Chapter 7

A Perfect Life

Chris woke very early on 2 January to find his wife curled up against his back, sound asleep. Not wishing to disturb her, he lay in bed a while, listening to her gentle breathing. Finally, he slipped out of their king-sized bed and padded toward the giant picture window that looked out over the quiet court.

It was just after 7 a.m., and his birthday had opened to clear blue skies. Outside, the heat would already be enticing a tang from the eucalypts lining the streets of the city’s sprawling eastern suburbs.

With temperatures predicted to rise to a steamy 32 degrees by midday, it was a relief to discover that Melbourne’s overdue summer had arrived. Chris and Vicky had bade 2009 farewell amid high winds and heavy rain. They’d taken Marie to a local Chinese restaurant and into the city, where they watched the annual fireworks display through the rain-streaked windows of Vicky’s new Mercedes Benz.

Thankfully, the unseasonal weather had vanished in time for his birthday. This beautiful Saturday morning would be perfect for an early cycle ride.

‘Happy birthday, Dad,’ Marie chirped, glancing up from the laptop she was given for Christmas. Chris pecked her on the cheek, not surprised to find her tapping away. Marie was already absorbed in some Facebook discussion, no doubt chatting to friends who were intent on updating each other on the finer details of their uneventful lives.

It was unbelievable, he pondered, flicking on the kettle, that this new techno-generation was so fascinated with the minutiae of each other’s existence. By the time Chris poured his coffee, he had no doubt the world already knew what Marie was having for breakfast and what fashion statement she’d be making today.

Chris watched her clicking the ‘like’ button on her friends’ Facebook profiles and shook his head. He’d hoped she might join him on his birthday bike ride, as she’d done on other sunny Saturdays. But it seemed today’s ride was destined to be a birthday jaunt for one.

Marie was focused on her screen when Chris slid warm, buttered toast under her nose and disappeared upstairs, where Vicky was still sleeping. Chris was an early bird who couldn’t lie still after he woke. By the time his family surfaced on weekends, he’d have completed an early cycle ride and mown the lawns.

But today, with the street still sleeping, Chris would settle for a quiet ride. ‘I’ll be a while,’ he whispered, kissing Vicky goodbye. She pulled the doona back over her head. With the twins still at her parents’ place, she had no intention of getting up yet.

Downstairs, Marie was still mesmerised by the activity on her computer. Chris scooted past her in his bike gear and disappeared down the stairs to the garage, where he kept his bike. Marie’s apathy about the morning ride wasn’t such a disappointment. His four-day-a-week regime of running and weight training, which began about 5.30 a.m., had boosted his fitness levels. These days, he could breeze along Melbourne’s bike tracks on his weekends off, notching up over a hundred kilometres without any real effort. Cycling solo meant he could take as long as he liked and travel further. With the city in summer holiday mode for most of January, the streets would be quiet.

In a few days, Vicky would pile their children into her new car and join the rush along the freeway to the upmarket beach haven of Sorrento, near the mouth of Port Phillip Bay. Most Januarys they reserved a family suite at the ritzy Sorrento Hotel, a stone’s throw from where Chris’s friend Nick owned a holiday home. Chris would follow Vicky down after a flying visit to Tasmania to sign the NBN deal.

At forty-four, Chris had already achieved many of the goals he’d set himself in his late twenties. An engineering graduate, he had an analytical mind and had emerged as a canny strategist and creative planner. ‘If I work hard now and pay off the mortgage quickly, it will free up our money and give us more choices,’ he’d told Vicky when they married in November 1994.

Now, seventeen years later, his talent and business instinct meant those longer-term financial plans were already coming to fruition. Driven, talented and extremely ambitious, Chris had established a successful consultancy business, offering his services as a freelance civil engineer and blazing a trail up the corporate ladder.

Not only had he paid off the mortgage on their five-bedroom luxury home in Watsonia North, he’d also planted the seeds for an expanding property portfolio. He’d recently sold a plush two-bedroom apartment on Queensland’s Gold Coast, and now boasted a couple of other investment properties, including a house in an upmarket Sydney suburb. Chris and Vicky had also invested in a bar and two apartments on the Greek mainland, close to the marina where they moored their luxury yacht.

For his own family, Chris had purchased a block of land in a more affluent suburb close to the Yarra River. The real estate agent was surprised to discover that the newly renovated weatherboard property on the site held no appeal at all for Chris. His real interest lay in the land, which commanded a prestige location on the best street in the area.

For Vicky, the location held another appeal. It was within easy walking distance of the cafés and designer boutiques where she spent much of her free time. It was also close to the school where they intended to enrol Marie.

After signing the property deal, they’d gone home and begun formulating plans to demolish the property to make way for a top-of-the-range Metricon home. With five bedrooms, a billiard room and a cellar, it would provide spacious accommodation for their growing family. The building permits and plans for their dream home set Chris back $18,000, and they were foremost in his mind at New Year.

Just after midnight, as Vicky leant across from the passenger seat to give him his first kiss of 2010, Chris said, ‘By this time next year, we’ll be in our new house and a new red Ferrari will be sitting on our drive.’ He was confident this year would be a rewarding one.

The three-year consultancy he’d recently accepted with BSA, a major Australian corporate player, was also shaping up to be a lucrative opportunity. BSA had headhunted him from a highly paid executive job with construction giant John Holland. Chris’s rise up the corporate ladder had been meteoric.

One of his previous employers, P&O, had funded him at full salary to return to university and complete a Master of Business Administration. Within six months of graduating, Chris had been poached by Transfield, who wanted a self-starter to mastermind the infrastructure for the Sydney Olympic Stadium. By the time he moved to BSA, he’d established his own consultancy company and his career was flourishing.

As BSA’s new Director of Development, Chris had spent the past seven months negotiating a $200 million NBN deal, which was about to be signed. It was a trailblazing start for an ambitious corporate high flyer, ensuring Chris a dazzling career path and providing his vivacious wife with the extravagant lifestyle she’d become accustomed to.

Apart from a brief stint as a hairdresser, Vicky had never done a day’s paid work. Since she and Chris married, she’d made no secret of the fact that she didn’t want a job. She’d told her girlfriends that she was blessed to have a husband who enjoyed taking care of her. Anyway, with Chris on an annual salary package of $600,000, there was no need for her to get her hands dirty.

At 9.30 a.m. that Saturday, Chris pedalled out of the quiet suburban court. His route took him down Plenty Road toward the city. He wove at a steady pace through empty streets toward the bay, where trendy cafés served breakfast to hungry joggers.

The temperature was steadily rising by the time Chris reached Port Melbourne, then pedalled on toward St Kilda via the bike track around Albert Park. From St Kilda, he headed along the cycle track to Beaumaris, then began the slow ride back, stopping as usual at Jim Nestoras’s bakery café in Thornbury. It was a great start to his birthday, he thought, sipping on his latte.

On the way back to Watsonia North, he wondered if Vicky was up yet. She had a good life, he laughed to himself. He wasn’t sure why she complained about things being tough when she spent most of her free time shopping or having lunch.

Her personal hairdresser visited the house three times a week to keep her thick, wavy hair trimmed and coloured. Then there were regular manicures, pedicures and facials. She also devoted a lot of time to keeping herself in shape. She had a personal trainer who supervised her workouts, which included sessions in body sculpting, and she attended their local gym three times a week. Her cardio and weight-training sessions helped to maintain the pocket-Venus figure that she knew turned men’s heads.

Vicky loved her indulged lifestyle. She relished the buzz of breezing into high-end city restaurants on her husband’s arm, and she was delighted when Chris bought her gifts. For her birthday, Chris had agreed to trade in Vicky’s four-year-old silver Mercedes for a sleek new $120,000 black one. He’d watched in amusement as she sank back in the plush leather seats and peered at him over the steering wheel through her designer sunnies. She climbed out of the driver’s seat, twisting the keys in her fingers just as easily as she twisted him.

She embraced Chris’s overseas trips with the same enthusiasm. Vicky was well aware that a pretty wife was the perfect accessory for a high-flying businessman attending international conventions. At an international transport conference in Paris a couple of years earlier, Vicky’s natural charisma had proved an unexpected drawcard. Chris’s CEO later confessed he found Vicky utterly charming, and Chris was so proud that he jokingly told her he’d add her to his next résumé.

When Chris wasn’t working, the Soterious regularly jetted back to Europe to spend holidays in Greece, where Vicky and her sister Dorothy were born. From her former home on the Greek mainland, the couple made regular pilgrimages to Cyprus, where Chris had extended family.

Before the twins were born in March 2008, they’d even managed romantic getaways in exotic locations such as Monte Carlo and Venice. Marie had been happy to remain in Greece with Vicky’s parents, who planned their own trips to coincide with their daughter and her family. No wonder Vicky’s girlfriends teased her about her charmed life, Chris thought as he pedalled back into Watsonia North.

Still, nothing was too much for his beautiful, sexy wife. If she was extravagant in her spending, she was even more generous with her love. He was a lucky man; he had the perfect wife and a perfect life. Their fridge was always full and their pantry well stocked. Their three children, like him, were loved and content, and their home was always as immaculate as their beautiful mother.

***

When Chris arrived home, Vicky and her mum were in the kitchen having coffee, while Marie supervised the twins outside on their trampoline.

Vicky handed him a cold drink from the fridge and kissed his sweaty cheek. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said, giving him a card and a parcel.

Her mother, Maria, glanced at him from the kitchen window, where she was keeping an eye on the children. ‘Happy birthday,’ she sniffed, staring absently over the garden.

Chris noted the unspoken friction between himself and his mother-in-law. Was it really obvious, he wondered, that her constant presence in his home drove him crazy? It was a challenge concealing his irritation when Vicky’s parents continually turned up unannounced, especially when his overbearing father-in-law, Jim, insisted on bombarding him with unwanted advice on everything from building projects to investment options.

Chris particularly resented them rocking up at weekends, when he most wanted private time with Vicky and the kids. There had been countless Sundays when he’d been woken by the sound of his doorbell ringing. He’d groan inwardly at the sound of their voices on his doorstep. Vicky would shoot him a warning look as she trailed down the stairs to let them in, leaving Chris pulling the doona up over his ears. But nothing could block the sound of his in-laws thundering through his house like army tanks, their arms loaded with an arsenal of tomatoes and cucumbers from Jim’s veggie garden.

When Chris and Vicky had disagreed during their marriage, it had mostly been about Jim and Maria. If Chris had married the girl of his dreams, he was resigned to the fact that he’d also married her interfering parents.