Bleeding Hearts. Lindy Cameron

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СКАЧАТЬ rush. I'm learning how to crack em up. What? Oh, rack em up."

      Worse, Kit thought. Much worse.

      Alex: "O'Malley, hi. It looks like I've missed you again."

      "Stop ringing when I'm out then," Kit begged the answering machine, as the sound of Alex's voice flooded her body with a rush of Cazenove-induced endorphins. She crossed her legs.

      Brigit: "Far out Kit! This is the bees-fucking-knees. You don't have to be thin, you just have to have balance. Who'd have thought I had balance. Well me actually, but that was more of a spiritual thing. Bloody hell - I feel marvellous. Oh. Do you know about your Mum yet? You should see the front wall of the pub!"

      Just as well I have a clue what you're on about Brigie, Kit thought. Or I'd be checking your pockets for drugs.

      Alex: "I'll be back in Melbourne on Wednesday. Do you want to have lunch? Perhaps you could meet me at my office at noon."

      "Oh yes! Oh yes!" Kit chanted.

      Hang on a sec... just lunch? Shit! What does that mean?

      It's OK. It's OK, she said to herself. Alex probably just wants to talk things over.

      Over? What do you mean over? herself asked.

      Jeez, O'Malley. Don't be such a pessimist! I suppose you think she's come to her senses and doesn't want you any more? Is that it?

      Yes, herself replied petulantly.

      You idiot. This is the beginning not the end. She wants to talk first and make mad passionate love after.

      Oh. Good.

      Having sorted that out with herself, Kit smiled and lay her head down on the answering machine. She'd just realised how truly ridiculous she probably looked when she heard her mother re-entering the room.

      "You can't sleep there, Katherine. For goodness sake, go to bed."

      "Yes Mum," Kit agreed, opening one eye. Lillian was either smiling fondly at her or looking bemused, it was hard to tell which. She was also cradling The Cat in her arms.

      "I'm taking Thistle in to sleep with me. I think she'd be quite disturbed by you right now."

      "OK, Mum. I love you too. Sleep well."

      CHAPTER TWO

      "Morning," Kit observed. There being nothing particularly 'good' about 9 am, she had elected to drop the adjective and acknowledge only that it was before noon. A waiter appeared offering coffee, a menu and a glass of water, before she'd even managed to settle her bum in the chair opposite the depressingly refreshed-looking and now easily recognisable Rebecca Jones.

      "Double espresso," she said to the waiter. "My god, you look amazing," she said to Rebecca. "How long have you been awake?"

      "Since six." Rebecca removed her reading glasses and adjusted the fringe of her blonde hair.

      "There's something oddly obscene about that," Kit noted.

      "You are not a morning person, I see," Rebecca said, as she folded her newspaper and put it to one side. "I think it's the best time of the day but then I'm quite hopeless after 10.30 at night. Mind you, it's only been that way for the last four years. I was a night owl before I turned 40."

      Kit ran her hands through her hair and nodded to the newspaper. "Well, the world could end overnight and I wouldn't know a thing about it until the evening TV news - or until I realised there wasn't any evening TV news. Is there anything worth knowing at this time of the day?"

      Rebecca shrugged. "Political skulduggery in Washington, bombs in the Middle East, floods in Queensland. Closer to home you have a teenager missing from Footscray, a by-election in Nareen, a body in an Elwood freezer, and two footballers out of something important due to groin injuries."

      "Same old shit then," Kit said, noticing an odd encounter in the doorway of the café between a redhead and a very-much-taller than her, bloke. "And, I may well be alone in this opinion," Kit stated, "but I can actually get through a day without knowing about a footballer's groin."

      "I have no interest in a footballer's anything," Rebecca agreed.

      "And it's only March for god's sake," Kit grumbled, "footy used to be a winter thing." She kept an eye on the now-agitated redhead, who'd seemed unusually annoyed by a bloke who looked like he'd only approached to ask directions or... Or, maybe not! Kit hadn't heard their exchange but Mr Broad-shoulders had waved towards Rebecca - well, in their general direction - and, in response, the woman had seemingly either told him to nick off, or 'be less obvious'.

      "Now we have to put up with knuckledraggers all bloody year," Kit continued, her senses on serious alert, as the redhead was moving haltingly but definitely in their direction. The waiter, delivering Kit's coffee, blocked her view for a moment; but that was all the woman needed. When he moved, she was right there - behind Rebecca and reaching into a shoulder-slung briefcase.

      Kit leapt to her feet. "Can I help you?" she demanded.

      The woman looked completely taken aback and Rebecca started laughing. "Whoa there, Kit," she said. "It's okay. This one's a friend."

      "Are you sure?" Kit asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

      "Yes, she's sure," the redhead snapped.

      "In that case, I apologise," Kit said, covering her overreaction by offering a chair.

      "Kit O'Malley, Sally Shaw, etc.," Rebecca said waving her hand between the two of them.

      "Ah, the real thing," Kit pronounced. "You don't look anything like the drag queen Rebecca was impersonating last night."

      "I told her the wig was overdoing it," Sally said with a smile that wasn't in the least bit friendly.

      "There's no point going out half disguised," Rebecca stated, obviously trying to ignore the envelope that Sally had removed from her briefcase. She sighed. "Don't tell me that's another one."

      Sally placed her fingers over her mouth so she couldn't speak.

      "Who was the bloke you were talking to, Sally?" Kit asked.

      "What bloke?"

      "The big guy in the foyer on your way in," Kit prompted.

      "Oh him. That was, um, you know RJ." Sally turned to Rebecca. "It was that up-himself wanker with the penis-name that we just had to have a drink in the bar with last week."

      "You mean Donker?" Rebecca laughed, then turned to Kit and gave a dismissive wave. "He's a long, long-ago-ex of an old friend of mine. We'd crossed paths here a couple of times in the last fortnight and I finally did the sociable thing last week."

      "Pff! You could have said no to the Donker bore," Sally emphasised.

      "Is he staying in the hotel?" Kit asked.

      "No. He has a business in the city and sometimes does lunch here."

      "And there's no other connection?" СКАЧАТЬ