For the heart

The escape

When I was fourteen, I gave Daniel Blacken my hand instead of my cheek in a game of truth or dare. At sixteen, I refused Martin Clark's invitation on a date on the basis that he had bad manners. By nineteen, I'd refused seven suitors, and by twenty three, I lost count entirely.

At twenty five, I turned down my first proposal.

And that's how I wound up back in coastal South Australia. I needed to be as far away from the life I'd built with Harry, and Kingston South East, population of less than one and a half thousand, seemed as far away from metropolitan Sydney as you could get.

Kingston had long sandy coasts, shrub sheeted esplanades, and a quiet main street lined by a bakery, fish n' chip shop, supermarket, pharmacy, and pub. The parks were picturesque, the waves were smooth, and the locals loyal. I'd spent every school break since I was eight, in this very place: exploring neighbouring towns, crabbing, fishing, climbing trees, and huddling around fires with the extended family.

I'd rented a villa with a sea view on the edge of the township. It was peaceful, all that could be heard was the fierce winter winds and whimper of the ocean. There were no screeching cars, ringing phones, bickering soon-to-be divorcees, clacking heels, or disgruntled cyclists. The air was dense with salt, and it brought forth lingering childhood memories.

I could have gone anywhere, I had a week to kill before my sister's wedding, and I'd chosen here. Aside from convenience, I wasn't sure why yet. I really could have just gone home, to Adelaide, and helped my manic family pull together the final touches of Cora's wedding. However, knowing my family like I did, I knew it was very soon going to turn into a carnival. The trashy, overpriced sort.

Cora, my younger sister, was narcissistic and flighty at the best of times. She would, oh so love, to remind me of my short comings in the romance department, in-between throwing tantrums about place settings of course. Toss an unbalanced mother, and re-married father into the mix, and you had my very own personal hell.

I'd missed most of the wedding prep, due to some tactical planning, and I was set on making the home stretch. Besides, coming home early would mean explaining why Harry wasn't with me. And, that, was something I was planning on avoiding for as long as possible. If having my younger sister marry while I was still 'unbetrothed' wasn't enough, my mother would just love to sink her teeth into the fact I'd lost another man.

And with that thought, I collapsed into the front-room couch. "I'll drink to that," I called, to the empty room, corking a good red Harry and I had been gifted by mutual friends. That was the perk of Harry - his lifestyle suited mine. He liked the same wine, the same restaurants, we had the same friends, he could afford to splurge on the designer dresses I wanted for court. We were best friends and partners - I downed my first glass, thinking that maybe he had been the one.

Filling up my second as I imagined my mother's spiel, "Oh Katherine, when are you going to settle?! If you've been waiting for prince charming, Harry Witthouse is as close as it bloody gets!" She would squawk, nearing an aneurism as she learnt about the proposal.

If she found out before the reception, I wouldn't be surprised if she brought it up in her mother-of-the-bride speech. And with that thought, my second glass was gone.