“Fine. Hotel.”
Cheryl chewed her cheek. She knew the hotels Patrick was used to. The Sofitel and suites at Crown Towers and other places she couldn’t afford. “What about somewhere less fancy?”
He gave a humourless laugh. “Oh sorry, I forgot someone might see us and guess you’ve been sitting on my dick.”
She wanted to correct him, but he was already grabbing his t-shirt and sweat towel from the back of another machine. “I’ll book some shitty motel and text you. And Cheryl?”
“Yes?”
“Bring that lavender butt plug and the collar.” His lip curled, showing a pointed white canine. “Bring the whole fucking shelf.”
8
Two years before the yacht party
There was a stain on her skirt. Coffee, but it looked like piss. It looked like she’d peed herself as she sat typing promotional ideas for a dog-walking company. She’d been holding up okay all morning, but as she stared at the little brown-yellow stain, her tired eyes stung. All she wanted to do was put her head on her desk and cry. She bit the inside of her forearm until the feeling went away.
“Cheryl, how far away are those pitches?” Bridgette called from her office.
“Twenty minutes!”
The promotional ideas weren’t even going to her, but God forbid her boss not micromanage, all the time, always. Her phone buzzed with an email from Disability Services Footscray. Already nervous, she opened it.
Hi Cheryl, unfortunately, we’re unable to place another carer with your mother until our staff evaluation process is complete. We’re hoping to assign someone to her in the next two to six weeks. Until then we encourage you to call our helpline below for additional support. All the best, Shannon George
Cheryl bit her other arm. A month ago, her mother’s part-time carer, Jenny, quit without notice. Cheryl had moved back home to help out until they could find another support nurse and found her mum had been lying to her. She couldn’t cook, couldn’t go to the shops, could hardly walk without her cane. She’d been lying every time Cheryl had come over, getting Jenny to do everything in the three days she was there and pretending to be fine the rest of the week. The second night Cheryl was at home, she’d found her mum collapsed in the hallway, crying. She’d had an accident on the way to the bathroom and wet herself and still refused to admit things had gotten as bad as they had.
“Just go,” she’d sobbed, as Cheryl helped her to her feet. “You can’t see me like this.”
“It’s okay, Mum. Please just tell me what you need?”
A walking frame to stand. Tea through a straw. A bedpan. Food cut into bite-sized pieces. Jenny hadn’t just been driving her mum to doctors appointments. She’d been bathing and dressing her, and sometimes helping her use the toilet.
The worst part, Cheryl thought as she stared at her computer, wasn’t helping her mum in the shower. It was knowing her ALS had almost reached the stage where she couldn’t live independently anymore, and then where would they be? Her mum’s pension barely covered her rent and partial care. A nursing home would cost—
Her phone buzzed. A text from Patrick.
Yo, I’m at some sponsor thing by your office. Wanna get lunch?
Cheryl stared at the message. She and Patrick hadn’t hung out for almost two weeks. Between working, looking after her mum, and the commute, she hadn’t had time. They talked every day though, and she was sure he wasn’t nearby. Despite his football and uni schedule—and the fact he was dating a hot redhead from his course—he was making time to visit. She rubbed a hand over her greasy face. Normally she’d have loved to grab lunch, but right now there was every chance she’d see his sweet Labradoodle face and burst into tears.
Sorry, she wrote back. Work is crazy. Next week?
For sure. Everything okay?
No. My mum’s really sick and I’m looking after her by myself and I know she won’t ever get better. Everything sucks.
Scowling, Cheryl deleted the message. Patrick didn’t know about her mum. No one did, and telling him wouldn’t help. He’d just feel sorry for her, and their fun, easy friendship would be ruined. She looked down at her skirt and saw the stain looked even bigger and darker than before. Fuck it, why couldn’t she be honest? Even just a little bit?
Everything’s a bit hard right now but I promise I’m okay. I miss you though.
The message swooped away, and shame hit her like a wall. Before he could reply, she put her phone on airplane mode and threw it in her desk drawer. She didn’t open it until it was dark, and she was leaving the office. Shaking for some stupid reason, she switched off airplane mode and read his reply.
I miss you too, KitKat. I hope things get better soon.
Smiling, she typed a response.
Thanks, Patty-Bear. You’re the best.
