Ellen swung around the corner again on her third lap of the block; parking around Emma’s place was always a nightmare.
‘Someone’s coming out up there, Mum,’ Kate said, pointing further up the street.
‘Well spotted.’ Ellen accelerated, pulling up behind a four-wheel drive manoeuvring its way out of the space. It would leave plenty of room for her modest hatchback. She positioned herself for a reverse park, but as she started to back in, the car stalled.
‘Damn,’ she said under her breath. She started the ignition again and the engine rattled back to life. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with this car, it’s running so rough,’ she said, backing into the spot. ‘I’m going to have to book it in for a service and get it checked out.’
Ellen sighed inwardly, mentally counting the likely cost. Everything seemed to be breaking down lately. An element had blown on the stove, and she hadn’t had the chance to replace it; besides, she figured they could do without it for a while. Same with the microwave that had decided to die the following week. But when the washing machine refused to drain water, she had no choice. She rang up the local repairer and was shocked to discover it would cost ninety dollars just to get him in the door. She felt like asking him to do a tap dance on the threshold for that kind of money. Three hundred and eighty-five dollars and a new pump later, her washing machine was working again, and then the toilet sprung a leak, necessitating an emergency callout from a plumber, and the resultant extortion. Ellen mentioned it to Tim when he was picking up Sam one Friday afternoon.
‘Mm,’ he murmured disinterestedly. ‘I just got my first electricity bill. Bit of a shock. Airconditioning must be expensive to run.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t know, we don’t have airconditioning, remember?’ Ellen said tightly. ‘Which is just as well, because with my luck it would break down. But then again, being a luxury, I’d just do without it, like I’m doing without a whole lot of things these days.’
‘We knew this wasn’t going to be cheap, Ellen,’ was all he had to say to that.
‘Yes, I know,’ she returned. ‘But you’re renting, Tim, you don’t have to worry about maintenance costs.’
‘Well, I do actually, I pay maintenance for the kids. That’s calculated to cover a share of all that.’
She hated this, hated the constant negotiations, the forced politeness. She no longer had any right, apparently, to tell Tim that something needed to be done, or paid for, and he seemed to be deriving a certain amount of pleasure from her diminished power. He didn’t seem to understand, or care, that she wasn’t asking for anything for herself; Ellen was doing without, across the board. Everything was for the kids, or for the house, and as the kids lived in the house most of the time, really, it was all for the kids.
But Tim had changed. Almost overnight he had become quite profoundly self-centred; he had his own life now and everything and everyone else came second, or so it seemed. Ellen had never expected that. The preceding years had not been happy ones, for either of them. Sticking it out in a loveless marriage was not for the fainthearted. At times it had been positively gruelling, to say the least. But Ellen hadn’t been able to bring herself to make the break any sooner because of the kids. She had been blessed with the happiest of childhoods; she had witnessed real, abiding love between her parents, and had grown up with the kind of security that that provides. She had always hoped to give her children the same.
So when she fell pregnant at nineteen, there was no choice but to marry Tim. Not that she didn’t want to at the time – in truth, she didn’t think about it all that much. She was pregnant, he was prepared to marry her, so that’s what they did. She loved him as any nineteen year old loved her boyfriend; without any real perspective of life, the future, even of herself.
Babies took up all their focus for those first few years, and Tim was a good father, it had to be said. He changed nappies, got up in the middle of the night, whatever was required. Ellen thought she’d hit the jackpot, and she boasted as much to her friends who complained that their husbands never did anything, except pester them for sex at the end of a long, tiring day caring for small children. Ellen was glad Tim didn’t pester her, but she didn’t boast about that. It took quite some years, once the kids had started school and their life settled down into a more predictable routine, for Ellen to realise that Tim wasn’t really present. He was operating on some kind of autopilot, reacting or responding automatically to his surroundings without really being engaged. And their sex life didn’t pick up, despite the fact the kids went to bed at a civilised hour and slept right through the night.
Ellen began to think there was something wrong. She got hold of some books on the subject and they confirmed her fears. One of the major sources of conflict for married couples was a mismatched desire for sex – men almost exclusively wanted more than their wives did. Men who didn’t want sex were barely mentioned in the literature. Ellen began to doubt herself, her attractiveness, whether Tim even loved her any more. Was it her fault, had she put him off too many times when the kids were babies? Maybe she wasn’t any good at it. How would she know? Ellen didn’t even know if she liked sex that much, she felt she hadn’t really had a chance to try it out enough to see.
It came to a head when finally, on their tenth wedding anniversary, they had their first weekend away alone, ever. The kids went to stay with their grandparents and she and Tim went to stay in a flash hotel in Terrigal. They checked in late morning, and though the room was luxurious and inviting, Tim was keen to get out and enjoy the day. Ellen was okay with that; sex in daylight hours might be a bit of a leap at this stage.
So they enjoyed a pleasant couple of hours on the beach, and then lunched in an overpriced café, the kind they would never have stepped foot in with the kids in tow. Tim had a light beer and Ellen indulged in a glass of champagne. They were both definitely unwinding, and Ellen started to feel hopeful about the evening ahead. When Tim announced he could do with a nap, Ellen harboured the small hope that he was making a veiled suggestion – which was dashed when they returned to their hotel room and he promptly fell asleep. She consoled herself that it was difficult to break the habits and routine of years; certainly their entire married life had not allowed for spontaneous sex in the middle of the afternoon. She just had to be patient.
They went out to dinner and talked about the kids and work and the food, all very amiable but not very romantic. Ellen wanted to lead the conversation into more intimate territory, but realised she had no idea what to say. You don’t just blurt out in the middle of your entree, ‘Are you satisfied with our marriage? Are you satisfied in bed? Do you love me?’
Back in their room, with a few glasses of wine under her belt, Ellen picked up the nightgown she had bought specially for the occasion, and headed for the bathroom. When she slipped the slinky nightie over her head, she sighed, lamenting the shape of her body. It didn’t sit right under the unforgiving fabric, with no underwear to smooth things out and keep things in. And hold things up – her breasts just sagged. She adjusted them into place and tightened the straps. That was a little better, at least she had a cleavage now instead of a chasm. She pulled a brush through her hair and fluffed it out a bit, squirted some perfume in strategic locations, sucked in her stomach and opened the bathroom door.
Tim was sitting in the one single armchair in the room, staring fixedly at the telly, clutching the remote.
‘Hi,’ she said, hoping he’d only turned it on to fill in time.
‘Hey, I’ve always wanted to see this movie,’ he returned without so much as a glance in her direction. ‘How lucky that it’s on here!’
Ellen’s heart dropped in line with her breasts. She couldn’t demand he switch off the TV and ravish her, that was hardly the point. Maybe she had to give him more time, not put the pressure on. She got herself a mini bottle of wine from the fridge and poured the contents into a glass, before draping herself across the bed. Little or no conversation passed between them at all for the next hour and a half, except for Tim making the occasional remark about the amusing regional ads. Meanwhile Ellen made her way through half the contents of the minibar, eventually even succumbing to a chocolate that she didn’t really want, and which probably cost what ten of the same would in a supermarket. But she didn’t care, she was becoming quite thoroughly pissed off with the whole scenario. Finally the interminable film ended and Tim got up from the chair. ‘Do you want me to turn it off?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, through gritted teeth, ‘I want you to turn it off.’
He didn’t seem to notice. He walked into the bathroom and presently she heard the toilet flush, the water running in the sink, the brushing of teeth. He reappeared and went around the room turning off all the lights. Then he changed in the near dark and made his way to the bed, slipping in under the covers. Ellen gave him the benefit of the doubt that, in the dark, he hadn’t realised she was still lying on top of the covers. She got up and threw them back, startling him, before dropping down onto the mattress beside him.
‘Happy anniversary,’ she said, lurching across to kiss him.
Thank God he responded or Ellen didn’t know what she would have done. But the sex that followed was perfunctory at best. Not a great deal of foreplay, just enough to get the motor running, and it was all over in about ten minutes. He rolled off her and lay flat on his back. Ellen turned on her side and nestled her head on his chest. ‘I love you,’ she said.
‘Love you too,’ he replied.
They lay that way for a while longer, until she heard his breathing settle into a steady rhythm. He made a couple of grunting noises and shifted, bringing his arm up and over her. She shrunk out of his way and he rolled straight over, his back to her. Ellen lay in the dark, as tears slowly filled her eyes, brimming over to slide down her cheeks. This couldn’t be right, this couldn’t be normal.
She slept fitfully, and when she woke in the morning, feeling groggy and washed out, Tim wasn’t in the bed beside her. She could hear the shower running. She’d had enough, they had to find a way to connect, they would be home with the kids again in just a few hours and the opportunity would be lost.
Ellen got up out of bed and walked across to the bathroom door to open it. But it was locked. What? She knocked.
‘Can I come in?’ Ellen said through the door.
‘Nearly finished,’ he called back.
She felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. What was going on? This was not the way a couple behaved on their tenth anniversary weekend away, or any weekend alone together for that matter.
Ellen was sitting composed at the end of the bed when Tim emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed. He’d obviously taken his clothes in there with him.
‘Why did you lock the door?’ she accused.
He just shrugged. ‘Force of habit, I guess.’
Maybe that was fair enough, they did tend to lock the door now that the kids were older.
‘Well,’ Ellen continued, ‘then why didn’t you open it when I asked if I could come in?’
‘I was all covered in soap,’ he declared.
‘So?’ Ellen countered. ‘I could have helped you rinse it off.’
He looked a little uncomfortable at that idea.
‘Is there anything wrong?’ she asked, trying to soften her tone.
He turned away, tossing his toiletries bag into the suitcase.
‘Tim, I asked you a question.’
He didn’t look at her. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘I don’t understand what’s going on here.’
He turned around. ‘Nothing’s going on.’
‘Exactly.’
He frowned. ‘What are you getting at?’
‘Tim,’ she said, standing up, ‘we’re away for a weekend alone and you lock yourself up in the bathroom. That’s not normal.’
‘I didn’t “lock myself up”, you’re making it sound weird. Locking the bathroom is completely normal at home.’
‘But we’re not at home,’ she persisted, her voice rising. ‘We’re staying in a beautiful hotel, we don’t have to check out till eleven. What’s your hurry?’
‘I just wanted to make the most of the day,’ he shrugged. ‘And you don’t think lying in together might have been making the most of our time?’
‘I can’t sleep in late like you.’
She groaned. ‘I’m not talking about sleeping!’
Now he looked outright embarrassed.
‘Well?’ she persisted.
‘Jeez, Ellen,’ he said. ‘We had sex last night, and we never have sex in the morning. How am I supposed to know that’s what you wanted all of a sudden?’
It was no use. She didn’t have it in her to keep arguing the point while he kept evading it. She waited a few days and brought it up again. When she said she couldn’t go on like this, Tim was mystified.
‘You’re making such a big deal about this,’ he said. ‘If I’d known it was so important to you, I would have had sex with you that morning.’
‘That’s not the point, Tim.’
‘Then what is the point?’
‘We hardly ever have sex!’ she declared.
‘You don’t seem interested,’ was his comeback.
Ellen blinked. ‘How would you know? Have you suddenly become a mind reader? I mean, you don’t touch me, you don’t come near me, you’re not affectionate. You hardly ever initiate sex.’
‘You don’t either,’ he accused.
She felt like screaming. But instead she just said, ‘Fine, then don’t you think we need to do something about it?’
She suggested counselling, but Tim was reluctant, refusing to acknowledge the problem, or at least that it was such a big deal. But it had been said out loud now, and Ellen wasn’t going to let them settle back into the same rut. She gave him an ultimatum, and he was eventually persuaded that he didn’t have a choice.
That was the beginning of the end. Tim was noncommunicative in the counselling sessions at first, but thankfully they had an excellent counsellor who was eventually able to get him to open up.
Ellen was well aware that Tim’s family was cold and distant and not given to open displays of affection. But she had never realised just how deeply he had been affected. He said he couldn’t ever remember being told he was loved. He recounted cruel punishments, dispassionately administered, which would be considered abuse in anyone’s language these days. Slowly Ellen watched her husband open up, admitting how much it had hurt, how much it hurt still, and finally in the middle of a counselling session he broke down sobbing.
Ellen saw it as a major breakthrough, but before their next session Tim sat her down and told her he was through with counselling, he didn’t want to deal with all that, he couldn’t, it was too hard. He begged her not to make him. He was like a child. And Ellen feared that’s exactly where he was stuck, emotionally.
So they stopped the counselling, and things deteriorated from there. They couldn’t go back to where they were before, but Tim didn’t have either the will or the skills to work on their relationship. The sex, or lack of it, was only a symptom. There was no genuine intimacy, no real connection between them. Eventually the writing on the wall was as plain to him as it was to Ellen. Their marriage was surviving on life support, but there was no hope for the long-term, and eventually someone was going to have to pull the plug.
Ellen locked the car and tucked her arm through Kate’s as they walked up the street. ‘So, this should be fun,’ she said brightly, not really believing it herself, but she didn’t want Kate to realise that. ‘Are you excited?’
Kate shrugged. Nothing much seemed to excite her daughter these days. She had settled into uni without any apparent drama, but she didn’t tell Ellen much any more. They used to talk about everything, share everything, but Kate had become a bit of a closed book lately. She was particularly spiky whenever mention of her father was made, even though Ellen went to great pains to make sure she didn’t say anything negative.
‘He’s fine, he seems okay’ was about as much as Ellen could get out of her when she asked after Tim. And Sam wasn’t any better. If she had any questions about a weekend with his dad, he seemed reluctant to divulge details. Ellen didn’t know why everyone had suddenly got all cagey on her. This was an amicable, mutual separation. She sincerely hoped Tim was holding up his end and wasn’t putting her down when she wasn’t around to defend herself. But she seriously didn’t think he would do that. What Ellen feared was that, despite all her efforts, her family was falling apart in front of her eyes.
They arrived at Emma’s building and caught the lift up to her apartment.
‘You’re the first to arrive,’ Emma declared happily, when she opened the door. ‘Look at you, Kate, you get more gorgeous every time I see you.’
Kate shrugged her shoulders, clutching at her arms self-consciously. ‘No I don’t.’
‘Oh, you just don’t realise how beautiful you are,’ Emma gushed, scooping her arm around her niece and drawing her inside. ‘Wait till we have you all gussied up for the wedding, you’ll see. I really think the cinnamon is going to be your colour, Kate, with those highlights in your hair.’
‘I don’t have any highlights,’ said Kate.
‘Oh, I’m sure I’ve noticed highlights in your hair in the sun,’ she scoffed. ‘And if not, my hairdresser will give you some,’ she added with a manic laugh.
They entered the vast living room, where three long racks of plastic-shrouded dresses were lined up against the wall. One was all in tones of grey and silver – the ‘pewter’ Ellen assumed – and the next appeared to be the ‘cinnamon’ shades. The third rack held a range of jewel colours.
‘You have actual dresses?’ said Ellen. ‘I thought you were just going to try the girls up against the fabrics?’
‘I know,’ said Emma with a cat-that-got-the-cream look. ‘But I realised we wouldn’t get the full effect. I was able to scrounge these from various designers, they were only too happy to help. The wedding’s likely to get at least some press, so they’re not about to knock back a little free publicity. Besides, this way we can kill two birds with one stone and get some idea of a style that will suit each of the girls. I’ve already decided I’m not dressing them identically.’
‘Oh?’ Ellen remarked. ‘The bridesmaids won’t be wearing the same style dress?’
‘It’s so passé, Ellen.’ Then she winced. ‘Of course it was fine in your day,’ she added quickly.
Her day? There were only two years between them! Though, Ellen had to admit begrudgingly, there would be nearly twenty years between their wedding dates.
‘So, what do you think, Kate, aren’t these cinnamon shades divine?’ Emma drew Kate over closer to the rack, holding a dress up against her. ‘I can see you in this, I really can. But then Cara is so dark, with that porcelain skin, and I’m sure the pewter is going to suit her best. Thus my dilemma!’ she declared, dropping the dress so it swung back into line. ‘But, never fear, we’ll sort it out tonight. That’s why we’re here.’
She stepped backwards with a sweep of her hand, like a game-show hostess. ‘Over here I’ve gathered up a few samples in stronger, complementary colours as well. Just between us, I’m a little worried about Tayla. Unfortunately she’s got her mother’s pasty colouring, and I’m not sure she can pull off the cinnamon or the pewter. Emeralds and sapphires and rubies could all work in contrast, but what with different styles of dresses, I don’t want things to start looking hotchpotch, as though a few stray guests have wandered amongst the bridal party.’ She laughed that same manic laugh as before.
The intercom buzzed. ‘Oh wonderful, more arrivals! You two go ahead and browse away.’
Ellen and Kate glanced at each other as she swanned off.
‘Is she on drugs?’ asked Kate. ‘She’s so wired, she’s hardly stopped to take a breath.’
Ellen grinned. ‘She’s just very excited. Your Aunty Em has waited a long time for this.’
‘I don’t know why she’s bothering,’ Kate muttered. ‘Such a waste of time.’
‘At least this is better than being dragged around shopping all day.’
‘No, I mean the whole thing, the wedding. It’s just a big waste of time, money and effort.’
‘You don’t have to do it on such a grand scale.’
Ellen looked at her. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I’m never getting married,’ Kate said flatly.
‘Why do you say that?’
She pulled a face. ‘Why do you think?’
Ellen opened her mouth to say something, but Kate turned away, running her hand along the rows of dresses as she walked the length of the racks. Ellen sighed. This was exactly the type of thing that had weighed on her – that the kids would get the wrong idea about marriage and commitment if their parents broke up. Well, what did she expect? Still, Ellen wanted them to be able to recognise that she and Tim didn’t have regrets, and that there had been good times. That sometimes in life you have to dive in, hoping for the best. But if it doesn’t work out the way you plan, you have to be flexible, even courageous enough to move on. She wanted her children to regard marriage as a positive thing, a challenge but not a trap.
God, that was so convoluted she was making her own head hurt.
She peered closer at the tags on the dresses. Anthea Crawford . . . Lisa Ho . . . Colette Dinnigan . . . Cripes, how was she going to be able to afford this? And if the ‘press’ was going to be involved, Ellen knew her sister would be pulling out all the stops. No expense would be spared, which was fine for Emma, but Ellen didn’t want to have to take out a loan so Kate could be part of the bridal party.
Evie arrived with Tayla, who made up for her so-called pastiness with unbridled enthusiasm for everything she laid her eyes on.
‘Oh, Aunty Emma,’ she gushed, ‘they’re all so beautiful.’
Ellen kissed Evie hello. ‘You look –’
‘You’ve lost weight, haven’t you?’ Emma broke in.
Evie shrugged, her head down. ‘Maybe, a little.’
‘Well, you look great,’ Ellen said reassuringly. Though she noticed her younger sister’s eyes were sunken and dull. She hoped she wasn’t on one of those crazy diets.
The intercom buzzed again and Blake’s sister was next to arrive. ‘You’ve all met Cara,’ Emma announced, escorting her into the living room.
Cara refrained from kissing anyone, she just nodded her head at the assembled group. Sloe-eyed and slender, with sleek black hair cropped close to her head, she oozed a languid kind of glamour; she looked like the girlfriend of a rich gangster in the thirties.
‘I think it’s time to open the champagne!’ Emma declared. ‘We’re still waiting on Liz, but who knows how long she’ll be?’
‘I’ll be out on the balcony,’ said Cara in a tone that suggested she was already bored, ‘having a cigarette.’
Liz actually turned up not long after the champagne was popped, and by the time Emma refreshed their glasses, everyone was beginning to loosen up, even Cara.
‘I’m sorry, Emma,’ she said, ‘but I don’t wear brown.’
‘It’s cinnamon,’ Emma corrected her, keeping her tone upbeat. ‘I actually think it might look stunning against your complexion, Cara. But nothing’s been decided yet. That’s why we’re here.’
‘I’ll try the grey Wayne Cooper.’
‘Pewter,’ Emma stressed, as Cara plucked a hanger from the rack and slithered off towards the bedroom. ‘Well then, why doesn’t everyone try the pewter first and we’ll see how we go?’
Emma busied herself checking sizes and passing out dresses. By the time Ellen followed Kate to the bedroom, Cara had already changed into hers, a slinky backless number with a fishtail hem. She looked breathtaking as she passed them coming out the door. ‘Room’s all yours.’
Kate coyly ducked into the bathroom to change as Liz, Evie and Tayla all filed into the room. Evie plonked down to sit on the bed with a sigh. ‘Okay, come here, sweetie, let’s get you changed.’
Tayla screwed up her face. ‘I don’t like this dress, it’s just grey. I want something pretty, like the red one out there, or the purple!’
‘This is Aunty Emma’s wedding,’ said Evie, her voice strained. ‘You’ll get to wear whatever colour you want at your own wedding, Tayla.’
‘Don’t be crazy, Mother, at my own wedding I’ll be wearing white. Don’t you know anything?’
Ellen couldn’t stand to hear Tayla speaking to her mother that way, but she bit her tongue, Evie looked miserable enough as it was.
‘Is everything okay, Evie?’ she asked.
She shrugged. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘You are eating properly?’ Liz added, coming to stand beside Ellen and folding her arms as she gazed down at Evie.
‘Of course,’ she dismissed, lifting the dress over Tayla’s head and pulling it down carefully into place.
Just then Kate stepped out of the bathroom. Her dress was incredibly simple, with shoestring straps and a filmy overlay, but it was so well cut, it fell beautifully over her tall frame.
‘My dress isn’t as nice as Kate’s,’ Tayla pouted.
‘Oh nonsense,’ said Kate, ‘you look very sophisticated.’
‘Do I?’ Tayla was impressed, though clearly she didn’t have a clue what that meant.
‘Yes you do, so come on, let’s go show Aunty Emma.’ Kate held out her hand and Tayla rushed forward to take it. Evie stood up wearily and followed in their wake.
Ellen flopped down on the bed, leaning back on her elbows. ‘Do you think Evie’s all right?’ she asked Liz.
‘No,’ Liz said, pulling her top up over her head. ‘She’s probably on one of those ridiculous diets, starving herself half to death.’ She slipped off her skirt and picked up the hanger, examining the dress. ‘Here goes nothing.’ She lifted the dress up over her head and started to wriggle into it.
‘Should we say something?’ Ellen wondered.
Liz adjusted the dress into place. ‘No, she’s a grown woman. Besides, you know it won’t last,’ she added, turning around. ‘Can you zip me up?’
‘Sure.’ Ellen sat up and felt for the end of the zip. It was sewn right into the seam, making it virtually invisible. ‘They really are gorgeous dresses,’ she sighed. ‘I just don’t know how I’m going to be able to afford all this.’
‘So tell Emma.’
‘I can’t,’ she said, sliding the zip up. ‘You know how she is with me, she’ll take it as a criticism.’
‘Then don’t worry about it, I’ll pay for Kate’s dress.’
‘I can’t ask you to do that.’
‘You didn’t,’ she said simply, turning around to face the mirror. The dress was a slim-fitting silk sheath with beaded detailing on the bodice.
‘Wow,’ said Ellen, shaking her head in admiration, ‘you look amazing. How is it that your figure hasn’t changed since you were in high school?’
Liz raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, it’s changed. You haven’t seen me starkers. And don’t forget I haven’t had kids.’
As the evening wore on, the girls tried on virtually every dress, and every combination. Cara even relented and tried on one in cinnamon, but she had been right all along, it didn’t suit her colouring. But the pewter didn’t do a great deal for Kate either, and it was simply drab on Tayla, despite the addition of various jewel-coloured sashes. And putting her in a different colour dress altogether did look a bit hotchpotch.
‘Oh, dear, I think I’m going to have to go back to the drawing board,’ Emma frowned, biting her lip. She eventually decided the only thing to do for now was to take photos of each of the girls and consult with some of her favourite designers.
This was going to be a long process.
Cara left as soon as her photo was taken, and straight after Liz excused herself to the balcony when her phone beeped to signal an sms message. When she came back inside she announced she had to get going.
‘Andrew, I assume?’ Emma said stiffly.
Liz glanced warily at her young nieces. ‘There’s nothing else we can do now, is there? And Cara is already gone.’
Emma shrugged. ‘I just thought we’d have a drink together . . .’
‘It’s a school night,’ said Evie. ‘I really have to get Tayla home.’
‘School night for me too,’ added Ellen.
‘And I’ve got a class at nine,’ said Kate.
Of course. Emma saw them all off at once. She shouldn’t have been surprised by their lack of interest, she hadn’t even been able to get their mother to come along tonight. Evelyn told her daughter it really didn’t have anything to do with her, and she was so busy getting the house ready for the auction. Besides, she said, it would be fun to get a surprise like everyone else, which made it crystal clear to Emma that she was not intending to be involved with the wedding preparations at all.
Emma sighed heavily as she went around the room, picking up discarded dresses and returning them to the racks. So much for bonding. She had put such a lot of energy into trying to make tonight fun, but all everyone had done was turn up to fulfil their duty and then hotfoot it out of here as soon as they had the chance. She brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye, feeling stupid, and disappointed, and hurt, yes, hurt, as she hung up the last dress and looked around the empty apartment.
Whenever it came up around other women that she had three sisters, they would carry on about how wonderful that must be – especially those who didn’t have sisters. It must be like having built-in best friends, they would say. But it wasn’t like that at all. Best friends would still be sitting here with her now, having a drink, as excited as she was about her wedding plans. But Emma wasn’t going to let it get to her. Blake was her best friend, her partner, now her fiancé. Ellen’s marriage was over; Liz was stuck on a man she could never have, and Evie was stuck with a man no one else would want. She wasn’t alone in the world. She was being silly. She picked up her phone and dialled Blake’s mobile.
‘Hi,’ she said when he answered. ‘The coast is clear, you can come home.’
‘Oh, already?’ he said. ‘We’re actually in the middle of something here, Em, I might be a while yet.’
Emma could hear noise in the background, the clinking of glasses, voices, faint music. ‘Where are you?’
‘We were hungry so we decided to continue the meeting over dinner.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well, I knew there was no hurry.’
‘No, of course, it’s fine.’
‘So I’ll see you later, don’t wait up though.’
Emma hung up the phone and slowly walked along the racks, lightly touching the dresses as she passed. She noticed the champagne bottle on the coffee table. Picking it up, she realised there was still some left. She dropped into the sofa and drank straight from the bottle.
When Liz let herself in through the door of her flat, Andrew had already made himself a drink and was sitting out on the balcony. He jumped up when he heard her and slid open the glass doors.
‘Stay there, I’ll grab a drink and join you,’ said Liz.
But he had already closed the door behind him. ‘I don’t have much time,’ he said, coming towards her and taking her in his arms. ‘I only hope Jen hasn’t decided to wait up for me.’
Liz always bristled slightly when he mentioned his wife, especially when he used the diminutive. It seemed too familiar, even intimate. But Andrew was kissing her now and thoughts of his wife rapidly faded into the background. She felt his hands sliding up under her top.
‘Whoa boy, can you give me a minute to catch my breath?’ she said.
‘I’d rather not,’ he murmured, nuzzling into her neck. ‘Breathless is good. Breathless is sexy.’
‘Andrew . . .’
‘Sorry,’ he said, lifting his head to look at her, a glint in his eyes. ‘I just miss you, it feels like ages.’
‘It’s only been a week.’
‘Eight days, actually,’ he corrected her. ‘Which is at least seven days too long,’ he added, leaning in to kiss her again.
And who’s fault was that? She didn’t know where that thought had come from. It wasn’t his fault, she knew that, she knew all the reasons, all the restrictions on his time . . . She was just feeling cranky tonight. She’d started to feel cranky at Emma’s. She hadn’t wanted to go; Andrew had phoned before she’d left the office to let her know he’d been called into emergency surgery and he’d already told Jennifer that he couldn’t say how long he’d be, thus giving them a window of opportunity. Immediately Liz was pissed off that she had to be somewhere else. But moments later she was equally pissed off at the idea of hanging around at home waiting for him. But when she arrived at Emma’s and she was pouring champagne and running around manically, Liz couldn’t help resenting being there. She resented that Emma was getting married, and that she would be the last sister left on the shelf.
Which was all very childish of her. She hadn’t been left on the shelf, she had the love of a wonderful man who was currently guiding her, gently but persistently, towards the bedroom, while he removed each piece of her clothing, and ran his lips over her bare skin, and made her forget, for now, what had made her feel so pissed off in the first place.
All too soon Andrew was sitting up on the side of the bed, buttoning his shirt.
‘Stay,’ Liz said impulsively.
‘What?’ he said, turning around to look at her.
‘Stay the night, say that the surgery had complications, it took longer, that you were too tired to drive home, that you slept at the hospital.’
Andrew breathed out, leaning over to kiss her lightly on the lips. ‘You know I wish I could.’
‘Why can’t you?’
He frowned. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’
He shifted around fully to face her, planting a hand either side of her. ‘Lizzie, don’t do this. This is not what we do.’
‘No, we just have sex and then you go home.’
He sighed. ‘What’s the matter?’
Tears were stinging her eyes. She blinked, she didn’t want to cry in front of him.
‘Nothing,’ she repeated, turning away from him.
Andrew curled in behind her, drawing his arms around her and holding her tight. ‘Talk to me,’ he said, close to her ear.
Liz swallowed down the lump in her throat. She didn’t behave like this; they both knew how things stood, she didn’t get petulant and needy. And she didn’t like herself when she did.
She cleared her throat. ‘It’s nothing, really. I must be premenstrual.’
‘This isn’t like you,’ he said. ‘Where were you tonight?’
She sighed then, shifting around to look at him. ‘I was at Emma’s, for the bridesmaids’ dress fitting.’
He stroked his hand across her forehead, moving her hair away. Then he kissed her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
That was the thing about Andrew, he knew exactly how she was feeling without her having to spell it out. And Liz had not a doubt he felt as badly as she did right now. They were so good together, so perfectly in sync that it made her ache inside. It was incredibly unfair that he couldn’t be hers, completely, all the time . . . Circumstances were to blame here, bad luck, bad timing. She knew he would be hers, completely, if he could. Liz didn’t doubt that for a moment. It was all that held her together.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said, kissing him. ‘I love you so much.’
‘I love you too.’
He held her for a while longer, then he got up and dressed, and inevitably, he left the apartment to go home to his own particular challenges. They were far worse than anything Liz had to face, she consoled herself as she turned around to the empty flat.