Ellen

‘Oh not just yet, thanks, I’m waiting for my sisters,’ Ellen told the waitress who had come to take her order.

It occurred to Ellen that she had spent a good deal of her life waiting for her sisters. As the eldest she supposed that was her lot in life. Waiting for them to be born, waiting for them to start walking, talking, relating. Waiting for them to start school . . .

Then waiting for them to get ready for school every morning. By the time Evie started, Eddie was on his way, so the task of getting the girls ready and out the door fell squarely onto Ellen. Emma was the worst, preening herself in the bathroom for ages, even in primary school. And Liz was just perennially disorganised. She could never find her hockey stick, her flute, her debating notes . . . She did so many extracurricular activities their mum was always threatening to make her quit something. Only that was never going to happen. Liz was far too bright for their ordinary little public school, but their parents didn’t believe in private or selective schooling, so the best way to deal with their prodigy was to keep her busy.

It wasn’t so bad being the eldest though. Ellen knew people who complained about being the so-called test case for their parents – they were harder on the eldest, the younger ones got to do things sooner, you had to pave the way. But Ellen didn’t mind all that. Her parents hadn’t been so hard on her, and she was well aware of the privileges that came with her position. Not only was she held in her parents’ confidence, she enjoyed a level of rapport with them that the younger ones were not likely to experience, and there had never been any shortage of attention. Even after her siblings had come along vying for their share, Ellen had always been the first to do everything. She had always had the most photos taken, always had both her parents there in the audience on presentation day at primary school, right through to graduation day at uni. By the time Liz had started scooping the prize pool, Ellen hadn’t felt any rivalry at all; in fact, from her lofty position she had even been generous with praise. Her sister’s considerable achievements hadn’t detracted from the fact Ellen had still been racking up firsts – graduating from high school, attending her formal (which, incidentally, was the first thing to get Emma’s attention), and starting university.

She had also been the first to get married and have a baby, though unfortunately not in the customary order. Ellen had not graduated before the wedding, and while the ceremony did come first chronologically, five months later she had presented her parents with their first granddaughter, and a couple of years later, their first grandson.

Emma was still waiting for Blake to propose, but Ellen certainly wasn’t holding her breath. Liz was patiently waiting for the ever elusive day when Andrew would leave his wife, but Ellen wouldn’t hold her breath for that either. So it was Evie who had been next to follow Ellen down the aisle, marrying her childhood sweetheart when she was barely out of childhood herself. And although she started popping out babies straightaway, it still meant that Ellen’s two didn’t have cousins until they were in primary school.

The mere thought of her children now brought back the pain. She hadn’t expected it to be so physical, it felt like she’d pulled a muscle in her chest. This week had been the hardest week of her life, Ellen was sure nothing came close. Not even when Kate had had her first bout of croup and Ellen had been convinced she was going to choke to death right there in her arms. Or when Sam had fallen through a glass door and needed sixteen stitches. Since they were born, Ellen’s every waking moment had been about protecting them from harm, or sadness, or distress. Of course she had learned pretty quickly that this was impossible, but at least she could buffer it. Being the cause of it was something she had never imagined possible.

Now Ellen had to break it to everyone else. Over and over. She thought she had prepared herself, but in some ways telling people felt harder than actually going through with it. She wished she could just release a statement like a celebrity or a politician, and then leave everyone to gossip amongst themselves, construct their theories and form their own version of what happened. That’s what they were going to do anyway, no matter what Ellen told them. But still she had to go through that process of telling them. Over and over.

So that was why, after her children, her sisters were going to be the first to hear the news. Whatever they thought in the privacy of their own minds, they would still be her best advocates, they would be on her side. Even Emma, in her own way.

Evie was first to arrive at the café, Ellen spotted her flushed but smiling face searching for her through the front window. While the other sisters had remained firmly anchored to the inner west suburbs of Sydney, Evie’s husband, Craig, felt no such attachment. He was not about to live in a ‘pokey old house’, so after they married they had moved out past Parramatta to what had been a new subdivison at the time. So even though she had the furthest to come and three kids to organise, along with a husband who wasn’t much better, Evie was on time. She would have been up at the crack of dawn, thrown on a load of washing, dropped Jayden to cricket and arranged for someone to bring him home, organised Tayla’s activities – though, being January, Ellen supposed dance classes and the like were suspended, but for a ten year old that kid had a busier social life than most adults. That would leave only four-year-old Cody for Craig to ‘look after’. Evie had probably made separate lunches for everyone the night before – something special, because she would be feeling guilty about going out and leaving them all for a few hours on a weekend. She would have done her utmost to ensure nothing would be a hassle for Craig, and if she’d had any inkling that it was likely to be, she would have made arrangements for his mother to come over to ‘help’ or, in other words, take over for the day.

Evie’s smile broadened when she caught sight of her sister, and she waved excitedly. Ellen watched her as she bustled through the door, pink-faced and breathless, and then proceeded to bustle in and around the tables and chairs towards her. Evie was a bustler; she never simply walked, she always kind of trotted everywhere, always on the go. Despite this she had never really lost her puppy fat, except for a brief period in her teens, the result of some crazy unsustainable diet, the kind that only self-loathing adolescents and supermodels would be desperate enough to undertake. That was around the time she started going out with Craig, from the nearby boys’ school. They became engaged when Evie was in her final year of a childcare diploma at TAFE, and married six months later. Evie started eating again at the reception, and thus began her grand obsession with food. Her life was ruled by one overriding philosophical question – to eat or not to eat – and she spent her days counting calories, grams of fat or carbohydrates, or whatever was the unit of measurement du jour.

She bustled over to the table, squeezing past chairs, apologising profusely to anyone who made eye contact with her.

‘Hi,’ she beamed, lurching at Ellen to hug her. ‘It’s so good to see you! I was thinking the whole way here that we really don’t see enough of each other,’ she added, pulling back to look at her sister. ‘I know we’re all busy, and we don’t live so close now, but we really ought to make an effort to get together more often.’

Ellen smiled. ‘We should.’

They took their seats and Evie rooted around in her bag, finally retrieving her phone.

‘Do you need to call home?’ asked Ellen.

Evie shook her head as she glanced at the screen. ‘No, just checking for messages. I don’t need to call, Craig’s mum’s over for the day. I figured that way I don’t have to worry. And she loves to do it.’ She popped her phone back in her bag. ‘Did you see the cakes as you walked in? They look absolutely delicious!’ she squealed with delight. ‘I know I shouldn’t, but what the hell, I’m having lunch with my sisters, and that’s a special occasion, so I’m going to treat myself. If I have a salad without any dressing, and maybe just a bit of lean chicken, it won’t be so bad. And I’ll only have something light for dinner tonight.’

Just then Emma came into view, gliding past the front window, her filmy scarf floating on the breeze behind her, big dark glasses shielding her eyes so you couldn’t tell for sure if she was looking at her reflection in the glass. But Ellen knew she most likely was. She entered the café much as a celebrity might walk into a social function, posed, ready for the cameras. Ellen loved her sister, she loved all of her sisters, but sometimes it felt as though she and Emma had been raised in different families, even on different planets. The things that mattered so terribly to Emma were of little or no interest to Ellen, and Emma was well aware of it. Ellen did make an effort to take an interest, sometimes, when she could, but Emma always seemed to be on the defensive with her, and Ellen didn’t know what she could do about that.

Evie jumped to her feet as Emma marched over to the table in a cloud of scent.

‘Hi Em, isn’t this great!’ Evie exclaimed. ‘I was just saying to Ellen that we don’t see each –’

‘So Liz hasn’t turned up yet,’ Emma interrupted, leaning her cheek in Evie’s direction to receive her kiss while her eyes remained trained on Ellen. ‘I have rushed the entire morning to make it here on time, and now we’re going to have to wait around for Liz. As – per – usual.’

‘I’m not sure if she had appointments this morning . . .’ Ellen offered by way of excuse.

Emma shook her head as she sat down. ‘I had appointments too, and I still managed to be on time.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘This had better be important, Ellen, Saturdays are my only day for catching up on everything. I had to be at the gym at five-thirty so I could fit everything in. It was just as well I had my colour done last week so today was only a short appointment at the hairdressers, because my light therapy was scheduled for this morning and I simply cannot miss that. It’s not an option.’

‘Light therapy?’ asked Evie, frowning. ‘Are you depressed, Em?’

‘No of course I’m not depressed, Evie. Why would you say that?’

‘It’s just that I’ve heard light therapy is used –’

‘I’m talking about “photo-biostimulation”.’

Evie blinked. ‘Huh?’

‘It’s the very latest skin therapy,’ Emma explained. ‘And it’s incredible. It’s like a facelift, except it’s totally painless and noninvasive. I’m telling you, it’s better than plastic surgery.’

‘How does it work?’ Ellen was trying to sound interested, but she feared her inner cynic was showing.

‘It’s a machine,’ Emma began, ‘which uses different wavelengths of LED light to penetrate deep into the tissue of your skin.’

‘What’s LED?’ asked Evie.

‘We got some LED Christmas lights last year,’ Ellen offered. Emma ignored that. ‘It stands for light-emitting . . . something.’

‘Diodes,’ said Ellen. ‘I think that’s the term,’ she added apologetically when Emma looked annoyed.

Evie bit her lip. ‘Is it safe? It’s not like a sun bed, is it?’

‘Sun beds are perfectly safe,’ Emma dismissed. ‘You shouldn’t listen to all the scare mongering, Evie.’

‘People have died, Em,’ Ellen pointed out.

‘People have died driving cars, but no one’s suggesting banning them.’

That was typical Emma logic.

‘Honestly, we’re living in such a nanny state these days,’ she went on. ‘We can’t turn around without a regulation telling us in which direction. Adults should be left to make their own decisions about what they do to their own bodies.’

This from someone who made a living telling people exactly what to do with their bodies, their hair, their clothes, their makeup . . .

‘Anyway, Evie,’ Emma continued, ‘light therapy isn’t like a sun bed at all. It’s not about getting a tan, it works from the inside out.’

‘What’s the point of that?’ Evie frowned.

This’ll be good.

‘It stimulates natural cellular regeneration and repair.’

‘Oh . . .’ Evie looked more confused now. ‘How does it do that?’

‘I don’t know, I’m not an expert,’ said Emma. ‘But the results speak for themselves, wouldn’t you say?’

They both gazed blankly at her.

‘My facial tissue and muscle tone have improved out of sight. See how fresh my skin looks?’ Emma held her face up to them and they drew closer.

‘Mm,’ Evie murmured appreciatively, though Ellen knew she was only agreeing with Emma for the sake of it. Evie always tried so desperately to please.

‘And fine lines, well, you can hardly see them any more,’ said Emma.

‘You mean those ones around your eyes?’ Evie asked guilelessly.

‘But you have to look closely to even see them now, don’t you?’ Emma insisted.

‘It’s true, they’re very faint.’

Emma nodded, sitting back. ‘What did I tell you? Incredible. But the thing about it is you have to stick to the program for it to work. It’s scientifically designed, and you can’t fool science.’

But you can fool some of the people some of the time.

Emma glanced at her watch. ‘I wonder how long we’re going to have to wait for Liz? I really don’t know why we had to do this today, Ellen. If it’s about the anniversary party next weekend, you realise there is such a thing as email. Or even the phone. Besides, I thought we were pretty well organised, aren’t we?’

‘Well, I know I am,’ Evie piped up. ‘I’ve made five dozen mini quiches already, because they freeze really well. And I’ve planned my week for the rest. I’ll start Wednesday with the spicy meatballs, and Thursday I can do the cheese puffs.’

‘Evie, you do realise it’s being catered?’ Emma interrupted her. ‘I wouldn’t overdo it.’

‘I won’t, I’m only making my specialties. I’ve set aside the whole of Friday for the cake.’

‘What cake?’ asked Emma.

‘You know,’ she smiled coyly, ‘the cake.’

‘You’re not doing the cake, Evie. We discussed this.’

‘I don’t remember . . .’ Evie faltered. ‘What are you saying?’

‘You’re not doing the cake,’ Emma repeated. ‘Come on, Evie, this is not one of the kids’ birthday parties.’

‘No, it’s Mum and Dad’s anniversary,’ said Ellen. ‘And I think they would love one of Evie’s cakes.’

Emma groaned. ‘We discussed this.’

‘I don’t remember discussing it,’ said Ellen. Evie was shaking her head in solidarity.

‘We may not have discussed it in person,’ Emma maintained, ‘but I’ll have it on file.’

Now Ellen groaned.

‘I’ve been sending updates regularly, it’s not my fault if you girls don’t read your emails,’ Emma said curtly. ‘Anyway, it’s a moot point, I’ve already paid a two hundred dollar deposit to the patisserie –’

‘The deposit is two hundred dollars?’ Ellen gasped. She felt sick. They had agreed to go ahead with all the arrangements and work out the money afterwards. She realised that Emma didn’t know how radically her circumstances were about to change, but Ellen should have known that Emma would overdo things. She should have suggested a budget.

‘Oh chill, Ellen,’ Emma was saying. ‘The deposit was more than half, it’s only another hundred and fifty.’

Evie looked stunned. ‘The cake cost three hundred and fifty dollars?’

‘Congratulations, you can add up,’ said Emma. ‘Look, would everyone just get over this? You obviously have no idea how much an “event” cake costs these days – and I got a sizeable discount. I’ve used this particular patisserie before, given them lots of publicity, they were bending over backwards for me. Wait till you see what they’re going to do, it’s sensational.’

‘It’d want to be,’ Ellen muttered. ‘It’d want to have George Clooney jumping out of it for that kind of money.’

Evie stifled a giggle.

‘Oh, yeah right,’ said Emma, rolling her eyes. ‘George Clooney is going to jump out of a cake for three hundred and fifty dollars.’

‘Is he?’ said Liz coming up behind them.

Evie jumped to her feet. ‘Liz, we didn’t see you come in!’ she exclaimed, hugging her sister.

‘Where have you been?’ Emma accused darkly, as Liz bent to kiss her on the cheek. ‘God, you look awful, have you just got out of bed?’

Liz gave Ellen a wink as she dropped into a chair. ‘Yeah, I have actually,’ she said. ‘And I need caffeine desperately,’ she added, looking around for a waiter.

‘Well, that’s just great,’ said Emma. ‘You’ve been home having a nice sleep-in while we all rushed around to make it here on time.’

‘I was up all night at the hospital,’ Liz interrupted her. ‘I got home about seven this morning and thought I could fit in a few hours’ sleep. Sorry, I forgot to set an alarm.’

‘What kind of dermatological emergency has you at the hospital all night?’ Emma sniffed.

‘Skin cancer,’ she said bluntly. ‘A longstanding patient of mine. She’s been in the care of an oncologist, of course, but her family called me last night. She died at three this morning. She was only thirty, had two little boys . . .’

‘Oh,’ Evie sighed, reaching over to touch her arm. ‘Are you okay, Lizzie?’

She nodded. ‘I will be once I get some caffeine.’

Ellen raised her hand to attract the attention of the waiter. Liz wouldn’t want them all fussing over her. She probably wouldn’t have mentioned it at all if not for Emma’s carry-on. At least it had silenced her, for now.

When the waiter arrived at their table, it seemed practical to order their food as well. Ellen wasn’t really hungry, her stomach felt like jelly, but she ordered a sandwich so as not to draw attention. She didn’t know why. She was about to draw so much attention that what she ate was hardly going to be noticed.

The waiter left and Emma and Evie settled back in their seats, with a vague air of anticipation. Ellen met Liz’s eyes. She knew. She’d known what had been going on for some time now, and while Ellen hadn’t had the chance to talk to her recently, she could tell Liz knew what was coming. And she was glad for that.

‘So, okay, what else about the party do we need to go over?’ asked Emma.

‘I’m a little worried about final numbers,’ said Evie. ‘There’s been hardly any RSVPs.’

‘Girls,’ Ellen interrupted suddenly. She couldn’t stand it any more. ‘I didn’t ask you here today to talk about the party.’ She was surprised by the sense of foreboding in her own voice.

‘What is it, Ellen?’ Evie asked nervously.

She didn’t know why this was so hard, they were her sisters. They loved her.

The problem was saying it out loud. This thing that had hung over her for years was finally going to be out in the open. It should have felt liberating, but in fact it felt a little terrifying.

‘Ellen?’ Emma prompted.

She stirred. She wondered how long she’d been sitting with her mouth slightly open, poised to speak.

She cleared her throat. ‘I’m just going to say it, okay? Tim and I are separating.’

‘What?’

That was Emma. Evie just looked baffled. Liz sat forward, slipping her hand over Ellen’s.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Evie.

‘You’re separating. You and Tim. You’ve got some issues you’re working through, you’re getting counselling,’ Emma rattled off, as though she was going through a checklist of facts. ‘This is one of those trial things.’

Ellen blinked. ‘No . . . no, it’s not a trial. It’s for real.’

‘So you’re getting a divorce?’

Evie gasped audibly.

‘No.’

‘So you might get back together?’ Emma persisted.

‘We’re not getting back together.’

‘But you’re not getting a divorce?’

‘God, I don’t know, Emma,’ Ellen groaned. ‘I haven’t thought that far yet.’

‘Well, I’m just saying, this seems to have come out of the blue, yet you’re so certain it’s for real, but at the same time you’re saying no divorce.’

‘I’m not saying anything, Emma,’ Ellen almost snapped. ‘Only that we’ve separated. Can we take one thing at a time?’

Emma shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to make sense of it.’

‘Then why don’t you drop the inquisition and give her a chance to explain?’ Liz suggested.

‘Fine.’ Emma sat back again, folding her arms.

‘What happened, Lenny?’ said Evie in a small voice, her eyes wide. ‘Is there . . . is there someone else?’

‘Come on,’ Emma sniggered, ‘we are talking about Tim.’ Then her eyes narrowed. ‘Or is it you . . . Are you having an affair, Ellen?’

‘No,’ she insisted. ‘There’s no one else involved. No one did anything wrong. We just . . . fell out of love.’

‘What, just like that?’ Evie asked, tears welling in her eyes. ‘This is so sudden.’

‘But that’s the thing, Evie, it’s not sudden at all,’ Ellen started to explain. ‘This has actually been coming for a long time.’

Evie was shaking her head, bewildered. ‘I don’t understand. You two have the most amazing, solid marriage.’

‘Apparently not,’ Emma muttered.

‘You’re like . . . the model couple.’

‘Again – not so much.’

Liz looked at Emma. ‘Do you think that’s helpful?’

Emma shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this.’ She stared at Ellen. ‘It seems to me that basically you’ve been putting on an act . . . for how long?’

Sam had said something like that. ‘So our whole lives, it’s all been a lie?’ he’d asked. It had felt like a kick in the guts.

‘It wasn’t an act,’ Ellen defended. ‘We stayed together for the kids. Lots of people do that. But you can’t tell everyone that’s what you’re doing, that would pretty much defeat the purpose. Besides, we were still a family, just because Tim and I were no longer a couple didn’t mean we couldn’t function as a family. We wanted to wait for the right time, when it would have the least impact on Sam and Kate.’

‘And this is the right time?’ said Emma, raising an eyebrow.

‘Well, as close as we can get. Kate’s finished her final exams now, and Sam’s only just starting his senior years. I guess the most ideal time would have been to wait till he finished as well, but that’s another two years away and we weren’t prepared to do that.’

‘Things were that bad?’ said Evie.

‘No, we don’t hate each other or anything,’ Ellen assured her. ‘Actually, once we sorted out how we felt, and accepted the fact it wasn’t going to last forever, we were quite civil to one another. We had nothing to fight about any more –’

‘You and Tim fight?’ Evie exclaimed.

‘Of course we do. Or we used to, when we had expectations of each other. When we stopped having those, we got on like polite housemates, courteous, respectful . . .’

‘Were you having sex?’ Emma asked.

‘Emma!’ said Liz.

‘What?’

‘I don’t think that’s any of our business.’

‘I’m only trying to understand all this. She’s saying they were like polite housemates. I don’t know many polite housemates who share a bed.’

‘We weren’t having sex,’ Ellen said bluntly.

Emma frowned. ‘So how long has this been going on?’

‘About five years,’ said Ellen.

‘You’ve gone five years without sex?’

There had been sex occasionally, when she’d had too much to drink, when she just wanted to be close to someone. But afterwards it always made her feel guilty, and even a little queasy, like over-indulging in junk food – all calories and artificial additives, no nutritional value.

‘Five years ago was when we started counselling anyway,’ Ellen explained.

‘You had marriage counselling?’ said Emma.

‘Of course we did. Do you think we’d get to this point without doing everything we could?’

‘How should I know? You got to this point shrouded in secrecy,’ she retorted.

Ellen sighed. ‘I told you, Em, it was for the sake of the kids.’

‘Still, I don’t understand how you could be going through all that and manage to keep it a secret. Didn’t you need to talk about it to someone?’

Ellen and Liz exchanged a furtive glance.

‘What?’ said Emma, her eyes narrowing. ‘You knew, didn’t you, Liz?’ she accused.

‘Did you?’ Evie blinked.

‘Why did you tell Liz and not us?’ Emma demanded.

‘I didn’t plan it,’ said Ellen. ‘It just came out one night, when we were having a few drinks.’

‘It just came out?’ Emma said dubiously.

‘I was complaining about how the world is designed for couples,’ Liz explained. ‘And that you don’t fit in if you’re not part of a couple and that’s why so many unhappy couples stay together . . . and . . .’

‘. . . and, well,’ said Ellen, taking up the story, because Emma was not giving any indication of letting them off the hook, ‘it just came out. I told her that Tim and I were one of those unhappy couples, but we weren’t going to stick it out forever.’

Emma frowned. ‘How long ago was this?’

Ellen glanced at Liz. ‘I don’t know. Last year?’

Liz shrugged. ‘Something like that.’

‘So she’s known all this time and you didn’t think you could trust us with it?’

‘It’s not that,’ said Ellen. ‘I just felt that it wasn’t right for too many people to know before Kate and Sam were told. What if something were to slip?’

‘So you didn’t trust us.’

‘For Chrissakes, Emma!’ Liz broke in. ‘This isn’t about you. Or me, for that matter. It’s about Ellen. Are you going to withhold your support because she didn’t tell you first?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then can we talk about what’s important here?’ said Liz. ‘Like how Ellen is coping, what she needs from us?’

Evie nodded. ‘You’re right, Liz. What can we do, Lenny? How can we help?’

‘I’m okay, really,’ she said. ‘It’s a completely amicable arrangement, and I’ve had a long time to get used to the idea.’ She paused. ‘I just wanted to tell you before I tell Mum and Dad.’

‘So they don’t know yet?’ said Evie.

‘No, you are the first to know, after Kate and Sam.’

‘And Liz,’ Emma muttered.

‘Let it go, Emma!’ Liz groaned.

The waiter arrived with their coffees and they sat in silent contemplation as she distributed them.

‘So when do you plan to tell Mum and Dad?’ Emma asked, stirring her coffee.

‘I’m going round there tomorrow.’

She looked up abruptly. ‘You’re telling them before the party?’

‘No, I’m telling them tomorrow,’ Ellen reiterated. ‘The party’s next weekend.’

‘I mean, you don’t think you should leave it until after the party?’ said Emma.

Oh, what now? ‘Why do you say that, Emma?’

‘This is their fortieth wedding anniversary. I think they deserve to celebrate it without the dark cloud of their daughter’s broken marriage hanging over it.’

Liz sighed loudly. ‘That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think, Em?’

‘No, I don’t,’ she said. ‘I think it could ruin it for them.’

‘Look,’ said Ellen, ‘I told you it’s all completely amicable. We’re not going to make it uncomfortable for everyone, so no one has to feel uncomfortable around us.’

‘Tim’s coming to the party?’ asked Emma.

‘Yes, he’ll come.’

‘Then who’s going to know the difference?’ she persisted.

Ellen hesitated. ‘Well, what about the kids? Are they supposed to act like nothing’s happened? Lie to their grandparents?’

‘Why would they have to lie?’ said Emma. ‘It’s not going to be a topic of discussion if you don’t say anything beforehand. And Tim’ll be there, so everything will be as normal. I think for the sake of Mum and Dad you could leave telling them till the week after.’

‘Tim will call in to the party,’ said Ellen, ‘but he won’t stay the whole time.’

‘Why not?’

She shrugged. ‘Because . . . that’d be weird.’

Emma groaned. ‘That’s what you think is weird?’

‘Stop!’

Everyone turned to look at Evie. Her eyes were glassy and her face was flushed pink.

‘This is a marriage we’re talking about,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘This is eighteen years and two children. It deserves some respect, not all this bickering.’

‘Here we are, sorry for the delay,’ the waiter chirped arriving at their table, her arms laden with plates.

Ellen sighed inwardly. Evie was right, she had hoped for compassion and understanding from her sisters, not sniping and bickering. No wonder she dreaded telling everyone else.

‘I can’t eat this salad,’ said Evie with a sigh.

‘Do you want to order something else?’ Ellen asked her.

She cast a furtive glance around the table. ‘Cake,’ she said. ‘I feel like a great big piece of chocolate fudge cake.’

‘Evie,’ Emma scolded.

‘Actually,’ said Liz, ‘I feel like cake too.’

‘Honestly . . .’

‘Good idea, we’ll all have cake,’ said Ellen, beckoning the waiter.