Page 106 of Rafferty's Rules
‘Did he pay for your flight from America?’ she suddenly asks.
‘No, of course not.’ I sense a change of tact.
‘He invited you to his brother’s wedding, but you’ve paid for your own flight.’
‘I was going on holiday. I would never expect—’
From somewhere deep within the house, a door bangs closed and is followed by echoing voices.
‘Plus, I don’t have any daughters to go shopping with. So you’ll take me. I reckon that’s payment enough.’
‘Bloody oath,’ Rafferty seems to agree. ‘She’ll have you out for hours.’
‘... I’d like that embroidered on a pillow.’ Amber’s voice echoes from somewhere in the hallway, the hint of laughter clear.
‘No more pillows, for Christ sakes,’ Byron groans. ‘It’s like they’re breeding in this place. In fact, I reckon if we had a sex dungeon, you’d decorate it in the things.’
The voyeur kitchen collective falls quiet, expressions of mild amusement painting each of their faces. Sure, I’m also eavesdropping, but I do so while clapping my hands over Matty’s ears. No one seems to give Edie a second glance, all eyes on the wide entrance to the kitchen.
‘And why do you think that is?’ Amber’s voice drawls languidly. ‘They’re all over the house to save my knees...’ Her words trail away as she spots us, her expression one of mild alarm.
‘What’s going on?’ Byron asks as though he and Amber haven’t just been busted.
‘What’s going on?’ Roman repeats. ‘Well, I’ve just found out why there are so many throw cushions in this house.’
I remove my hands from Matty’s ears, who looks up at me and asks, ‘Who was swearing this time?’
‘Who was swearing?’ Byron mutters in his dad-tone.
‘It was Auntie Lissa,’ Edie says from the floor.Dibber-dobber.
‘She was crying,’ Matty adds quickly and in my defence.
‘Yeah,’ Edie concurs. ‘Wet drops of sadness.’
‘Sounds like one of my old boyfriends,’ Chastity says, suddenly stepping in from the door on the other side of the kitchen. ‘What?’ she asks, as though one of us just muttered something telling.
‘Another mystery solved,’ Roman mutters, getting up from his stool. ‘I always wondered how Flynn bagged a hottie like you.’
‘Thank you, Roman,’ she says. ‘I think.’
‘Lissa’s case is still lost,’ Sally announces, bringing the conversation full cirlce. ‘And we’re going shopping tomorrow to find her a dress.’
And that’s how I find myself standing alongside Sally outside of a store called Periwinkle. Outside, the driftwood signage is understated and calm, but inside it’s like stepping into a sort of Disney-esque Frozen paradise. The walls are painted a sparkling icy blue that’s not quite periwinkle, a driftwood candelabra hanging overhead. A pair of Phillip Starke Ghost chairs sit opposite a desk, and a pale coloured sumptuous sofa is visible in an anteroom beyond.Fitting rooms, no doubt.
I shiver as a blast of cold air fills the room and Sally chuckles as she notices.
‘You don’t want to be trying on snug dresses while you’re sweating, darl. Barb, the owner, always keeps the aircon glacial.’
I can see the wisdom in this, but snug dresses? I thought this was a lowkey country wedding? And while I may recently have spent an excessive amount of time in glamourous boutiques looking for the perfect wedding dress, I’ve never been in a store like this. This totally looks like the kind of place that serves bubbly while you’re perusing rails.
Wedding attire aside, I’m more accustomed to shopping in stores where the merchandise is squeezed tightly on racks. Where finding something in your size that you wouldn’t be caught dead in, never mind alive in, is a small miracle. In short, I’m a bargain hunter sort of a girl. Don’t let the monogrammed purse fool you. Louis comes both newandsecond hand.
Clothes in Periwinkle are arranged neatly by formality, and then by colour, and hang from stylish racking and displays around the store. While the fitting rooms are out of sight, a tiny raised dais stands in front of an ornate mirror, the size of which would be more at home in an enchanted castle.
‘This shop,’ I whisper to Sally, ‘it’s like getting ready for the prom all over again.’ It wouldn’t be right or appropriate to mention my planned-for wedding.
‘Good job you’re not shopping in Sydney. Rafferty would’ve dragged you into some minimalist designer store, I expect. The kind of place you’re greeted with a sneer until you whip out a black credit card.’
