Even though I had an abundance of men asking me out during the day I never dated clients. There were two reasons for this: clients only ever saw me as easy Cleo, who loved sex. Once they saw I was not a highly agreeable nympho they rarely wanted to see me any more anyway. Secondly, half the time they just wanted to get free sex so I was doing myself out of $300 a fortnight. I have always seen ‘Cleo’ as my work personality. She is a very different person to Annika. Cleo is jovial, flirtatious, sinful, raunchy, lusty and very sympathetic. The clients were asking Cleo out, not Annika— they had never met Annika. Even if they had, they probably wouldn’t like her anyway.
One of my neighbours recommended that I join the local gym to meet new people as well as shed a few pounds. The gym she went to had a social club that met fortnightly, so I signed up. I could not see the social value of all this exercising and went to the gym on my own. I spent thirty minutes walking while I watched a music clip on the TV provided, then fifteen minutes on the bike or Stairmaster, then forty-five minutes lifting weights while I counted to myself. At the end of all that I was panting and not at all looking my best. The gym seemed pretty cliquey anyway. I had the distinct impression that everyone there must all work together because they seemed to know one another. I occasionally got a courtesy nod from someone but no official hello. Had it not been for my body shaping up I think I would have stopped going.
Two weeks into my training regime I noticed a poster on the wall of the gym announcing a wine and cheese night for the social club. I wanted to go but I felt uncomfortable going alone. I managed to talk my neighbour into going with me and it turned out to be a great night. My neighbour Jo-Anne seemed to know everyone there, even the in crowd. Everyone was so nice and friendly, at the end of the function we were all best friends. In my drunken stupor—having consumed three wines—I invited about twelve people back to my place for a get-together.
One man in particular had grabbed my attention. Austin was built like a gladiator with a face like a male model. I knew that I didn’t stand a chance with him so I talked to everyone except him. Going after Austin would be setting myself up for a heartbreak.
The party back at my place had dwindled to about eight people and to my surprise, Austin was one of them. I kept thinking, What’s he still doing here, doesn’t he have a date with a super-model to go to? Douglas, one of my new friends, asked me what I did for work, and I made a joke about being on a widow’s pension. Austin announced, ‘So am I.’ The room was silent and instantly sober.
To me being a widow was a reality. I saw the Ben that I had known and loved as being dead. I feared daily that if he was ever to recover from his disease and delusions, he may still pose a danger to Poppy and me. I wanted her to have a fairy-tale childhood, one where her father was perfectly normal and loved her dearly, but couldn’t be with her because he was just too unwell. I knew it was a dreadful lie but the truth was worse. I thought about telling her the truth every day, but then I thought about her days at school with all the other children ribbing her about her crazy father.
Austin gave me such a look that a bevy of emotions welled up inside of me—emotions we both seemed to feel. Had I been cruel with my offhand remark? His look told me that he wasn’t offended.
Douglas again broke the silence. ‘Annika, I’m sorry to hear that, how did your husband die?’
I was prepared for this question, having been asked it a number of times before. ‘He had a dreadful brain disease.’ To me this was the truth. A disease of the brain killed my beloved Ben, leaving me with a man I no longer recognised.
‘My wife died of a brain tumor, too,’ said Austin.
There was now no one else in the room, only Austin and I alone in our mutual grief and sympathy. We exchanged no words but couldn’t drag our eyes from each other.
The crowd dispersed into my lounge room, leaving Austin and I alone in the kitchen. Every now and then one of them would pop in to say goodbye.
I didn’t even bother to show them out. Austin and I talked for hours. He had a daughter, Amanda, a few years older than Poppy. It wasn’t until our third date that I realised he also had a twelve-year-old son, Drew, his wife’s son from her first marriage. Drew had never met his real father, as far as he was concerned, Austin was his dad—he did know the truth but he had only ever known Austin as his father.
I was ashamed of myself for misjudging Austin so much when I first met him. He was a compassionate, hard-working, caring and sensitive man.
That evening I took Austin’s phone number and vowed to call him one day. It took me all of twelve hours to use that number. The following day, we arranged to get together with our daughters and go to the beach. I never would have suggested the beach for a first date. I dreaded the moment that we would touch the hot sand and I would need to take off my clothes, exposing a less-than-perfect body in a bikini. His body was so magnificent, surely he would think me physically inadequate compared to him.