‘You are too good for me – you know that, don’t you?’
‘I only ever wanted you to be successful. It was the speed of everything that broke me, everything just felt so hurried and urgent. And I know I could have done more, but I didn’t, because I was so angry.’
‘No more surprises.’ He took my hand. ‘No more. I promise.’
‘This won’t be easy,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘I know.’
‘And it won’t be quick.’
‘That’s okay.’
I rubbed at my face and looked out at the world around me. Everything was happening around us as if we didn’t matter. Cars sped past on the freeway, all urgently chasing the one in front, or they popped out of the drive-thru before racing into the shop to complain about a missed order. Us? We were a blip in the night sky, like the satellite I saw at Zoe’s party. Temporary.
‘Lucy, I would like it if we could try.’
‘I’m scared you’re going to leave again.’
‘No.’ He offered an apologetic smile. ‘I’ve learnt that lesson. I mean, there’ll be some back and forth to look after things, but we can go. You and I, we can holiday. And I know that me saying that means nothing. I will show you. Actions. Just like you said.’
I was all nervousness and sentiment, with a dash of excitement thrown in and churned up into an emotional milkshake. On one shoulder, the angel told me this was a ridiculous, risky thing to undertake. On the other, the devil had taken my wedding ring from the bedside drawer, and was polishing it with all the fervour of Sméagol. My decision was made when Oliver reached across and touched my face, an open palm and sweeping thumb that brushed tears away and outlined my lips.
‘I’m so sorry, Luce.’
I wrapped my hand around his wrist and held him there. All I wanted was to feel his skin against mine one more time. ‘Me, too.’
‘Can we try again?’
Covered in snot and tears and emitting burbled laughter, I kissed the palm of his hand and nodded a yes.
Somewhere in the breathless wonder, Oliver said something – I couldn’t quite remember what. I replied, and we scrambled into the backseat. Nervousness gave way to teenage excitement, the joy of being close and together again, even if we were a bit cramped. Oliver’s kisses were strong and determined, his fingers suddenly lanky and stumbling over each other, through my hair, scratching at my scalp, brushing down my hips and into my pants. We didn’t speak, not that anything needed to be said. I tugged at his belt, only to hear a knock on the window.
Oliver’s body sagged against me as he peered up through the window. It was a McDonald’s employee with a torch.
‘You can’t do that here,’ he shouted, light shining through the window.
‘What?’ Oliver asked. ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘Yes, you can. I need to ask you to move along.’
Oliver looked down at me. ‘Can you hear him? I can’t hear him.’
I drew my arm over my face, my mouth caught in my elbow, and laughed. All the times we’d done this as teenagers, and we’d never been caught. Tonight, when it really mattered, the fun police showed up.
‘You need to leave, before we call the police.’
‘Well, I guess that’s probably not the publicity I need, is it?’ Oliver said quietly, before looking up again. ‘What if I bought another burger?’
‘Go!’
In an instant, it was over. Oliver back in the driver’s seat, and me struggling to keep my composure as I straightened myself out. It wasn’t until we reached the freeway again that we chanced a look at each other, burst out laughing, and didn’t stop until we got home, reliving all the times we’d just done all of that and more, and got away with it.
Being an adult is a lot like playing Tetris. Lots of shit falls on top of you, and you try and shove it into the best spot possible. The easy stuff melts away, though the difficulties hang around a bit longer. But, eventually, they either vanish, too, or they kill you. In that moment, a few of the difficult bricks disappeared from my life, and there was a calming sense of freedom about that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘So, it’s school holidays next week, right?’ Zoe sucked melted chocolate from her finger as we walked towards the dining area. ‘And Peter says to me that we should go away.’
‘Good plan.’ I pulled a chair out, cringing as it screamed across the concrete floor.
An early morning text from Zoe had all the kids in school or childcare, and her looking to remedy a case of cabin fever. Lunch ideas were flung back and forth and, eventually, we settled on a local chocolate factory for morning tea.
If Willy Wonka came to life, he’d be all over this place. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows allowed visitors to watch chocolate being made and packed, while the showroom sold hundreds of different sizes, shapes, and styles of creamy cocoa goodness. And never mind the dining area, full of cakes, ice creams, and any other sweet treat you could think of.
‘Do you know where he suggested? Anglesea. I mean, come on. I was hoping somewhere a bit fancier, you know. The kids are little, making memories and all that.’
‘Wobbies World?’ I teased.
‘What?’ She frowned. ‘That place has been shut since the mid-Nineties. I thought maybe, I don’t know, the Gold Coast, Movie World. Not the local caravan park at Anglesea.’
‘You can make memories anywhere, though, can’t you?’ I asked. ‘If that’s what it’s about.’
‘I suppose,’ she conceded with a sigh. ‘I just hoped he’d be into the idea of a family holiday further away than an hour up the road, you know?’
‘I’m sure you’ll work it out,’ I said. If I were a betting woman, I’d pop into the TAB on the way home and place a crisp hundred-dollar bill on Zoe getting her way.
‘True.’ She drew her finger through a pot of melted chocolate. Why use it for garnish when you can just drink it? ‘I mean, we take the kids somewhere every year, that’s all.’
‘Maybe put a vote to the kids? They’ll soon tell you what they want.’
‘How about you, anyway?’ With the last of her meal cleared from her plate, she turned her attention to her drink. ‘What’s news? How’s work?’
‘Work is interesting. It’s a nice feeling to be creating things again. I’m getting to pilot my own life for a change. A few hiccups, but I would be insane to expect anything less.’
‘How is the Oliver situation?’
‘Good.’ I nodded. ‘Great.’
She winced. ‘Really? Have you seen him since? You must have.’
‘We had a chat about things the other night. We might, you know, give things another go.’
‘What?’ she asked. ‘Another go? Are you sure this is … Lucy!’
‘It’s a good thing. Great. Thrilled.’
Zoe dropped her jaw first, then her spoon, which landed in her milkshake and splashed a chocolate-flavoured firework on her, the table, and my cake. Despite how crazy both our lives were, Zoe was still the first person I wanted to talk this through with. Not that the entire meals area needed to hear her swearing, or her thirty-seven point four “I told-you-so’s”. With some poking and prodding, I divulged the important parts of our Happy Meal confessional to a slideshow of her best confused and amused faces.
‘Let me get this straight, you had a kiss and make-up session, but you didn’t shag him stupid?’
I shook my head. ‘No. We got a move along from a staff member in the car park.’
‘Did you at least go home and continue?’
At the table next to us, a woman who looked like an extra from Game of Thrones gave us a filthy look. She put her spoon down and shook her head. Zoe’s tongue bounced about in her cheek.
‘None of the above, Your Honour.’
She grinned, leaning in to the table like a conspirator. ‘Are you about ready to implode?’
‘Zoe, please, this is good. It’s a step forward.’
‘What about the drive home?’ she asked.
&nb
sp; ‘Nothing to tell.’ I shrugged. ‘Nothing happened.’
‘Liar.’
There was no lying to be had. What can you possibly talk about after coming to such a huge decision? Great, we’re going to give our marriage one last chance, so how about the weather, huh? Did you hear about the price of milk, phwoar, what are those dairy farmers thinking, expecting to be paid for their product?
No, we said nothing. Instead, we stole smug looks at each other. Looks that gave way to nervous giggling at the anticipation of it all. Oliver tried desperately for a kiss on the doorstep, and was rewarded, before I slipped behind the screen door, hoping not to get too caught up in what I wanted versus what was sensible. After all, we did decide to take things slowly.
Even the next day was eerily silent. I put the lack of communication down to the quiet contemplation of what was going to happen, or even nerves. Whatever it was, it would be two days before I heard from Oliver. He’d picked through his job applications and had decided on a final twenty to interview. In the meantime, I’d been busy booking and taking meetings for cake orders.
‘Look, you know I love you.’ Zoe reached across the table and snaffled both my hands in her deceptively strong grip. If I tried to escape I’d either lose a limb, or get a clip around the ear. ‘I love you so much, and I know that I’ve been awful lately, what, with the kids and ArseFace Pete, but I do love you and I want you to be happy and healthy.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But being your friend means I get to ask the tough questions.’
‘Shoot.’ I braced for impact.
‘Are you sure you’re making the right decision? I mean, you were vehemently against this the other week. You have divorce papers.’
‘Is anyone sure of anything?’ I asked.
‘But, I mean, he just fucked off, didn’t he?’ She looked at me with the face of a mother who could smell a dirty nappy.
I took a deep breath. ‘He did.’
‘And never looked back.’
‘Correct.’
‘And you think it’s okay to just turn up and ask you to take him back?’ Far out, this was the same face she used on her four-year-old when he couldn’t understand basic human functions.
‘I know it sounds ridiculous.’ I stirred my hot chocolate so hard a time-space wormhole threatened to appear, which wouldn’t have been the worst thing to happen if the Tardis arrived and The Doctor swept me away. ‘But please consider that it’s a very long time to give up. There’s a lot of history there, there’s a lot of understanding … feeling. I know why he left, and I know that it looked wrong.’
‘That’s because it was wrong, Lucy.’
‘Yes, it was, but what if he’d stayed?’ I asked. After everything, no one had ever uttered that question. Until then, not even me.
‘Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
‘No, we wouldn’t. But he also wouldn’t have lived his dreams, and who am I to stand in the way of that?’
‘Jesus.’ She looked to the ceiling. ‘You’re brainwashed.’
‘No. You want to argue “what about the kids” as a reason for not being honest with yourself? I’m going to argue that Ol had a dream. Had he stayed, I would have held him back. That’s a breeding ground for resentment, and maybe we’d still end up separated. Isn’t this the best outcome?’
‘Tell me something.’ Zoe flashed her phone in my face, another photo of her kids rushed past at lightning speed.
‘Sure.’
‘Did you love Seamus?’
Speaking of questions no one had ever uttered. I was sure what I’d felt was love, albeit a slight whirlwind at the time. In hindsight, perhaps it had more to do with getting under one man to get over another, even if it was two years late. Never was that more evident than when I walked into Edith’s wedding reception and could still pick the back of Oliver’s head across the other side of the room. The freckle, the tuft of hair. Hell, I could probably have identified him by smell if I tried hard enough.
‘I thought I did,’ I said quietly.
Zoe kicked me under the table. ‘Maybe he was just filling a hole.’
‘Stop it.’ I laughed.
‘I’m telling you, if he fucks this up, I will knife him.’
‘I’m cautiously optimistic.’ I laughed again. ‘I think you should be, too.’
Zoe’s arm hung limp over the back of her chair. ‘Let’s talk about what this means for you.’
‘Hey?’ I asked.
‘Well, what do you do? Do you get straight into bed and have a bit of make-up sex, or what? Does he come around at night and give you one and then shove off home?’
‘It means slowly.’
‘Is it like virginal sex? Like, wow.’ She studied me like I was a microscope slide.
‘It’s all very new,’ I said. ‘I guess when I see him next, we can talk about how it’s going to happen. It’ll be about setting boundaries and easing into it.’
‘Is it new, though? You know, Edith told me she suspected something.’
‘Bloody Edith,’ I grumbled.
‘She said you two kept giving each other the eye at her wedding.’
‘It was a combination of things, I think.’ I popped the last of an apple tart into my mouth. ‘It was a nice night, besides the whole Seamus issue.’
‘What do you think when you look at him now, though? I mean, do you look at him and think “I need some of that”?’
I laughed. ‘There’s a snake in my boot.’
‘So bizarre. You never fail to surprise me. Are you happy?’
‘I am happy, I’m optimistic, I feel comfort, and I feel anxious. How about you? What’s going on with you and Pete, then? Huh?’
A cool change swept through the room, and I realised why she’d been so centred on Oliver for the last half-hour. It was a classic Zoe avoidance tactic. If we weren’t talking about Peter, then she didn’t have to think about her problems. From distracted and cheery, she became fidgety and nervous, with a knitted brow and chewed lip.
‘For a little while, I thought it was okay. Maybe I’d had a bit of a mild stroke and imagined things.’ She wiped her hands on a serviette. ‘But, now, it’s started up again. The late nights, the weird phone calls and messages.’
‘I don’t know if I should advocate going through his phone, or anything like that, but have you had a chance to talk to him about it?’
‘He says he’s busy with work, and he does have a lot of late nights, so I haven’t asked him outright.’
‘Can you needle him a bit? Get him to elaborate?’ I sat back and sighed. ‘God, and here I am thinking my Oliver dilemma is so important, and you’ve got this going on. I’m so sorry.’
Zoe shook her head, her nose pinched up in a snivel. ‘It’s okay.’
‘But it’s not okay, is it? You’re hurting.’
She nodded.
‘I think you need to pull the plug and drain the bathwater.’
‘What?’ she asked, confused.
‘Just ask him.’ My shoulders dropped, though it wasn’t my defeat to feel. ‘And I mean that in a really soft, gentle way. All this postulating about what may or may not be isn’t healthy. I’ve just got over weeks of debating what to do about Oliver. I feel clear this morning, free flowing.’
‘That’s just fibre.’
I laughed. ‘Maybe, but there’s a sense of calm that I haven’t had in such a long time. Just ask. Once you have an answer, either way, you can stop the walls closing in, make a plan, and move on.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ she mumbled.
‘No, I understand it’s more than just you and him.’ I stood up. ‘But I really think it will help you to bring everything up and, you know, if it’s all just a shitty misunderstanding, then we can laugh about it in a few months.’
‘Maybe, yeah.’ She polished off the last of her drink and collected her things. ‘What about your mum, though? You know she’s going to lose her shit.’
That was one person
I wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet. If my mum was being my mum, the I Told You So Brigade would be wearing freshly starched uniforms, dragging the entire Edinburgh Military Tattoo behind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Life would have been much easier if whoever invented bread had stopped at one variety. Now there was wholegrain, half-grain, white, sourdough, fruit, rye, seeds, no seeds, sliced, unsliced, toasted, ciabatta, oh Vienna! It felt like I had all of that and more currently in the ovens at Murray’s. What better way to test new equipment than by making fresh bread, slathered with salty butter and sipping a piping hot coffee – heaven!
‘Good morning!’ A chirpy Oliver breezed through the door, offered me a kiss, and made for the fridge. ‘How are you on this fine morning? Wife?’
I laughed, shaking a bag of seeds into a mixing bowl. ‘I am very well. Had chocolate yesterday, lots of enquiries, more booking confirmations.’
‘Look at you, you’re on fire.’ He drank from a bottle of milk.
My hands worked away, kneading the seeds into the mix. I greased a loaf pan and dropped a smooth lump of dough into it. Hot air blew out at me from the open oven door as I shoved the next loaf in. I rinsed and dried the mixing bowl, ready for the next experiment – fruit and nut loaf.
Oliver reappeared moments later, the hiss of the coffee machine the first clue of what he was up to.
‘So good,’ he murmured, coffee cup to his mouth. ‘I could drink a thousand of these. I don’t care if I’m awake all night.’
‘That would make two of us.’ Three cups of flour, a handful of walnuts, and dried fruit went into the next bowl. I was desperately ignoring the fact he was fast approaching and trying to get a coffee cup near my mouth. I veered away while he laughed, but could only get so far with fingers full of sticky dough. With a gentle hand on the back of my head, he held a cup to my lips and tipped. Warm, roasted coffee filled my mouth.
When I opened my eyes, he’d lowered the cup, but the hand on my neck remained in place. It was warm and soft, and flooded my brain with memories of fingers in hair and arms draped across naked skin. While his body wobbled with indecision, I watched him watch me. His hand slipped down my neck, shoulders and back – warm, heavy – and stayed there like a missing piece of me.
A Recipe for Disaster Page 14
