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Author
Biography Rani
was born in During
1988 she married (a 38 degree day in In
September 2000 her and her family made the brave decision to move to Western
Australia, where she still lives, with her husband, two teenage children and two
dogs Charlie and Poppy. She divides her time between the roles of super mum,
wife, teacher, writer and chauffeur to the children. (Phew!) She has remained an
avid reader and supporter of live arts, especially dance and theatre, enjoying
the fact that her daughter is now old enough to partake in such entertainments
with her. What’s New Pussycat?
is her first novel. Prologue 1987 It’s
funny how my life has been punctuated by songs. Certain songs can trigger
memories that make me smile, or even cry. Some people collect ticket stubs and
place cards to remind them of their life journey, storing them in a box of
memories that becomes torn and faded as the years pass. With me, it’s songs
and my songs never fade. They’re always as they were, the first time I heard
them. Stored in my head is a bank of
lyrics, useless to anyone else. They live in their own mini recording studio
waiting to spring to life when a song registers in my mind. Then they jump to
attention, tormenting me with tinkling lines and tunes I know, but don’t
really. I’m always humming something to myself. I know so many lyrics it’s
bordering on ridiculous. I even know words to songs from the sixties, which were
popular way before I was old enough to recognise them. I think it must be some
sort of subliminal learning thing, left over from the days of listening to the
radio with Dad on the way to school. After all, how many people my age can
honestly say they can confidently sing along to ‘My Boy Lollipop’ when they
never owned the single? I can, and I don’t even like the damn song. It was a Friday evening in
1987 and the leaves from the London plane trees were rustling gently in the warm
summer breeze as the fairy lights twinkled in the twilight. I’d heard that
song twice already during the day. This in itself was not unusual; if you listen
to the radio constantly, you’re bound to hear the same song twice in a short
space of time, but it seemed odd. At the time, I thought nothing of it, but
looking back, it must have been some sort of sign. I’m a great believer in
signs and fate. There’s a reason why some things happen. Sitting on a stool at the bar
of the Ocean Inn, one of the best-known and most populated watering holes in the
city, I breathed deeply and took in the sights. The male sights, to be exact.
The room was swimming in testosterone, a veritable smorgasbord of men, and if
I’d still been single it would have been difficult to choose, but as it stood
I had my darling Coops. Thus, current policy was only one of perusal. As Mum
always said, ‘There’s no harm in looking, Bella, as long as you don’t eat
the cakes.’ A gem of wisdom in itself but one I never understood until I
discovered the opposite sex. Some men are meant to be looked at. Some should
carry a sign that says ‘Look, but definitely don’t touch!’ A tall, good-looking guy, in
what was obviously an Armani suit, leant an elbow on the bar talking to some
friends. His face was clean shaven and his shirt pure white against his tan. Hmm.
Not bad, I thought, curling my lip in approval. Summer
really is the best time of year. The temperature had peaked at twenty
degrees that day and suddenly everyone was throwing off their coats for a
t-shirt and there was no nicer sight than a gorgeous guy in a tight
t-shirt. While I waited, I casually
contemplated the rest of the world. I
can’t complain, I thought, as I sipped my wine and crossed a lean leg,
eyeing the tall suit. This is a superb
place to live apart from the winter weather. And it was. Seaforth, a couple
of hours towards the coast and away from Melbourne, was big enough to boast most
modern facilities and small enough to be relatively safe for a girl to walk home
alone at night. Being small also meant that everyone knew each other, which
could be both a positive and a negative, depending on what you got up to on a
Friday night. The bar, that night, was
packed with young professionals. They were in that twenty-to-thirty age group,
which could often be seen out on a Friday night still wearing their suits and
ties of the day, having come straight from work. The sounds of U2 (Bono is the
only man I would give up chocolate for) siphoned through the air and the
atmosphere was so rowdy that I knew I’d would have to yell to make myself
heard over the noise but I loved it. I loved being part of the crowd. This was
my turf. The place where I belonged, where everybody knew my name. (Ok, so maybe
they knew my name because I liked to dance on the bar but a girl’s got to have
some fun, right?) A friendly face wended its way
towards me and stopped beside the bar. I reached over and kissed his cheek.
‘Jus,’ I said, wiping the deep red Dior smear away. ‘Do you want a
beer?’ Justin Fitzgerald, my
long-time friend and confidant, pulled up a stool and sat down. ‘Excellent,’
he said. ‘I’ve had a shit of a day.’ ‘Oh baby,’ I pouted.
‘Client hell again?’ Justin’s face looked tired
and he nodded. ‘Yep.’ He loosened his leather tie and settled on the stool. ‘Well, that makes two of
us,’ I added as I clinked his glass in a cheer and began to chatter away. My
cigarette flailed ominously in the air and Justin ducked for cover as it
threatened to take out his eye. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly but said
nothing. No matter how he chastised me, I continued to smoke. It wasn’t worth
the effort. ‘My day was utter crap
too,’ I relayed. ‘Trudy said we need to upgrade our image, to expand our
audience, and I threw a whole heap of ideas her way, which she promptly
dismissed as “droll” and “been-there-done-that”. So it looks like I’m
up till midnight, again, trying to
come up with some new strategy that will appease her and make us number one
again. The woman is a total bitch!’ I stopped to draw breath,
which was amazing in itself. For everyone who knows me well, knows that I never
stop talking. I try not to, but it’s hard. I’m just no good at listening and
silence has never sat well with me. ‘So
what are the plans for tonight?’ I continued. ‘Is your new flatmate coming
along? I’m looking forward to meeting him, he sounds hunky.’ Justin shook his head again.
He was eternally trying to sort out my love life. ‘He’s right up your alley,
Bella,’ he laughed, finishing his beer. And it was probably true. He knew my
taste well and had witnessed, first hand, over the years the men I’d loved and
left behind. ‘Where’s Coops by the way?’ Coops was my current man.
We’d been friends since the Uni days and seemed to have fallen together by
default. I mean, what girl could possibly resist a man who looks like Richard
Gere with muscles of rock (from all that manual labour, I suppose). Add to the
mix the fact that he could flirt outrageously and while bumping and grinding his
way sexily across a dance floor and there’s not a great deal left to say. I
sighed. ‘He’s helping a mate from his work to install cupboards in his
kitchen. It’s so annoying how they expect him to drop everything and help,
just because he’s a carpenter. Don’t they know you can employ people to do
that?’ ‘I suppose it comes with the
turf,’ said Justin. ‘Can you imagine what would happen if everyone knew I
was a gifted singer. They’d all want me for their weddings!’ I spluttered into my glass. As
if! Justin was the worst singer on the planet. Even his mid-range note could
shatter glass and not in a good way. ‘So tell me more about the
flatmate, Jus,’ I said again, probing for more information. Justin’s eyes crinkled with
amusement. My mind was an open book to him, probably a copy of Playgirl.
‘Tall, blond, athletic, intelligent and good looking. Not that it should be at
all important to you,’ he chided. Placing an arm around
Justin’s shoulder, I continued the interrogation. ‘Don’t stop there, Jus.
I want to know more.’ ‘He’s an architect, just
moved back from Melbourne. He’s friendly and loves a beer, so he should be
good value for after-work drinks, I reckon. Plus, he really likes cats!’ said
Justin. I nodded affirmingly. That
type of man would please Jus no end. His cat Tibby was his most beloved treasure
and the rather disastrous episode between the previous flatmate and the cat had
scarred Justin for life, I was sure. Raising his left hand and
signalling over my shoulder, Justin made a space between us. The new flatmate
had arrived. I turned to meet him, my
expectations of a Greek god high after Justin’s glowing description. ‘Bella, I’d like you to
meet …’ he began. ‘… Benjamin James,’ I
said, finishing the sentence and looking into the steely blue eyes of the man
standing before me. ‘Do you two know each
other?’ Justin looked at Ben, visibly stunned. ‘You could say that,’ was
the drawled reply. You could say more than that,
I thought. God, what should I do? He looked so damn good. I didn’t know if I
wanted to stab him to death with my stiletto or take him outside for a quickie. Justin looked from Ben back to
me. We were staring each other out, neither moving, neither wanting to be the
first to give in. He could have cut the sexual tension with a knife and spread
it on his toast for breakfast. ‘How?’ he asked, still
unable to believe it. ‘From school,’ Ben said
offhandedly, still staring at me. For almost the first time in
my life, I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t find the words to say even the simplest
of hellos, let alone give explanations. Standing before me, smiling in a most
disarming manner, was the first man I had ever loved; the one I had given my
heart to. This was the boy I had loved for so long and so hard, it hurt. He was
the reason I had been born, the reason I was the woman I was. He was my knight
in shining armour. My saviour. The man I adored but could not love. Suddenly, I knew there was a
reason why I’d kept hearing that
song all day. Shit. Chapter
1 1979 One
Fine Day On
the day I met Ben James, The Shirelles were singing ‘One
Fine Day.’ I heard it in the car on the way to the football and I
hummed along as we drove. It stayed with me for the whole day, like a psychic
prediction of a meeting that would change my life forever. Lucy,
Prue, Jen and I had donned our warmest clothes and scarves in honour of the game
that day. We were much like any other group of fifteen-year-old schoolgirls, who
thought they were highly individual and up with the latest trends. We wore Levi
jeans, in cord of course, with the obligatory brown suede desert boots. We were
thin, with the exception of Prue, whose life was one big fad diet. Despite this,
Prue could never truly be called fat, just a little chubby maybe. Her mother
could constantly be heard telling her it was only puppy fat and she would grow
out of (or into) it. And we were beautiful. Well, we didn’t know we were,
except for Lucy, but looking back there were a lot of other girls who were a
damn sight uglier. Everyone else’s hair was
styled in the latest permed fashion, but not mine. Mum would not be swayed on
that front, no matter how many fits of crying and sulking I tried. ‘When you’re eighteen,’
she said sternly, ‘you can shave every hair on your head off if you want to
and become a Buddhist monk. Until then it will not be cut or permed or whatever
it is the other girls are doing.’ Still, we all looked the same.
It was our uniform, the uniform we wore when we weren’t at school; the one
that we needed to be part of the ‘cool’ gang. The outlook over the mountain
was grey, promising rain later. Heavy clouds loomed menacingly and there was a
distinctly icy chill in the air, but we didn’t want to miss the game. We did
not intend to stay indoors that day, not even if the weather bureau had
predicted snowfalls down to one hundred metres and maximum temperatures of only
eight degrees. We had lived those winters since we were born; going out in our
bathers on a day like that would have been nothing to us. Hell, we skinny dipped
in the middle of winter. It was bitterly cold standing
on the sideline with a clipboard and a pen, recording the marks, kicks, goals
and points but we all had our reasons for being there. Prue Sullivan was there
to see her brother play. Tim was a good player, tipped to make the seniors in
the local competition the next year. He was in Year 12 at St Peter’s College,
the boys’ school on the next block to our own. Prue and Tim were part of an
extremely close family and their parents were just so cool. I was envious of everything they had and did. Their lives
looked perfect. Their house was decorated in the latest interior style, right
down to the cream shag pile carpet and chocolate timber veneer. They drove the
latest car and Prue always had the newest clothes, even before they hit the
shops. This was most probably due to the fact that Prue’s mother owned a
boutique in The Grove, where all the leading socialites lived. She had to be
well stocked or they would take their custom elsewhere. Those women had money to
burn. Jen Riley, the quiet one of
our foursome, wanted to see Tim play too. She had a real thing going for him, we
all knew it. Jen spent most weekends at Prue’s house, mooning in a lovesick
fashion whenever Tim walked into the room or spoke to her (or even when he
didn’t). He was her idol. ‘Tim this, Tim that’... was all we ever heard. Jen was so shy, she could
never tell Tim how she felt. She would blush at the mere thought. She figured it
was better to love from afar than not at all. But I saw the way Tim reciprocated
those looks when he thought nobody was watching and I vowed that one day I would
get them together. Secretly, I thought they would probably get married. They
seemed so well suited to each other; all they needed was a little push in the
right direction. Lucy, of course, didn’t care
who was playing football as long as they were male. She was commonly termed
‘boy crazy’ by all adults who knew her, especially my mother, who frequently
used Lucy’s behaviour as an excuse to launch into one of her famous ‘how to
behave like a lady’ speeches. The terms ‘loose’, ‘common’ and
‘hussy’ were bandied around at such times and usually related to one of
Lucy’s latest stunts. (It was impossible to get away with any sort of naughty
behaviour in our little city, your parents invariably found out within
twenty-four hours). When God had created Lucy
Marie Roberts, he was obviously thinking of the welfare of all things male in
the world. She seemed to have been put on the planet purely for their visual
delight. Boys loved the way she looked. They hung on her every word. Her hair
was long and blonde (of course). It fell down her back and around her face in
tiny ringlets that Prue and Jen’s perms could only hope to emulate. Lucy had
curves and bumps in all the right places, making me feel highly inadequate at
the sight of what could only be described as goosebumps where my breasts were
meant to be. Unfortunately for us, Lucy
knew all about her beauty, and was a master at using it to her advantage. With a
flick of her eyelids, she could make anyone believe the moon was made of green
cheese or that you were her best friend in the world. Her beauty also determined
that the rest of us were invisible to the entire male population. They were too
blinded by the sight of those enormous breasts to notice us. To boys, she was a
vision of perfection. But I saw another side to
Lucy, one the others never saw. As I stood on the sideline watching her jump and
cheer in her dainty Barbie-like manner I wondered at her pull. Why did everyone
love her so much? Lucy was a bitch, disguised as an angel. She could cut a girl
down with a flick of her catty tongue but she was the queen and the others
followed blindly in her wake, doing her bidding at every turn. The football game went
smoothly. It was a close match but the opposing team, St Michael’s, came out
winners at the final siren and despite the loss to the home side we were feeling
buoyant as we hiked up the hill for afternoon tea in the hall. We reached the door and
stepped inside, out of the chill, dawdling past the tea table where Prue grabbed
a muffin. The hall was freezing as usual. Having been designed mainly for
basketball, wrestling, gymnastics and other such sporting pursuits meant that
heating was not a priority. Not even if the cold offended the delicate
sensibilities of a group of well bred young ladies such as us. So, finding an
empty corner, we huddled together. ‘It was freezing out there
today. I had trouble holding onto the pen to record the stats!’ Prue moaned.
She was forever the wet blanket where weather was concerned. She was the reason
why hot water bottles had been invented and looked a bit like she had one
stuffed up her jumper. ‘It’s not much warmer in
here, but a cup of hot chocolate should fix us up,’ said Jen. She was such a
mother hen, sometimes. A cup of chocolate or tea could fix any malady. ‘Great idea, Jen! I think
I’ll get one to go with this muffin,’ Prue nodded, and went in search the
hot drinks. It was no wonder her new ‘eat anything brown’ diet wasn’t
working. It left far too much to the imagination. Jen and Lucy instantly put
their heads together, deep in conversation about the new clothes they’d tried
on in the city that morning. Prue, after raiding the buffet again, was busily
munching into her third choc chip muffin and, by sheer accident, I found myself
alone. I watched others around the room as groups formed, dispersed and
reformed; an ebbing sea of bodies and faces. I would have chewed off my right
arm to be in that group, the one where everyone knew my name and looked up to me
but I was a mouse around people I didn’t know. A little mouse with mousey
hair. They
never invite me to come along when they go shopping, I thought, as I
listened to Lucy discuss the merits of the brown over the black turtleneck
jumper. My mind wandered as I considered the idea. What I really wanted was to
have a best friend like the girls on TV and in movies, but deep down I knew I
wasn’t the type of girl who would be invited to go shopping; probably I talked
too much or something. They invited me to parties, as part of the gang, but I
never went to sleepovers or visits at their houses, unless it was for a school
project or a whole bunch of us were going. Sometimes I felt as if I only existed
on the fringes of the group. I didn’t really fit in. How I had ever been
accepted into the ‘cool’ group was beyond me. ‘Hey, Bella daydreamer …
look over there, near the table.’ An elbow in the ribs from Prue diverted my
attention back to the action. ‘Oh my God, isn’t that the
yummiest thing you’ve ever seen?’ Prue’s eyes travelled back towards the
huge spread of afternoon tea. I followed her gaze across the room and, with a
quick look, realised it wasn’t the sponge cake she was eyeing off. Leaning
casually against the table, talking to one of the teachers was the most
beautiful boy I had ever seen. It sounds silly, but my heart skipped a beat and
everything began to move in slow motion like a bad movie where the hero runs
with his arms outstretched towards the girl of his dreams. And worse still, The
Shirelles were the soundtrack music. I gazed longingly. His hair
was quite long for a private school boy, especially the boys we knew who all
were very clean cut, and he looked somewhat older and more mature than other
boys did. He was tall, easily over six feet and had broad shoulders tapering to
narrow hips and long muscular legs. But his most noticeable asset was his blond
hair. White-blond to be exact and cut into a long shaggy, just got out of bed
sort of style. He looked like one of the rock stars I watched on ‘Countdown’
every Sunday night. I could just imagine him in a white suit, strutting across
the stage and handing red roses to screaming hoards of girls. He was such a
spunk. The boy was talking to a
teacher, nodding and smiling all the time. His smile, dimpled on his cheek, was
utterly adorable. I knew right away that I would pay almost any price to see
that smile focussed my way, but it would probably only happen in my dreams. He
looked like the sort of tall, athletic type that usually headed in Lucy’s
direction. ‘Who is he? I’ve never
seen him before,’ I mouthed, my eyes still glued to his masculine form. ‘What are you two whispering
about?’ Lucy leant over, always wanting to be in on everything. ‘Look over there,’ Prue
gestured. ‘Mmm, what a spunk. I wonder
who he is. Why don’t we know him?’ Lucy eyed the boy up and down as if she
was assessing a new pair of shoes in the window of Myers. Sometimes her interest
in the opposite sex was positively lewd. ‘I don’t know who he
is,’ Prue countered, ‘but I could ask Tim, he knows everyone.’ ‘Well, don’t just stand
there dummy, go and do it!’ Lucy ordered, her eyes never leaving the golden
haired god. She, too, looked smitten and I realised that my days were numbered.
No sensible god would ever choose me over her. Why would you want Sindy when Barbie was on
the shelf right next to her? So, Prue, wandered off to find
out the story on the mystery man. Lucy and Jen entered into a dissection of the
previous night’s episode of Dallas,
their favourite show, and I was left to my own devices once again. I
stared across the room at the flaxen-haired boy. It was easy to watch without
being noticed and he was divine, a blond Adonis, even cuter than Leif Garrett,
with whom I had been deeply in love for the whole of the previous year. He
looked bored, as his eyes scanned the room, not really paying attention to the
teacher who seemed to be lecturing him about something. Then, oh my God, he
looked at me, he truly looked at me and winked. I was sure I hadn’t dreamt it.
A short time later Prue
returned, whispering and nodding suspiciously at the boy across the room. ‘His
name is Ben James. He’s eighteen.’ ‘Ooh … an older man,
they’re so much more mature than boys our age,’ said Lucy, straightening a
wayward lock of hair. Prue cut her off. ‘Shut up
and let me finish, Luc, you’re always interrupting!’ She took a deep breath.
‘Anyway, he hasn’t been around much this season because he’s been trying
out for football teams. There are scouts after him. Tim said he won’t be here
next year. He’ll be playing footy in Melbourne. So I guess there’s not a
great deal of point trying to meet him.’ Lucy looked down her perfect
pixie nose. ‘I don’t really see that as an obstacle, Prudence. It would
still be possible to have quite a lot of fun with him between now and next year.
That’s still six months away you know. Anyway, what if it turned into a
serious relationship? Imagine being married to a professional footballer. Oooh.’ Jen’s disapproval of the
whole idea was evident. ‘Really Lucy, sometimes you are so disgusting. All you
think about is boys and money. Did you ever stop to consider that he’s too old
for you? He’s eighteen already and you’re only sixteen. Boys like that only
want one thing.’ ‘So?’ ‘Well, look at him, he’s
gorgeous!’ We all looked. There was no denying the fact, the sex appeal was
practically dripping from his pores. ‘He probably has heaps of girlfriends his
own age. Why would he want to hang around with nerds like us?’ Jen gestured
around the circle. ‘Humph!’ Lucy snorted
haughtily. ‘You may fall into that category, Jennifer, but I am certainly not
a nerd and I think I could give him plenty of reasons to want a girl like me.’
I wondered if anyone else had
noticed how Lucy had recently begun to address us all by our full names. She
probably thought it was sophisticated or something. I watched as she thrust her
best assets forward and jiggled sexily. ‘What do you think,
Annabelle?’ she giggled. It wasn’t hard for me to
imagine the kind of reasons Lucy would put forward, I’d seen her in action
only last week at the school disco, swanning around the room like a catwalk
model. A naughty smile lit up my face. ‘I think it would be hard for any boy
to resist your charms, Lucy, they’re so out there! Especially when you can’t
even see mine, they look like mosquito bites compared to yours.’ ‘Well,’ said Prue,
interrupting our jokes, ‘Tim said he knows him. Apparently, they are quite
good mates, and said he’ll introduce us if you like.’ ‘I couldn’t do that!’
cried Jen in dismay. ‘Tim might get the wrong idea. No, you can count me out
of this one.’ ‘Well I’m in, Prue,’
stated Lucy. ‘He looks cute to me and I’ve nothing better on the horizon at
the moment. What about you, Annabelle?’ And before I knew it, the game
was on, and the glittering prize was heading across the room and straight
towards us. I felt my heart begin to race and my mouth go dry. I licked my lips
and sucked in my potbelly … if only I hadn’t eaten that extra slice of toast
at breakfast! ‘Oh my God, he’s coming
this way, does my hair look alright?’ cried Lucy. ‘He’s so cute, look at
his muscles.’ Prue rolled her eyes
dramatically. ‘Will you shut up, Lucy, he’ll hear you! Anyway, he’s
probably only saying hi because Tim asked him to.’ I stood frozen, a ridiculous
smile plastered on my face as Tim greeted us for the second time that afternoon.
‘Hey girls, this is Ben James. Ben, I’d like you to meet the St Peter’s
cheer squad: my sister Prue, Lucy Roberts, Jennifer Riley and Annabelle
Stone.’ We nodded and smiled in turn
holding out our hands in greeting. But as his hand reached out shake mine, I
felt myself being pushed aside as Lucy shouldered her way towards him in a
sneaky move to give her the upper hand, or breast as it may be. I shrugged. The score was fifteen-love and not in my favour but that was
nothing new. ‘It’s really nice to meet
you, Ben’ Lucy fluttered her eyelashes, thrust out her breasts and flashed her
beauty queen smile. ‘We’ve really
been looking forward to it.’ Oh, a
forehand straight down the line … I’d never be able to counter that. The
score sat at thirty-love. She grabbed his hand in hers,
squeezing like a python that wouldn’t let go and the score quickly raced away
to forty-love. Even Mother Imelda couldn’t resist that smile. I wondered if it
was too late to consider the convent as a career path. ‘The pleasure is entirely
mine. Did you enjoy the game?’ Ben drawled, blind to the fact that Lucy had
shoved me out of the way so rudely. Once again, I was overshadowed by the
magnetism of Lucy’s well-endowed chest and whiter-than-white smile. ‘Yes, we did, thank you. You
played very well,’ Lucy replied again for the group. She didn’t intend to
share the limelight with any us. ‘I can see why so many people are after
you,’ she continued, as her eyes roamed appreciatively up and down his body.
The look was not lost on Ben who smiled back wolfishly. I winced. That shot was
an ace for sure. The game was over and I hadn’t even scored. I was floored. Five minutes ago, Ben had been winking at me across the room and now I’d never have a chance with him. I cleared my throat noisily as Prue and Jen tried to smother a titter by looking at their feet. As if Lucy would know how he played. She hadn’t even known he existed until we spotted him, I thought. It was enough to make you want to throw up. To make matters worse Ben seemed to be lapping it up. He was grinning at everything Lucy said, his eyes firmly locked on her double-D cups. Obviously, he was the type of boy who went for that blonde bimbo rubbish. He didn’t even know I was alive. Click on the cart below to purchase this book:
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