Page 43 of Third Time’s a Charm

My grumpiness slides right off her. She’s high on the idea of dressing up for this movie tonight.

“Do you want to look out of place?” I answer her question with nothing more than a look. “Even more out of place,” she corrects.

“I can say with complete honesty, I do not care.” I lean against an ancient sideboard, which holds a clutter of used crockery, antiquated kettles and a weird old flip-front toaster, and bury my face in my phone. Louise makes a noise that could signal irritation, or possibly an unwillingness to be dissuaded.

Either way, I notice she doesn’t put the shirt back on the rack. Instead, she tucks it under her arm and grabs a slightly bedraggled-looking feather boa, draping it around my neck with a wicked grin.

“I’m just going to try this on,” she murmurs, disappearing behind a saggy curtain with an armful of emerald green sequins.

“You can’t seriously expect me to wear a hot pink boa.” I brush the moulting feathers off my sleeve.

“Can and do,” she calls out.

It occurs to me that if she were anyone else, I would have exited the shop by now. But there’s something about Louise I find impossible to resist.

Sighs and huffs and fabric rustles are followed by Louise’s head popping out between the curtains.

“Excuse me?” she calls, attracting the attention of the woman at the counter. “Could you possibly give me a hand?”

“I can help. What do you need?” I look up from my phone in time to see a blush run up her lovely cheeks.

“No. No, it’s okay,” Louise stammers.

With a flick of the curtain so fast I see nothing at all, the shop assistant disappears into the change area. More sighs and fabric rustles are followed by a couple of happy hums, a gasp and a quiet squeak.

“Och, it was made for yee,” says the assistant in a Scots accent so broad you could imagine yourself in Glasgow. “Ye look grand.”

Great. That’s all I need. Louise looking grand in emerald sequins.

The woman in the shop was right. Louise comes out of the bathroom looking like something out of a West End production.

The dress hugs every curve. Paired with the messy bun she’s put her hair in, the plunging neckline exposes her delicate neck and an expanse of creamy skin lightly dusted with cinnamon freckles. There’s a short train and a split up the front of the skirt that stops just short of indecent. She pairs it with the riding boots she’s been wearing, and a glittering tiara that I didn’t even notice she bought. The outfit is gorgeous, but not as dazzling as the smile she’s wearing, ready for our trip to the cinema.

Words fail me.

I’m already dressed, and not wearing the satin shirt. She doesn’t say anything, but the look of disappointment on her face when she sees my white shirt hits me in the chest. Louise recovers quicker than me.

“Ready?” She scoops up her handbag from the bed and stands by the door, a slightly brittle smile on her beautiful lips.

“Uh. Yeah. I … Just a moment.”

I scoop the satin shirt up off the chair where she’d draped it and disappear into the bathroom.

It’s garish and, to be honest, ugly. But the fit is perfect and the satin feels surprisingly nice against my skin. I button it up and tuck it in. A last look in the mirror has me undoing the top few buttons. Maybe this is more John Travolta than Guy Pearce, but what the hell.

Louise’s mouth drops open before a wide smile creases her cheeks when I join her at the door, feather boa in hand.

“Now I’m ready.”

If we’re the only people dressed up, I’m going to be mortified. But the look of joy on Louise’s face when she sees me is worth it. And I refuse to think too hard about why that might be.

The fact that everyone has undoubtedly seen the movie more than once—I suspect this film is on the curriculum of all Australian schools—doesn’t seem to dim the enthusiasm of the residents of Bullibingal.

And I needn’t have worried. Almost everyone is dressed up. Including Eddie, who is sporting a well-worn white Elvis suit that exposes way more of his hairy chest than I’d ever want to see. He’s invited us to ‘wet the baby’s head’ at the pub and locked me in for a rematch afterwards. Seeing the gritty farmers and local tradies in satin and sequins and feathers is a revelation.

I don’t want to disappoint anyone by admitting I’ve never seen the movie. Before Mum died, I was probably a little too young, and afterwards anything that reminded me of Australia was too painful.

It feels like we’ve barely sat down when the end credits roll. The entire audience have laughed and cheered and catcalled throughout. And I’ve been totally immersed in the drama and lushness of a movie I deliberately avoided for years.