The Polly Principle by Davina Stone

Chapter 9

Tugging wasn’t working.

Fuck-a-doodle, this served her right for buying size twelve leggings, because, of course, she’d reasoned she would be a size twelve after a month on the lemon diet.

But she freakin’ wasn’t now, was she?

One last heave and a firm suck of her stomach and the lycra rippled reluctantly over her hips. She stared in disgust at the white muffin top that surged over the band.

Why wasn’t she born with the skinny gene? Like Judith. Super tall, long-legged Judith. Or Alice, petitely packaged with just enough curves in all the right places?

Polly’s heart tugged painfully in her chest at the thought of Alice. And without Rowena here too, the little weatherboard house was quiet and empty. She’d luxuriated in the space for a few days after dropping Rowena at the airport and being nearly suffocated by hugs. When she got home, she’d walked around completely starkers and promised herself that now she had the perfect opportunity for sex without stuffing her hand in her mouth at the moment of O to stop the sound reverberating around the paper-thin walls.

Except, apart from her one night with Solo, there hadn’t been any sex for a while, had there?

Maybe that was why she couldn’t get him out of her head? And right now, it was either a run or a rendezvous with her vibrator. She wasn’t sure which burned more calories, but she’d hazard a guess it was the run.

So a run it had better be.

Followed by a bowl of lemon and rice soup. Fantastico.

She was about to fling open the front door and head out into the warm summer evening when her phone screen lit up.

A message from Mim.

I’ve emailed you the list for your dad’s birthday party. Can you let me know what jobs you will do asap?

Polly grimaced. Only three weeks to go and Dad would be seventy. Her stomach contracted with that familiar queasy feeling. Over the past ten years he’d tried, he really had. Whenever he’d come to Perth to buy equipment for the farm, he had done his best to play at being the interested father over an awkward meal. Would they ever be able to put the hurt behind them? She wasn’t sure. Even at Mum’s funeral, when his big shoulders shook with sobs, she just couldn’t bring herself to say she forgave him.

She was about to fling her phone onto the hall console when it lit up again with the words “Alice” and “FaceTime”. Polly’s heart soared; exercise could wait.

“Munchkin!” she squealed as Alice’s face bobbed onto the screen. She was wearing a big floppy hat and the sun was glinting off her glasses. She looked so darned blissed out.

“Poll!” Alice’s voice was full of excitement. “Guess what? We’ve got some news!”

“Don’t tell me, you’ve brought the beast to his knees?”

“Watch out, I can hear you.” Aaron’s blond head bobbed into view over Alice’s shoulder with a seriously silly hat on his head.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Aaron pushed out his lower lip in a mock pout. “A straw boater. We’re punting.”

“Aaron’s just proposed!” Alice flashed up a hand, the massive diamond clearly visible on her finger. “And guess what? I said yes!”

The same jab she’d experienced at Jake’s wedding, just where her ribs met above her heart, stabbed Polly hard. Oh no, no, no, not the green-eyed monster, not when she was so happy her best friend had found happiness with her man.

Wrong, all wrong.

What a bitch she was.

“I’m so, so happy for you,” she said swiftly and meant it; she really did. A sudden vision of Solo down on one bended knee, with a look of total adoration on his face, flashed in front of her eyes and she gulped it down so hard she nearly choked. Clearly, she’d gone raving loopy. Maybe it was too much lemon juice turning her brain cells to acid. “When’s the big day? I need to gear myself up.”

“Oh, gosh, no date yet. But you had to be the first to know. After all, Poll, if it hadn’t been for you…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m the fairy godmother. Can I be godmother to the first baby, too?”

Alice bit her lower lip and giggled. Aaron flung an arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “I’m not sure I’ll have you leading my firstborn astray.”

“Huh, trust a reformed womaniser to fling moral shit.”

“We do it best,” Aaron mocked, “like reformed smokers.”

“Don’t choke on your virtue, your holiness.” Polly grinned, trying not to think of a certain someone with the smoking vice.

Alice shoved Aaron out the way and took up the screen. “What are you up to, Poll?”

Polly skimmed the phone down her body. “You may be surprised but I’m about to go for a run.”

A frown pulled Alice’s brows down. “Really? That’s not like you. Are you okay? When we spoke on Sunday, you sounded a bit—”

“Bit what?”

“I don’t know, a bit flat, I guess.”

Polly painted a bright smile on her face. “All good. Totally fine.”

“You aren’t feeling bad about Jake being off-limits?”

“Nope. The wedding was fantastic. Has Rowena arrived yet?”

“Next week. She’s still swanning around Bangkok indulging in green curry and daily massages.” Alice laughed.

Which somehow led to a conversation about strawberries and cream at Wimbledon, and how Bath buns differed from Chelsea buns, which only made Polly’s mouth water. When they said their farewells, Polly chucked her phone down, did a little warm-up jog on the spot, then took a big breath to prepare herself and flung open the front door. And let out a surprised yelp.

A tall spectre lurked in the shadows of the porch.

Polly’s hand flew up and clutched at the front of her Lululemon T-shirt. “Jesus, Carts! You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing here?”

“I need some advice.” Carts shifted from foot to foot.

Polly sighed and looked down at her thighs, quite sure they were mocking her. It was getting dark, it had been a long day at work, and frankly she was weak from hunger. Her resolve wavered.

Carts presented a bottle of wine from behind his back.

Her resolve vanished.

“Pressie. Wine in exchange for dating advice.”

Polly groaned. “This better not be about who I think it is.”

Carts’ face took on its stricken sheepdog look. “Pleeease, Poll. I just want a bit of background info.”

She stared at the wine. Her tongue tip licked her bottom lip and her stomach growled loudly. She thought of the pallid, porridgy soup congealing in the fridge.

“Pizza.” It was out of her mouth before she could halt it. “Get a pizza delivered and I’m all yours.”

Carts’ face morphed into almost handsome as his grin widened. “Now you’re talking.”

“Not literally, you understand. You and me, Carts. Not a good combo.”

He laughed, pulled out his phone and handed her the bottle of wine.

Running and nasty tasteless lemon rice soup could go take a hike… at least until tomorrow.

* * *

Never hadpepperoni and mushrooms tasted quite so delicious. Polly gulped and tried to slow the onslaught of teeth meeting pizza crust. She was behaving like a pig at the trough, having already devoured one more slice than Carts. He was nibbling almost gracefully at his piece, and observing her with the expectant look of someone about to hear some startling revelation. When all she had for him was bad news.

“Carts, Judith’s in a long-term relationship.”

He picked another piece of mushroom off and added it to the pile on his plate. Why hadn’t he said he didn’t like mushroom when she chose the pizza? And would it be really crass if she reached over and grabbed them? She loved, loved, loved mushrooms.

“We had a connection,” he said, a sullen little frown settling across his forehead.

“Probably because she’s met someone significantly taller than her for once.”

“She’s so petite,” he commented wistfully.

Polly rolled her eyes. “She’s six foot one, Carts.”

“That’s five inches shorter than me. What about him. Her man? Is he tall?”

“Mark?” Polly put down her crust. She wouldn’t eat it, even though it looked so crunchy and yummy. That, at least, would cut out some carbs. “He’s a tiny bit shorter than her, I think. Yes, definitely, because she grumbled that she always has to wear flats around him.”

Carts punched the air. “Yesssss.”

Polly’s heart went out to him. He was really the sweetest guy. Kind, considerate, cute when he grinned. But he needed a confidence boost, and clothes that didn’t make him look like a scarecrow. He also needed to get the hems of his pants let down. She should give him a makeover.

Immediately she shot that idea down in flames. It was high time she stopped this matchmaking fetish. She was damn good at it, but lately it was losing its appeal. What was this feeling she kept getting in the pit of her stomach? Left out, her mind supplied.

Hell no. It must be just a hormonal surge happening as she slid towards thirty. It would pass.

She returned her focus to the tasks at hand: letting Carts down gently and not eating another slice of pizza. Her stomach begged. She homed in on the splurgy feeling of her butt cheeks on the chair, fisted her hands and placed her chin on them to stop her fingers sneaking towards the pizza box.

“Judith and Mark have been together since they were seventeen. She’s very happy. She wants to settle down and have babies.”

“Who says I don’t?” He eyeballed her defiantly. “And don’t look at me like that. Why can’t a guy say he’s keen to get married and have kids without people thinking he’s got a testosterone deficiency and a mummy complex?”

Polly chuckled. “Oh, you are the best. I think it’s lovely you feel that way, but I have a question for you. Ever thought you might be falling for unavailable women to get away from the fact that you like being unattached?”

Carts sent her yet another hurt look and took a large gulp of wine. “Lucy and I were together for over a year. Not my fault the day I proposed she said she preferred her personal trainer.” He stared dolefully into his glass.

“At least you got the money back on the ring,” Polly said, then kicked herself as Carts said gloomily, “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

She had the urge to get up and hug him. Except she wouldn’t know where to start, there was too much of him, too many sharp angles. Come to think of it, Judith and he would fit perfectly together. Mr and Mrs Tall and their tiny talls.

Maybe there was something in that, after all. What with Judith’s admission of her abhorrent lack of a sex life. Maybe…

“At least give me some background, just in case she dumps the guy,” Carts said. “Likes and dislikes. A kind of Judith starter kit.”

How could she not, with that pleading look on his face?

“Okay. She’s twenty-nine, she’s into craft, she’d probably knit you a sweater before thinking to let you kiss her. She adores her mum and dad and her brother and sister. All tall, just like your tribe. They’ve had specially adapted bench tops in the kitchen. She likes cats. Crochet. Baking. She makes the best chocolate brownies in the entire universe. I don’t think she’s ever said a really negative word about anyone or anything. Is that enough to be going on with?”

“My dream woman.”

Polly rolled her eyes and took a sip of wine. After a week of lemon juice, it tasted divine.

They talked a bit more about Judith and her home-making skills and her sunny disposition and finally, against her better judgement, Polly promised that if she ever heard Judith was a free woman, Carts would be the first to know. She really didn’t want Carts getting his hopes up. It had taken a few months for him to get over the fact that Aaron had—in his books, at least—snatched Alice from under his nose. The fact that Alice had loved Aaron for five years before he finally saw the light and returned her feelings hadn’t figured in Carts’ reasoning.

At the door, Polly stood on tippy toes and gave Carts a peck on the cheek.

Before she could stop herself, she asked, “How’s your new housemate settling in?”

Carts didn’t seem to register the higher note in her voice that screamed tell me everything you know. Thank goodness being male and an accountant made him a less emotionally observant species.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Mmmm?” she said hopefully.

“Weird how it turns out he works with you,” he offered with a little brow pucker.

Now it was Polly’s turn to feel like a dog waiting for her owner to deliver a treat. “Yep, sure is. Has he said much to you about his life in Sydney?”

“Not really. Just that his pop died and he wanted to take a break between contracts and try a new city.” He paused and stared down the street for a second. “He keeps getting strange messages on his phone.”

“What kind of messages?”

“I guess I shouldn’t have snooped, but he gets lots of messages, I mean, loads, and the other day he was in the shower and his phone just kept pinging, like every few seconds, so I thought maybe it was urgent, the hospital or something, and took a quick look. You should have seen the string of vitriol.”

It felt like someone had shoved ice cubes down the back of her T-shirt. “What kind of vitriol?”

“Like seriously abusive. Fuck you this and fucking hate you that. That sort of shit. Like one after the other, ping, ping, ping.”

“That’s heavy.” So was her breathing right now. Her hunch was right, then? Solo was running from some kind of trouble. “Did you tell him you’d seen them?”

“Nah, of course not. Like, what would be the point? He came in and grabbed his phone and I could tell he knew exactly what was going down. Then he just went to his room. No way, after seeing that look on his face, was I going to say a word.”

“What did he look like?”

“Completely gutted.”