The Accident

by Dawn Goodwin

  Seated on Veronica’s right and directly opposite Felicity, Ian was clearly in awe of his hostess as he laughed at her jokes, complimented her endlessly and helped her to clear the table. He never paid his own wife that much attention, let alone cleared a table at home, and Felicity could feel her blood boiling over. She also noticed how Tom was constantly checking on Veronica, winking at her across the table, touching her hand as she leant across him to remove dishes, filling her glass when it was empty – and yet Veronica seemed oblivious to his attention and in some instances annoyed by it. She hoped as much anyway. Veronica would occasionally toss him a quick smile, but was certainly not paying him back in kind, from what Felicity could tell.

  Her temperature rose the further into the bottle of wine she fell. As they moved back indoors for coffee and homemade truffles – home-made for fuck sake! – Felicity felt unsteady on her heels, and her stomach now protruded with air and food as she tugged her dress down over her thighs. She noted the disapproving glare her husband tossed her as he followed Veronica like a puppy. Glancing around, none of the other wives looked as flushed and tipsy as Felicity felt, or as uncomfortable. She chose the armchair near the window in the lounge and flopped into it, still fighting with her dress.

  The subject of secondary school choices came up over coffee. A number of opinions were offered on the benefits of private versus state schools and whether the expense was necessary in such a middle-class town as this. Felicity knew that they could afford to send Tabitha to a private school if she went back to work, but was also aware that it would require many hours with a private tutor to enable their daughter to pass the necessary entrance exams. Veronica didn’t seem too concerned about this for Grace, who had always been a star student and model child, but no one else seemed to notice her smugness. Felicity glanced across at Tom as Veronica preached to the converted about the pros and cons of private schools, and noted the look of pride as he gazed up at her perched on the arm of his chair.

  Suddenly she wanted to wipe all that pride and smugness away. She wanted to scream at him that no woman could be so perfect. She was more mannequin than human. Felicity wanted someone to look at her with that much pride rather than looking at her with indifference, as Ian seemed to do lately. She reached forward in the chair to grab her glass off the coffee table, the angle of the seat making her lurch.

  ‘Careful honey, you’ll put someone’s eye out,’ Ian joked loudly. Felicity looked down and noticed she was showing more of her cleavage than was socially acceptable, the lace of her push-up bra exposed above the tight fabric of the dress. The men chuckled; the woman averted their eyes.

  ‘Nothing wrong with her, Ian. If I had a cleavage like that, I’d be showing it off too. I can’t fill anything, so I’m envious. Do you remember that time at uni when we went to that women’s rally and we had to wear your bras over our clothes because mine weren’t big enough?’ Veronica replied with a chuckle.

  Felicity wanted to crawl behind the chair and hide. Outwardly, she laughed it off along with everyone else, but as Tom gathered up the coffee cups and walked through to the kitchen, she saw her opportunity to escape and offered to help.

  She staggered out of the deep armchair, feeling like a hippo wading through mud, and picked up the milk jug and sugar bowl, both exquisitely hand-painted by Veronica of course. Her hands were unsteady and milk sloshed over the edge of the jug, leaving an opaque pool on the coffee table in its wake.

  In the kitchen, Tom was rinsing cups at the sink, his back to her, as she placed everything on the countertop.

  ‘That was a lovely dinner, Tom, thank you,’ she said, coming around the kitchen island towards him. ‘Here, let me dry those for you.’

  ‘Thanks, all V’s work naturally. I just turn up,’ he said, his hands busy in the water. He passed her a thin china mug to dry as she fumbled with the tea towel.

  ‘But you’re there to support her – she’s very lucky to have someone like you after all these years,’ Felicity replied. Even to her own ears, she sounded saccharine sweet.

  Tom looked at her with a slight frown. ‘Everything okay, Felly?’ Her old nickname didn’t sound so ridiculous coming out of his handsome mouth, especially when said with an Australian lilt, but then she’d always been able to forgive Tom anything.

  ‘Yes, yes, just… you know…’

  Tom passed her another cup and, as she reached for it, her fingers brushed across his and she felt a familiar ripple in her stomach, like butterflies taking flight. As her breath caught, her fingers slipped on the wet porcelain and she watched in slow motion as the cup tumbled and somersaulted before smashing onto the slate floor, just as a loud guffaw could be heard from Ian in the lounge, conveniently covering the sound of breaking china.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry – I didn’t get hold of it properly and it just slipped,’ she rushed out, warmth flooding her cheeks as she bent to pick up the shards at her feet, her dress riding high on her thighs.

  Tom knelt down next to her, saying, ‘Don’t be silly, just an accident.’ He began to collect small pieces of the cup in his palm.

  ‘I really hope this wasn’t an heirloom or anything. Is it replaceable?’

  ‘Really, it’s nothing. I told V not to use her grandmother’s china tonight, but as usual, she knows best.’ He rested a hand on her arm for a moment. ‘I’m kidding, of course. It’s just a cup. Be careful, you don’t want to cut yourself.’

  Her face was centimetres from his as they bent over the floor, hidden from the lounge by the large kitchen island. Her heart was hammering loudly in her ears as she watched his hands delicately picking up the fractured pieces. She’d imagined those hands doing all sorts of things over the years and she yearned to reach out and take them in hers.

  He stood up and turned away from her. A few of the bigger shards were still lying fractured on the tiles. She reached for one while watching Tom as he busied himself with tearing off pieces of kitchen towel to wrap the breakage in. She felt the sharp point of the china and, with her eyes still on Tom, slowly ran it along her finger.

  At first, she felt nothing. Then a burning sting took hold and she looked with wonder as a bright red line of blood pooled along the cut.

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Tom turned to see Felicity crouched and holding her bleeding finger up. ‘Now see, you’ve gone and done that on purpose to test my medical skills,’ he said gently, smiling into her eyes and taking hold of her hand so that he could inspect the cut.

  ‘No, I… er…’ she stammered.

  ‘Kidding again.’ He released her hand to reach up and grab some of the kitchen towel.

  Felicity had dropped to her knees and was holding her finger out obediently like a child as he patted at the blood. She raised her eyes and, taking a deep, contented, infatuated breath, leaned in and none too gently pressed her mouth against his. She was slightly off target and it was more of a crush than a kiss, with her tongue pushing and searching more into the corner of his mouth than inside. She felt his hands grab her shoulders and push her firmly away from him and her head bumped lightly against the cupboard behind her.

  ‘Whoa Felicity, what’s that about?’ he said, colour rising in his cheeks. His eyes immediately swivelled towards the lounge and he stood up abruptly.

  ‘I… just thought…’ Felicity answered, looking up at him in confusion.

  He crouched down again and said low and firmly, ‘No, Felicity, you didn’t think. Look, we’ve been friends a long time, the four of us. This – us,’ he gesticulated at her, ‘is not an option.’ He kept his voice low. ‘If you’re having problems with Ian, that’s your concern, but I love Veronica and nothing will come between us.’ Every word was a sting.

  ‘But she doesn’t appreciate you, Tom! Look at her, all smug, holding court over everyone in there – it’s you that pays the bills, works hard, puts in the hours. Does she really make you happy?’ she spat back, vitriol dripping from every word. Felicity pulled herself unsteadi
ly to her feet and tugged her skirt down a centimetre.

  His face was a mask as he stood up, but his eyes shifted towards the other room and this time she saw the tiniest hint of… what? Sadness? Defeat? Just as quickly, it was gone and he was steely-faced again, leaving Felicity to wonder if it had been there at all.

  ‘Look, let’s just pretend this never happened, okay? I’ll go and get a plaster for your finger.’ He turned on his heel, bypassed the lounge and headed upstairs.

  Felicity stood for a moment as embarrassment began a slow-fingered crawl up her spine. Then she heard the quiet click of a door and noticed Zara emerge from the downstairs bathroom in the hallway. Their eyes connected for a second before Veronica appeared from the lounge doorway.

  ‘Oh, is that blood? Did you cut yourself? Here, let me get you a plaster and clean up this mess before we have any more injuries. I think I only have Grace’s Hello Kitty ones, I’m afraid, but it’ll do the trick.’

  Zara returned to the lounge without saying a word.

  ‘Tom said he would get one from upstairs,’ Felicity replied quietly.

  ‘I don’t know why, he knows there are loads here,’ Veronica replied, reaching into one of the kitchen cupboards.

  Tom returned to the lounge ten minutes later and you would never have thought anything had happened. The shards of porcelain had been swept away along with the whole mortifying encounter, consigned to the dustbin. He immediately took up his place next to Veronica and was as polite and charming as before. Felicity felt physically sick to her stomach watching him – clearly a side effect of Veronica’s rich dinner more than anything else – and motioned to Ian that it was time to go. She felt relief as the cold air hit her face on the walk home, leaving behind Tom’s unreadable expression as he closed the door on them. She barely heard Ian waxing lyrical about Veronica’s hosting skills and cooking prowess; all she felt was a slow, steady ember of hatred smouldering in the pit of her stomach.

  *

  And look where we are now, Felicity thought as she wiped down her perfectly clean kitchen counters, all the while keeping an eye on the activity over the fence. Never would she have thought that a little over a year later, the fortunes of their two families would have changed so much.

  She picked up her mobile and dialled a number near the top of her recent calls. It rang a few times and she worried he wouldn’t pick up again. Just before she disconnected, she heard his deep voice and her heart skipped a beat like it always did when it came to him.

  ‘Hi Felicity. What’s up?’

  He’s obviously busy, but he answered my call, she reasoned with herself. ‘Hi Tom, are you busy? Can you talk a minute?’

  ‘I’ve literally got a minute.’

  ‘It’s just… I’m worried. About Veronica.’

  ‘Why? Has something happened? Is she okay?’

  She chose to ignore the concern in his voice.

  ‘Nothing has happened as such. It’s just that she’s acting strange, well stranger than normal anyway.’

  She heard him sigh. ‘Look, Felicity, I really am busy. I’m sure she’s okay. She’s made a new friend who she’s been spending time with and I think it’s doing her good.’

  ‘Well, between you and me, I’ve just seen her in the back garden bouncing on the trampoline and drinking prosecco.’

  There was a moment of silence on the line, then she was surprised to hear him laugh.

  ‘I wish I was there – sounds like great fun!’

  ‘Seriously Tom, it’s not her usual behaviour, is it? I’m worried.’

  ‘I know you are and you’re a good friend to her, but I think we need to give her some space to work through this herself.’

  That was not what she wanted to hear. She had been hoping for a distraught Tom to come rushing over to discuss what was happening, after which she could soothe him and offer him support, not for him to be amused by the news.

  ‘I think she knows about us,’ she blurted.

  ‘What? Did you say something to her?’ His panic was audible.

  ‘No, of course not, but it’s the way she’s looking at me lately. I can’t explain it. And I’ve told you before she’s avoiding me.’

  ‘You’re panicking about nothing. She’s just trying to come to terms with the accident, the trial is coming up, Grace’s birthday, this new friend distracting her. She can’t know anything. Surely she would’ve said if she did. Look, don’t let it worry you. Just keep an eye on her and she’ll slowly come back to both of us eventually. I really have to go now.’

  He disconnected the call.

  Felicity clenched her jaw in annoyance, biting back a scream of frustration as her headache leapt up a notch.

  Veronica

  ‘We should go out one night – margaritas and dancing or something,’ Scarlet announced a week later as we sipped a particularly cheeky mojito in the cool mid-afternoon. The sun was weak but shining, we were reclining in brightly coloured deckchairs, there was a faint breath of lavender in the air from the neatly pruned flowerbeds, and the clink of ice and tang of lime was certainly lifting my spirits.

  Going out. Apart from the odd daytime trip to the pub with Scarlet, I couldn’t remember the last time I had been ‘out’, even just for dinner with Tom. These days I was asleep by the time he came home from the hospital – or pretending to be. It was the way we both liked it.

  ‘Yeah, we could go out,’ I replied without conviction.

  ‘I’ve heard good things about the wine bar in town. There’s a dance floor – we could just let loose for a bit. Let’s try it – tonight!’

  ‘Um, I’d have to check with Tom first.’

  She looked at me unconvinced. ‘Okay.’

  We settled into companionable silence. Tom still hadn’t met Scarlet. I was careful to keep them apart, not wanting the reality of my domestic life to intrude on our friendship. Besides, Tom was hardly around these days. He was married to his job and we had become relative strangers, miles away from the people we were when we first met. In those days, I was studying a degree in social anthropology and had had grand dreams of travelling to exotic locations to live with forgotten tribes, with Tom by my side. As it turned out, he hadn’t necessarily shared my dreams of a life of adventure. We had settled down into married life soon after graduation and I abandoned my dreams of exploring the road less travelled to write lifestyle and general interest articles for a local magazine, while playing the role of the supportive doctor’s wife. Then along came Grace and our fate was sealed.

  Sometimes I would find myself contemplating how things could’ve been if I had given in to my wanderlust, packed a bag and embarked on a voyage of discovery to uncover an unknown civilisation somewhere. Just how different would I be? I would probably be more like Scarlet and the last year wouldn’t have threatened to pull me under. Perhaps I would’ve been better equipped to deal with it all; perhaps not. You don’t know how you’ll handle tragedy until it rears up in front of you.

  I turned my attention back to Scarlet as she lazily swirled the ice around her glass.

  ‘What’s your house like?’ I asked her out of the blue.

  She looked over at me thoughtfully. ‘What do you think it looks like?’

  The picture in my head was of a house full of bright colours and strange ornaments collected on her travels. Unlike mine, her youth seemed to have been lived in a variety of cities around the world as she travelled to unusual destinations, often on a whim and following whichever man was in favour at the time. She could talk for hours about the places and people she had seen along the way and I loved to hear her stories, whether they were true or not. There did seem to be an element of the fantastical about it – as though she was recounting what she thought I wanted to hear, but I didn’t mind. Her stories helped me to remember that there is a life out there to be lived – and perhaps one day I would start to live it again once I could remember how to breathe in and out.

  When I asked her once why she didn’t travel any more, she said
that she had started to crave a place of her own where she could lay down some roots. The main difference between us, apart from me having familial and emotional baggage, was that she had given in to her youthful dreams, while I had turned my back on them and chosen the safe option. I envied her international knowledge and experience, real or otherwise, but at the same time realised that we had both made sacrifices for our choices. She had given up the possibility of a husband and children, the clichéd place to call home, and the safety that comes with knowing you are not alone. Of course, that was ironic in itself since, although I was not alone, loneliness had become my invisibility cloak. I could safely say Tom and I weren’t friends anymore; just two people who shared a space. And Felicity… well… Scarlet was my friend now.

  ‘I imagine your home to be bright, cheerful, full of clutter and chaos, but where everything has a place. Loads of artefacts and souvenirs from around the world, and tons of books piled high. Oh, and an untouched kitchen,’ I added cheekily. That was another one of our differences: I used to love to cook for the family, but rarely had the energy these days; Scarlet abhorred anything to do with a kitchen that didn’t involve a corkscrew.

  Truth be told, there were plenty of differences between us; she was the antithesis of everything I had believed to be true about myself. But I think our connection and friendship stemmed from the realisation that I could’ve been Scarlet had I made different choices once upon a time. Now I could only live the life I had missed out on by seeing it through her eyes, all the while wrestling and writhing with the life I had been given.

  ‘You’re not far wrong,’ she replied. ‘There is indeed an enormous amount of clutter, but then I’ve never been a domestic goddess. I’m allergic to housework. I have overflowing bookshelves everywhere and at least three books on the go at a time. But it’s my space and that’s what I love about it. The bookshelves may be skew because I put them up myself and the paint colours may be a bit out there, but it’s all mine. I chose them; I live in it; and I don’t have to answer to anyone else about it.’