—20—
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
Lilydale train line towards Flinders Street
Frankie: Cat, where are you?
Cat: One minute away, I promise.
Frankie: Let’s get this SIFUB show on the road!
Ever since Frankie ‘accidentally’ posted a very unflattering photo of Cat on Facebook when they were twenty (eyes half-open, shirt pulled up, poppy-seed-in-teeth unflattering), they had been holding SIFUBs, or Sorry I Fucked Up Brunches. When one of them did something out of line, they had to shout the other to the world’s best brunch. Croissants, avocado toast, bircher muesli and, of course, mimosas. There was no holding back.
Frankie had been waiting at Great Eggspectations, their traditional SIFUB restaurant, for the last fifteen minutes. She had already apologised to Cat for abandoning her mid-labour relaxation technique and Cat had already for- given her. But neither were ones to pass up an opportunity for an all-expenses-paid SIFUB. Frankie checked her watch again. Where the hell is Cat? She had been tardier than ever lately, running a perpetual twenty minutes behind schedule.
‘Frankie, haven’t seen you in a while. Who’s the guilty party this time?’ said Tommy, glancing at Frankie’s peace offerings on the table. ‘Doughnuts and Dickens. It must have been pretty bad.’
Tommy, who always smelled of warm lattes, owned Great Eggspectations. He had come to look forward to Frankie and Cat’s infrequent visits, which always followed the same pattern. First, obscenities were thrown around, quickly followed by the two devouring an obscene amount of food, trailed by long embraces and ‘I love you’s’.
‘Oh you know, just the usual abandon-your-pregnant-friend-at-her-first-antenatal-class,’ Frankie confided.
‘Ouch,’ Tommy winced.
As if on cue, Cat, wearing a baby blue knitted dress with matching knitted earrings, came bustling into the restaurant shouting her apologies for being so late.
Cat slapped a kiss on Tommy’s cheek before sitting down. ‘The SIFUB usual please, oh gracious host!’
She grabbed greedily at one of Frankie’s strawberry doughnuts and took a big bite. A blob of jam dropped, unnoticed, down the front of her knitted dress. Frankie smiled and dabbed it with her napkin.
‘So, what’s news, Frankston? Anyone else found another book?’ Cat asked, devouring the rest of her doughnut in two swift bites.
‘I received an email yesterday from some guy. But I scared him away with my insane rambling.’ Frankie sighed.
‘That’s my girl.’
Tommy ambled back over, balancing a large tray piled high with plates and glasses. He placed each item majestically on the table as Frankie and Cat cheered in delight. He then collected his regular tip, a Nutella doughnut, and sauntered back to his post at the front of the cafe.
‘I dropped Wuthering Heights this morning, but, to be honest, I’m not in the mood to go on any more dates. Even for the sake of the experiment. I’m just sick of this nonsense with Sunny. I know I should be over it, and I am, I really am. But I’m just so damn mad at him for playing me around like that. I feel like such an idiot.’ Frankie bit into a piece of toast, smeared generously with blackberry jam.
‘So, tell him! I don’t know why you’re still ignoring his calls. Next time that loser rings, answer and give him a piece of your mind!’ Cat said through mouthfuls of muesli.
‘I’m taking the high road, Cat.’
‘The high road is the one most travelled. And do you know what that means? It’s bloody boring.’ Cat poured more honey over her yoghurt. ‘If you’re not going to tell him off, at least do something to give yourself closure,’ she added, sucking on the spoon of honey with raised eyebrows.
‘What do you mean?’ Frankie asked, shifting uneasily in her seat.
‘You know, a dose of good old-fashioned revenge.’
‘Cat, this isn’t high school. I’m not going to concoct another revenge plan with you.’
‘Why not? He deserves it! He made you the other woman, Frank. Plus, remember how good it felt when we dyed Richie Lucas’s hair blue?’ Cat sneered, grabbing at the warm croissants.
‘Yeah, yeah. I remember. Okay, what sort of revenge are we talking? Nothing too damaging. Just something a little cheeky.’
‘I like cheeky. I can work with cheeky.’ Cat smiled. ‘What about a Facebook hack? Or some form of skywriting?’
‘Too big. Way too big. Maybe we can leave him a voicemail pretending his phone bill is overdue?’ Frankie offered meekly.
Cat scowled. ‘Frankie, that’s literally the worst idea I’ve ever heard.’ But then a smile crept over her face. ‘Claud once signed me up to a Fifty Shades of Grey subscription for a year as a joke,’ Cat said.
‘What does a Fifty Shades of Grey subscription even come with?’ Frankie laughed.
‘Signed copies of the book, handcuffs and a lot of leather. I actually quite enjoyed it in the end. Well, except for the suspenders Claud knitted for me. They were itchy.’ Cat winced. Frankie laughed. ‘Okay, so what does Sunny hate?’ Cat nudged.
‘Racism? Arrogant people? Caged turtles?’
‘Boring! Anything else?’
Frankie took a bite of her banana pancake, thinking. Then she looked up at Cat with a smile.
‘You want how many bananas?’ Trixie, the fruiterer, asked.
‘Two hundred, please,’ Cat repeated.
‘Okay, then. What are you doing? Making the world’s biggest banana cake?’ Trixie laughed.
‘Something like that.’
Frankie sat on a crate in the fruit store, nervously scrolling through her Instagram feed. Flushed pomegranates, luscious broccoli heads and auburn pumpkins surrounded her, and the sweet smell of syrupy grapes and tart oranges filled the room.
‘You’re lucky I got a big delivery in today. I usually don’t stock that many bananas unless it’s a special order,’ Trixie said as she began to pile large handfuls of bananas from the shelves into a trolley.
‘Trix, you’re a legend!’ Cat slapped her on the back.
‘No problem, love. Do you have far to walk? That’s a heavy amount of bananas,’ Trixie asked.
‘Nah, not at all. It’s actually just around the corner.’ Cat smiled.
‘So, that comes to a hundred and forty dollars,’ Trixie said, pressing numbers on a calculator.
‘Cat, it’s really expensive.’ Frankie came to stand next to the bursting trolley. ‘I’m beginning to have second thoughts.’
‘It’s worth it.’ Cat whipped out her credit card. ‘And it’s on me.’
Cat swayed her hips as she walked down a bustling Lygon Street, pushing the trolley filled to the brim with two hundred bananas. She had been singing, out of key, Gwen Stefani’s ‘Hollaback Girl’. Only, she failed to recall anything other than the B-A-N-A-N-A-S part.
‘Cat!’ Frankie blurted, walking beside her trolley-wheeling friend. ‘You are driving me bananas. Enough with the singing!’
Cat ignored her and began to sing louder.
‘Okay, stop! There’s his car.’ Frankie pointed to the bright red Honda Civic parked just off Lygon Street.
‘Ha, cute number plate.’
‘That’s his name,’ Frankie said.
‘His name is Sunny Day?’
‘Yes.’
Cat stopped alongside the car and turned to look at Frankie. ‘His surname is Day and his parents named him Sunny?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s almost as ridiculous as naming your child after a train line, Frankston. Maybe you two are destined to be together?’
Frankie rolled her eyes.
‘Okay, so what’s your plan?’ Cat asked.
This was typical of Cat, throwing them face-first into drama and leaving the finale up to Frankie. Frankie assessed the situation, caressing her chin thoughtfully for effect. ‘His sunroof’s broken, so we could climb in through that.’
‘Excuse me? Your skinny arse might fit in there, but there’s no way I’m getting all this down that tiny hole,’ Cat said, pointing to her hips.
Frankie rolled her eyes and kicked off her shoes. She attempted to jump up onto the car and failed to get her footing, sliding immediately down the side. ‘It’s too slippery. Give me a boost.’
Cat balanced the trolley against the car, then wrapped her arms around Frankie’s waist and pressed her against the warm car. On the count of three, Cat lifted as Frankie leapt. She landed, clumsily, on the top of the car with a loud thud.
‘We did it!’ Frankie exclaimed, already out of breath. She curled her legs up beneath her and clawed her fingers underneath the sunroof. She jiggled the roof, creaking it half-open. ‘Damn it. It won’t open all the way.’
‘Just shimmy in, Beyoncé style! You need to make sure you get the bananas in every little crevice,’ Cat instructed from the road.
Frankie took a deep breath and slid herself, feet-first, into the small hole as far as she could go. She sucked in her stomach and wiggled her body in a vain attempt to manoeuvre further in, but … she was stuck.
‘This is hopeless,’ she croaked.
‘Come out and try again.’
‘I can’t. I can’t move up and I can’t move down. I’m stuck,’ Frankie said, squirming frantically. Her feet were erect on the leather seats, her arms pressed awkwardly outside.
‘Okay, put your hands up and I’ll lift you out,’ Cat said.
‘No, no. There’s no time. Sunny could come out at any minute. Just hand me the bananas and I’ll throw them in. Let’s just get this over with!’ Frankie could feel panic rising as the sides of the sunroof pressed painfully against her hip bones. She anxiously looked around and then grabbed a handful of bananas from Cat’s outstretched arm. She dropped them carefully into the car, so that they fell softly on the seat. As each banana landed, it seemed to say, ‘Take that’ ‘You cheating’ ‘Scoundrel of a’ ‘Human’ ‘Being’. Passing pedestrians stared on at the scene unfolding in this quiet, residential street. We must look like crazed lunatics, Frankie thought, suddenly feeling deeply embarrassed.
‘This is like some ridiculous scene out of The Secret Seven,’ Frankie grunted uncomfortably, as she shovelled bananas into Sunny’s car.
‘I know, isn’t it great?’ Cat chirped.
‘How many do you think we’ve put in now?’ Frankie asked, squeezing another banana into the car.
Cat peered inside the trolley of bananas, shuffling them around with her hands. ‘About half. So, only a hundred more to go!’
Frankie looked around nervously. People were staring at her; well, at the half of her poking out of a Honda Civic like a drunk teen at prom.
‘Frankie,’ Cat said, suddenly dancing on the spot.
‘Yeah?’
‘My bladder.’
‘What?’
‘I need to pee. Now.’
‘Hold it, Cat! Let’s just finish off the bananas and then we’re out of here,’ Frankie called down.
‘Frankie. I’m pregnant. If I don’t find a toilet in the next two minutes, there will be urine dripping down my legs. And trust me, you do not want that,’ Cat said. ‘I’ll be two minutes. I’ll just run back to Trixie’s.’ Cat was now jumping up and down, holding her crotch.
Frankie stared in mortified disbelief as Cat raced around the corner, her curly hair bouncing up and down. Without Cat’s protective presence, Frankie felt all the more vulnerable. And stupid. Who do I think I am? The Count of Monte Cristo, returning to enact an elaborate plot of retribution? I have got to stop letting Cat talk me into these things!
‘Are you all right there?’ asked a freckled man on a bicycle who had pulled up beside the car and was looking at her curiously.
‘Fine, fine. Just enjoying some fresh air.’ Frankie acted out an exaggerated yawn, stretching her arms out wide as she nervously kicked bananas with her feet.
‘Okay, enjoy!’ The man cycled off.
Cat, where are you? She desperately tried to dislodge herself again, shimmying left and then right, but to no avail. She jiggled up and down, hoping the friction of her body against the car would set her loose.
‘Frankie?’
Frankie jumped at the sound of a familiar voice and then slowly peered over the side of the car.
‘Uh, hi Sunny.’