“You’re just a slob,” Nessa agreed. “But, thank God, a slob that’s still alive despite the best efforts of that idiot.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it again now,” said Bree.
“Would you like some tea or coffee?” Cate asked.
“I’d love some tea,” confessed Bree.
“OK,” said Cate. “You sit down and I’ll put the kettle on.”
She sounded so like their mother at that point that Bree wanted to laugh. It was strange, she thought, how sometimes one or the other of them would show a family characteristic that didn’t fit their mental images of each other. Bree never saw Cate as the putting-the-kettle-on person in the family. That was Nessa. But Nessa, having been in her bustling, caring mode earlier, seemed to have slipped into a dream world of her own right now. Worrying about Adam probably, Bree suddenly realized. Wondering what she should do about it. And Bree felt guilty that Nessa was here looking after her when she should be at home sorting out her own life.
“How’s Adam?” she asked abruptly.
“What?”
“Adam,” repeated Bree. “You and Adam and all that sort of stuff.”
Nessa sighed. “I don’t know. He was great last night when you called. And he had to cancel golf this morning to be with Jill so that I could pick you up. I must have been imagining things, Bree.”
“You didn’t imagine what you heard, though.” Bree wanted to be sympathetic but equally she didn’t want Nessa to pretend everything was all right if it really wasn’t.
“I know. But I’ve thought about it so many times and I honestly think that somehow I got the wrong end of the stick. Only thing is,” she smiled ruefully at Bree, “I’m still not sure what the right end of the stick is.”
Bree laughed. “We’ll sort it out,” she told Nessa. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worrying.”
But Bree noticed that the frown lines on Nessa’s forehead didn’t go away.
She frowned herself then, and sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
Nessa turned to her. “I don’t know. Burning, I think.”
“Nothing should be burning,” said Bree.
“Oh shit!”
They exchanged glances as Cate’s shriek filled the air.
“What’s the matter?” Bree hobbled to the tiny kitchen where blue smoke had begun to fill the tiny area.
“I bought some bread,” said Cate. “From the deli down the road. Part-baked ciabatta. I thought you might like some.”
“And for this you have to set my flat on fire?” Bree coughed as she opened the kitchen window.
“I was preheating your oven,” said Cate. “And it started to smoke of its own accord.”
“Oh.” Bree bit her lip and held back the laughter as Nessa crowded into the room.
“God almighty, Cate, what were you thinking of?” she demanded.
“She was heating up some bread,” Bree told her. “But what she didn’t know was that I use my oven as a storage cupboard. Well, let’s face it, I never use it for cooking! So she’s just roasted a couple of manuals, a red woolen jumper and two plastic containers full of screws.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” cried Cate. “Nobody uses their oven for storage.”
Bree giggled. Even Nessa couldn’t help smiling.
“I was trying to be nice!” wailed Cate.
“I’m the nice one,” said Nessa. “You’re the inconsiderate one. Bree’s the flighty one. You can’t change that just by buying a loaf of bread.”
Bree stared at Nessa in astonishment.
“Forget the bread,” said Cate sourly. “There’s an ancient packet of fig rolls in her cupboard. They’ll have to do instead.”
They sat in uneasy silence at the newly visible table with their cups of tea and fig rolls. Bree knew that there was something odd going on between Cate and Nessa but she couldn’t figure out what it was. Nessa was continually shooting venomous looks at her sister, who was trying her best to ignore them. Perhaps Cate hadn’t wanted to come to the flat today, thought Bree. Maybe she’d had plans for a day of unbridled lust with Finn-So-Cool which had been thrown into disarray after Nessa’s phone call. Bree was still surprised at Cate being there anyway because family crises were normally Nessa’s speciality and she didn’t like other people butting in when she was fussing and organizing and sorting things out. So why had she phoned Cate? And why had Cate come? And, above all, having come, why on earth had she indulged in an orgy of cleaning and tidying herself, the result of which would put even Nessa’s best efforts to shame?
Maybe that was it. Bree caught the crumbs of her biscuit before they fell onto the newly polished table. Maybe there was some kind of competitive domestic thing going on between them. Hard though that was to imagine!
“It’s strange, isn’t it, how different things are now?” Nessa broke the silence.
“Different?” asked Bree.
“To the last time we were all together.”
“At my engagement.” Cate’s voice was brittle now.
“I meant before that. At my house with Mum and Dad,” said Nessa. “All of us, in fact. Adam and Finn too.”
Bree looked at both of them in turn. “It’s not that different,” she said.
“Oh, come on!” Nessa glared at her. “Then we were all happy.”
“Look, Nessa, I know you’re upset and confused about Adam.” Bree regarded her sympathetically. “I told you I’d spy on him for you if you liked. Get things sorted in your own mind for once and for all.”
“But there’s more than that,” said Nessa. “We were kind of carefree that night. Me and Adam. Cate and Finn, with his wonderful news about the job even though they hadn’t got engaged by then. And you, Bree, happy-go-lucky as always. We did the scratch cards and everything was so much fun. I was convinced that the horoscopes were right myself after Mum won the money. But they gave no sign of the awful things that were going to happen to us all.”
“Nessa!” Bree stared at her. “Nothing’s changed that much. OK, I was nearly killed but I wasn’t. And Cate and Finn got engaged so that’s for the better, isn’t it? And you’ll sort things out with Adam.”
“It’s not her and Adam she’s getting at,” said Cate. “It’s me.”
“You?” A thought struck Bree but it was so monumental that she could hardly believe it had come into her head, let alone say it. Yet she couldn’t stop herself. “It’s not you he’s having an affair with, is it?”
Cate, whose face had been getting grimmer and grimmer with every word that Nessa had uttered, suddenly laughed. She rocked back and forth on the chair until tears streamed down her face. Her laughter was almost uncontrollable. Bree looked at her uncertainly.
“What Cate is talking about is her pregnancy,” said Nessa flatly.
“Cate!” Bree’s face lit up. “How wonderful for you.”
“Not really.” Nessa spoke again as Cate wiped the tears from her eyes. “She wants to get rid of it.”
Suddenly Cate wasn’t laughing anymore and Bree was shocked into silence. She watched while Cate took out her compact and wiped away smudges of mascara from her cheeks.
“So that’s what’s different,” said Nessa. “A couple of months ago everything was exactly in its place. Today I’m a woman whose husband might be having an affair, you’ve been injured in a horrible road accident and Cate has managed to get both engaged and pregnant and she wants to have an abortion.”
“Cate?” Bree turned to her. “Why don’t you want the baby?”
“Why do you think?” Cate’s voice was steady but her fingers trembled. “It’s not the right time for me, Bree. Finn doesn’t want a baby. I don’t want a baby either. I can’t afford to give up my job now, not when things are going really well for me. He’d despise me forever if I did that. And I couldn’t stand having a kid while he’s doing the TV thing.”
“You don’t have to give up your job,” Bree told her. “Hundreds and thousands of women work
and have babies.”
“But they don’t work the hours I do. And they don’t have husbands who get up when most people are going to sleep three times a week.”
“Maybe the TV network would like you to be pregnant,” suggested Bree. “Then Finn’ll be a real modern presenter—wife, baby, twenty-four seven lifestyle.”
“I’m not having a baby because the TV network thinks it’s a good idea,” said Cate. “I don’t want a child, Bree. That’s the bottom line.”
“What about Finn?” asked Bree. “How does he feel about it?”
Cate swallowed before she answered. “He doesn’t know yet.”
“You haven’t told him!” Bree stared at her. “Cate, you have to tell him. He has a right to know.”
“He doesn’t,” said Cate. “And if he knew he’d only get into a panic about it. There’s no need for us both to panic.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t,” suggested Bree. “Maybe he’d like a child.”
“I think I know my own fiancé better than you,” snapped Cate. “He doesn’t want a baby and I don’t want a baby and that’s the end of it.”
“Cate—”
“She’s too selfish for a child anyway,” interjected Nessa. “That’s what I said earlier. She’s the inconsiderate one.”
“Fuck off, Nessa.” Cate turned on her. “I told you about it, I wanted your support. I knew it would be difficult and I wouldn’t have minded if you said you disagreed with my decision. But I won’t have you insult me and upset me and make me feel worse about this than I do already.”
“You’re feeling bad because you know it’s wrong. I’ll bring up your baby for you if that’s all that’s worrying you.”
“You are such a patronizing cow, Nessa.” Cate’s eyes glittered. “What century do you think this is? I certainly won’t be having babies to give to other people. I don’t want it because I don’t want to be pregnant and sick and fat and unhappy and all of those things. And because it’ll wreck my life. You just don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t,” said Nessa stubbornly. “Think of all the women in the world who can’t have children at all, Cate.”
“That’s such a ridiculous argument!” Cate stood up. “The kind of emotive crap you come out with whenever you’re not winning any other way. That’s your problem, Nessa Driscoll. You don’t think with your head, you get swept along on some touchy feely thing that has nothing to do with real life at all. You were always like that. It’s no wonder your husband is having an affair.”
“You fucking bitch!” Nessa could barely contain her fury. “You fucking bitch—cow—wagon—” She ran out of insults. “How dare you talk to me like that.”
“The same way you dare talk to me the way you do,” snapped Cate.
“I haven’t insulted you personally,” said Nessa.
“Oh, sorry, bitch isn’t personal?”
“You were always a bitch.”
“Right. Of course. As were you. Queening it over us just because you were older. As if that means anything. Insisting on your room with the view of the sea just because of an accident of birth. Trying to make us do things for you because we were your baby sisters. Huh! Running to Mum and telling tales because you enjoyed it—”
“Cate.” Bree’s tone was hollow. “That’s enough. Stop.”
“Yes,” said Nessa. “That’s more than enough.”
“It’s enough from you too, Nessa,” said Bree. “I can’t believe the pair of you. I can’t believe what you’re saying to each other. It’s horrible.”
“It’s fucking true,” said Cate bitterly.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not the sort of thing you should be saying.”
“You’re right.” Nessa gathered her things. “So I won’t stay here and listen to them. Look, Bree, I asked you last night and I’ll ask you again if you want to stay with me until you can get around a bit better.”
“Or you could stay with me,” said Cate.
“Stop it, both of you!” Bree wanted to sound angry but she couldn’t. She was frightened by the hostility between her two older sisters. “I’m staying here. This is where I live. I’ll be fine.”
“Call me if you need anything,” said Nessa.
“Or me.”
“I won’t need anything. Thank you for coming to the hospital, Nessa. Thank you for cleaning up for me, Cate. I’ll probably go to sleep for a while now.”
But she knew, as her sisters left the flat, that there wasn’t a hope of that.
Actually, she was wrong. She slid between her smooth cotton sheets and felt a pang of regret that they were being wasted on her. Then she closed her eyes and was asleep within seconds. Only she dreamed that she was in Michael’s car again. This time they were speeding down a runway, between the bright purple and blue lights that Bree knew were switched on because a plane was coming in to land. She tried to warn Michael, to tell him that they were in big trouble, but he wouldn’t listen to her. He pushed his foot to the ground and drove faster and faster while she could see the huge Airbus heading straight for them. She leaned across and yanked at the steering wheel but only succeeded in blowing the horn. Which, for some reason, didn’t sound like a horn at all but a bell.
Her eyes snapped open and she realized that it was the bell of the flat, ringing insistently. She groaned and sat up. The bell had stopped but suddenly started again. Bree wished that she lived in a modern apartment like Cate where she could see who was ringing by checking the video monitor and where she could press a button to let them in. But she couldn’t do that in the Marlborough Road flat. The bell itself was at least fifty years old.
She made her way to the top of the stairs. She could see the shadow of someone outside the front door. She sat at the top stair and bumped her way down as she had when she was a toddler. Then she hobbled to the door and opened it. The effort had caused beads of sweat to break out on her forehead.
“Oh.” She raised her eyebrow at the sight of Declan Morrissey standing before her. He was carrying a small brown paper bag and a bundle of magazines.
“Hello, Bree,” he said. “How are you?”
“Is that a lawyer question or a real question?”
He grinned at her. “A real question.”
“I’m OK.”
“You look a bit shattered.”
“That’s because someone was crazy enough to ring my doorbell when I live on the first floor and have crocked ankles,” she said waspishly.
“I’m sorry,” said Declan. “I didn’t think of that.”
“A common trait among men,” she told him.
“Can I come in?”
“Why?”
“I really wanted to see how you were,” he said. “I was so worried about Michael that I don’t think I expressed how concerned I was about you too.”
“You’re still concerned that I’ll sue Michael,” said Bree.
“You said you wouldn’t.”
“Is it so hard for you guys to take someone’s word for something?”
Declan sighed. “Actually, yes. But I did believe you when you said it, Bree.”
“So everything’s sorted,” she said. “You don’t need to come around here and pretend to feel concern for me. Honestly.”
“I’m not pretending,” said Declan. “God knows, Bree, both of you had a lucky escape. And although Michael is certainly more injured than you, I’m horrified to think what happened to you. I truly regret it. And I am, genuinely, concerned.”
She looked at him consideringly. He might be telling the truth. He might not. Her experience with lawyers was limited to what she saw on TV and the occasional John Grisham novel. Neither of which gave her a lot of confidence.
“Well, your concern is noted even if it’s probably a bit misplaced,” she said finally. “I’m not so bad.”
“But I made you come all the way downstairs and you can’t walk,” said Declan. “For that I apologize profoundly.”
“You’re not in front of a High Court judge now, you
know.” Bree’s eyes twinkled suddenly. “You can talk to me like a normal person.”
Declan laughed. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
“Occupational hazard I suppose,” agreed Bree.
“Look, can I help you back upstairs again?” asked Declan. “My conscience is having a hard enough time as it is without thinking of you laboring under your own steam.”
“All right,” said Bree. “I’ll lean on your arm.”
Progress was slow. She didn’t want him to see how painful walking actually was. And she was feeling tired again.
“This is it.” Eventually she pushed open the door of the flat. “Would you like a cup of coffee or anything?”
“Let me make one,” said Declan. He stood in the room and Bree was suddenly very grateful that Cate had been around earlier and had turned it into something approximating tidiness. Even though her bed was now rumpled from her nap.
Declan sniffed. “Something burning?” he asked.
“Not now,” Bree told him. “My sister was here earlier and did her best to torch the place.”
“The girl I met at the hospital? I know she’s headstrong but she didn’t seem the type to—”
“No,” said Bree. “Another one. Not normally the torching type either but she didn’t realize that I used my oven as a storage cupboard and she switched it on.”
Declan laughed. “How many of you are there?”
“Three,” said Bree. “More than enough.”
She sat down at the table and looked at the bundle of magazines which he’d left while he made the coffee. There were a number of car ones like What Car? and Auto Mechanic, and a few women’s glossies too.
“I brought them for you.” He carried two mugs of coffee into the room as she was scanning an article on touring cars. “I didn’t know what you like to read.”
“These are great,” she said. “Thanks.”
“Which do you prefer?” he asked. “The car ones or the girlie ones?”
She grinned. “Depends on my mood.”
He put the coffee down in front of her and opened the brown paper bag. “How about these?” He proffered the bag to her and she took out one of the huge chocolate chip cookies inside.
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