Putting my hand over my chest, I mouth the word, “Pain.”
“You’ll survive. Makeup is in the top drawer in the en suite.”
I huff before entering. “It’s spotless in here,” I shout.
“Yes, because I care, unlike you.”
“Whatever,” I say in song.
Her laughter reaches my ears. “Don’t forget to moisturise first, you brat.”
Forget that. Rummaging through the drawer, I find some liquid foundation, our skin types remarkably similar in colour.
Mum staggers into the bathroom. I can see her reflection in the mirror above the vanity.
“I have to pee,” she declares, sitting down on the toilet.
“Don’t let me stop you.”
Once done, she washes her hands at the opposite basin.
I still fumble through her things.
“Let me do your make up for you,” she gripes. “Go and get a chair from downstairs. You’re too tall.”
I can’t help but smile because I’m pleased. My mum is a good person. Me, on the other hand, her opposite.
Minutes late, I return with a chair. Mum presses my shoulders, lowering me down. Smooth liquid glides onto my skin from her steady hands. “Close your eyes. I need to put on some shadow. Do you want neutral or colour?”
“Neutral.” A comfortable silence falls between us. “I had one of those panic things again,” I mumble before looking into her tired eyes.
“I see.”
“I don’t like talking about Mike.”
“I can see why you don’t, but you should. Maybe you need to talk to a professional?”
“Nope. You’ll do.”
She smiles sympathetically. “I’m a nurse, Abigail, not a psychologist.”
I don’t answer, so she allows the conversation to end there.
“And we are done,” she exclaims. “Now, go put your hair up. You’ll do great. I need to go back to bed, honey. I’ve been pretty tired lately.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Her eyes bulge, as if she’s shocked by my reply.
“I still notice things, Mum. I’m not dead.”
She rubs my shoulder.
I really have been completely self-absorbed. “Sleep tight.”
“Good luck, Abigail.”
I’m going to need it.
FOUR
Unsuspecting
“Good morning, Bertha.” I tap gently on her hood.
Bertha is the nickname my dad gave to the VW on the day he bought her for me. She’s a bit slow to start, and I’m praying there’s enough fuel to make the twenty-minute drive into Maroochydore. The needle on the gauge indicates less than a tenth of a tank.
Traffic is smooth as I make my way into the seaside town, and before long, I’m taking the final bend towards my destination with a little fuel still onboard.
“Three hundred and forty-six … three hundred and forty-eight … three hundred and fifty,” I mutter before spying the three-storey building constructed from hundreds of panels of glass. A gigantic red and gold sign reads Sims, General, and Klein Lawyers.
Finding somewhere to park proves extremely difficult, especially since I’m so unlucky. I end up driving around the block about six times before a spot becomes available. When I finally secure one, the dash clock reads 10:40 a.m.
Made it.
The doors open automatically. A petite lady looks up and smiles. “Good morning, and welcome to Sims, General, and Klein Lawyers.”
“Well, that’s a mouthful.” I snicker nervously.
“If you say it as many times as I have over the last four years, it’s not.” She exits behind the desk and makes her way into the lobby to greet me. Her name badge reads Asher. A pretty name for a pretty girl. She has long brown locks—very straight—flawless makeup, and a mesmerising smile. Yeah, she’s pretty. “Hi, I’m Asher.” Her voice is kind.
“Asher?” I reply in a curious tone.
She grins. “It’s Hebrew.”
I nod.
“I’m the receptionist.” She points to the high marble counter.
I look back at her name tag—it has an emblem of a gavel on it. I picture me wearing such a badge. I don’t like it.
“Are you Abigail by any chance?”
“Sure.”
“Well, are you, or aren’t you?”
“Um … you would be correct.”
“Good. Your interview is on level two with Jasmine, Mr Sims’s personal assistant. Jaz is lovely, but to the point. Honesty is her motto. Now there’s a tip for you,” she adds with a wink. “Good luck,” she says as the lift doors open.
“Thanks.”
Ting.
The doors part and open two floors higher. I’m greeted by a long corridor that has abstract art hung on display. I study each piece as I approach it. This is probably where Trish gets her love for it. From her dad. Looking left then right, I shrug. Which way?
Left is my decision. Of course, I’m wrong. Thanks to an older, neatly dressed woman I literally bump into, I’m turned around.
A clear door says Bernard Sims, Property Law, and it’s written in gold letters.
“Abigail McMillian?”
“Yes,” I reply to nobody, because I can’t see a single person.
“This way,” the voice comes from behind me. I turn, eyeing a pretty Asian woman.
“Are you Jasmine?” My voice cracks before her name has completely left my mouth.
“Yes.” She’s very professional in tone and appearance.
We walk into a conference room, not far from the door with the writing on it.
“Sit here. Pour a glass of water and get out your notebook and pen.”
Crap! I wonder if only having car keys counts. “So … yeah. I don’t have those with me.”
Her thin eyebrows lift, and her mouth forms an O. She’s not pleased. Yep, she hates me. No shock there. First impressions are not my thing.
“Here.” She slides a book and pen down the large conference table before sitting and silently reading through a document. “A moment, please.” She walks to the wall beside me and punches numbers into a phone. “Yes. No. Okay. I’ll check the schedule, and ETA in thirty minutes. I don’t think I’ll be long here.” She shakes her head, then places the phone back onto the wall.
No job for me. Instant relief. I wouldn’t fit in anyway. I don’t fit in anywhere anymore.
“Abigail,” she starts, returning to her seat, angled towards me. “Thank you for coming in today. I’m Mr Sims’s personal assistant. I’m sure you’re aware this is a very busy law practice with many offices located throughout Australia.” She doesn’t allow me to answer. “We will have to make our talk short.”
“Yes, of course.” I’m rattled. This woman is intimidating.
“The position we are looking to fill will require you to do the following duties: take dictation, answer calls, scheduling, copying, and filing. You will be in charge of mailing and banking. Also, you will chase up payments on accounts. A normal nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday job as the assistant to the personal assistant. Do you think you can handle the role?”