Returning home after six years working in the UK and Europe, Lindsey Maris cooked dinner next evening for her parents (she's a professional chef) and then sat by the telephone thinking who to call.
In the months before setting off overseas, she'd found Tony to be a stayer, Max was great at whispering sweet nothings as he pounded her, Trevor had been so neat and tidy that afterwards it had been difficult to find that he'd banged her, the Harrison twins Harold and Henry were a bit too much and then there was Stevie.
Yes, Stevie!
The responses to the calls were all rejections of sorts:
"I'm sorry Steven got married and now lives in Brisbane, dear. Oh, I do miss him," said Steven's mother bursting into tears.
"Oh, don't you know, Trevor is now a priest."
"The Mason's don't live here any longer. Their son Max is doing time for driving the getaway car in a stuffed-up bank robbery."
"Oh darling. Tony has aids. Would you be kind enough to visit him."
Lindsey couldn't believe this. She'd expected to find it more difficult to find a good job than find someone to fuck in her old hometown. In desperation she'd tried the Harrison twins but they currently had a thing going with the Morrison twins Ann and Annie.
The first restaurant she phoned seeking an interview, hired her sight unseen, offering $15 bucks an hour more than she'd considered requesting. Philip the owner said he knew who Lindsey was and had tried to contact her in London when learning she was coming home.
Would you like to go to bed with me? Lindsey shouted silently as Philip said goodbye and cut the call.
That silent shouting made Lindsey sound either a promiscuous hottie or one of those unfortunates who only get lucky in the dark. She's neither, just a 34-four-year-old who's been used to a man in her bed and was very aware she'd not been shafted for almost three weeks.
Before departing the UK, she'd thought when arriving back home, the quickest way to settle back into Marsden City would be hook up with an old buddy and hopefully settle into joint accommodation with him; or as a last resort, with her.
Right, thought Lindsey intelligently, pull your reins in old girl. You rushing into this and it's not working. Just stay home and be kind to mum and dad and something will come up.
"Cum up, I hope," she giggled.
The attractive brunette with sloe eyes set in a pale face, bisected by wide mouth that seemed to fascinate some men, scratched an under bra-strap itch and thought she should get some info about Philip. Meg would know, and called her.
Meg and Lindsey screamed a dual greeting that neither considered it wasn't necessary to try; tone of voice told it all, as they were adult voices.
"Yes, Pete's almost two and Becca is due in three weeks.
"Don't have kids, Lindsey. Your social life virtually ends when they arrive."
That startled Lindsey, who'd always felt fussy Meg was born to be a mother.
With relief she heard Tom come to the phone and say, "Welcome home, Linnie. Don't believe what's she's just said; it's pre-birth pressures talking as she's into late pregnancy again. She's the greatest little mother in the whole world."
Well, that was reassuring.
Talking about Philip got Meg's neurosis onto the back-burner.
"He's a little over-weight and a bit swarthy, tall, dark and handsome, but not for you darling. He's gay. Aren't they all in the restaurant business?
"Omigod, sorry, you're a chef. You will be an exception."
Lindsey laughed and said, "So, what's the restaurant like?"
"What! You've taken a job yet haven't cased out the joint? You always were wacky, Linnie."
Lindsey smiled, "Well, someone has to be."
"Why's that?" Meg asked, sounding genuinely interested and Tom appeared focused waiting for the reply.
"We wouldn't have the good guys, the bad guys, sexy women, fat madams, skinny tramps and millionaires and wacky people unless there were people filling such categories."
"You haven't changed, Linnie," Meg laughed. "Still off-centre in your thinking. I desperately need you to come around frequently and hug me and hold me. I've got bottles of real champers in the fridge; you can drink the fucking lot while you're here. I'm on the wagon until three weeks after baby arrives. Look, I've got an even better idea: I'm sending Tom over to his mothers and you stay the night."
"Okay, Mrs Bossy Boots. I've got presents for you guys and don't let Tom go until I arrive and kiss him. I'm lonely for a man's kiss."
"I'll loan him to you for a week; he hasn't been getting anything to my knowledge, with me in this condition."
"Meg!"
"Oh, I suppose I was joking."
"Now look who's wacky!"
Lindsey arrived at the Armstrong home and was greeted by her closest friend, she came at her like a charging elephant, at a quick waddle rather and a run.
They cried and kissed and cried some more.
"Oh Tom," shrieked Lindsey, as tall and handsome Tom came into view. She jumped at him and he caught her, laughing handsomely. Meg was so lucky snaring this dreamboat from her office, her former boss, actually.
A little blonde head appeared around the door, with the bluest of blue eyes fixed doubtfully on Lindsey. She almost fainted, such was the welling rushing through her.
Small kid, very shy. Hold back you stupid girl, Lindsey's brain signalled, as for once she responded.
"Hello, darling," she smiled.
"Who's been training you?" asked the pregnant mother in surprise.
"Linnie was always the one with finesse," lied Tom, earning himself a cry of "Bullshit" from his wife, and everyone laughed just as they used to do. At that precise moment Lindsey knew she was home.
"Momma, I want" said Pete, walking straight at Lindsey with his little hands held upwards. Lindsey picked him up and he buried his face against Lindsey, looking at Meg as if she were surplus to his requirement.
"My God," said Meg softly. "He doesn't do that to anyone other than Tom and me, not even to his two grandmothers. You are going to accept our invitation of almost two years ago to be his godmother, aren't you?"
"Yes," Lindsey said, tears running down her face.
"Momma," said Peter, holding a hand out to Meg, as if realising his task had concluded.
On Monday at 11:30 Lindsey arrived at her new workplace as arranged and Philip greeted her coolly, Lindsey thought. A handshake, better still a kiss on the cheek, would have been nice.
Then he floored her.
"No one told me you look this good, mind if I assigned you to table-side cooking?"
On the phone Philip had said she would be preparing entrees. Table-side cooking required finesse, which she had, and a pleasant way of inter-acting with diners. Chefs who excelled in this role could boost the reputation of a restaurant and so executive chefs or proprietors selected such people with care. Philip was taking rather a risk with her.
