Page 37 of King of Omen

More than anything, I’d always wanted to study finance.

I hoped it would help me run my business more efficiently and provide a fallback plan in case my hustle went bust.

Some months before Bianca’s demise, I’d enrolled in a commerce program at Sydney University.

My acceptance letter arrived two weeks after the wake.

I confirmed my enrolment with bittersweet joy and began packing my world in the Blue Mountains.

I searched online and placed a wanted ad on a popular flat share platform. Two hours later, I received an enthusiastic message from a renter in Surry Hills.

I was won over by the online video, which showcased its classic features and generous windows, bathing the interior in natural light.

The two-bedroom flat wasn’t modern and had an older kitchen, but it was neat. It had a leafy outlook and an elevated position, just footsteps from the area’s vibrant bars, cafes, and transport.

Following a few chats on the phone with my potentially new housemate and a quick Zoom inspection, I signed on the dotted line of the share contract.

After purging and moving out of my cottage, I motored down to Sydney with everything I owned in the back of my van.

Arriving at my new home, I was welcomed by my housemate Linda. She was a fun, bubbly girl of Italian heritage from the country town of Tamworth.

We chatted as she helped me lug my belongings inside.

I found out Linda loved rustic folk music and cowboy boots. She claimed she kept to herself and her busy life, juggling her creative arts degree and serving at a local pub.

‘Sounds fun and busy,’ I said as I threw the last of my bags on my bed in the apartment’s smaller bedroom, which had a desk, closet, and tiny bathroom.

I took advantage of every inch of storage space to pack away my monochrome clothes, shoes and knickknacks.

When I was done, I retreated with a glass of wine to my small Romeo & Juliet balcony, which soon became my favourite place to hang out in the early mornings with coffee and a drink in the evenings.

Linda was almost too perfect to live with. Our schedules rarely crossed over. She waitressed most nights, while I worked days.

I’d decided to maintain my cleaning hustle, Queen Clean, to keep the cash flowing.

I established it in Sydney with the same efficiency and focus as in the Blue Mountains.

First, I researched the opportunities in the area and the best places to advertise my offerings.

Having found a popular online services hub, I put up my offering, rave reviews from my previous clients and a competitive price list.

I ensured my promotions—from website to brochures—were slick. I also worked on a new business calling plan, roping in another mature-age student, Sadie, from my accounting class.

I invested a sum of my savings into updating my branding, uniforms, and a small repaint job on my van.

I only used the most well-rated eco-friendly solutions and featured the add-on throughout my marketing.

My strategy worked, and my client list and reputation grew like wildfire.

Life settled into a routine of early morning classes, extended study sessions, and late nights spent cleaning for clients. Somehow, the mundane tasks distracted me from my lingering grief of losing Bianca.

I delved into my studies, absorbing every bit of knowledge like a sponge, drawn to the intricacies of business management and entrepreneurship.

On weekends, when I wasn’t buried under textbooks or scrubbing floors, I wandered through the bustling streets of Sydney, taking in the sights and sounds of the city I now called home.

I lost myself for hours in the symphony of life around me—the beaches nearby, the salty breeze from the ocean, the laughter of children playing in parks, and the aroma of street food wafting through the air.

From a work perspective, things kept looking up. I’d left my business cards with several acquaintances of Bianca’s at the funeral.

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