I Do, page 13
“Somewhere,” Phyll said. “Which is good if you and she win.”
“We won’t win,” Tarryn said firmly. “Garrett and Will have it.”
“Don’t be too sure.” Phyll winked. “I voted for you and Sophie.”
“Not helpful, Aunt Phyll.”
“I can see the pair of you dressed in white—”
“Never!”
“—riding in an open-top Rolls Royce—”
“And where would we get one of those? The fake couple will ride on the back of the feedstore’s ute!”
“—throwing rose petals at the crowd.”
“I hate to burst your bubble, Aunt Phyll, but that’s about three steps too far. But Will and Garrett will look adorable in white dresses.”
Phyll tapped the voting boxes. “Let’s see who wins.”
Tarryn glanced around. Where was Sophie? She wanted to make the first meeting happen so she could stop stressing, wondering if Sophie was going to freeze her out. And then she was there. Tarryn sensed her standing just behind her shoulder before she saw her. Maybe it was a flick of her mussed blonde hair, maybe it was her scent—something indefinable that definitely wasn’t perfume, but was uniquely Sophie, more than just scented bodywash and shampoo. Tarryn’s fingers twitched on the Fake Marriage cocktail, and she took a sip to hide her flushed face.
“Hi.” Sophie pushed her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and hunched her shoulders. “How are you both?”
“Good,” said Phyll. “Ready to count.”
Sophie waved at a couple of sheets of butcher’s paper pinned up behind the bar. “That is Jason’s idea. As well as the cocktail.” She made a face. “If you two read out the votes, he’ll tally them on the sheets. I talked him out of putting up betting odds.”
“I’d say Will and Garrett were at short odds,” Tarryn said.
Sophie scrunched her nose. It was endearing. As if she wasn’t cute enough already. “You might be surprised. If you believe the betting, it’s closer than you might think.” She pressed some folded notes into Tarryn’s hand. “Thank you for settling my tab last night. If it was more than this, please let me know.”
“There’s no need.” Tarryn scanned her face. Was she okay, or just a good pretender?
Sophie gave a small smile, then turned away to watch Jason as he climbed onto a chair in front of the bar.
“Good people of Quandong,” he said. “Welcome to the counting of the vote. Please come and get your free cocktail if you haven’t already.” He rattled a cocktail shaker full of what sounded like ball bearings. “Let the vote count begin!”
Tarryn sat on the vacant stool next to Phyll. “Let’s start with the box from Kirra’s Kafé.”
Phyll nodded, unlocked the box, and drew out the first slip. “Will and Garrett.” She pushed the slip across for Tarryn to read.
A wolf whistle as Jason wrote their names at the top of the butcher’s paper and added one tick.
Tarryn plunged her hand into the box. Paper rustled around her fingers. How many votes were in here? It seemed like a lot. She drew one and unfolded it. “Casey and Kai.” The high school couple. They bobbed their heads in unison, acknowledging the cheers.
Phyll nodded as she read the vote, then drew another slip. “Will and Garrett again.”
The next two votes went to Euli and Bernice, the sistergirls.
The knot in Tarryn’s guts loosened. As she’d thought, people were choosing locals they knew would enjoy doing it rather than an out-of-towner and the local who hated weddings. She managed a smile as she drew another slip. Hell’s bells and buckets of blood. There was no way she couldn’t read it, not with everyone staring at her. “Tarryn and Sophie.”
More cheers, and Jason wrote their names on the paper with a flourish.
When she dared look at Sophie, her face was frozen in a polite smile, even as Kirra squeezed her arm and whispered something in her ear.
By the time the votes from the first box were counted, Tarryn and Sophie were leading Will and Garrett by one vote. She daren’t look at Sophie, but she was sure her face would be as frozen in horror as her own. She forced a smile and applauded along with everyone else as Phyll read out the interim totals.
“Here’s to the next box changing things,” she muttered under her breath.
The press of bodies surrounding her and Phyll grew closer as people tried to see each vote. By the time the second box was completed, Tarryn and Sophie were five votes ahead.
Tarryn’s armpits oozed sweat, and a buzz of nerves juddered in her throat. This was not supposed to happen. She shot a glance at Sophie and found her leaning against the bar away from the knot of people surrounding her and Phyll, sipping a glass of wine.
The third box took the longest to count. Not because there were more votes but because the whooping and cheers after each vote was read out went on longer each time. Garrett and Will had their arms around each other and were cheering the loudest. The sistergirls had already conceded the race and were asking if they could allocate their preferences.
Phyll shot them a steely glance. “This isn’t the general election; it doesn’t work like that.”
The vote was neck and neck between Tarryn and Sophie and Will and Garrett when Phyll tipped the box up, emptying the final three votes onto the counter.
A buzz of panic pushed into Tarryn’s throat. “I concede to Will and Garrett. I withdraw.”
“You can’t!” It seemed everyone in the room shouted the words.
Will winked. “We’ll see this through.”
The next vote was for Sophie and Tarryn.
Jason put the tick on the board amid whoops and cheers louder than the AFL grand final in extra time.
The second vote went to Will and Garrett.
Relief thundered through Tarryn’s blood. Just one more. One more and this crazy idea could be put to bed. She met Sophie’s eyes over the heads of the people sitting next to her. Sophie had a deer in headlights look, and her fingers clenched the stem of her wineglass.
“Last vote,” shouted Phyll. “Winner takes all!”
“What if it’s for Casey and Kai?” someone shouted. “We’ll have a tie.”
“We’ll meet that if it happens.” Phyll unfolded the slip and peeked. “Oh my.”
“What does it say?” Jason asked. “C’mon Phyll. Don’t hold back.”
This is so not good. Tarryn’s breath rasped in her throat, and she seriously considered just walking out, pushing through the crowd, and driving home as if the hounds of hell were after her. That would surely show her feelings on this.
But she’d promised.
Phyll unfolded the slip and threw it on the counter. “Tarryn and Sophie.”
Oh fucking fuck it. It was the only word to properly to express her thoughts. Tarryn slapped both hands on her head. I can’t do this. Not the dress, not the fake vows. And the kiss? What about the kiss?
She searched for Sophie in the crowd, but she wasn’t where she’d been a moment ago. Had she left? Then she appeared next to Phyll.
“Quandong has spoken.” Sophie winked at Garrett and Will. “Sorry, guys. Close but no cigar. The women have it.”
“And to think we both voted for you,” Will said. “Imagine if we hadn’t.”
“But you did. Well fought. If I was having persons of honour, I would pick you two.”
Garrett kissed her cheek. “Congratulations on your big day.”
Sophie laughed, then came across to Tarryn. “Congratulations to you, future fake wife.”
How come she was so perky about this? Previously, Sophie had been nearly as horrified as she was. She frowned. What had changed? Nothing she could see.
Nothing except they’d kissed.
Something sweet hummed in Tarryn’s blood. Was that it? Was Sophie looking forward to a replay of the kiss after the wedding ceremony? Was it a way of keeping to whatever rules and limits she’d set herself about not kissing employees, not mixing business with pleasure, not kissing Tarryn? Well, there was one way to find out.
“Congratulations, my dear fake fiancé.” She leaned forward and set her lips to Sophie’s, lingering just long enough to absorb her silent oh. Tarryn smiled against Sophie’s lips and withdrew. No need to give the packed bar a total show. That was enough to show she’d play her part.
Sophie’s cheeks were that adorable shade of pink once more. Tarryn had never known anyone to blush as much as Sophie. It was rather cute. Tarryn squeezed her hand. “Okay?” she murmured.
“Okay.” One side of Sophie’s mouth quirked up. “We can do this.”
* * *
“Sophie, Tarryn, wait up.” Running feet slapped the pavement as Allie made her way to The Hollowman with Tarryn to discuss more details of the afterparty with Jason.
Kirra puffed up to them and thrust a piece of paper at Allie. “I’m beyond ropeable. I’m so livid, I could spit blood in their eyes. Take a look.”
Allie scanned the printed email. “One Union for Christ want to have a float in the parade. They’re a”—she glanced at the footer of their email—“fundamentalist religious group who believe marriage is between one man and one woman.”
“They’re bigoted hatemongers,” Kirra snarled.
Tarryn nodded. “They support conversion therapy.”
“Because being gay is a ‘lifestyle choice.’” Kirra held out her hand for the email. “I’m turning them down, of course. They better hope I’ve had my happy pills when I do, otherwise they’re going to get a blast.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t turn them down,” Allie said slowly. “They’ll parade, and they’ll get booed. Maybe that would be a bigger statement than not letting them take part.”
Tarryn’s eyes widened. “Booed? These people don’t care. They just want to be out there, visible, invading our spaces. This group is one of the worst.”
“We’re not accepting them, Sophie, and that’s final.” Kirra narrowed her eyes. “If we give them even a toehold, they’ll be back. In our spaces—our safe spaces—in our faces. This festival is a happy, celebratory event. Having One Union for Christ on a fucking truck handing out leaflets and lollipops will make it anything but happy. Do you know how many safe spaces there are for queer people in regional areas, particularly queer Aboriginal people? For the sistergirls? Not fucking many. Quandong is one, and while I can’t keep everyone out who threatens us, I can fucking try.”
Tarryn nodded and slipped an arm around Kirra’s waist. “We’re welcoming, yes, but there are limits. And the One Fucking Union is a non-negotiable limit.” She frowned. “Why are you even advocating for their inclusion? You must know what they’re like. Have they never handed you a leaflet, got in your face to tell you you’re going to Hell—as if that’s a threat. If there is a Hell, well, all my friends will be there based on what they say.”
Allie’s stomach churned. This was her biggest mistake yet. Of course she’d heard of One Union, but, of course, she’d never had any first-hand knowledge of what they were like. Sophie may have mentioned them, but she tended to laugh off the haters.
She hadn’t known, and while she considered herself an ally to the rainbow family, she couldn’t know what it was like. Not completely. Seeing Kirra wild-eyed and shaking. Seeing Tarryn so cold, like an unsheathed knife, brought it home. While she was part of their community as an ally, she wasn’t enmeshed in it as Kirra and Tarryn were. As Sophie was. She didn’t know how it felt to be on the receiving end of such hate—not for being who she was.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice. “Of course we’ll refuse them. Do you want me to do it?”
“No.” Kirra’s shoulders drooped. “I’ll do it. Maybe even politely. But I’ll be firm and say there is no place for them here.”
“Have you not come up against them, Sophie?” Tarryn asked. There was still a wrinkle between her eyes.
“No, not directly. Maybe it’s because I live in Sydney. Maybe it’s because I”—she swallowed—“often pass as straight. Maybe it’s because there are so many safe spaces for us in the city. It’s not as…intense as it is here.” She put a hand on Kirra’s arm. “Are you okay?”
Kirra covered it with her other hand. “I will be. Thanks.”
“And you, Tarryn?”
“I’m fine. I just don’t give people like them any headspace. Although it’s hard to keep them out sometimes, and not safe to ignore their existence completely.”
Allie bit her lip. An uncomfortable feeling wound its way up her chest to sit in her throat. Fraud. She was a fraud, and however well-meaning her and Sophie’s deception was, it was still wrong.
But what could she do now? When the festival was only days away? When Sophie was depending on her?
Nothing.
She had to see this through.
* * *
Later that evening, Allie sat on the couch flicking through the brochures of the wedding hire shops that had offered to dress the fake wedding couple. White, lace, more white, sweetheart necklines, and swooping low backs. While she’d always thought she’d wear a white dress if she got married, she wasn’t comfortable wearing one for the fake wedding. And what if she dropped something on it? Or someone spilled red wine? They would be mingling with the crowd at the afterparty—wearing white would be a disaster. Surely the shop would want their dress back in a wearable state.
She shuffled the definite no-go brochures to one side and picked up the remaining four. Maybe this one. The front showed two brides, one in a dazzling white tux, the other in a leaf-green dress and a crown of jasmine on her head. Both brides wore matching red hi-top sneakers. That might work, if Tarryn could be persuaded. They were meeting tomorrow with Phyll and Jason to go over the final arrangements for the parade and ceremony. She’d suggest it then.
Her mobile rang, and she glanced at the screen then answered.
“Hey, Leila, how’s things in the evil corporate?”
“Evil,” Leila said with a sigh. “My great new assistant left—she’s got a job with a start-up—and hasn’t been replaced. I haven’t set foot outside the office at lunchtime since you and I had lunch, and I’m working sixty-hour weeks. Life’s just peachy, let me tell you.”
“Poor you. Maybe it’s time to look for another job? One where you’re appreciated.”
“And where I can see Hammie for longer than five minutes before he has to go to bed.”
“That too. So Hammie isn’t going by Muhammad yet?”
“He’s trying. Old habits die hard. Lewis is better at it than me. After all, he’s the one feeding Hammie and getting him ready for bed these days. But I didn’t call you to whinge. I called to see how you are, and also to let you know something interesting happened today.”
“I’m fine, Leila, thank you for asking. I’m helping Sophie with her business. It’s…interesting. Maybe I’ll have a new career at the end of this.”
“Maybe. It’s got to be better than the last one. Now, the news. We’ve just lost another major client. There are a lot of closed-door meetings and worried looking people in corner offices. Nothing official’s been said—we’re not supposed to know, of course—but the rumour is someone screwed up the client’s Business Activity Statements. Sound familiar?”
“It does.” Allie’s heart picked up speed. Maybe they’d find out who did it, maybe they’d clear her name. Right. More likely… “Which client? Are they going to pin that on me as well?”
“I shouldn’t tell you as you’re not an employee anymore, but it’s Richard Martin. His waste disposal business is under investigation by the Australian Tax Office, and he came storming into the office to see your old boss.”
“I never worked on that file,” Allie said slowly. “Craig kept that one close.”
“Interesting,” Leila said. Her voice hummed with satisfaction. “So who’s going to get the blame for this?”
“They’ll still blame me.” Acid burned Allie’s gut. “I’m the perfect scapegoat. They won’t let a partner take the blame—Craig will get off. He’ll tell the client it was a junior accountant who has already left the firm. Then he’ll take Richard out for a boozy lunch, and they’ll pat each other on the back and say how hard it is to get decent staff these days.”
“Until the next time,” Leila said. “I wonder how many clients he tried this on? And why?”
“It lowers their tax bill, and the client thinks Kirkland is wonderful—until the ATO comes knocking.”
“When are you back in Sydney?” Leila asked.
“Nearly two weeks,” Allie said. “Lunch when I’m back?”
“You bet. Maybe I’ll have new and exciting news for you—like a new job, or Craig getting fired, or me finally seeing Hammie at breakfast and dinner on the same day.”
“That last one would be a great start. Send him and Lewis my love.”
“I will. I have to go. Bye, Allie. I’m already looking forward to seeing you.”
“You too. Look out for yourself at work.”
“I will.” Leila’s voice was grim. “Don’t worry.”
Allie ended the call and sat back amid the scattered brochures with a sigh. She had no doubt Craig would blame her for Richard Martin’s mess. She tightened her lips. What could she do to avoid that? So where did that leave her? She could call Richard Martin and proclaim her innocence—but why would he believe her word against that of a partner? She could call the Australian Tax Office as a whistle-blower and report Kirkland for their practices. But she didn’t have proof—only what had happened to her, and Leila’s story about Richard Martin. That wasn’t enough to go on. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. She had to do something. The question was what.
She got up from the couch, poured herself a glass of water, and considered her scanty groceries. For a second, the memory of the burger at The Hollowman tempted her. But that burger would forever be entwined with the memory of Tarryn’s lips on hers. As they had been again today.
