Rachel

Rachel still hadn’t slept with him, and she was holding on to that truth for dear life. But what she was doing still qualified as cheating. Going for meals, movies and long walks with a man who wasn’t her husband. Finding excuses to touch him. Saving up things to tell him, to share with him. Thinking about him constantly. Texting, phoning and connecting at a level she couldn’t manage with her husband. She wasn’t having sex with Nico, but she was doing practically everything else. And every time she saw Rory’s tired, worn-out, honest face, she gagged on her own treachery.

Amy was phoning and texting almost as often as Nico.

Stop avoiding me.

We need to talk.

What are you going to do?

Rachel had no idea what she was going to do. She was being swept along by her emotions; rational thought or planning didn’t come into it. Before the movie date, she’d commanded herself to keep things platonic, yet she’d ended up holding his hand in the dark theatre, heart thumping in her chest like that of a teenage girl on her first date. They’d kissed at the end of the night, and they’d kissed when she’d broken her ‘weekend rule’ and met him for a walk along the cliffs at Coogee. The kisses had been strange; on one level she’d been titillated and carried away; on another she was holding back, watching herself from a distance, the voice in her head as reproachful and relentless as Amy’s texts.

What are you doing? This needs to stop. Of course the kisses are weird; you haven’t kissed another man in twenty years.

Amy’s pestering wasn’t helping. It had been an exhausting few weeks of keeping her friend at bay. On the train home on Friday night Rachel finally called her back.

‘At last!’ Amy wasted no time with preliminaries. ‘Have you ended it?’

‘No,’ Rachel murmured, the denial lost in the swell of voices in the carriage.

‘You’re going to blow your family apart for some guy you barely know? Do you even know how rare someone like Rory is? Honest. Decent. Not bad to look at.’

True. Rory was all those things. Why wasn’t he enough? It was so confusing.

‘I need time to figure things out. Please don’t harass me, Amy … I feel bad enough.’

‘Maybe you should confide in Rory? Tell him how you’re feeling, what’s going on?’

‘No,’ she said firmly. Rory wouldn’t be able to deal with this. He’d be blindsided, devastated. ‘And don’t you say a word to him. Promise me.’

A pause. Amy’s promise was not forthcoming.

‘You’re putting me in a really difficult position,’ she said eventually. ‘Rory’s my friend too.’

‘I was your friend first,’ Rachel snapped. A few slow breaths before she continued in a calmer tone. ‘This isn’t about you, Amy. This is about me, figuring out who I am and what’s ahead for me.’

Rachel ended the call before Amy could argue any further. She contemplated their friendship as the train stopped in Miranda and passengers swarmed onto the platform. Nico wasn’t their only friction point; the cancer was, too. Amy had said all the right things, but her support was the shallow variety, supplied mainly in the form of gifts. Tanya’s support had been hands on, helping with meals and grocery shopping during the most difficult months. The members of her Cancer Fight group were also fantastic, phoning regularly for short chats or long existential discussions, whichever she was in the mood for. Two of the group had recently chucked in their jobs, Greta to trek mountains in Peru and Suzanne to fulfil a lifetime desire to write a book, their actions driven by the restlessness that Rachel recognised within herself. A cancer diagnosis was a reckoning, a time to acknowledge everything you were grateful for, but also what you’d not achieved in life. It invoked fear, uncertainty, vulnerability, bucket lists.

Amy just didn’t get it. An expensive candle or bottle of champagne is not what you need when your life has been upended by cancer.

Rachel’s phone buzzed as the train glided out of the station.

From Nico: Thinking of you. Love you.

She stared at the message for a few moments before deleting it. He’d also announced his feelings on the clifftop, his lips breaking away from hers to whisper, ‘Rachel, I am in love with you.’

She had resisted the urge to reciprocate. She was obsessed with him, yes, but love was too far a stretch. All she knew was that Nico Theroux was one of the most important people in her life. And that knowledge, that truth, made her glow with excitement and happiness.

It also made her writhe with guilt, self-loathing and bafflement.

What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?

Things were no clearer by the time she reached Cronulla Station. Rachel hitched her bag onto her shoulder and buttoned up her jacket; the weather was still more winter than spring. She was lost in thought as she strode towards the exit.

‘Rachel, Rachel!’

George Pearson was standing in front of her, waving her down. He was wearing a dark business suit, a lavender-coloured shirt and his trademark friendly smile.

‘Oh, hi, George. Sorry I didn’t see you. Away in my own little world. How are you?’

‘I’m good. Keeping busy. And how are you? Back at work?’

‘Yes, doing five days a week now. It’s a lot but I’m enjoying it.’

‘Good. Good.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets, his expression becoming more sombre, and Rachel noticed the threads of silver in his light brown hair, the tiredness around his eyes. ‘You know, we miss having Bridie around.’

Rachel was taken aback. ‘Sorry, what do you mean?’ Even as she asked the question, a distant part of her brain registered that Bridie hadn’t slept over at Lily’s for weeks. Maybe even months.

George shrugged despondently. ‘Lily’s been hanging around with a bad group. She’s neglecting her schoolwork, her violin. Iris and I are really worried about her. Bridie has always been such a good influence. We just miss her, you know?’

Rachel nodded slowly. ‘Thanks for letting me know, George. I’ve been distracted with a few things and wasn’t aware of this. I’ll check in with Bridie.’

Outside the station, dusk was falling, and there was a bitter wind coming in off the ocean. Rachel burrowed her chin into her chest and headed for home. Was George right? Had the girls fallen out? How had Rachel missed this? She had urged Bridie many times to diversify her friendships, persistently asking if she wanted to invite other girls for sleepovers or movies. But Bridie had always found it difficult to expand her circle, preferring one close friend to the security of a wider group. Up until now it hadn’t been a problem: Lily had been a loyal, exemplary friend.

Maybe this was just a blip and the girls would reconcile. Rachel shared George’s concerns, but they both needed to be aware of the pitfalls of meddling in their children’s friendships. Still, she was appalled she hadn’t noticed that something was up with Bridie. Her mind had been too absorbed, too obsessed with Nico. Guilt and shame powered her up the hill towards home.