The Bastard Takes a Wife (17 page)

I opened the screen in question and began to
read. “Oh God. I’m so sorry, Mel. I never wanted it to be like
this.”

Every email he sent was longer than the last
and more demanding.

“It’s not your fault.”

I gave her a wan smile. “But I’m letting it
happen. I feel like I’m on the freight train to Disasterville and I
can’t get off. I guess I just have to face the fact that it’s Sam’s
mother’s wedding, not mine. And she likes big.”

“Well, this is bigger than the fucking London
Olympics. I mean, if that email had said we were arriving in
horse-drawn pumpkin coaches, I wouldn’t have been surprised ~ well,
apart from the fact that it’d be extremely fucking tacky and you’re
not tacky in the least. Are you coping with everything else,
okay?”

“No. I could quite happily tell them to shove
it.”

“Is there anything we can do? As your
bridesmaids it’s our duty to make things easier for you.”

“I don’t think so. I just don’t want anything
else to change. I’ve had it up to here. If one more thing happens
that’s not in the plan, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

I could feel my eyes beginning to tear up and
I blinked to keep them away. What the hell was wrong with me? Yes,
this wedding was way more stressful than I ever thought it would be
but crying? I was behaving like an utter girl.

“Not long now and it’ll be over,
Chica
,” Alex said, getting up to hand me a tissue. “And I
know this isn’t the wedding you dreamed of but you’ve got to look
at the bright side.”

“Which is?”

Right about now, I was lucky to be seeing any
side, let alone the bright one.

“After it’s done, you and Sam’ll be
married.”

I sighed and blew my nose. In all the
hullaballoo I guess I’d forgotten that small important point.
“Thanks Alex.”

“And you have a really pretty dress,” Paige
added.

I gave a sniff and cheered a little. “Yes, I
do.”

“And the cutest junior bridesmaid ever.”

I bent over and kissed her forehead.

Satisfied that she had helped, Paige began to
look around, her round eyes taking in every detail of this new
environment ~ the bamboo plants screening the windows, the walls
covered with stacked stone, the water feature trickling in the
corner that seemed syncronised to the sound of the panpipes wafting
through the air. It was possibly the one thing she hadn’t
experienced in her seven years of life.

“This is freakin’ awesome,” she said, placing
her small hand on my forearm. “Thank you for bringing me,
Millie.”

I put a hand over hers. She was so excited at
having been included in the big girls’ day out; she’d been talking
about it all week. It made a pleasant change from her other main
topics of conversation ~ Justin Bieber, Jennifer Brayshaw-Jones and
her newest obsession
One Direction
, the biggest boy band to
hit the charts since
Take That
.

“As if I could leave you out. You’re one of
the bridesmaids and if we’re having a day of beautifying then you
should too.”

“And Jennifer’s never been for a spa day,”
Paige giggled rather loudly, “So that makes me way cooler.”

On Paige’s left side, Kirby put a finger to
her pink glossed lips. “
Shhh
, Little One. This is, like, a
quiet place. You have to use, like, a small voice.”

Paige gave her a confused look. Then she
turned to me. “Why does Kirby say ‘like’ all the time? Mummy says
only common people and teenagers add ‘like’ to their
sentences.”

“Paige,” I whispered back. “You shouldn’t
talk about others. It’s disrespectful.”

“But she does.”

“I know, but Kirby’s our friend and when
someone’s your friend you accept them for who they are.”

Even in all their pink-ness.

“Oh.” Paige wriggled on her chair and looked
at her fingers twining in her lap for a moment. Her cherub face had
become solemn. “Sorry, Kirby.”

“That’s like, totally, okay.” Kirby waved her
hand in the air. “That-slut-Courtney says way worse about me and
she’s a grown up.”

Paige mouth opened to form a perfect ‘o’.
Then with a look to me, she swallowed, obviously trying to ignore
the word that Kirby had said. “But why?”

“Oh, because she’s, like, a total heinous
cow.”

“Like Mrs. Jennings across the way?”

“Well I guess,” Kirby replied. “Now, let’s
have a little shush for a while.”

“Why?”

“People are trying to de-stress. Chatter’s,
like, not conducting to the process.”

“Wow. That’s, like, totally funny. You meant
‘conducive’, didn’t you?” Paige asked her, trying to copy Kirby’s
speech pattern. “Do you, like, know any more funny stuff like
that?”

“Like heaps. I try to use a new word every
day. Sometimes I get a bit mixed up though.”

“Like when I called Chicken Parmigiana,
Chicken Pyjamas?” Paige giggled back.

“Exactly.”

“Chickens don’t wear pyjamas. They have
feathers.”

For the first time ever, Kirby looked
bemused.

Paige sat quietly for a minute. Then she
tugged on Kirby’s sleeve. Seemingly, she thought she’d met some
type of Bratz Doll kindred spirit. “So is this place, like, for
de-stressing?”

“And to get made beautiful,” Kirby whispered
back.

“I don’t need to be made beautiful. I’m
already gorgeous. Mummy tells me all the time.”

“Well, yes, but regular beauty treatments
keep you looking beautiful.”

“Can I have a seaweed wrap?”

Oh my God.

“Where did you learn about seaweed wraps?” I
asked.

“I Googled it on the iPad while you were in
the shower. Mummy had one when we went to Italy skiing last
Christmas. They’re very good for releasing toxins from your
body.”

“Well, I don’t think you need one,” I
replied. “You have no toxins in your body to detox seeing as how
all you eat is organic food.”

“But I had a Babycinno at Claremont Quarter
yesterday. There’s caffeine in that.”

“Not enough to warrant a seaweed wrap. A
massage and Mani-Pedi will do you just fine.”

“Can I have an eyebrow wax, then? I have this
dreadful mono-brow growing. I can’t look my best with that on my
head.” She frowned and ran a finger along the crease between her
brows. Then she leant across to let me examine the nonexistent
hair. “See?”

“You don’t need an eyebrow wax. Besides,
you’re too young.”

“But they do it on
Toddlers and
Tiaras
. And some of them are only four.”

The sound of a door opening interrupted my
answer and a girl wearing the loose black pants and top that
signified her role as the therapist walked towards us bearing a
tray filled with small ceramic cups and hot towels. She put the
tray down on a coffee table between us and began to hand them
out.

Paige stared down at her hot towel. “What’s
this for? I already had a wash today.”

“It’s to begin the cleansing process,” I
replied, showing her how to open the towel and wipe it over her
face and hands. “Have a try. It feels lovely.”

Paige turned the towel over in her palms and
seeing everyone else doing it, flopped the towel over her entire
face. “It feels all tingly,” I heard her mumble. She hopped off her
seat and put the used towel back on the tray. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Welcome to Bodybliss.” The
therapist’s voice was softer than rain on a window. It lilted and
fell to the sound of the panpipes, making me feel as if the stress
I’d been feeling was a myth.

She looked around the group, her eyes landing
on each of us in turn. “My name is Kaylee. I will be looking after
you today between your therapies but for now I have some
questionnaires for you to fill out. Then we can get into our robes
and begin. So, I’ll leave you to drink your tea for a few minutes
and complete your forms. Then I’ll be back.”

“Do we have to take our clothes off?” Paige
asked, after Kaylee had left.

“Yes, but they give us warm fluffy robes to
wear. They even have one for you. You can take it home if you
like.”

“Can I take it for Show and Tell?”

“You’ll have to discuss that with your
mother.” Adele was very particular about her children’s choice of
items to take to school. She had a reputation to uphold that I
wasn’t sure if it included a robe from a day spa.

*****

Despite the fact that Paige and I had been in
the same room for the hour-long massage, I felt
uncharacteristically relaxed and ready for my facial. It was as if
the touch of the therapist’s hands on our skin had sent healing
powers into us both. Paige’s incessant chatter had faded after the
first ten minutes and the room had become silent but for the sound
of the panpipes. At one point I could have sworn I heard the sound
of childish snores ~ a testament to her relaxation. It didn’t
surprise me that she had. The child could fall asleep during a
nuclear explosion. A massage would work wonders.

After sitting up and putting our robes back
on, we were given a glass of refreshing iced water and a chance for
a quick toilet break before the facial portion of the day began.
Paige was whisked away for her Mani-Pedi where Alex and Kirby would
look after her and I was led into the treatment room.

I was
sooo
looking forward to this
part. I loved that cream and goo that they put on your face but
could never justify spending money on it when I’d been saving for
the B & B. Back then, every eighty dollars I’d put aside had
been one step closer to my dream. Well, I didn’t need to worry
about that now and today, I could be extravagant in the name of
matrimony.

The first fifteen minutes passed in heavenly
bliss. The therapist had inspected my pores and cleansed my skin
with something very cooling and cucumbery. She’d given me a
treatment to firm the skin around my eyes and applied a tonic to my
T-zone for something-or-other I hadn’t quite caught as I’d slipped
into semi-consciousness. Her soft toned voice had explained every
detail of the service as she smoothed an exfoliating mask over my
skin.

“This mask will give you a deeper cleanse and
remove the dead skin cells,” she said, as her fingers slid over the
skin of my nose and cheeks. “It’ll feel tight and a little tingly
at first. Some clients say it has a warm sensation. That’s the
Glycolic Acid doing its job and absolutely nothing to worry about.
After ten minutes, I’ll rub the mask off and your face will glow,
ready for the big day.”

She continued to apply the mask to my face,
and as promised it did feel slightly tingly at first. Then, she put
two cotton pads, soaked in something lovely, over my eyes. “I’m
just going to clean up here. Would you like a foot massage after I
finish? It will be very relaxing while we wait for the mask to take
effect.”

Would I ever. The closest I ever came to a
foot massage was when Sam played ‘tickle monsters’ on my feet. And
that could only be described as torture.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.” I relaxed
under the blanket and let her get on with it.

A couple of minutes after the therapist had
taken up her position at the end of the table and was pushing at a
pressure point in the ball of my left foot, I began to feel a
little uncomfortable. The mask was tingling but it was extremely
warm. In fact, my face had begun to feel as if I’d shoved it into a
hot oven. I tried not to think about it. She’d told me this might
happen and that it was nothing to worry about. Yet, as I talked
myself out of my concern, I could feel my face growing hotter and
hotter.

“Um, my face feels very hot.”

“It’s fine,” she replied. “Completely
normal.”

“But it’s burning.”

The therapist put my foot gently down on the
table and covered it with the blanket. In silence, she glided along
the side of the table and stopped next to my face. Though I
couldn’t see her, I could sense her body near me. She placed a
finger on my cheek.

“Hmm. You are a little hotter than I’d like.
Most unusual.” She pressed a finger to my other cheek, then my
chin. Then she took a warm cloth and cleansed a spot along my jaw.
“Look. I’m going to take it off. Your skin may be overly sensitive
to the ingredients.”

I felt myself go rigid. What the hell did
that mean?

“You don’t have any allergies you didn’t
disclose, do you? Any medical conditions? Sometimes the smallest
thing can spark a reaction even if you’ve never had one
before.”

“No, none.”

I heard her wringing out the cloth in the
bowl. Then she applied it to my face and began to remove the mask.
She didn’t speak for quite a while.

“Is everything okay?”

By this time I was imagining patches of
burnt, peeling skin poking out from my cheeks and large welts along
my forehead and chin. Even though the therapist had almost finished
taking the mask off, my skin was still burning. Or it could have
been in my head. I had been prone to over-reacting lately.

“Yes. It’s fine.”

Shit. And we knew that meant it wasn’t.

“Your skin is a little red but I’ll put a
lavender moisturiser on. That should fix it. It’s not uncommon to
have red skin after a facial. You’ll find it will settle in an hour
or so.”

“It’s never happened to me before.”

“Hmm.”

It wasn’t so much what she’d said but the
tone of that one utterance that made me worry even more.

Another ten minutes went by. I tried to relax
as the therapist put the moisturising cream over my face and
décolletage and worked it into my skin. I tried not to think about
looking like a lumpy bumpy red thing. I tried to concentrate on the
fact that if she was still working on me then things couldn’t be
that bad. Or maybe she was trying to repair the damage? Maybe she’d
been trained not to cause alarm in skin-threatening situations? My
mind raced and my blood pressure built. If only I could see how I
looked in a mirror and know the extent of the damage.