by Nicola Marsh
Which makes what I have to do all the harder.
“What about you, Shelley?” Ellen elbows her cousin. “Do you have a joke to tell Gran?”
Shelley, as reserved as her mother, shakes her head. “The only jokes I know are dumb.”
“Why don’t you tell me one anyway?” I place my hand on Shelley’s shoulder, startled to feel the bones beneath her cotton sundress. At ten, Shelley’s in that prime tween age where girls can be introduced to eating disorders via peer pressure. I’ll have a word with Ria later.
Shelley screws up her face, reminding me so much of Grayson at the same age that my chest gives an uncharacteristic pang, while the other girls egg her on.
“Come on, Shelley. You must know some jokes.” Ellen pokes her in the ribs and Shelley swats her hand away.
“Okay. Here’s a good one.” Shelley glances around the table, ensuring she has our attention, before continuing. “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” Ellen leans forward, her eyes gleaming. She loves knock, knock jokes, the cornier the better.
“Cows go,” Shelley says.
“Cows go who?” Ellen’s eyes crinkle slightly, as if she’s trying to figure out the punchline.
“No. Cows go moo,” Shelley deadpans, before breaking into a giggle that warms my heart. My darling granddaughter doesn’t laugh often but when she does it dissolves the residual tension in my ageing muscles.
I despise my youngest son for abandoning his family and shirking his duties. He’d always been a wanderer, even as a child: walking in his sleep, exploring the neighborhood on his own, getting lost at shopping malls. I’d hoped Ria would be a good influence on him and that he’d settle down when they married. And when Shelley arrived I’d watched him grow into a devoted father. That had lasted five years before he’d taken off. I could’ve hired a PI to discover his whereabouts but the day he’d abandoned his family was the day he was dead to me. Family is everything and I can’t abide a child of mine shirking his responsibilities.
Since then, I’ve made it my mission to ensure Ria and Shelley don’t want for anything. Not that Ria lets me help much. She has her pride and I respect that. I admire her independence. But I’ll be damned if I’ll abandon them like Grayson did.
“That’s not bad, Shell.” Jessie, a year older than her cousin, can be snide like her mother one second, yet sweet the next. “I’ve got one for you. Knock, knock.”
Shelley idolizes her older cousin and leans forward. “Who’s there?”
“A little old lady.”
Ellen, who’s obviously heard it before, rolls her eyes and Jessie shoots her a scathing stare that channels Ashlin perfectly.
“A little old lady who?” Shelley asks.
“I didn’t know you could yodel.” Jessie grins and it takes me a moment to understand the punchline.
The girls fall about laughing and in that brief snapshot of time I’m happier than I’ve felt in ages. I need this. Not a party to celebrate my ever-increasing age, not a reminder of how dysfunctional my family is, not another gathering fraught with undercurrents and faux cheer, but this: my grandchildren and their innocence, untouched by the lies and secrets that drive the rest of them.
I blame Percy for this family’s failings. My husband died five years ago but he’d taught our children to be as manipulative and conniving and reticent as him. We may have secured the family’s financial fortunes for years to come when we married, but a day doesn’t pass that I ponder if I’d done the right thing in agreeing to be his wife all those years ago.
Ellen snuggles up to me. “What about you, Gran? Don’t you have any jokes to tell us?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you one, then it’s time to wash up before cake.”
The girls clap their hands and I continue. “What did one wall say to the other wall?”
They stare at me with wide eyes.
“I’ll meet you at the corner.” I bite back a smile.
The girls groan and I chuckle, accepting their embraces as they clamber over me, tickling and poking.
This makes it all worthwhile.
Every furtive move I make to control my family, this is why I do it, for my beloved granddaughters.
For their futures.
5
Ria
Justin finds me hiding near the conservatory. “Want to help me with the cake?”
Usually, this is the point I take my leave from Justin at a family gathering. His subtle flirting makes me uncomfortable. He’ll stand a tad too close. He’ll lock gazes with me a tad too long. And he’ll deliberately seek me out when no one else is around.
But today, residual bitterness against what Ashlin’s doing behind his back makes me return his broad smile and nod. “Sure, let’s get the cake ready and bring it out.”
His right eyebrow raises a fraction in surprise because I haven’t fled as usual, before he masks it with a wink. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you jump out of it.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s lame, even for you.”
He laughs, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes adding to his appeal. Justin Parker has the looks to back up his confidence. He’s six-two, with a ripped body from hours at the company gym—according to Grayson who’d worked out there too—a strong jaw, hazel eyes and a smile that can make women weak-kneed if they’re prone to that kind of thing.
I’m not but today I’m filled with righteous indignation that Ashlin cuckolds this man without compunction. He doesn’t deserve it. From what I’ve observed over the years he’s a loving, attentive father whose girls adore him. He attends every school event from sports days to ballet recitals, he ferries them around to weekend activities and he organizes special daddy-daughter dates that often make me feel inadequate for not doing more with Shelley. He also never says a bad word about Ashlin and stays by her side at functions, which I like, because it means his light-hearted flirtation with me is innocent.
Though I haven’t seen as much of that lately. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I saw the two of them standing together at a family gathering. Maybe Justin suspects his wife’s infidelity? Maybe he accepts it? I have no clue what goes on in people’s marriages, considering mine had imploded and I’d been clueless then too.
“Are you okay?” He touches my arm, the barest skim of his fingertips against my skin. It pebbles, the tiny goosebumps sending a message to my brain I should ignore: I like his touch way too much.
I’ve never acknowledged the subtle flare of attraction between us because I have too much respect for the Parker family. Justin is a married man, who happens to be my brother-in-law, and I’ll never mess with that.
“Just tired.” I don’t shrug him off like I usually would, allowing his fingertips to linger. I miss the touch of a man. “Pulling long hours.”
“What are you working on at the moment?”
I glance up and catch Christine and Ashlin staring at us from across the garden, and step away from Justin out of habit. His hand falls away and I immediately feel cold. “An article on security breaches for small businesses.”
And discovering way more than I should, via emails some lunatic targeting this family is sending me.
“Sounds interesting.” He leans in, too close, yet I can’t help but inhale, savoring the bite of his expensive citrus aftershave. It’s crisp and understated, inherently Justin. He doesn’t flaunt his wealth; he wears it like the finest cashmere. It makes him even more appealing. “But when are you going to interview me?”
That’s all I need, to be confined in an office space with a tempting man distinctly out of bounds. Not that I’d officially turn down the Parker Partnership if they asked me to do a feature on them. They handle billions and are a prominent company in this city but they’ve never asked me to write an article and I’m secretly relieved. Seeing Justin and dealing with this subtle attraction between us is hard enough when I see him once or twice a month surrounded by family. I have no idea how I’d react if we were in an office together, isolated, awa
y from the safety net of our family.
“When you can afford me,” I quip, pointing at the kitchen. “Now what about that cake?”
I don’t need the guidance but when he places his hand in the small of my back, I savor the illicit thrill of heat—knowing it’s wrong to yearn for things I shouldn’t but beyond caring. I’m in a weird mood today, aware of Justin in a way I haven’t dared acknowledge in the past. He’s incredibly sexy and dynamic, the type of man who commands attention and I struggle not to give it to him. It’s like a fissure has cracked my resistance and I’m not entirely sorry. I blame Ashlin. Discovering evidence of her betrayal, then seeing her callous indifference to my warm-hearted girl… if Justin wants to flirt with me today, too damn bad for her.
We enter the spacious kitchen and rather than drop his hand Justin splays his fingers across my lower back, branding me as his when he shouldn’t. The pressure of his fingers is firm and I’m aware of each and every pad, which is crazy considering there’s a layer of cotton between us.
I should move. Step away. Establish distance between us. I don’t. I lose all sense of time as we stand together, a good few inches between us but his palm connecting us in a way that’s unobtrusive to others yet has the potential to mean more.
I dare not look at him because I’m not ready to face whatever I might see in his eyes; and I never will be.
I hear the girls squeal from somewhere behind me in the garden and it breaks the spell. What the hell am I doing, lusting after another woman’s husband? This isn’t me. I must be feeling particularly vulnerable to let his ingenuous flirting get to me.
“I’ll get the candles.” I try to sidestep and for a second I think he won’t let me past. But he shrugs and his hand falls away, leaving me wondering if I imagined the whole thing. The cake is on the island bench, already set out on an exquisite porcelain stand. I carefully place a matching server alongside it and pick up the lighter when I sense Justin behind me.
The nape of my neck prickles and I resist the urge to rub it. He’s close and I grit my teeth against the urge to lean back a little.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
The question comes so far out of left field that I drop the lighter and it clatters to the bench. I can feel his heat again, like he’s radiating some kind of force field only I’m aware of, and I wish he’d move away. I don’t like feeling this befuddled. I’m a logical person who weighs decisions and values facts. I don’t feel flustered or acknowledge irrational attractions. What’s the point? I have an impressionable daughter to raise and Shelley is my priority. I haven’t had a relationship since Grayson. Which might explain why I’m standing in my mother-in-law’s kitchen, secretly enjoying the forbidden thrill of having this attractive man flirt with me. Sick.
“No, I don’t have time to date.” I inject flippancy into my voice in the hope he won’t hear the inevitable yearning that question elicits whenever anyone asks.
The truth is, I wouldn’t mind dating, to feel the rush of attraction again, to go through the ritualistic fun of flirting before getting physical. But between work and Shelley I don’t have the time or the inclination. I’ve had sex a grand total of twice since Grayson left me five years ago. Both had been at work Christmas parties, quickies in the nearest empty office that had barely scratched an itch.
I crave intimacy, the kind of closeness that evolves into a relationship. But I’ve become discerning since Grayson and shield my heart well. I need a strong, caring, funny guy.
Justin clears his throat at that moment, as if reinforcing what I need.
Someone like him.
“You’re a vibrant, intelligent, beautiful woman, Ria. You shouldn’t be alone.”
He moves alongside me, standing close enough that our shoulders touch, his low voice rippling over me, making me crave. I hate him for it. This can be nothing more than a game to him, seeing how far he can push the poor, pathetic, single sister-in-law. What does he think, that I’ll be seduced?
Screw him.
Unfortunately, deep down, I know that’s exactly what I’d like to do.
“It’s none of your business,” I say, managing to sound aloof and uninterested as I snatch up the lighter off the bench. “Why don’t you go outside and be with your wife and I’ll take care of the cake.”
“I haven’t been with my wife for a long time.” He sounds resigned, resentful, and I hate the tiny flare of hope his admission elicits. “Six months, to be precise.”
While I absorb the implication behind his words, he continues. “You’re lucky. At least you’re free of Grayson. I’m stuck in a dead-end sham of a marriage, for what? For the sake of appearances? For the precious bloody company? For the family? We’ve turned into one of those cliché marriages, sticking together for the kids and not much else.” He drags a hand through his hair, his expression tortured, while I resist the urge to embrace him and offer whatever comfort I can.
I have to admit a small part of me feels relieved, because his flirting has picked up momentum the last six months, corresponding with his lack of intimacy with Ashlin. So he isn’t a sleaze as much as a guy desperate for a little female attention.
Which his wife is freely dispensing elsewhere, according to those incriminating emails.
I wonder why he’s confessing all this to me now, while part of me is sad that this great guy is tied to a woman who doesn’t deserve him.
“Have you talked to her?”
His snort borders on a snigger as he gestures to where his wife is topping up her champagne glass for the third time since I arrived. “Try talking to her…” He trails off, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “I guess you know what she’s like.”
I want to ask, “Why do you put up with it?”
Instead, I settle for, “Why does she hate me so much?”
He takes a long time to answer, the silence becoming awkward, when he finally says softly, “Probably because I don’t.”
His honesty surprises me. We’ve never broached the taboo subject of the attraction between us. His light-hearted flirting and my witty comebacks are the only sign there is something more than familial obligation between us and even then it’s so sporadic I wonder if it’s real.
But Justin has just articulated the number one reason I assume Ashlin dislikes me and I can’t do a damn thing about it.
He has also admitted he likes me.
I’m momentarily buoyed—there is something between us—before reality sets in and my senseless hope deflates. Justin and Ashlin having marital problems has nothing to do with me. He’s still off-limits and will remain so forever. I know this. I’ve always known this. But it’s easier to deal with delusions when the object of my fantasies doesn’t admit how much he likes me too.
“We can’t do this.” I move away, putting some much-needed distance between us, voicing what one of us has to. “It’s wrong.”
“Yeah, I know.” His gaze locks with mine across the kitchen and something inexplicable, something addictive, arcs between us. My body buzzes with it, hyper-alert and attuned. “But you have no idea how I wish it was right.”
With my heart pounding in my ears and my body alight, I stalk out of the kitchen. Let him sort out the cake, and his life.
I can’t be a part of it, no matter how much I might secretly crave otherwise. I’ve worked too hard to lose everything now.
6
Ashlin
The Hippy rarely seeks me out so when Shamira ambushes me by the fountain I can’t hide my surprise.
“What do you want?” I sound snappish courtesy of the champagne buzz making my head ache. I’m not a lush but alcohol, and a lot of it, is the only way I can cope being around Justin’s family for more than five minutes.
“Hello to you too,” she says, her soft voice annoyingly melodic. “How are you, Ashlin?”
“Getting better by the minute.” I raise my champagne flute, biting back the rest, that a few more drinks might actually help me tolerate being stuck here with all of them.
>
Shamira laughs, a gentle tinkle that grates on my nerves as much as the patchouli fragrance wafting over me, and the tie-dyed purple kaftan mini-dress she wears with aplomb.
I hate the lengths she goes to in perpetuating this hippy lifestyle, every clichéd inch of her, and wonder how Trent hooked up with this bogus aromatherapist. Women like her will do anything to claw their way out of their pasts and I assume this peace-loving phony targeted Trent. He’s one of those harmless guys who are oblivious to everything but his adoring wife. Their mutual doting makes me sick and more than a little jealous.
When was the last time Justin looked at me with admiration, if ever? It’s silly, really, to expect that whole lovey-dovey thing when we’re matched so well in other ways. But I’m not a complete fool. I know Justin initially dated me because of my family name. We were the wonder couple of Chicago’s elite and everyone gushed. I’d basked in the attention but while Justin had been attentive and eager, he’d never looked at me the way Trent looks at Shamira.
I sip my champagne to dislodge the uncharacteristic lump of emotion in my throat. I’m annoyed that I’m jealous of this woman. I could confront her with what I know, meaning she’d back off and not come near me again, so the next time I get maudlin over the lack of romance in my marriage I’ll remember that.
“We need to talk.” Shamira touches my arm in a way that makes my skin crawl, a claw-like grip bordering on demanding, almost possessive. Like she has any right to be that way with me.
I snatch my arm away. “About what?”
Shamira darts a nervous glance around. “Not here.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, sounding like Jessie at her recalcitrant best. It surprises me how my eldest regresses around the Parkers, morphing from a smart-mouthed pre-teen to a young girl happy to play. That’s one of the reasons I make an effort to come to May’s soirees. Being around family makes my daughters happy and they are the one bright light in my sham of a life. I glance across to where they’re currently enraptured by their grandmother, horsing around with her and Shelley. Seeing their smiles, hearing their giggles, definitely makes being here worthwhile.
