From the moment Gail and Rory pulled up outside Ocean View Cottage in his red Ferrari, tension had crawled across Ava’s shoulders.
Although Gail had finally moved out, it was as though she was still there. Constantly visiting to discuss the wedding with their mum, over and over and over. And now they were having a family gathering to welcome Peter – the prodigal son – back from Australia.
Gail sat on the two-seater sofa next to her brother, scooping her blonde curls behind her ears as she turned the pages of her bridal book. Peter swigged beer from a bottle, his eyes closing briefly each time he swallowed.
‘We’re having the reception at the Jester Hotel in Newquay. It’s five-star with Jacuzzis in every room and everything. But we can afford it, can’t we Rory?’ She sounded like a spoilt child.
‘Of course,’ he said, looking up from shuffling through a pile of CDs.
‘And I’ll be expecting you to get a new suit, Peter,’ Gail continued. ‘And you’ll need a haircut.’
‘I’m up for a new suit,’ he said, ‘but nobody touches my hair.’
‘Well, you’ll need to put a comb through it,’ she said, reaching up and ruffling it.
‘Get off,’ he said, smacking her hand away and laughing. Was Peter really as absorbed as he seemed by her wedding plans?
‘You do know marriage is the chief reason for divorce, Gail,’ he said, and laughed. Ava met his eye and smiled.
‘Not in our case.’ Gail had completely missed his humour, rarely laughing in the abandoned way she had as a child.
Ava was kneeling on the floor, a glass of white wine clasped in both hands. Gail and Rory had brought two bottles with them, Gail bragging how expensive it was, and nagging Ava for drinking it way too fast. Truth was, Ava wasn’t even keen on the taste, but she enjoyed the numbing effect it was having – each gulp making her care less and less that she’d been thrown together with her family.
She glanced up at Rory fiddling with the CD player. He looked good in a black tailored shirt and jeans. She couldn’t help admiring how well they fitted.
‘Hey, Gail,’ he said, lifting up an Eric Clapton CD. ‘You look wonderful tonight.’
She smiled and blew him a playful kiss – she looked happy. Ava bit down on her envy. They seemed besotted with each other. She should be pleased for her sister.
‘What music will you have at the wedding service?’ Jeannette asked.
‘Vivaldi, Winter,’ Rory said. ‘For when Gail walks down the aisle.’
Gail smiled. ‘Rory likes his classical music,’ she said.
‘Only Italian composers, Vivaldi was my mother’s favourite.’
‘And at the end of the service, we’re having “Candle in the Wind”,’ Gail said.’
‘Like at Diana’s funeral?’ Peter said, with an air of sarcasm.
Gail didn’t take the bait. ‘It’s our song,’ she said, her cheeks glowing. ‘And our first dance will be “Yellow” by Coldplay.’
Ava’s eyes moved to the open kitchen door, to where her mum was putting the finishing touches to a plate of sandwiches.
‘Need any help, Mum?’ she called through.
‘Bit late for that, isn’t it?’ Rory said. She looked back at him. He nodded towards the table laden with food and laughed. ‘Pretty sure you waited until everything was done before offering.’
‘I didn’t see anyone else offer,’ she said with a half-smile, as her mum appeared with the final plate.
Rory pressed play on the CD Player. ‘That looks great, Jeannette,’ he said to her mum, as she placed them on the table.
Jeannette threw him a wide smile. ‘It’s so lovely that we’re all together again. It’s been so long,’ she said, dropping into the armchair, and tapping her knee to Eric Clapton.
‘When can we eat, Mum?’ Peter said, as though he was eight years old.
‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ she said. ‘Always liked your food.’
He rose – his purple cotton trousers creased from sitting too long – and grabbed a plate.
Gail closed her wedding book and slipped it down beside the sofa. She picked up her glass of wine, taking a delicate sip. ‘Do you like the wine, Mum?’ she said.
Jeannette took a mouthful and winced. ‘Lovely.’
‘We’re having it at the wedding,’ she said, as Rory sat down beside her.
‘Are you having Asti Spumante?’ Jeannette chirped in. ‘I do like a drop of fizz.’
‘I’m getting a box of champagne, Jeannette,’ Rory said. ‘For the toasts.’
‘Well, as long as there’s beer,’ Peter said, grabbing a handful of sandwiches, and looking around for somewhere to sit.
The room was small and square with patio doors opening onto the wintery garden. The walls were papered with two different Laura Ashley patterns, separated by a dado rail, and photographs and ornaments cluttered every surface.
Claustrophobia washed over Ava. There were too many people – too much noise. The room swam before her eyes. Oh God, had she drunk too much wine? She got up to leave.
‘Where are you off to, Ava?’ Peter asked.
‘I thought I heard Willow, that’s all.’
‘Well, don’t be long,’ Gail said. ‘Mum’s gone to a lot of trouble.’
‘Yes, yes I know. I’ll be back in a minute.’
She took the stairs two at a time and entered her bedroom. The room was in semi-darkness, red curtains pulled across the window. She clicked the door closed behind her – glad of her sanctuary, now Gail had moved out.
But it hadn’t been all bad sharing with Gail, had it? A happy memory brightened her thoughts. Ava sitting at Gail’s dressing table, flicking her sister’s mascara brush over her fair lashes, leaving them gloopy.
‘Not like that,’ Gail had said, laughing, coming up behind her, and pulling up a stool. ‘Let me show you.’
Gail had made up Ava’s face that day – narrowing her eyes and biting the tip of her tongue as she applied foundation to Ava’s fair skin, red lipstick to her lips, shades of grey and silver shadow onto her eyelids.
‘You look amazing,’ Gail had said, giving Ava’s shoulders a squeeze, as their reflections looked back at them.
‘I look like you,’ Ava whispered as her sister left the room, knowing if Gail had any idea she had planned to meet Justin that evening, she wouldn’t have been so kind.
Now, Willow was asleep in the single bed in the corner, covered with a quilt; her head nestled against the pillow, her hair like a golden halo. She hadn’t really woken. Ava had needed an excuse to escape.
She would go back downstairs again soon, she knew that, but they wouldn’t miss her. Not immediately anyway – far too full of wedding talk to notice how long she’d been away. She thumped down on her beanbag, rested her head against the red and white striped wall, and closed her eyes.
Her parents had bought the house in the early Eighties, and the small mortgage was paid off a long time ago. Their father, wherever he was, had never asked her mother to sell the place. They weren’t well-off, but they managed with her mum’s savings and Ava’s wages.
She opened her eyes and picked up the photo of Justin on her bedside cabinet. She took in his white-blonde hair, his eyes – the piercing blue of them. Gail said once his eyes were too close together, but they weren’t. He was perfect. And one day they would get married. Buy a little house with roses around the door. They would own a golden retriever and have a little brother or sister for Willow. And Justin would have his own music studio – be famous one day.
‘He’s applied for Popstars,’ she’d told her mum a few weeks back, trying to make her see he was doing his best.
‘Never heard of it,’ Jeannette had said.
‘It’s a TV talent show,’ she’d gone on, but her mum wasn’t listening. She’d made it clear from the beginning she didn’t trust him. She hated that Ava was mixed up with that family. And the truth was, deep down Ava was beginning to doubt him too. He hadn’t been round for ages to see her or Willow, and wasn’t answering her calls or messages. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could believe in him. But if she didn’t have Justin, she had no one. The few friends she had were at university, or spending money on booze – having fun in Newquay at the weekends. She was stuck. Stuck in Ocean View Cottage in what some described as the most beautiful part of Cornwall, but she sometimes thought of as the loneliest place on earth.
She kissed the frame. Justin wouldn’t let her and his daughter down completely, would he?
She put the photo back on her bedside unit. She would ask Justin to Gail and Rory’s wedding as her plus one. Gail hadn’t put his name on the invitation, saying she didn’t want ‘his type’ there, and that he wouldn’t come anyway. She’d told Ava he’d been sleeping with half of Cornwall. But she was lying. Justin wouldn’t do that. Once he’d got his life on track, he would call her.
Her eyelids dropped over her eyes, the wine making her tired, and before long she’d drifted off to sleep.
A sudden noise on the landing woke her, and her eyes flew open. The bedroom door stood slightly ajar – hadn’t she closed it? She blinked, a shudder running through her body. Through the crack in the door someone hovered.
‘Who’s there?’ she called, unable to tell who it was. She pulled herself upright. ‘Hello?’ But whoever it was moved away.
‘Mummy?’ She turned to see Willow sitting up and rubbing her eyes with her fists. ‘I need a wee wee.’
She jumped to her feet and headed towards her daughter, glancing over her shoulder, a tingle running down her spine. Outside on the landing a floorboard creaked before footsteps descended the staircase at speed.
Whoever it was had been watching them.