Claire has only slept with four guys in her life.
Four.
One was the guy she lost her virginity to back in year ten when she decided she was drunk enough for it to go. One was Brendan, of course. Repeatedly. And the other two were similarly drunken one-off incidents in the aftermath of Brendan, just for the possibility of forgetting. She tried to move on by getting drunk and randomly hooking up. It didn’t work, though. The awkward one-night stands simply set off another maelstrom of regret.
Four guys.
That hardly makes her a slut. In fact, it barely makes her interesting. So how in the hell is she left here feeling like a complete skank? How come she feels like that when she didn’t do anything wrong?
Claire stalks down the street, her hands jammed in her pockets and her collar up around her ears. It’s a miserable day, the first in a while, featuring a particularly whippy, biting wind. She picks up speed because she’s already a little late.
And being late doesn’t help when Claire is in the foulest mood she’s been in for a long time—one that’s going to make this meeting with her mother more unbearable than usual. She frowns into the wind and crosses the street, dodging around the stalled traffic at the busy intersection.
Going back to Nina’s after Josh’s birthday party last night had been a stupid, stupid idea. She knows that now. In fact, going to Josh’s birthday party at a club after work was the first bad idea. But Nina begged her to go. Hamstrung from being able to offer a sensible reason not to—like the fact that she’d rather stay at home and watch crappy television than celebrate the birth of a giant sleazebag—she agreed, against her better judgment.
But why hadn’t she thought of how Josh would react? Of course, a guy like him would think, because it was his birthday, he could do whatever the hell he liked.
They got back to the apartment, and Nina, who was completely wasted, crawled straight into bed, because that’s her usual post-party MO. Meanwhile, Claire was left with a drunken Josh. One minute she was at the kitchen sink, kicking off her shoes and downing a giant glass of water to prevent her imminent hangover, and the next Josh was pawing at her while Nina slept in the next room.
It turned out, however, that Nina wasn’t sleeping. In fact, she was wide awake and on her way to the bathroom when she came past the kitchen. Next thing she knew, Nina was screaming in rage at both of them. But mostly at Claire.
Suddenly that feistiness Nina wields against irritating sleazy customers—the feistiness that Claire has long admired—was directed at her point-blank. It was horrible. Nina was livid, in a borderline-hysterical fit, and Claire was too shocked to defend herself. Instead, she got the hell out. She grabbed her shoes and bag and headed for the street where she hailed a taxi that took her on the expensive drive back to the suburbs and away from Nina’s rage.
Josh just stood drunkenly in the corner and muttered over and over, “I’m so sorry, babe.” Fucking toddler. But Nina paid him no attention. She focused only on Claire.
This morning, she’s finished with crying. Now, she’s angry. How dare Nina automatically assume Claire had instigated it? That Claire would betray her with that stupid pig? In the next room? While Nina was sleeping? She’s so engrossed in her thoughts she nearly misses the turn toward her mother’s office block.
How do these things happen to her?
Back in year ten, in the period not long after her best friend moved away, Claire was tentatively starting a friendship with this girl Katrina. One night, Claire and Katrina went to a party and spent a half hour talking to this one vaguely normal, non-douche guy. Then, all of a sudden, Katrina let loose on her. She accused Claire of trying to steal this guy she’d set her sights on. Claire was completely baffled and hurt. She hadn’t known Katrina liked him—and suspected later that he didn’t either—or that she was stepping on toes by having a normal human conversation at a party. Clearly, she’d been wrong.
Claire would never knowingly steal a friend’s guy. The first rule of the family Pearson—loyalty in everything.
After that, they were no longer on speaking terms, and there were rumours swirling around the school that Claire had done something shitty to another girl. It was difficult to come back socially from that kind of perceived betrayal in girl world. That was the point when, hurt, she decided it was better to be a loner than to try to negotiate the unsteady friendship terrains at school. She spent her social time with the guys she dated or even Cam and his friends.
She became a girl who only hung out with guys. Because it was safer. Guys didn’t have these weird unspoken rules and undercurrents. By the time she met Michelle, who actually wanted to be her friend despite all the gossip, the hurt had faded, and she remembered why she liked female friends.
Claire pauses to let a man carrying an armful of catering boxes cut in front of her and frowns. Now she’s in this mess again, only worse. What is it about her that makes people think she would be so traitorous, that she’s some kind of man-eater who’ll go behind her friends’ backs? She never has, and she never, ever will.
She does not get it at all.
* * *
“And this, sweetheart, is why I like working in a world of men.” Christine pulls a sweater from the rack and examines it. “Men are simple. Men are straightforward. It’s easy. They’re easy.”
Claire frowns. It’s weird to hear her own thoughts come out of her mother’s mouth. She trails her mother through the store, where they are ostensibly looking for an outfit for her cousin’s birthday but really seem to be on the hunt for clothes for Christine.
“Women, on the other hand…most women are defensive, and they will betray you in a second if they think you’re a threat to their territory.”
“Glad to see the feminist movement left a mark on you, Mum.”
“You don’t need feminism, sweetheart. You don’t need solidarity or any of that nonsense. You just need to look after yourself.” Christine flicks a dismissive hand in Claire’s direction and moves to the next rack. “Look, if you say you didn’t do anything with this idiot of a boy, I believe you—I certainly hope I raised you with better taste, at least. But honey, there’s no point getting all weepy about a girl who claims you tried to steal her boyfriend. Who needs that in her life? Just move on and find a nicer friend to spend your time with.”
Claire sighs. And this is why she hardly ever tells her mother anything. She probably wouldn’t have today if the wounds hadn’t been written all over her face when they met outside the store. Just one look and Christine started firing questions that Claire didn’t have the mettle to dodge. She didn’t ask her mother for advice, either. Not that it matters. Whenever her mother encounters any of her problems, she delivers some simple, cutthroat solution. Then she dismisses it as if it’s solved. When it’s over in her mother’s mind, it is over. Full stop.
She trails slowly behind her mother as she picks up folded blouses from shelves, investigates them, and then re-folds them as neatly as she found them. The thing is she has no intention of doing what her mother advises. She doesn’t want to lose Nina to the situation. Sure, she’s mad as hell at her for thinking Claire would do that, but she also knows that maybe it’s a little her fault too. If she’d told Nina about Josh last time, this probably wouldn’t have happened.
Her mother wraps a blue-patterned scarf around her neck, inspects the effect in the mirror against her work blazer, and then tosses it back onto the pile.
“Aren’t we supposed to be shopping for Lisa?” Claire reminds her, bored of watching her mother shop and in no mood to do any browsing of her own.
“Well, yes, but your father and I have that seminar in Canberra next month. There’s going to be a million boring social engagements too, and I need some new clothing to wear. It won’t take a minute, then we’ll find something for Lisa and have a nice lunch.”
Claire continues her sigh-a-thon and follows her mother to the next rack where Christine quickly dismisses the selection of shirts. Claire leans against a nearby wall and yawns. Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she checks it, both hoping it is and is not Nina at the same time. It’s not. It’s Mia. Hey. Are you around? Coffee?
Claire shoves her phone back in her pocket without responding. No one but the woman who brought her into this ridiculous world should have to deal with her mood today.
“Though I will say, darling,” Christine suddenly pipes up again, a manicured finger directed at her, “I do think it’s about time you moved on from that awfulness with Brendan, don’t you? You need to get yourself out there again.” She lays a dress over her arm. “If you had a boyfriend of your own, these things wouldn’t happen, would they?”
“I suppose,” Claire mumbles. Sadly, she thinks it might be true.
“I think you’ve moped long enough, don’t you?” She turns in the direction of the dressing room. “I’m just going to try these on. Won’t be a minute.”
Christine hurries off, the spikes of her heels digging into the department store carpet. Claire parks herself on a stool, resigned to wait.
Her mother is wrong. Claire is fully committed to moping right now. She doesn’t want to lose her friend—one of the only friends left standing. The saddest part is, whatever happens, Claire knows it’s not going to be her decision to make.
