“That’s me,” Cheryl said. “Who’s the message from?”
“Mr Patrick Normal,” the teddy bear swung his hips from side to side. “Stand up, please.”
Loving and hating her best friend, Cheryl got to her feet. Everyone in the open-plan office stared at her in some combination of amusement and distress as the teddy bear hit play on a portable speaker.
“Happy International Best Friends Day,” the teddy bear sang. “You’re a sexier pig than the one in Charlotte’s Web and that’s really saying something!”
Cheryl snorted so hard her nose hurt. As though waiting for her permission, her colleagues cracked up alongside her.
“There’s more,” the teddy bear shouted over the laughter, and he got on all fours on the carpet.
Bridgette arrived just as he started twerking, and though she knew there’d be hell to pay, Cheryl couldn’t stop laughing. It was so worth it.
* * *
Present Day
Raymond was fifty, divorced, and a father of three. Exactly her type. But despite the free boat booze, she wasn’t enjoying talking to him. He was drunk, his forehead was sweaty, and he kept laughing at things that weren’t funny, like her accidentally calling the yacht a ‘boat.’
Cheryl wanted to excuse herself, but she had no idea where to go besides the bathroom. She didn’t belong here, among the swirling, shiny football people. She’d only come because of Patrick, and she felt weird about approaching him in front of his teammates and their wives. She felt tacky in her second-hand Pilgrim dress when every other woman on the boat—yacht—was in Givenchy, Marc Jacobs, and Miu Miu. True, Eden was here, but she was busy looking after her daughter—and also wearing a turquoise Balmain dress and a four-carat engagement ring. Sometimes Cheryl didn’t mind playing the low-rent sidekick to Eden’s glamorous superhero, but not today. So, what was a broke girl from Footscray to do besides get wine-drunk with someone else’s dad?
“… the housing market’s not going to turn anytime soon,” Raymond was saying, clearly under the impression she was listening. “I was there in ‘91 and I know rates won’t stabilise until the conservatives get back into government. It’s always the same. When Jane and I were first married…”
Cheryl knew she should pay attention; she wanted to buy her own apartment soon, but in addition to being quite boring, Raymond’s monotone and constant references to his ex-wife weren’t helping her concentration. Providing free therapy was part of sleeping with older men, but she wasn’t feeling it. She glanced at the main cabin. If Patrick was alone, she could ditch Raymond and hang out with him, but her best friend was nowhere to be seen.
He was probably having fun without her. After all, he was a football player and he’d grown up in circles like these ones, surfing and sailing in upper-class Rockingham. He was so lovely, Cheryl couldn’t even hate him for it. Patrick’s childhood had been idyllic. The kind that was always a cover for a hideous sex crime in a movie but in reality was just sweet and boring. His parents were so nice, they could have been designed in a lab. His mum was a gorgeous doctor, his dad was a university professor who built his own furniture. Their sons were tall and good-looking, and all four of Patrick’s older brothers were married with kids. They were ‘The Normal Family.’ Literally. Mr and Mrs Normal and their five Normal children, all living normal lives, normally.
Her family? Cheryl wasn’t sure if two people counted, but if they did, her mum should have called them, ‘The Unplanned, Broke-Ass, Medical Fucktacular.’ The Walker Curse was ever-present in their lives, and unless a four-leaf clover fell out of the sky and performed fifteen different miracles, it wasn’t going anywhere.
Raymond droned on as Cheryl finished the last of her pinot. She really needed to lay off the booze. She had hot Pilates at six, four work portfolios to review, and her mum might call needing her to come over. Her ALS was getting worse and lately, she’d struggled to heat the frozen meals Cheryl kept stacked in her freezer. Her disability carer, Felicity, wouldn’t be in until Tuesday, and if her mum didn’t have anything to microwave—
Hot fingers brushed her wrist.
“Cheryl?” Raymond asked. “Everything okay?”
I need to get out of here…
She flashed Raymond what she thought of as her ‘office smile.’ Wide-eyed and lots of teeth. “Sorry, I’m kinda lit. What were you saying?”
Raymond tugged his collar. “Well, I was thinking, would you be interested in getting an onshore beverage after this? Maybe?”
The thing Cheryl liked most about dads, besides their eye wrinkles, was their awkwardness. Guys her age were always getting wasted and promising to fuck her like she’d never been fucked before—which was a lie because she’d been fucked incompetently plenty of times. But dads? Dads were polite. It was like they thought they’d scare her by even suggesting a date. It always made Cheryl feel like magic. Or at least it had. Right now, she just felt tired.
“Thanks, Raymond, but I should have an early night.”
“Ah, right.”
He looked so forlorn, Cheryl got worried he was about to jump off the boat. She flashed him another wide smile. “Thanks for the chat. It’s been lovely.”
She stepped back and Raymond jolted after her like a wind-up toy. “Wait.” He grabbed her hand with his sauna-damp fingers and leaned in. “I’ll pay.”
Cheryl felt her smile freeze over. She yanked her hand from his. “That’s not something I’m interested in.”
“But—”
She turned and walked away. She could still smell Raymond’s red wine breath, feel his sweaty grip. It wasn’t the first time a divorced dad had offered her money for sex, but it never felt good. The sun was setting, turning the sea air icy.
Patrick. She needed to find Patrick.
