I think I prefer it when Jess pesters me. The silence this week has been unbearable and I’ve had a constant headache and palpitations, worrying what she’s up to. I’ve thought several times about contacting her but don’t want to seem as though I’m giving way, because I’m not.
By Saturday, I’m so tense I don’t react well when the girls tell me they’re not spending the afternoon with me, again.
“Well, I’m staying. Or don’t I count?” Rosie says.
“Of course you do.” She does come out with some silly things.
Vivian and Georgia are hovering near the living room door. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Vivian asks.
“Yes, darling.” I adjust the neck on my sweater, which feels too tight, restrictive. “It’s just that it’s been ages since we were all together. And Saturday’s our special time.”
We follow them out to the hallway, Rosie propping her foot behind her against the wall, examining her nails. “You know, M, you wouldn’t take this so badly if you had some friends of your own, instead of relying on us.”
“Hey!” Vivian flashes her a warning look.
“What?” She shrugs. “It’s only what you were saying the other day. Except you haven’t the balls to say it to her face.”
Sometimes they talk as though I’m not there. Vivian goes red, zipping up her coat.
“I have plenty of friends,” I say.
“Yeah, right.” Georgia steps into her wellies. “Let me see...that’s Miss No One, Ms. No One and Mrs. No One.”
I look at her in surprise. I expect this sort of thing from Rosie, who went through a lot as a child, but not Georgia. Doesn’t she have everything she could possibly want, or am I missing something?
“Shut up, Georgia.” Vivian rubs my arm consolingly. “Sorry, M. They don’t know what they’re talking about. Rosie’s—”
“No, you shut up. You’re such a suck-up.” Rosie scowls, marching from the hallway.
I take a moment to calm myself, looking at the wallpaper, a delicate floral pattern called Amelie that I chose purely because I loved the name. When Georgia was born, I couldn’t settle on a name for her so went with Dan’s choice—didn’t even consider Amelie until years later. Only I could do that.
Vivian smiles at me. “We’ll see you later, M. I’ll give Georgia a lift back from the stables.”
“Thanks, darling.” I kiss her goodbye, but can’t bring myself to do the same for Georgia, not after what she just said.
Back in the living room, Rosie is skulking by the window, watching her sisters as they unlock the garage. Her dungarees are very baggy, unflattering. “You know, you could always go out too, M, instead of moping around here.”
I’m very tired today. Sitting down on the sofa, I wonder whether it’s too early for a G&T.
She swings around to face me, hands in pockets. “You could phone Auntie Fiona. We never see her now...”
We’ve had this conversation so many times, I can’t be bothered to argue anymore. I’ve told her before that I wasn’t ever close to my sister. Rosie’s memories of her are from when I was a single parent and she helped out. She used to babysit, that was all.
“...She’s lovely, Auntie Fiona.”
I press my fingers to my temples, circling them, wishing she would stop. “You don’t even know her,” I say.
“And whose fault is that?” Her mouth twists sourly—a look I’m far more used to seeing on her face than a smile. “I don’t say this stuff because I like the sound of my voice or because I was born angry. It’s because it’s true. You need to take a long hard look at yourself!”
“Please just leave me alone, Rosie. I’m not in the mood for this. You’ve no idea.”
“About what?” She looks at me as though I’m speaking a foreign language. “Fuck this. I’m going out.” And she sets off to the hallway, clambering for her boots, thrashing around.
I cross the room to the window, watching her run after Vivian’s car. I’ve no idea where she’s going, and for the first time since becoming a parent, I don’t care.
I decide to make that G&T. Going through to the kitchen, I check my mother’s cocoa tin, just to see if the letter is still there. It’s strange I haven’t destroyed it yet. I don’t want to think about why that might be.
Sitting at the table, I think about what Rosie said about Fiona. I sit there for some time—until half my glass of gin is gone—before reaching for my phone.
Fiona answers to a chorus of dogs. She’s a veterinary assistant. Always crazy about animals, she never wanted children. It was one of the many things that set us apart from an early age, given my aversion to pets.
“Hey, Stef!” She’s always cheerful, I’ll allow her that. She’s not a bad person. It’s a shame we’re not close, but some people are just too different.
“Hello, Fiona. How are you?”
“Good, ta. And you?” Unlike me, she never lost her Midsomer Norton accent. Over the phone, she sounds like Shelley Fricker.
“Not too bad, thank you.”
She laughs, although I’m not sure why. Maybe she thinks I’m too starchy. “So, what can I do you for?” She always says this—her little joke.
“Oh, nothing. I was just ringing to see how you are.”
“Really? Oh... Right.”
It goes quiet, aside from the dogs.
“So, how have you been—I mean, really?”
“You been drinking, Stef?”
“No, of course not.” I push away the glass. “Can’t I call my sister?”
“Course you can. Whenever you want, you know that. It’s just that normally it’s never. Only Christmas and funerals.”
“Well, maybe we could change that... Why don’t you come over sometime?”
She laughs again, her voice high-pitched. “Uh...because I don’t think Dan would like that.”
“What? Why? Besides, you could come over when he’s out.”
She pauses. “Listen to yourself, Stef. Do you hear it...?” She sighs. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go. See you at Christmas, if no one dies before then.” And she rings off.
I’m not in the mood for lovemaking tonight, but several years ago decided there were times when I had to get on with it. That’s not to say I don’t draw pleasure from it; naturally, I do. It’s just that it would have been my personal preference to read a book or run a bath instead. Yet when I agreed to marry Dan, I agreed to allow him certain rights. Left to my own devices, I’d probably never do it again. And I’m sure millions of wives feel the same way, not that they would admit it. We’re all supposed to be highly sexual beings now, or at least declining it without apology. No doubt if Jess were a fly on my wall, she’d call it nonconsensual because I didn’t sign a form.
She’d also have something to say about what’s happening now, I would imagine. To the uninitiated, it might seem strange, over-rehearsed, but I’m quite used to it now. It begins with me standing at the foot of the bed, undressing for Dan while he lies there, watching me.
As I start my approach, the room feels crowded as Jess and Priyanka join me suddenly, distracting me. Crawling seductively across the bed toward him, just as he likes, I feel animallike on all fours, something that’s never occurred to me before. I know it’s Jess, judging me. And now Fiona’s here too, with her barking dogs.
Our lips meet, just as things become even more crowded, with the Waite women on the bed too. They look like their paintings—droopy, ghostlike—and for a moment I contemplate calling the whole thing off, but Dan absolutely hates that. I tried it not long after Georgia was born and never attempted it again. We had a huge row and he didn’t speak to me for a week.
“God, Stephanie, you’re gorgeous, you know that?” I make myself smile as he pulls me on top of him. It’s a smooth operation, never any fumbling because we both know the routine, and I don’t see what’s wrong with that.
My head feels a little achy. I drank too much gin this afternoon after my run-in with Rosie and then the conversation with Fiona, which threw me. I didn’t know she felt like that.
How does she feel, exactly? She didn’t say for sure.
I feel damp breath on the back of my neck, my palpitations returning. Nicola and Holly are leering from their canvases, smearing oily paint over me, telling me I’m letting them down, that I’m complicit in my silence. Jess is begging me, please, Steffie, and Priyanka is looking at me doubtfully with deep brown eyes.
My body is soaked with perspiration, but Dan reads this as excitement, flipping me onto my back, clenching his teeth. And I find it then: my off button. I’m no longer with him. I can’t see his face, can’t hear him above me.
I’m walking along the corridor, holding my mum’s hand. There’s a little pocket of blue sky above us, a gentle breeze flapping the bunting. I’m so happy. I’m taking her into a jewelry shop, buying her a beautiful sapphire.