Читать книгу Being Lily - Qarnita Loxton - Страница 6

I turned. At first I wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Only the blondes were behind me. Them? Usually I was the only one who noticed skinny blondes. Owen says he only ever sees me. “You are Cleopatra meets Marilyn Monroe,” he says, “much more interesting than mermaids could ever be.” Not today. Today he stared at them. I wondered if the shiny silver bullet bags blinded him too.

The taller blonde saw us looking, turned to say something to her mini-me, then unfurled her legs. On her way up, she bumped one of the bags and it thudded over onto its side, bold black DBN flight tags flapping. Aha! Someone from Durban, Owen’s home town. She righted the bag and in three long, slow strides was standing next to our table, arms folded over her chest as if she had suddenly caught the little breeze coming off the sea.

“Hi, Owen,” she said. Her voice was small, as if she had traded hers with the mini-mermaid she’d left behind.

“Courtney?” said Owen, standing so fast the chair bounced up onto its back legs before settling, the table top wobbling a coffee spill into the saucer. He was shorter than her, nearly a head and two centimetres. She leant over and hugged him as I looked on. “Wow, I thought it was you, but I wasn’t sure. I never would have expected to see you at Eden,” he said, oblivious to my sitting there, staring at them like an open-mouthed fish.

“I’m sorry to catch you like this,” the mermaid called Courtney said, looking only at Owen, even though she could’ve looked right over him if she wanted to. All too irritatingly predictable, her eyes were the right kind of watery blue. And because I was sitting down while they were standing, I could confirm that she had a very real thigh gap. “I was hoping to see you at your office when it opened. The lady there said you would be back by one.” At least close up I could tell she was nearer to thirty-five than twenty-five – the distance between our table and hers had been kind. Too many laughs and squinting into the sun had made her a good candidate for Dr Lily de Angelo’s Aesthetic Practice.

“Oh, yes, Di is there. You could’ve asked her to call me. Jeez, man, I can’t believe it is you. Do you want to sit here with me and …” Owen, my usually impeccably mannered Owen, stared at me first and then (I hope) realised he had forgotten to introduce me, “and Lily?” I refuse to consider he’d forgotten my name. He could’ve said, This is Lily de Angelo, my fiancée, or even Meet Cleopatra Monroe, but he didn’t.

Her eyes caught mine only for a second; they were back on Owen before I had a chance to nod hello.

“It’s better if I wait until you are done,” she said, or breathed out was more like it. This woman had a voice that would make men want to look after her. Annoyed the crap out of me. “I don’t wanna interrupt your meeting,” Courtney said, “and Chiara’s already eaten. She wants to check the surf shops. We’ll meet you at one? If that’s all right?” She reached to touch his bicep as she spoke, rested it there for ten seconds too long. WTF. She might as well have flapped her too-thick-mascara’d lashes and said, Ooh, Owen, have you been working out?

I hate tall skinny blondes with thigh gaps. Now that her arms were uncrossed I could see this one was perky enough not to even need a bra. Double hate.

“Ja, okay, sure. See you later.” Owen stood for a bit, watching as she walked back to her table. He waved at the girl sitting there.

“What was that about? You know them?” I asked carefully when he sat down. Obviously he did.

“That’s Courtney. I don’t know the other girl,” he said. I scratched through the files in my head. I would’ve remembered her name if I had saved it together with a picture of what she looked like.

“Courtney?” Owen said again, his eyebrows raised at me. It was clearly someone I should remember. “My ex from Durban. The one I left to go work in Joburg? Talk about a blast from the past, last time she was screaming some big words at me over the phone. Said I was hardly better than my dad, which is crazy.” He shook his head at the memory. Riccardo and Elaine met when they were both working at the Beverly Hills in Umhlanga, and Riccardo had ditched Elaine when she fell pregnant, leaving her in Durban to come home to his family in Cape Town. It was the only thing to do given that mixed relationships were illegal then, and it was lucky for them that Owen came out looking like he could be Italian. Riccardo had phoned a few times a year, visited the Bluff a few times over the years, but hadn’t spent too much effort on being a dad to Owen even after the laws were changed. I’d met him just after Owen and I got engaged. Once was enough. “I haven’t seen Courtney for years,” Owen said, the memories somewhere behind his eyes. “Can’t believe she looks exactly the same.”

That’s Courtney? I wanted to shout but it wouldn’t have matched my act-casual idea. Although Owen didn’t seem to notice, I must’ve given off some scary vibes because a waiter magically appeared at our table, ready to take more orders. Usually I wave my arms like I am drowning in the surf before one of them comes. Possibly I’m not laid-back enough for a West Coast seaside town.

“You can take it away, thanks,” I said to the waiter. I hadn’t eaten enough of the eggs and avo, but I was glad for the time to remember what I knew of Courtney while he cleared everything away. Courtney was Owen’s first proper girlfriend. First girl he’d slept with when she was sixteen, him seventeen. His first love. Owen hadn’t ever given full sex details of any of his girlfriends (all three of them) and I was bloody relieved he hadn’t told – or expected me to tell. Imagine the hell in that! I didn’t ever want to think about the competition, plus I don’t remember half of the names on my and Kari’s European trip alone. He did say that he’d taken Courtney to his matric ball and that she’d worn a silver satin dress with such a low back and such a high thigh slit that his sister Ronnie had tried to close it all up with safety pins. Courtney’d dumped him after that matric ball to hook up with another guy, kept them both on and off until Owen was twenty-one, when he’d left to try his luck in Joburg. A month of long distance later, he had called it quits for good. He could’ve tipped me off on what she looked like, for fuck’s sake. If I’d known, I would’ve squeezed her surname out of him and Facebook stalked her long ago.

“I wonder why she is at Eden?” I said eventually, after the waiter had gone and I’d downed my cold espresso.

“Guess I’ll find out. I’ll ring you if it’s interesting,” is all that Owen said. Shit, I wanted to phone Kari from the toilet. She would’ve said something to make me laugh until I knew I was being ridiculous. I’d call Di later, hear exactly what Courtney said when she came looking for Owen.

“What were we talking about again?” Owen said, checking the Tag on his arm. “If Courtney’s coming at one, I should go back now, finish up the things I wanted to do later.” He ran his hand through his hair, resting it on top of his head so it temporarily flattened his thick dark hair. “Come on, babe, is where we go on honeymoon that important? I want to be married to you, all the frills and things don’t matter in the end. Let’s just enjoy the first days of being married – we don’t have to be in France for that? We have our whole lives to go there.”

I didn’t have an answer. He was right, it didn’t matter. I was too busy anyways thinking about what Courtney could want. Kari would nail me, warning I was letting my imagination run away with me. “Moenie spoke opjaag nie,” she’d said yesterday when I had a meltdown that something bad was going to happen. “Don’t go looking for crises in the month before the wedding.” I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t have a good feeling. How does the saying go? You can be a wife or a girlfriend for a short time, but an ex you can be forever. I thought we had been spared the ex-hex; I’d never factored in that kind of trouble. Would Courtney and her silver bullet bags change that with only four weeks to go?