Read an extract from Better Days by Claire Zorn.
Twenty years ago, Grace only wanted to be with Trent – a boy with a guitar and a lot of promises. Her mother, Dorothy, wanted her daughter to fulfil her potential.
In a fit of fury and heartbreak, Grace boards a plane to London where she builds a dazzling career in the music industry, marries Ed who would do anything for her, and has two children (one who might be a sociopath, but the other seems fine).
That glamorous lifestyle is a distant memory as Grace drags her kids and a particularly irritating dachshund back to the Blue Mountains, where Dorothy is waiting with a roast and inevitable questions about why Ed is no longer in the – seemingly perfect – picture. On a McDonald's pitstop, Grace bumps into a ghost from the past ... Trent.
PART ONE
APRIL 2022
Grace stood in the garage and assessed the size of the lotus compared to the amount of luggage waiting to be packed into it.
The packing had been complicated; not only did the kids need clothes for a night at Dorothy’s but also for a week of camping afterwards. She didn’t notice Henry’s stealthy arrival.
‘Whoa!’ he said. He was looking at the Lotus, now slotted in the space Ed’s hardy, practical four-wheel drive used to occupy. (Grace had decided it was not a good idea to leave the Lotus abandoned on the street.)
‘For real? Is it ours? We have to drive it to Granny’s, Mum. We have to. Whoa!’
‘It’s not going to fit everything. And I’m probably going to return it anyway.’
‘No, Mum. Please.’
‘Can you find May?’
Henry gazed at the car for a few more moments and then went in search of his sister.
He soon returned with May, who was attempting to cradle a squirming Slinky in her arms— the dachshund rejecting the plastic baby bottle May was thrusting towards its mouth.
‘Slinky is very unsettled,’ May observed.
‘I don’t blame her,’ said Grace.
After much arranging and rearranging, Grace managed to strap the kids into the Lotus, with one suitcase on the front passenger seat and another crushed between Henry and May in the back, a backpack on Henry’s lap and Slinky on May’s. Grace hadn’t informed her mother of the unfortunate fact that Dorothy’s least-favourite family member would be joining them.
The car wasn’t even out of the automatic gates before Slinky began her incessant protest, yapping and yapping directly into Grace’s ear— such were the cramped dimensions of the Lotus. Unlike the Lotus, Slinky wasn’t Grace’s idea. She was Henry’s.
When Grace had expressed hesitation, Ed said, ‘It’s not like you’ll be the one looking after her most of the time.’ Which was true of course, and thus Grace’s voting rights were rescinded.
On the freeway now and stalled in Friday afternoon gridlock. Yap, yap, yap. Both children were oblivious in their noise-cancelling headphones. Grace fought the urge to toss the dachshund out the window. Instead she turned the music up. Rage Against the
Machine began to boom at a volume that stunned the dog into silence. The car-full of teenage boys beside Grace stared at the deranged woman screaming about the LA police.
Soon enough May was pounding on the back of Grace’s seat with her ferocious little feet.
‘You forgot Charles!’
‘What?’
‘Turn down the music! You forgot Charles!’
‘May, it is your responsibility to remember your toys.’
‘We have to go back!’
‘We are definitely not going back.’
‘We have to go back!’
The dog took this as her cue to recommence barking.
Grace passed her handbag to Henry. ‘There’s a bottle of tablets in there. Give Slinky two.’
‘What are they?’ Henry asked.
‘Sedatives from the vet.’
Henry found the small orange bottle in her bag. ‘The label says they’re for when she’s anxious.’
‘She’s anxious!’
‘No, she’s not. She’s just loud.’
‘Henry, give the dog the tablets.’
Henry fixed her with a stern gaze.
‘Do it,’ Grace ordered. ‘Please.’
‘No.’
‘I want Charles!’ screamed May.
And the traffic inched forward.
‘I’m hungry,’ said Henry.
May and Slinky had screamed and barked themselves into a deep sleep. The traffic had cleared a little and they were finally moving, although this wasn’t enough to satisfy Henry.
‘Have a banana,’ Grace said.
‘I don’t like bananas.’
This should have been a benign statement. Ed knew Henry didn’t like bananas. Lotte knew Henry didn’t like bananas. Grace knew that she had come up short. Yet again.
‘Have an apple.’
‘You didn’t pack apples. Can I have chocolate?’
‘No. The chocolate is for Granny’s.’
‘Are we having chocolate?’ May asked, woken by her radar detection of the word.
‘No one is having chocolate. There are crackers.’
‘We ate them.’
‘When?’
‘Before,’ said Henry, a brief note of condolence in his voice.
‘Can we have McDonald’s?’
‘McDonald’s! McDonald’s!’ chanted May.
‘No. We’re not stopping. If we do, the traffic will get worse and worse.’
The silence of parental victory followed. Until . . .
‘I need to do a wee,’ said May.
It was no coincidence that May needed to do a wee at almost the exact point in the journey when they were approaching the only McDonald’s in the Blue Mountains, a line of cars snaking out of its parking lot.
‘Why don’t I just pull over, you can do your wee and we’ll keep going,’ said Grace.
‘Do a wee where?!’
‘In the bushes.’
‘Girls can’t wee in the bushes,’ said Henry, as if it were a national decree.
‘They can. You can, May.’
‘I don’t want to wee in the bushes!’
‘What about food?’ asked Henry.
‘We can’t go into McDonald’s with Slinky. We’ll get drive-through and I’ll pull over a little further so May can go to the toilet.’
‘But there’s no bushes, there’s just people’s gardens. She can’t wee in someone’s front garden.’
‘It’s fine, she’s a little girl.’
‘I don’t want to wee in the garden!’
‘She can’t do that, Mum.’
‘So what do you propose I do, Henry?’
‘It’s a toilet emergency now!’ screamed May.
‘Oh, for frig’s sake.’
‘Don’t swear!’
‘Frig is not a swearword, May.’
‘Lotte says it is,’ said Henry.
‘Lotte is not the mum. I am the mum, and I say— ’
‘I’m going to wee!’
‘Don’t wee, May. Please.’
Grace did a terrible, terrible thing: she zipped the Lotus into the McDonald’s parking lot through the exit lane, bypassing the queue of cars. People honked and shook their fists. She was a self-entitled cow who thought she was above the law because she drove a luxury vehicle. Yes, but she was also a self-entitled cow with a five-year-old on the verge of weeing all over the tan leather upholstery. Grace swung the car into a spot that a retiree was dithering over. The bespectacled man wound down his window and shouted at Grace. At least he was too polite to swear or call her names.
‘We can’t leave Slinky in the car!’ said May, refusing to get out.
‘Dogs aren’t allowed inside,’ said Grace.
‘They let assistant dogs in,’ offered Henry.
‘Slinky has never assisted in anything except chaos,’ said Grace.
‘She has to stay in the car. Leave the window down a little. She’ll be fine.’
‘She’ll die!’ shouted May.
‘She won’t even notice we’re gone,’ Grace said.
‘Because she’ll be dead,’ said Henry.
‘She won’t die,’ Grace insisted.
May was crying now. ‘Don’t make her die!’
‘May, we will be very quick. Wee, food, out. We’ll eat in the car.’
The crying stopped.
‘If she dies can we have ice cream to make us feel better?’
‘What? No!’
‘Lotte gives me ice cream when I miss Daddy. She says it makes me feel better.’
The line to the women’s toilets was very long, and every time the automatic doors to the restaurant opened and closed Slinky could be heard barking from the car. May’s lip wobbled and Grace squeezed her hand.
‘She won’t think we’ve done this to her,’ Grace said. ‘She doesn’t have that logic. She’ll just be glad when we rescue her.’
Animals were so convenient like that.
May was hopping from one foot to the other. Henry had gone quiet.
‘Henry, do you need to go? There’s no queue for the boys’ toilets.’
Henry contemplated the treacherous solo journey.
‘I’m not going in there alone.’
‘Okay, you can come in with us.’
‘But it’s for girls.’
‘No one will notice.’
The line moved along. Only one person stood between them and the door to the ladies. Henry glanced around.
‘You’ll be fine going into the men’s on your own,’ Grace said.
Would he? Her imagination was abuzz with child-abduction/assault headlines, some of them accompanied by Henry’s recent school photo. (Such terrible hair, he hadn’t even brushed it.) At least if he waited outside the toilets for her there would be a lot of witnesses, therefore a much-reduced chance of abduction. Grace wondered whether Henry could sense her doubt. His face indicated he could.
A woman came out of the toilets. It was now their turn.
‘No one will mind if you come in with us,’ said Grace.
Henry hovered, uncertain.
The woman standing behind them in line cleared her throat.
‘I need to wee!’ shouted May.
‘Henry, we’re going in. I’ll meet you out here.’
Grace hustled May through the toilet door.
When they came out, Henry was waiting for them. No visible signs of trauma.
‘Did you go to the men’s?’ Grace asked.
He shook his head.
‘But if you need to— ’
‘We have to get food,’ he said. ‘Slinky is still barking.’
After five minutes of negotiation about soft drinks and ice cream, Grace ordered the food. She held on to the little ticket with the number on it while Henry and May clambered around on the play equipment and felt grateful for the glass separating herself and the other customers from May’s joyous squealing. Grace’s number was called and she approached the counter. There was a guy in front of her, telling the teenager behind the counter that the fries were missing from the bag. The skin on the back of his strong neck was smooth and tanned, and there was a curve of a bicep at the edge of his sleeve. Grace’s longing for Ed’s touch had morphed into a longing for anybody’s touch. The undeniably hot man was being very patient with the staff. Patient but firm. Grace wondered if he had witnessed her terrible behaviour with the Lotus.
The issue with the fries was resolved and the patient/firm guy picked up his brown paper bag and turned around. Grace looked away. She hadn’t been admiring him at all.
‘Grace?’
Trent was the same: cheekbones in the perfect place, smiling blue eyes, a level of scruffy that only seriously good-looking people can get away with. At first he seemed as shocked as she was. Then he caught up and produced a grin. Some people would say it was the shit-eating kind. Nish would have been one of those people.
‘Grace.’
She wasn’t doing the right thing with her face. She should smile and be friendly: How are you? So good to see you! But Grace didn’t say anything. The glimmer in his eye faltered a touch. It would have been barely detectable to anyone who didn’t know him like she did. The smallest crease formed between his eyebrows; a questioning look, like a dog expecting a treat and wondering why it hadn’t arrived.
‘Grace Harlow? It’s me.’ He searched her face.
The teenage McDonald’s worker called Grace’s number again.
‘It’s me,’ Trent said again. ‘It’s Trent.’
Still, Grace failed to make any sort of sound or movement.
‘Trent Keaton,’ he said.
People in the queue around them were watching now.
Grace, regaining slight control of her nervous system, looked past him to the counter. ‘Excuse me, I just need to . . .’
‘Sure, sorry.’
He stepped out of her way. Grace collected the paper bag and drinks tray. It wasn’t easy as the drinks were overfilled and the weight of the three cups unevenly distributed. Such was his nerve that he attempted to help her and she found herself jabbing him with her elbow to prevent it.
She could feel his eyes follow her as she walked away.
Cheeks ablaze and concerned she might have forgotten to put on deodorant, Grace was halfway across the pedestrian crossing when she realised what she had forgotten and stopped in the middle of the road. A horn blared and it shocked her back into life. Grace raced back through the sliding doors, drinks sloshing everywhere, and into the restaurant play area, where her offspring were oblivious to the fact that their mother had momentarily forgotten their existence. Trent was still standing at the bloody counter watching her.
Henry saw Grace, dutifully collected his sneakers and sat down to put them on.
‘What’s wrong?’ Always his first question these days, because there was always something wrong, it was just a matter of what.
‘Nothing. May!’
Grace’s daughter was halfway down the slide. Halfway and not moving. Progress had stalled, whether voluntarily or involuntarily.
‘May, we’re going!’
‘I’m stuck!’
There was no conceivable way the girl could be stuck unless she had been struck by some sort of Wonka-esque curse and transformed into a giant blueberry on account of her negative response to everything that was asked of her.
‘Is she stuck?’ Grace asked Henry.
He shook his head.
A sort of numbness had spread through Grace; she was unable to move on to the next step of her day, the step that involved extracting her five-year-old from McDonald’s.
‘If we don’t go now Slinky will die!’ shouted Henry.
That got everyone’s attention, including May’s. In an instant, she was running towards the exit, stopping only to pick up her yellow sandals. That was, until she noted that Grace was not carrying ice cream.
‘You didn’t get ice cream!’
‘No. Put your sandals on.’
May didn’t bother with second gear, she slipped straight into sixth, releasing a scream worthy of a Hitchcock film.
‘Stop screaming,’ Grace ordered. ‘We’re leaving.’
May threw her sandals at Grace. The other restaurant patrons were being treated to a good show— Trent among them, no doubt.
Grace handed Henry the drinks tray and bag of food, and hoisted May up. She carried her squealing, squirming daughter under her arm across the car park.
By the time they reached the car May was silent. (Was this a win? Grace wasn’t sure; no doubt Dr Rosie would tell her.)
Slinky could again be heard scrambling and barking from within the Lotus. Grace put her daughter on the ground, took the food from Henry (the drinks now half empty) and put it all on the roof of the car. She fished around in her bag for her keys among the lucky dip of tissues, lip balm, hair elastics and band-aids. A few long moments passed when Grace was sure she’d lost her keys, until, yes, there they were. She wasn’t completely useless after all. Grace unlocked the car and opened the door.
‘Grace!’
She froze. Trent was jogging towards her.
Slinky did not freeze. Instead the dog jumped out of the car and took off across the asphalt.
‘Fuck,’ said Grace.
‘Slinky!’ screamed Henry.
‘Fuck!’ screamed May.
Trent, however, did not take note of the fleeing dachshund and continued his determined path towards Grace. ‘Grace, I’m sorry, I can’t just let you walk away— ’
He saw it now, the dog galloping at full pelt on its ridiculous little legs.
‘Oh.’
‘Wait there with Trent,’ Grace said to her children and took off after the dog.
‘Who’s Trent?’ Henry called out after her.
But there was no time. Slinky had exited the car park via the IN lane.
And out onto the road.
And now here was a red Toyota Yaris zipping along.
Intercepting the dog.
Extracted from Better Days by Claire Zorn. Available now where books are sold.
Better Days
by Claire Zorn
Grace had it all, but couldn't hold it all ... A story of love, chaos and the music in-between, perfect for fans of Taylor Jenkins Reid.
Comentarios