Sour Lemons

“…we’ll be lovers once again, on the bright side of the ro-oad…”

The tune belted out on the car radio and Fazzie shouted at the windscreen, “No we won’t, buster!” “Not ever!”

The old Corolla, every available space jam-packed with her belongings, sped down the ribbon of road that led out of town. Past that bloody giant lemon that marked the entry to what was arguably the dullest, sourest place on earth. The jaunty yellow icon was supposed to be a sunny nod to the citrus crop that kept this town alive – but, like other place-marking statues dotted around the country, it just held it captive. The town might do other things, grow other things – but it was only ever known as The Big Lemon.

She was driving east. The bright morning sun beating through her windscreen would normally be an annoyance, but today it felt good. Yesterday, she had removed her apron and thrown it at Tony’s face.

“Fuck you and fuck your fucking lemon tarts!!” She’d shouted, thus ending eight years of marriage and humiliation. The Lemon Tart, their café, was famous for her sublime lemon meringue tarts. Tony, it transpired, was famous for fucking every other female in The Big Lemon – his lemon tarts.

When she hadn’t been able to make a baby, she threw all of her energy into making The Lemon Tart the most successful café in the entire region. And it was. Together, she and Tony baked, marketed and barista’d their way to being listed as Number One in the Regional Café Guide – five years running!

Long hours in the café helped to push away the sadness of her barren womb, but her long hours in the café also gave Tony ample opportunity to taste the fruits from other tables. Fazzie was oblivious to this – until yesterday when the postman delivered a handwritten letter to her. An anonymous, handwritten letter. The scrawled pigment danced before her eyes, and it took a moment to comprehend the information. Then, a cascade of clues, niggly thoughts, suspicions – like a splash of cold water – cleared her vision and she collapsed against the wall.

Now she’d made the jump and flipped the bird at the Big Lemon on her way out of town, she started strategising in her mind. She’d already contacted her lawyer and asked her to start divorce proceedings. She knew it would take time to get all the ducks in a row and the property settlement would be messy, but she could only see positives in her future.

She would arrive in Sydney tomorrow, and her heart ached for the mother-nurture she knew was waiting for her. Her father would be a different story – his accountant’s brain would be horrified that she’d walked away from such a successful business. But Fazzie had a plan, and it didn’t involve lemon bloody tarts!

By the time she pulled into the motel she’d booked for her first night, the golden glow of dusk had given way to velvety darkness. She was exhausted. Tony had been calling and messaging all day, but Fazzie had no energy to talk to him or read his messages. “Go to Hell!” she frowned at the phone.

She had eaten a burger at the truck stop service station in the previous town and now just wanted a cup of tea. The server must have picked up on her vibe, and had handed her an extra package with her burger, “I made it this morning – have it with a cuppa when you get to where you’re going.”

Fazzie opened the package to find a thick slice of delicious-looking chocolate cake.

“Perfect!”

The cake was moist and rich, with an earthiness to it that Fazzie could not name. It was decadent, and seriously yummy and she wolfed it down. Tea, cake and a trashy chick-flick on the TV.

“Heaven!” thought Fazzie.

An hour or so later she was aware of a deep, profoundly relaxing lassitude creeping up her legs and into her arms. She hadn’t felt so calm, so blissful, for a very long time. So relaxed, and so very, very tired.

She closed her eyes and instantly the room, the bed, the TV – all disappeared, and she was floating in darkness: vast, infinite, darkness. Pinpricks of light began to appear, and she was drawn towards them.

Her eyes were closed but she was seeing a panorama in front of her as the light points merged and illuminated the scene. It was the beach with a deep blue ocean beyond and Fazzie felt herself running towards the waves.

--

A knock at the door, “Breakfast!”

Fazzie jolted awake and looked around in confusion.

Another knock brought her to her feet, and she stumbled to the door. She opened it to the far-from-smiling face of a young kitchen-hand holding a tray of stainless steel: cutlery, teapot, plate cover. Fazzie reached out to take the tray with a mumbled “thanks”, turned and closed the door with her foot.

She stood for a moment, tray in hand, while her thoughts tried to bring themselves into line.

“Ok,” she muttered, as the previous day flooded into her mind. She put the tray down on the table, nudging aside the cardboard tray which had just a few crumbs of chocolate cake remaining.

“Ok,” she muttered again, lifting the cardboard tray and sniffing it suspiciously. Her fuzzy-headedness and last night’s vivid awake-dream as she fell into the deepest sleep she’d had in ages, made her think the cake had contained more than chocolate.

Perhaps it had. It didn’t matter, though. She felt more rested than she could remember in some time, and best of all – she hadn’t lain awake all night thinking about Tony.

Her breakfast of sausage, eggs and beans with cold toast and lukewarm tea disappeared quickly and she was showered, dressed and back on the road within the hour.

Four more messages had appeared from Tony overnight, but she still avoided looking at any of them. He had already called twice this morning, ignored both times.

By the time she pulled in for fuel later that morning, she was less than 200kms from Sydney and her mother’s soon-to-be-tear-stained shoulder.

That evening, sitting at her parents’ dining table, her eyes still puffy from the tears which had flown freely all afternoon – Fazzie outlined her vision for the future.

“No Dad – I don’t want to get back into the café business. I’m done with it.”

“But you’re so good at it, you have a natural flair…”

“Yeah, maybe. But I didn’t have a life and look what happened.”

She paused, then said: “I’m going to start up a detective agency.”

“What!!” They both looked taken aback.

“A detective agency that specialises in catching cheating husbands/partners.”

“Darling, isn’t that just dealing in heartache?” asked her mother.

“Dealing in heartache is probably a bit strong, Mum,” she replied. “But, yes, there will be unhappiness and anger and disbelief and grief—all those things—to deal with. Which is where the second part of the business comes into play: support and counselling.”

“It’s not just husbands that cheat,” said her father.

“I know. And there’s all manner of reasons why people cheat on their partners. My plan is to catch the cheaters early enough to try and save relationships with support and counselling for both partners – if they want it.”

She looked thoughtful, “It may not work, of course. I’m so full of anger right now that I would punch anyone who tried to convince me to give Tony another chance. But I have been thinking about how I might have felt a few years ago – before he became a serial offender. I think I would have wanted to try and fix us.”

Her father looked thoughtful. “You’ll need to have good professionals working with you…”

“I know.”

“… and lawyers.”

“Lawyers?”

“Yes, you’ll be upsetting a few people I’d imagine!” He grinned. “And also, some of these relationships will end in the courts – so you can offer a one-stop shop, so to speak.”

--

And thus, The Rat Detection Agency (RDA) was born. That wasn’t its real name, of course, but for Fazzie Roland it worked just as well as the official Roland Detectives & Associates.

The business went from strength to strength as word got around, and they saved as many relationships as they didn’t. Fazzie found love again – and finally, fertility.

Tony is still stuck in the Big Lemon. His fertility was never in question, but the three women who bore his children wish they’d never batted their lashes at him when he’d served their coffee.

Fazzie didn’t ever answer his calls.