were as little as ants.'

‘Or worms were huge like elephants. Mum,' Levi asked, ‘what would happen if ants
were
as big as tigers?'

‘I'm not sure, darling,' Sophie replied patiently. ‘But I do know it's dark and that means it's time for bed.'

Despite their protests, Sophie and Angie managed to wrestle the boys into submission in Sophie's room. Meanwhile, Tara and I rustled up sourdough, a variety of dips, salad and a freshly baked moussaka that Marcella had given us earlier in the day. Made from her grandmother's secret recipe, it was apparently tradition that every visitor to the villas received at least one of Grandma Marcella's moussakas during their stay.

‘The Greeks certainly know how to make good wine,' Tara said after Jack had opened another bottle.

‘Except for that foul retsina,' I said.

‘True,' agreed Tara.

‘And some of the fashion over here,' said Angie. ‘What the eff happened? I mean, are we seriously meant to wear those clothes?'

I had it! She sounded exactly like Katie ‘Jordan' Price during her time on
I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here.

‘Thank you,' Tara was saying. ‘We were having a similar conversation the other day.'

‘I've had enough of the whole gypsy thing.'

Tara smiled, Sophie fidgeted in her kaftan, and I pulled self-consciously at my comfy cheesecloth shirt.

‘I tried on one of those floaty white skirts this morning,' continued Angie. ‘I'd have to say there's no place on any body, especially mine, for a white horizontal panelled skirt.'

‘Exactly. You'd look like the back end of a truck,' Tara said.

Sophie gasped in horror.

‘No, Tara's right,' said Angie. ‘It was gross. I don't know how I got sucked into trying it on in the first place.'

‘Vanity,' I answered. ‘Vanity will get you every time. I had a pair of white stilettos once.'

Jack raised an eyebrow.

‘Unless you want to look like a ten-dollar hooker, white stilettos should be avoided at all costs,' I explained.

‘You women have bizarre conversations,' said Jack, fidgeting in his chair.

‘So you don't chat about hookers and stilettos with your friends?' Angie purred.

Excuse me, but was Angie flirting with Jack? Who did this English harlot think she was? She'd been out of the game for a year and obviously starved of male companionship — but flirting with Jack? It wasn't on. Not that Jack was exclusively mine but it showed particularly bad form and her behaviour was giving everyone (well, me) the impression she was desperate and man-hungry.

‘I've got to tell you,' said Angie after we'd finished our meal, ‘these have been the best couple of days Harry and I have had in a long time.'

I could have sworn Angie's eyes were planted firmly on Jack's crotch.

‘Didn't you go on holidays when you were married?' Sophie asked.

‘Hardly! Pete couldn't stand being out of his carefully controlled environment. Holidays made him anxious. He preferred spending his time making sure he knew exactly what I was doing, who I was seeing and where I was going. Sodding toxic. In contrast, this past year has been exhilarating . . . You know,' Angie said, twirling her wineglass, ‘it wasn't just our neighbour Pete was banging. He loved the conquest and control. There were others. I'm just lucky I found out when I did.'

‘That's shocking,' I said, feeling truly sorry for her despite her horrid accent. I was also wondering what Jack was making of this conversation. ‘You must have been devastated.'

‘I was initially, but it's okay. I could never picture Pete and me on the porch growing old together. I never had that image in my head.'

I could see the clogs churning in Sophie's mind before she spoke. Nodding, she said, ‘I can see Alex and me clearly. He's much older than me, of course, and his hair is white and thinning, but I'm still sitting beside him.'

Can't say that vision had ever popped into my head, not even with George. But then, I never thought much about the future. I lived in the present, or at least I tried to. I was of the Albert Einstein school of thought: ‘I never think of the future — it comes soon enough.' Planning for my old age wasn't high on my agenda, except when I was feeling maudlin and lonely. Maybe that's why I'd ended up where I was. I'd always gone with the flow, instead of pushing to take charge.

Tara looked up. ‘What if you don't have a porch?'

Sophie sighed. ‘It's a metaphor.'

Tara's sarcasm was lost on Sophie.

‘I still fancy Alex but I don't think he's interested in me any more,' Sophie continued, poking around her ribs. ‘Too much baby flab.'

‘Sophie!' I yelled.

‘All right. All right,' she sulked. ‘Maybe he's just bored with me.'

‘But Sophie,' Tara enthused. ‘He won't be, once you're a fabbo stylist. That'll put the oomph back into your lives.'

‘So you reckon he
is
bored with me?'

Tara sighed. ‘I didn't say that. So, Jack,' she said, turning her attention to him, ‘what draws you to Claudia, other than her cute freckles and large breasts?'

I almost spat out my wine. I knew buying a cheesecloth top was a fashion faux pas. I looked enormous.

‘What?' said Tara. ‘I assume he's drawn to you, Claud, or he wouldn't be sitting here listening to our ramblings.'

‘You're quite right,' said Jack. ‘And I'd have to say that it's the ease with which Claudia handles awkward situations.'

Jack was so sure of himself and full of easy charm, I was almost hyperventilating. But I wasn't venturing down that track again. Jack could ogle my breasts all he wanted, there was no way he was getting anywhere near them.

It was late. We were tired. It was time for bed.

Still, when Jack called it a night and offered to flag Angie and Harry a taxi to make sure they got back to Kamari safely, I felt somewhat disappointed. I'd assumed this late into the evening Jack might have asked to kiss me. Either that or he fancied Angie. A distinct possibility and probably not a bad idea. If he tried anything, I'd have to reject him anyway, causing untold hurt and offence. Still, a little harmless flirting was always good for the ego.