Nicola sang along with the radio in a strained falsetto as she sped home through the back streets of Turramurra after lunch. She always enjoyed catching up with the girls and wondered why they didn’t get together more often. It had been a lovely lunch at a place Sue had discovered; smoked salmon blinis, chicken risotto and the most deliciously tangy lime souffle. She probably shouldn’t have had quite so much champagne, but it had been so lovely just to relax and enjoy a few glasses of bubbles. She hadn't laughed so much in ages.
The friends had met when their children first started school. Bonding quickly over the common experience of separating from their children they had shared the small dramas of primary school, the outbreaks of chickenpox and head lice, disastrous sports days and rainy swimming carnivals. Together they had made runny jam for fetes and sewed lumpy costumes for school musicals. They had been friends for longer than Nicola cared to think about, surviving their kids’ move from primary into high school, changes in jobs and a divorce and remarriage.
Sue and Belinda had loved her new outfit, a smart tailored suit with a skirt that was the perfect length for a woman in her prime (as Nicola liked to think of herself) from her favourite boutique in St Ives. She was on first name terms with the sales assistants and they knew exactly what suited her. It felt good to be able to wear nice clothes and she didn’t regret the killer heels she’d bought to show off her legs. Those legs required a bit of work to stay toned these days and she wasn’t going to waste all that time in the gym by covering them up. Nicola had been the life of the party, entertaining them all with stories about their latest overseas trip, Bob’s promotion and the renovations. They all commented on how well she looked, how little she had changed . . .
The sudden wail of a siren cut through this pleasant train of thought. Framed in her rear vision mirror was a police car, flashing its blue lights at her to pull over. Shit! Her heart hammered in her chest and she could see her hands trembling as she steered to the side of the road. She forced herself to take some long slow breaths. It was ridiculous how terrifying it was when the police loomed in one’s rear vision mirror.
As she braked, Nicola couldn’t help thinking of the last time she had been pulled over by a policeman. She almost smiled at the memory. She had been speeding but had charmed her way out of a ticket. She had a vision of the young constable, leaning in through the window of her husband’s expensive car, inhaling the luxurious scent of new leather and herself, watching his face as she dazzled him. With guileless charm, wide-open eyes, she had promised meekly not to speed again before driving off with nothing more than a gentle warning and an admiring smile. She could still see the sheepish grin on the constable’s face as he had waved her back onto the road.
The patrol car pulled in behind her. She didn’t have time to check her lipstick but deftly squirted the air with some Chanel 'Allure' as she extracted her licence from her handbag. Under the steering wheel, she crossed her legs and allowed the smart new skirt to ride up just a little. She was especially glad she’d worn high heels now. Her lips were slightly parted when she turned to face the policeman and slid down her window.
‘Good afternoon, Officer,’ she hoped her voice didn’t betray how nervous she felt.
‘May I see your licence, Madam?’
‘Of course, Officer’. She averted her full gaze as she handed him the licence.
He read the details in stony silence. She peeped at him covertly. He was about thirty, with a hairline that was already beginning to recede and a thick, rugby player’s neck. He was clearly going to be difficult. More action was needed. She gave him the full benefit of her large brown eyes and smiled conspiratorially.
‘You don’t think I’ve stolen the car, do you?’ Her laughter hung in the air.
He pulled out the breathalyser. Damn!
‘Blow in here, Madam.’
Nicola began to feel angry. It had worked before, why not now? She put her hand on his arm and produced a tremulous smile.
‘Officer, please can’t you overlook it this time? I’ll be in terrible trouble if you book me . . .’
A tear rolled down her cheek. He looked up and seemed almost to soften. She squeezed out another. He smiled slightly, removed her hand from his arm using the tips of his finger and thumb, and handed her a speeding ticket.
‘The breathalyser is OK but you were doing nearly 70 and this is a 50 zone. Don’t you realise it’s a residential area?’
Nicola was furious.
‘I can’t believe you’ve booked me,’ she blazed, ‘I was pulled over once before and treated very differently then, I can assure you!’
Her memory again conjured up a picture of the young policeman. He had been understanding and rather attentive afterwards, which had been awkward. Her charming ways had certainly made an impression then . . . she found herself still gazing at the officer beside her. He had a strange look on his face, uncomfortably like pity. He blinked and turned away, returning to his car and making a call on his radio.
Nicola tossed her hair back defiantly as she pulled out and caught a glimpse of herself in the rear vision mirror. ‘God, my roots need doing’, she thought to herself, spotting slivers of silver shooting through the honey blonde. Tiny specks of mascara sparkled under her eyes and her lipstick had bled slightly into the lines around her mouth. Her eyes were still lustrous but the laughter lines were disconcertingly deep and didn’t disappear when she stopped smiling. Her skin looked like old parchment in the harsh afternoon light.
She thought nostalgically of the gallant policeman, how long ago was it? Seven years? Eight? Surely not twelve? Yet it was before she’d had Michael and he was fourteen! Well, that accounted for the rudeness of the officer today, manners had certainly declined in the last decade.
