Page 2 of Darling Girls

She had just finished a ‘Room Overhaul’. Three hours of painstakingly ordering her client’s bathroom cabinets into a Pinterest-worthy vision of colour-coded, labelled and stackable containers. The result looked spectacular – all of Debbie’s friends said so. The fact that all of Debbie’s friends were present to say so was the reason she was dangerously close to being late for her next client – even with the extra fifteen-minute contingency time she built into her schedule.

Her first instinct was to keep walking. Nothing – nothing! – vexed Jessica more than tardiness. Except perhaps messiness. And people who cut corners, or people who missed RSVP deadlines. Jessica always RSVP’d to invitations the moment they landed in her hand or inbox. Then she diarised the event, made a note in her organisation app to buy a gift, if necessary, and created a block of time in her calendar to ensure she had an appropriate outfit to wear. At least forty-eight hours before the event, she decided on transport and mapped out the approximate time it would take to get there (with fifteen minutes added for contingencies).

Jessica had agreed to today’s job only as a personal favour to Tina Valand, a beloved client who’d purchased a gift voucher for Debbie as a birthday present and begged Jessica to attend personally (rather than sending one of her excellent staff) because ‘Debbie is such a dear friend’.

These days, Jessica could afford to be choosy. Since her home-organisation business had taken off a few years back, Jessica left the grunt work to her staff while she concentrated on positioning herself as Australia’s leading expert on home organisation, appearing onThe Morning ShowandBetter Homes and Gardenswith handy tips for a more structured life.

Debbie had booked her session on the same day she hosted a post-Pilates coffee morning. It wouldn’t have bothered Jessica had Debbie not seen fit to bring each woman into the bathroom one by one, announcing, ‘Jessica is my home-organisation whiz,’ before inviting the guest to tell Jessica all about their own organisational struggles.

‘You don’t mind, do you, Jessica?’ she’d say.

‘Of course not, Mrs Montgomery-Squires,’ Jessica replied.

But Jessica did mind. Now, Jessica was running late for her next job.

‘Jessica?’ Debbie said, jogging to catch her at the door. She was panting from the effort.

Jessica sighed. Pasted on a smile. Turned around.

‘This is awkward,’ Debbie said, ‘but I’ve noticed some items missing from the bathroom. I feel awful even bringing it up . . .’

Debbie did not feel awful. Debbie could barely breathe through her delight. Behind her, in the living room, seven women in activewear sipped lattes and pretended not to listen. The eighth leaned forward in her chair and gawked unashamedly.

‘I reorganised your bathroom cabinets,’ Jessica said, trying for patience, ‘which means everything will be in a slightly different place. I left a cheat sheet showing you how to find –’

‘I understand that,’ Debbie interrupted. ‘But I’ve looked carefully.’

Jessica wondered how carefully she could have looked in the four minutes that had passed since she left the bathroom. She also wondered if there was a way to go back in time to the moment she agreed to do the job so she could slap herself in the face.

‘May I ask what is missing?’

Debbie glanced back towards her Pilates friends, suddenly less assured. She lowered her voice and leaned a little closer. ‘I’m missing a bottle of Valium.’

Jessica pulled herself up to her full five-foot-nothing height. She felt humiliated, as well as appalled for service people everywhere. ‘I can assure you, Mrs Montgomery-Squires, I have not taken anything from your bathroom. But, if you are concerned, I’d be very happy for you to search my bag.’

She held out the bag, glancing away as if she couldn’t bear to watch. For a shocking moment, Jessica thought Debbie might actually search it. But the other woman said, ‘That won’t be necessary.’

After a momentary stalemate, Jessica’s phone began to ring, saving them from navigating an awkward exit. ‘If there’s nothing else,’ she said, ‘I do need to get to my next appointment.’

Debbie nodded stiffly and Jessica turned and strode away.

‘Love Your Home Organisational Services,’ she said as she slid into the leather seat of her new Audi. If the traffic lights were all miraculously green, there was a chance she could still make it on time. ‘Jessica Lovat speaking.’

‘Ms Lovat? My name is . . .’

There was a pause as the phone synced with the car’s speakers. ‘Sorry,’ Jessica said, pulling into the traffic. ‘I missed that. Who is calling?’

‘My name is Detective Ashleigh Patel.’

No, Jessica wanted to scream.No, no, no.

There was only one reason detectives contacted her: Norah. But Jessica didn’t have time for it today. She’d already used up her fifteen-minute buffer!

‘What can I do for you, Detective?’ Jessica said.

Last time the police called, her sister had assaulted a minor. Upon investigation, Jessica discovered the ‘minor’ was a fifteen-year-old boy whom she’d jabbed with a broomstick after catching him peering through her window while she was getting dressed. Still, it wasn’t Norah’s first assault, and her motives weren’t always quite so reasonable. The court had imposed a community corrections order; if she reoffended within a twelve-month period, the sentence would be considerably harsher.

‘It’s time to stop this pattern of behaviour,’ the judge said to Norah. ‘If I see you in this courtroom again, it will be to decide how long you’ll go to prison for.’