Part 16 (1/2)

'I just came in from Perth. We missed you on the media plane.'

'Who's we?'

'Me.'

'I'd better stick with Max,' I said, quickening my pace to join Luke and Maddy at the front of the scrum.

'Don't think we didn't see that flush of colour, missy,' said Maddy. 'Am I right, Harley?' But Luke was charging ahead, pea-green tie flapping behind him.

Max, Felix, Sh.e.l.ly and Nonie were at the bakery sampling hot cross buns when they were approached by a woman and her young son who had obviously just been to the pet shop. Max got down on his haunches. 'Hi there,' he said to the boy. 'I'm Max. What's your name?'

'Steve.'

'And who's this, Steve?' Max pointed at the lone goldfish Steve was holding in a water-filled plastic bag.

'Nemo 2.'

'After Nemo the movie?' asked Felix, chuffed that he knew the reference.

'No,' said Steve, 'after Nemo 1-Jaws ate him.'

Felix and Max rose to talk to Steve's mum, Nancy-it was safer up there.

'Mummy,' said Steve, tugging on Nancy's skirt.

'Don't interrupt, darling,' she said sternly and kept talking to Max. 'My husband runs a small business and it's really tough at the moment.'

Max and Felix nodded.

'BUT MUM!' A small puddle had formed at Steve's feet. 'Nemo 2's home is leaking,' he cried. 'A lot.'

Felix grabbed the bag and ran, chased by Max, carrying Steve, followed by Nancy, Flack the Cop and a squadron of snappers. Felix burst into the pet shop. 'I'm Felix Winks,' he said, competing with meowing kittens, 'and this is Nemo 2 and he needs a top-up.'

'I told management you people weren't welcome in here,' said the pet shop owner, double-bagging Nemo 2. Journalists scribbled furiously. 'You'll scare the animals!'

Max joined the fold. 'I'm sorry about all the commotion,' he explained, 'it's just that we were chatting with Steve's mum, Nonie here, and-'

'Nancy,' corrected Felix. 'Nonie's my girlfriend.'

The confused cameramen switched their attention to Nonie, who was with Sh.e.l.ly outside the shop.

'Hi,' she grinned and waved. The moment was awkward enough without the poor girl slipping in Nemo 2's puddle, and thudding onto the ground, dress well above the knee.

'Code red,' Maddy said.

Luke hung his head.

Cameras zoomed.

'The billboards look like paradise now,' I said.

In the can.

It was the middle of the night, or at least I thought it was. I knew I was in a hotel room because the sheets were tucked in too tightly and my skin smelled unfamiliar from the citrus-scented soap. I couldn't find my BlackBerry, so I hit 0 on the bedside-table phone, in search of answers.

'Good morning, Guest Relations, this is Mich.e.l.le.'

'Would you mind telling me what time it is?'

'Certainly, ma'am. It's 3 a.m.'

'Thank G.o.d it's Friday.'

'Sat.u.r.day. Will that be all, ma'am?'

'Actually, Mich.e.l.le, I was wondering whether you could tell me which hotel I'm in.'

'The InterContinental, ma'am.'

There was no way to ask the next question without sounding stoned. 'And which InterContinental is that?'

'Collins Street, ma'am-there's only one InterContinental in Melbourne.'

'Of course,' I said. 'Very kind of you.'

If nothing else, our encounter might have given Mich.e.l.le something to talk about with her graveyard-s.h.i.+ft colleagues. 'You'll never believe this,' she would say to the porter. 'Some hussy on the fifth floor has no idea where she is, let alone whose bed she's in.'

Go back to sleep, Ruby, said my head.

'I can't,' I replied. 'I'm wide awake now.'

Well, do some exercise or something. Don't just lie there. Your body and I are fed up with these sleepless nights, so you may as well do something productive with them.

'Sorry,' I said. Clearly, I was well on my way to Barking.

I opted for a swim. A plain black bra and pants would have to suffice. I threw the fluffy white robe over the top of my makes.h.i.+ft ensemble, grabbed a towel and headed for the fitness centre.

It was quiet. The plopping sound my feet made as they entered the water ricocheted off the walls. I went in up to my torso. The temperature change triggered an outbreak of goose pimples. With one deep breath, I immersed myself.

Underwater, the blue lights turned my skin the colour of powdery snow. My hair pulsed out in front of me like a blonde jellyfish and tiny baubles of air escaped my lips, shattering when they hit the surface.

I came up for air, heard the filter whirr and plunged back under, soaking up the silence. My head had stopped hectoring me; my body was grateful for the stretch. The peace was intoxicating. Not because I was distressed, but because I knew no one could hear me, I opened my mouth to scream. The sound was muted; bubbles scurried.

When we were kids, during long summer holidays in Bellagio, Fran and I held underwater screaming compet.i.tions. We would pretend we were mermaids jostling for the position of Mer Queen, which was usually determined by the loudest scream or highest number of consecutive underwater somersaults. As there were but two contestants for Mer Queen, both of whom were the compet.i.tion's only adjudicators, they were summers fraught with fights. We would jet up and down the pool for hours until our hair turned green and our eyes pink from the chlorine.

After about an hour of mermaid jetting, I was ready for a shower. I towelled off, re-robed and headed for the lift. It reached me with a ping and opened to reveal a sleepy Oscar Franklin. He was deliciously rumpled, with messy hair, faded shorts and a moth-eaten T-s.h.i.+rt. Gone was his usual pristine TV state; this was far s.e.xier. His face was still creased from the bedsheets.