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“I have a bone to pick with you, Amanda. By the way you described your sister, I thought her scars would be more obvious. Like Elephant man deformed or something. I can’t even tell she has scars at all.”
Holy fuck, what?
“Last time I was home, Stacey was bed-ridden with her injuries. But that was years ago. She’s really good now.”
Her friends muffled their superficial noises of sympathy.
“Oh my god,” someone gasped. “Are we going to see her scars at the photo shoot tomorrow?”
Whoever just said that actually sounded excited. The bitch.
“She isn’t joining us,” said Amanda, her voice flat.
“Well, I’m glad we’re spared that.”
Wow, what an uber-bitch my sister had for a friend. How gracious of me tosparethem the trauma of my trauma.
“Who’s the hottie she’s been dancing with?”
“New doctor in town,” said an unknown voice. “She’s just started dating him.”
“Why doesn’t my boss look like that? I’d sleep with him for sure if he did.”
Lots of tittering. I ground my teeth.
“Laugh all you want, but it worked for me,” Amanda said, slightly slurred. “And he put a ring on it.”
I cringed as they cackled and said ‘cheers’. Glasses clinked as they drank a toast. Huh. Amanda’s fiancé was a work romance?
“I’d like to ride that doctor. Is it a casual thing with your sister? Because he is fiiiiiine.”
“No, they’re serious.” It was Rosie, and she spoke in a tone that brooked no argument.
Thank you, Rosie.
“If he’s only just started dating her, he’s fair game then. Can’t bethatserious,” someone purred. Lordy, was she sharpening her claws too?
“I think it’s lovely he’s seeing her,” Amanda added. “Considering her injuries.”
My stomach roiled. So my sister thinks Harry is doing a me a favour by dating me?
Grabbing my clutch, I stormed off, ducking and weaving through the packed crowd.
Just when I thought I’d made my escape, the Ballydoon Ladies Auxiliary suddenly surrounded me. Each congratulated me on saving Brayden’s mum weeks ago and on attending the grassfire with the fire crew. I politely thanked each of them.
“It’s so good to see you out. And dear, you look so pretty.” I couldn’t recall her name. She smiled with pity. I’m sure she meant to be sympathetic but it had fallen flat.
One woman even said, “I applaud your brave choice of dress, considering everything that happened to you, Stacey.”
My mouth fell open. I looked down at my dress and then addressed her. “It’s just a dress. What’s so brave about wearing a dress?”
An awkward silence fell upon the group. I excused myself and headed for the ladies’ toilets which were miraculously empty.
I held the basin as if it were a lifeline, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
I thought I was used to this, but Amanda’s Sydney friends’ comments had got under my skin, and then that exchange with the Auxilliary ladies had stung.
“It’s just a fucking dress,” I growled at my reflection. I sucked in a deep breath and repeated a mantra I’d repeated so many times with my therapist and to myself for the last seven years. “I amnotmy injuries. I am so much more than my skin.”
