Pretty Girls by Pretty Girls (retail) (epub)

Author:Pretty Girls (retail) (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781922265876
Publisher: Big Sky Publishing

22

Words written on ink, on a napkin.

(2017, Redfern)

Later that evening when Tilley was fast asleep, Evie took a shower. There bathroom was a two-by-two metre pokey room, which encased a toilet, sink, washing machine and bath tub with a shower fixed above it. There was a sticky white plastic curtain which circled around the bathtub to create a sense of privacy. Evie had tried to wash that curtain on several occasions to make it less tacky, but it refused to yield its stickiness even to the most rigorous of washes. She was resigned to it.

The bathroom wasn’t the place where Evie relaxed, ever. Not even close. It was a place where she raced in to brush your teeth or use the toilet, or quickly shower before work and then raced out again at break neck speeds. It was hardly the type of place where you could relax. It was more prison cell than day spa.

But that evening Evie was fixated on sparing a moment for herself. She ran herself a bath and found a bath bomb which someone had given her years ago, and she had left unused, wrapped up in a bottom drawer for just such an occasion. She wondered if there were expiry dates on such things, and decided it was unlikely.

She threw caution to the wind and tossed it in, silently hoping it wouldn’t give her a urinary tract infection. It fizzed and hissed and came to life, making the bath water cherry pink, and scattering it with tiny gold stars. She poured herself another glass of red, and then relaxed into the steamy abyss of that evening.

She felt strangely at home in that odd, tiny terrace that evening. Redfern and all its violence was locked outside. Where it belonged. In her home there was a peace and tranquillity. Tilley slept quietly in her bed, no doubt chuffed by her performance in today’s Christmas event, and Evie lay in a bath feeling ... solid, real, in her body, in this life. Something she hadn’t experienced in an extraordinarily long time. Perhaps she never had.

In her handbag lay an equally extraordinary thing. A list that G and her had crafted over lunch of questions to ask her father. This made her feel strong, stoic, empowered. She knew what she wanted to ask him ... she had put pen to paper, the first step in articulating those questions, that had the power to set her free. Of course, she had workshopped a good ten questions with G – but nothing about Benny. She had told G a whole lot, more than she had told any person at one time, but she drew the line at Benny – she always drew the line with Benny.

Later, at home and alone she had added questions about Benny. Writing them, black ink on a page, had carved another hole in her heart. The extreme pain had made her wince, it had brought tears to her eyes. But she had steamrolled the emotion -G was right, she needed the answers to move forward.

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