Chanel Sweethearts by Cate Kendall

can’t see me anymore. It’s almost not worth it.’
    â€˜And there’s nothing you can do?’
    â€˜Believe me,’ Jess said, staring at the endless stars twinkling above, ‘I have been through this so many times. If there was I would have done it by now.’

11
    The car parks were full. The shops were teeming with well-groomed families in Country Road weekend wear. The main street was choked with flashy four-wheel drives and shiny European sports cars, and basic provisions were dwindling in the shops. The townies were back.
    The township of Stumpy Gully was groaning under the weight of its tripled summer population. The summer holidays had begun and the city had emptied a good chunk of its population into the small towns dotted around the picturesque coast.
    The visitors were easy to spot: their riding boots were shiny and dust-free, their Driza-Bones were unfaded and their children used hair products to keep their complicated styles in place.
    The city ladies breezed up and down the main street placing orders with the bakery, butcher and florist to stock up for their holiday break. Their manicures were immaculate, designer sun glasses held back well-coiffed locks, and their designer weekend wear was clearly monogrammed with the appropriate designers; Tommy Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren and even Burberry gumboots.
    â€˜Dahling-how-are-yous’ echoed through the car park as the visitors joyfully ran into other holiday-makers they’d seen only a few days before in the big smoke.
    The locals rolled their eyes and swapped amused smiles as the city dwellers played at country life, singing out happily to each other in the shops:
    â€˜You must pop into the estate: I’m whipping up a pomegranate tart.’
    â€˜Do come to the property: we’ve had the gardener put in the most divine Stephanie Alexander kitchen garden.’
    â€˜We’ve had the living room done in French Provincial with a dash of Shabby Chic, it’s just too Country Life!’
    The shopkeepers stored up their favourite overheard quotes and shared them among themselves after hours.
    Jess often felt torn between her friendships with the locals and the visitors; it was a tricky balance at times. This morning a throng of townies was at her store and she was dividing her time between work and sharing a coffee with Tori.
    â€˜So, what’s on for this New Year’s festivities?’ Tori asked her as she scanned the menu.
    â€˜Sorted, darling!’ A voice from above their heads boomed.
    â€˜Cat!’ the two women exclaimed and stood to greet the new arrival with a round of air kisses and compliments. Cat heaved her bottom onto a chair and groaned in relief at taking the weight off her feet.
    â€˜Fi’s doing a masquerade ball on her estate New Year’s Eve. And I’m bringing in the nanny army for the children at mine.’
    â€˜Fantastic,’ Jessica said. ‘Sounds like heaps of fun!’
    â€˜Yep, the fun’s at Fi’s and the kids are at Cat’s,’ Cat boomed with laughter at her play on words. ‘Cap, lovey, and don’t spare the full cream!’ she boomed over the heads of the patrons to the busy barista. ‘Fi’s actually on her way in now; she’s out in the car park trying to negotiate a space for that beastly truck of hers.’
    â€˜Oh, she didn’t buy the Hummer, did she?’ Tori asked with a look of distaste. ‘They’re so, I don’t know ... pedestrian.’
    â€˜How can a car be pedestrian, you goose?’ Cat replied. ‘Yes, bloody great barge of a thing: she’s already taken out the front bumper. On my stone gate post, no less. The gate survived, thank Christ. A small nick just improves the rural look of the entrance. Can’t say that about her entrance though.’ Cat indicated the front door as Fi stood holding it open for her four small boys. They barrelled in mid-wrestle, mid-argument and