Y2 KILL ME NOW

Paulina started drinking at midday, but so did all the bridesmaids. Mimosas, gulped between mud wraps, facials, bikini waxes, and mani-pedis at the Nirvana Spa in Mosman. After that was the Dom Pérignon while they were in their movie-star chairs for hair and make-up. Another bottle of champers was chilling in the limo. ‘Shame to waste it!’ Paulina popped it, and three of the other chicks cheered. But Carli and her boring cousins said no thanks, they didn’t want to smudge their lippie.

By the time they boarded the Stella Maris an hour before sunset, Paulina was buzzed enough to trip a little in her kitten heels, to wolf-whistle in the general direction of the prime minister’s residence as they pushed off from Kirribilli Wharf.

‘Missed ya chance, Johnny-boy! Carli’s taken!’

Later, milling around on the deck, waiting for the sun to go down, she nicked a glass from the tray one of the cute boys in white was carrying. ‘Wait till you see Carli,’ she told Kyle, the groom-to-be. ‘She looks just like Rose DeWitt!’

Someone took Paulina’s drink away for the photos. Bridesmaids and groomsmen, all posed against the prow of the yacht.

‘Geez.’ Paulina smiled up at the guy she was paired with. ‘You’re tall.’

A little while later, she stood on the guy’s foot and said, ‘Oops!’, patted his pocket square. A little after that, she touched his shirt. ‘Love these black shirts! So dashing!’

Kyle’s sister Adrianna poked Paulina in the ribs. ‘He’s seventeen.’

‘Oops!’ Paulina winked a glittery eyelid. ‘Gotcha!’

She couldn’t see any more boys in white, after the photos. Anyway, it was time to get in position. Her dress itched. She scratched the flatness between her tits, right below where the cowl-neck cowled.

‘Paulina!’ Kirsty hissed. ‘You’re like a bloke with his balls!’

Then there was a sudden hush that made her giggle, then the three-piece band started up, and sure as Paulina’s ballooning bladder, there was Carli on her dad’s arm, and even if Paulina did someday find another bloke willing to say I do, she’d never have that moment. Thinking this, she got all teary, started sniffling almost as much as Carli’s mum.

‘Shhh.’ Kirsty reached and stroked Paulina’s arm. ‘Shh, Pauls. S’alright.’

Paulina gave a big, ugly sob — big and ugly enough to attract death stares — then turned off the waterworks. She was giggly again once Carli and Kyle were at the altar.

‘Psst!’ She brushed a fleck of sea spray from Carli’s veil. ‘Carli!’

Carli swivelled her neck minutely. Cut her eyes at Paulina.

‘All good!’ Paulina mouthed, thumbs up.

But really, she was dying for a drink.

Paulina wasn’t that drunk. It was the lighting!

So dim and flashy, blue-and-red, and strobes wandering like floaters in and out of her field of vision. How was she to know who was age-appropriate and who wasn’t?

‘Life isn’t fair!’ she moaned, as yet another bloke flitted in and out of the men’s, wiping his hands on his suit pants. ‘Why’s life so unfair?’

‘You can try your luck in there.’ He nodded. ‘Wouldn’t recommend it, though.’

He made as if to go. But Paulina saw him throw a glance at her neckline.

‘Hey.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘For real, I’m busting. Can you guard the door for me? Please?’

The guy looked at her French-tipped manicure. ‘Wouldn’t recommend it, love.’

‘Yeah?’ Paulina took a step back into the line. ‘Who are you? What would you know?’

‘Who are you?’ The guy rejoined. ‘I know — you’re one of the bridesmaids. I saw you up there. You girls looked beautiful, in your beautiful dresses.’

‘Yeah?’ Paulina swished her skirt, stumbled on some chick’s foot. ‘This dress?’

‘Beautiful.’

‘Yeah, nah. The material’s kinda itchy.’

‘Itchy?’ He ogled her as she scratched herself. ‘Looks nice and silky to me.’

‘Ha-ha!’ Paulina threw her head back, felt her undies dampen. ‘Oh! Shit.’

She crossed her legs, lost her balance a bit. The guy steadied her; took the opportunity to caress the silver satin at her hip. Paulina giggled. ‘That tickles.’

‘Bride coming through! Bride needs the loo!’

It was Kirsty yelling, jumping the queue with Carli. The guy made himself scarce.

‘Pauls! No.’ Kirsty grabbed her hand. ‘That was Carli’s godfather.’

‘Godfather?’ Paulina fanned herself. ‘Mio dio!’

Carli’s face looked profoundly unhappy, pores starting to show through her makeup. Paulina changed tack. ‘How’re you gonna piss in that dress? Need help?’

Carli nodded.

‘Bride coming through!’ Paulina shouted. ‘Bride needs the loo!’

‘You looked so beautiful up there,’ some old lady at the sinks told Carli. ‘Such a beautiful couple. Congratulations to you and Kyle. I hope—’

Paulina started banging on cubicles. ‘What, are you drowning?’

A girl with smudgy makeup and a velvet dress emerged, abashed. The three of them stuffed themselves inside the cubicle. Paulina got to the toilet first.

‘Ohhhh!’ Her eyelashes fluttered. ‘It’s better than sex!’

Carli and Kirsty both gave her the stink-eye.

‘Your turn, babe.’ Wiping, Paulina scooched aside. ‘Let me get your skirts.’

Carli settled on the loo with a frown. ‘Did you eat, Paulina? Please tell me you ate.’

‘Yeah-hh.’ Rolling her eyes, Paulina handed Carli a wad of paper. ‘Course!’

The bride clearly didn’t trust her though, since she personally fetched a tall glass of water and a plate of croquembouche.

‘Thank you, Mrs Portelli!’ Paulina gulped the water, took a bite of profiterole. ‘Mmm! Sure you don’t want some? Hey, wanna come for a smoke?’

Carli had quit months ago, of course.

Paulina tripped up to the deck, spitting into her napkin as she went. She chucked her profiterole in the ocean and laughed. A boy in white looked at her.

‘Hey.’ Paulina smiled. ‘Got a light?’

He was cute. ‘Caterers are always cuter than the guys in the wedding. Why is that?’ she asked, lighting up. ‘I’ve been to shitloads of weddings this year. Guess you must too? Gawd, I hate them! Did you see the banner? Y2 Kyle and Carli? Y2 kill me now! Ha-ha.’

He smiled. Cute! Stubbed out his ciggie. ‘Better get back to work.’

‘Hey!’ she called as he made for the stairs, but the look he gave her, like she was a bit of gum on his shoe. ‘… Is there a phone around here?’

‘That way.’

Paulina found the payphone, in a nook full of ropes and lifesavers.

‘Vinnie. I know you said not to call anymore, but since it’s New Year’s I just wanna tell you I’m a new person now; that person who screwed up isn’t me; I’ve changed; I’ve tried so hard to change — please, just, I don’t think you really understand how sorry I am? I’ll be sorry till I’m dead. Till you forgive me and love me again, I feel like I could die; I’m so sorry …’

She wept into the machine’s beep. Hung up and banged her head on the glass.

A bunch of smokers appeared on the deck.

‘What’s the time?’ she asked the nearest one. ‘When’s this millennium gonna end?’

Paulina wasn’t looking for a fight. She just wanted to dance!

Dance her troubles away — to music that wasn’t completely crap.

‘You again,’ said the DJ.

‘Yeah, listen, I know you said Nirvana’s like the most alternative thing you got, but I think maybe you’re just thinking about grunge when there’s so much we haven’t talked about. Like obviously you’ve never heard of post-punk but howabout some classic punk? “Rock the Casbah”? “Blitzkrieg Bop”? I can compromise! Bloody hell, play some Britpop. Bowie. Everyone likes Bowie! Work with me, mate. C’mon.’

‘What are you, a muso?’

‘I’m a financial advisor.’ She squinted, leaned over the turntables and arched her back. ‘Look, babe. Maybe it’s easier if I just come over there and—’

‘Pauls!’ Kirsty said. ‘Come here.’

‘What? Gawd, this guy’s shit. I know he’s a second cousin or something, but bloody hell. Where’s my drink?’

‘Let me fix your hair.’ Kirsty fixed her hair. ‘Let me take your photo.’

Obligingly, Paulina posed for the disposable camera. As soon as they were done, she made for the DJ again, but Carli had taken her place. Like it wasn’t enough she was married.

Paulina veered toward the bar. To her surprise, though, Carli turned around and looked at her; a smile spread across her face like jam on bread. A new song started.

‘Gunners?’ Paulina cried. ‘He had Guns N’Roses this whole time?’

Carli grabbed her hand, pulled her into a slow dance. ‘That horrible concert at Eastern Creek, remember? It was so hot.’

‘It was brilliant.’

‘Remember how they charged $2 for those tiny cups of water?’

‘Remember that bogan you hooked up with? Oi, why aren’t you hooking up with Kyle now? Don’t tell me you’re waiting till you get to Fiji!’

‘Fiji?’ Carli looked confused. ‘Our honeymoon’s on Fairfolk Island.’

‘Pffft! Isn’t that place for old people?’

‘It’s actually really—’

‘Paaatience,’ Paulina sang, closing her eyes. Then they started leaking. ‘I’m gonna die alone.’

‘Patience, babe.’ Sighing, Carli patted her back. ‘Patience.’

‘I called Vinnie.’

‘No, babe. You can’t be doing that. No.’

‘But I’m sorry! He needs to know I’m so sorry.’

Carli sighed. ‘You need to leave him alone.’

‘Please, can’t you tell him? I feel like I’m dying.’

‘You’re just drunk. It’s worse when you’re drunk.’ Carli broke away from her. ‘It’s a bad thing, what you did. I don’t know how else to say it. If Kyle did that to me, I don’t think I could—’

‘What? So, you reckon he’s only gonna have sex with you forever?’

‘Stop it.’ Something passed across Carli’s face, like she’d just got a whiff of dogshit. ‘It’s my wedding night.’

‘Please, just. Tell Vinnie I’m sorry? Maybe if you call—’

‘Kirsty! Can you take her? I can’t do this!’

Carli left Paulina wet-faced on the dancefloor. Kirsty took her place, and Adrianna with her; both of them pinching Paulina’s arms and telling her to shush, drink some water. In the bathroom, they got her to drink from the tap, cleaned up her mascara. While she was locked in a cubicle, she heard them bitching. ‘She’s a disaster.’

‘I know. Totally desperate.’

Paulina flushed, walked out of the cubicle, and rinsed her hands with deeply feigned composure. ‘Better?’ Adrianna asked. Paulina nodded, got out her lip gloss and reapplied it. She looked sexy. At least there was that.

‘I wanna dance,’ she said.

They danced. To some R’n’B crap, bubblegum crap. Danced long enough for her to feel like she looked normal, though the hate was thrumming in her brain like bad music.

‘Wanna smoke, Pauls?’ Kirsty asked.

‘Nah! Dancing!’

‘Want more water, Paulina?’ Adrianna asked.

‘Cheers, babe!’ As soon as Adrianna’s two-faced back was out of sight, Paulina tiptoed up to the DJ.

‘You know you’re shit, right? You must know.’

‘I’m not talking to you.’

‘I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. You know a monkey could do your job?’ She leaned closer. ‘Hey, have you heard of Smashing Pumpkins? Everyone’s heard of them. “Bullet with Butterfly Wings.” C’mon!’

The DJ bowed his spiky blond head.

‘Hey. Play some Sonic Youth?’

‘Who?’

‘Sonic Youth!’ She clapped her hands. ‘Bauhaus! Play Bauhaus. Have you heard of Peter Murphy, you stupid shit—’

‘Paulina!’

‘Oh! Cheers.’ Paulina smiled sweetly and accepted the water. ‘Didn’t see ya there.’

Adrianna turned to the DJ. ‘Tommy, I’m so sorry.’

‘So sorry, Tommy!’ Paulina parroted.

Then she chucked the water at his head.

Paulina had been back at work three weeks when she got the email. Three weeks on best behaviour: up at five-fifty to chuck out her bottles from the night before, then Aerobics Oz Style in her room, jumping away her hangover. Showering and leaving the house in a pencil skirt, pastel shirt, plastic clip in her hair, sunnies on, and Discman clipped to her waistband for the hour-long bus ride. Swallowing two Panadol with Berocca at her desk and resisting the urge to spew whenever some fat-arse walked past with a crumpet or tub of yoghurt. Doing her time, day in, day out.

Till she got Carli’s email:

OUR FAIRFOLK HONEYMOON!

There was a photo attachment of Carli and Kyle on a white-sand beach with sky-scraping pines in the background. Carli was grinning so much she had dimples. Paulina zoomed in on Carli’s love-handles, stretch marks, cottage-cheese thighs. She zoomed out again, hovered over the trash icon. But there was something about those pines.

That lunchbreak, instead of smoking as she power-walked around the block, Paulina stubbed out her cigarette in front of a travel agency.

‘I wanna go to Fairfolk Island,’ she told the chick at the counter.

‘Fairfolk Island.’ The chick furrowed her brow. ‘Is that near Tonga?’

‘Dunno. But that’s where I wanna go.’

‘Let me see if I can find a holiday pack—’

‘Babe.’ Paulina crossed her arms. ‘I don’t want a holiday. I wanna live there.’