“Well, I guess whatever you’re comfortable telling me?”
She drew in a deep breath. It would be okay—Mara had grown up poor too. And despite her fears, she was very, very qualified for this role. Quietly, she told Mara about her dad’s absence and her mum’s illness. Of living off a tiny disability pension and sleeping on an air mattress until she was an adult.
Mara listened, thanked her for her vulnerability, and offered her the job. “If you’re free tomorrow, come by the office,” she said. “I’d love for you to meet everyone.”
Cheryl let her tears stream down her face and said that sounded amazing. Mara rang off and she went into the bathroom to fix up her face, peeling off fake lashes and dabbing away mascara with toilet paper.
She had a job. A job she could really enjoy. A job that meant something. Her stomach lurched and, catching her gaze in the water-flecked mirror, she saw fear in her eyes. What if Mara decided she wasn’t good enough? What if she made a bad post and broke some underprivileged girl’s heart? For a second, she wished she was back at her old desk, typing up promotions for snail extract skin masks while Bridgette yelled at her.
Her chest throbbed and she narrowed her eyes at her reflection.
“No,” she told it. “Everything doesn’t have to be perfect before I’m allowed to have something good.”
That sounded like someone else. She frowned and the answer came. Patrick. Patrick saying she didn’t owe the world perfection. Patrick saying she had built herself out of her past trauma and become a hot lady Cyborg.
All at once she couldn’t breathe. She needed to call him, see him, but she didn’t have his number and she’d stupidly changed her own. She didn’t even have Instagram or any social media accounts. She’d been hoisted by her own impulsive petard.
“Eden,” she said. “Eden has his number.”
She ran out of the McDonald’s bathroom, phone to her ear, but Eden didn’t pick up. Neither did Willow, and that was the end of people she knew who might know Patrick. She halted in the middle of Lonsdale Street, ignoring the pedestrians cursing her out as she frantically scanned the road for guidance.
She could go to the Sharks club rooms and see if he was training today, or she could catch a taxi to his house and sit out the front until he came home—
Her phone buzzed and she snatched it up. But it wasn’t Eden, it was her mum.
“Hi,” she said distractedly. “Sorry, but unless something’s up, I can’t talk. I need to do something important—”
“This will only take a moment.”
Cheryl whirled around, wondering if she could stomach waiting for a tram or whether to spend some of her precious money on a ride. A ride, she decided. She needed to see Patrick right now. “What’s up?” she asked her mum, switching to speaker phone so she could open the Uber app.
“I just had a cup of tea with a very handsome young man,” her mum said.
Cheryl froze. “What?”
“Your friend Patrick came to visit me. Well, I asked to see him. He’s paid for my care for the next two years. A non-refundable donation, he tells me.”
Her head went fuzzy like bad static. “He… you mean, Patrick paid for you to stay at Wheelers Hill?”
“Yes, he’s taken care of everything, but that’s not important—”
“Not important!?”
“—he wants to marry you,” her mum said breezily. “Which is very sweet of him, don’t you think?”
Cheryl spun on the spot, looking for hidden cameras or aliens or anything that might explain what was happening. “Is Patrick still there? Is he still with you?”
“No. He’s gone to buy me more smokes.”
Cheryl slapped a palm to her forehead. “Are you fucking serious, Mum?”
“Yes. But when he gets back, I think I’ll tell him to go to Footscray Park.”
“What? Why?”
“Because,” her mother said calmly. “It’s a beautiful day and it’s your favourite park and who knows who Patrick will see by the big fountain in around forty to forty-five minutes?”
And then Cheryl understood. Knowing she couldn’t make herself wait for an Uber. She turned and ran in the direction of Parliament train station.
