And what if this Lizzie—slut—decided to break up with Sieu and get together with Finn, who was the biological father of her child or children? Could I stand in the way of that? Frankly, the whole situation was fucked, and I’d done completely the right thing walking away from it. I even felt virtuous that I’d given him ‘right of reply’ like I’d promised.
So I should have felt strong and empowered.
Instead, I was growing more numb by the minute. But I didn’t let myself dwell on that or I’d start wondering if my Teflon armor was holding in a world of hurt. Two hours later, however, as I pulled into Ange’s driveway in Parramatta, it was obvious, even to me, that I was holding back a monsoon of grief.
I got out of the car on trembling legs and was two steps toward the house when she came out. Then it was all I could do to stand helplessly as she jingled across the yard, her arms laden with traditional Hindu bangles. She enveloped me in a sandalwood scented hug. I stood trembling as she patted the back of my head gently, her thin gold bracelets tinkling softly with each pat.
I’d love to say I was comforted, but the patting only reminded me of Finn holding my head while he was kissing me, and then the pain was even harder to hold in.
But I didn’t cry. How could I, when Ange had just found out she’d never have children with her husband? That was too selfish, even for me. In less than a minute, I got myself under control, pulled back and said, “Is he home?”
She shook her head, her eyes dark and haunted. It wasn’t just the black circles under them. I suddenly realized she had no eyeliner on, no mascara. I hadn’t seen Ange with no makeup on since we were twelve. It was shocking.
She tried to smile. “We’ll both be okay,” she said softly, and I thought my heart would break.
I nodded, and kidded myself that I would be. I’d only known Finn for a month. But Ange had been married to Danny for fifteen years. It was ridiculous to imagine she could get over a betrayal like this. What man goes behind his wife’s back and has a vasectomy anyway?
Missy Lou would say, A cheating man, that’s who, but I ignored that thought. Ange had enough on her plate. I wasn’t throwing that idea into the mix.
I took her arm. “Come inside and tell me where we’re up to. Arsenic in his cornflakes?”
She laughed at that, a dry, tired laugh as if tears had dehydrated her. Then she pulled my car keys out of my hand, used them to lock my car and handed them back. “You’re hopeless with security. This is Sydney remember?”
I pulled a face. “Traffic. How could I forget?”
“Whisky?” It was 2pm.
“Sure.”
My friends knew me so well.
Ten minutes later we were settled at her tiny kitchen table surrounded by wall-to-wall shelves of spices, condiments and bottles of traditional Indian sweets that Ange’s mother had taught her to make. Each time I saw Danny he was chubbier, and I’d assumed, happier. Clearly, something had gone wrong.
I took a sip from my tumbler of straight Chivas and said, “So let’s get this out of the way. I had sex with Finn. Then after he’d bonked my brains out, he told me he’d cheated on his wife before he met me, and the girl is pregnant.”
I wanted Ange on my side, so I figured it was okay to leave out parts of the story.
She shook her head, clearly not able to comprehend the situation, which I thought I’d made crystal clear.
“So I left him. I mean, who wants to be with a guy who goes behind his wife’s back, right?”
“But…all this happened before he met you? He hasn’t been unfaithful to you, has he?”
“No, but the girl is pregnant.” I conveniently omitted the fact that she was in a committed lesbian relationship. “I don’t want to get into the middle of that.”
Ange nodded and took a sip of her spiced tea. “It is messy,” she admitted, and looked at me thoughtfully.
I took a good long slug of whisky. “So now that we’ve finished talking about my brief and tragic romance, do you want to talk about Donny?”
“One day you’re going to say that to his face, and you know he hates Donny Osmond.” She managed a miniscule smile. “Danny.”
“Dan the man.” I nodded. “I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise.”
“You don’t have a ‘best’ behavior,” she shot back. “But if you try not to insult him in his own home, that would make my life easier.”
“So…a vasectomy? He clearly doesn’t want children.”
“With anyone,” she said, and looked down into the delicate china cup in her hands.
Okay. I could pretend not to understand, or I could grab the bull by the proverbial. And seeing as subtlety had never been my thing, I said, “Is he cheating on you, Ange? Do you have proof?”
She shook her head and her glossy black hair slid over the shoulders of her yellow chiffon sundress as she looked down into her cup, still wrapped tightly in her hands.
I touched her wrist. “Then, honey, why do you suspect him?”
“We haven’t made love for months.”
Okay. That wasn’t good. I decided to backtrack. “How did you find out about the vasectomy?”
“Old paperwork. He was away fishing one weekend so I decided to sort out the attic.” She shrugged, as if she was apologizing for wanting to clean. “I found an old surgery bill with his tax accounts.”
“How old?”
Her lips pressed together tightly. The bottom one was trembling, but she managed to say, “It was done two months before our wedding.”
I felt the breath slide out of my lungs in shock. “But… he was twenty.” For a terrible second I was sure she must have made a mistake. “Who would do a vasectomy on a twenty year old?”
“His uncle.”
I remembered that creep from the wedding. He’d tried to grope the bridesmaids. I shook my head. “Why would he do that? Danny,” I clarified. “Why would Danny do that?”
She shook her head, staring at me so vacantly she almost seemed to stare through me. “He clearly never wanted children.”
“But you do. You always have.”
She refocused on me. “So why did he marry me?”
“Sex?” Ange had always been hot. Danny might have simply wanted the sexiest Indian girl he could get.
She shook her head again and we were both silent—her lost in the past and me trying to come to grips with the present. At last, I said, “Have you confronted him?”
She shook her head, and looked even sadder, if that was possible. “I’m scared he’ll leave me if I do.”
“And you still love him.”
She nodded.
“Fuck.”
What a mess. I shook my head, because I had not the slightest clue what she should do. I didn’t even know what I’d do in that situation.
“I’m glad I’m here,” I said at last. Even if I couldn’t do anything, I could be with her, offering whatever moral support I could. “We could eat lots of food and lie around watching chick flicks.”
“I don’t want to be fat.” Her hand dropped to her belly selfconsciously, and it was then that I noticed she’d lost weight. Ange never wore slutty clothes—as I did on occasion—but despite that, she’d never been able to hide a figure that would put Beyonce to shame. She’d drawn more wolf whistles than the other three of us combined, but there was a gaunt look about her now that I hadn’t noticed straight away. And that showed me clearly how low her self-esteem had plummeted.
“Honey, if they’re gonna go,” I quoted Missy Lou, “They go younger, not necessarily thinner.”
“Maybe.” She took another sip of her masala chai, spreading delicious scents of nutmeg and ginger across the table. It smelt so I good I grabbed the teapot and topped my whisky tumbler up with it—an Indian version of Irish coffee.
Ange sighed. “I just know that something’s wrong. And if he is looking elsewhere, then it can only be me. I mustn’t be exciting him anymore.”
“Or…” I raised a finger. “He could simply b
e a selfish and ungrateful ass.”
She smiled at that, as I’d hoped she would, and suddenly I knew what she needed.
“We’re going out.” I put down my whisky with a decisive bang.
“Are we?”
“We’re going to get all sexified up in our highest heels and go shopping. We don’t need to buy anything!” I didn’t want her getting into trouble. I knew she’d had credit card debt in the past. “We just need to sashay around looking hot until you’ve had so many wolf-whistles you stop thinking the problem is you. Because it’s not. You are an Indian goddess. Like Shiva—”
“Shakti. Shiva is male.”
“Right.” I always mix them up. “Shakti, personification of…”
“Divine feminine creative power.” By the time she’d finished the recitation she was smiling a genuine smile.
“Perfect!” I picked up my keys. “I’ll grab my suitcase. You go find something sexy and Shakti-ish.”
An hour later we were in Leichhardt, showing leg at an outdoor table of one of the trendy Italian restaurants on Norton Street. We’d taken our time wandering up and down, as though we weren’t quite sure where we wanted our cappuccinos. I’d gone classy rather than slutty, in a peach a-line floral Missy Lou had talked me into years ago, matching it with six inch bone courts and ivory pearls.
Ange looked stunning in a seemingly demure, knee-length halter-neck, but the soft lime voile hugged every curve, and I’d insisted on curling her long black hair into ringlets down her back. When she smiled, I swore the sun came out, she was so hot. She’d already had five men ask her out on a date, despite her conspicuous wedding band. As cars crawled past us on the busy street, I could see men eyeing her appreciatively.
“Told you,” I said when the cute waiter left. He’d just brought us water—because we might want it—and had asked for the third time if she’d like anything else.
She grinned across the table at me. “I love you J,” looking relaxed at last. “You’re always a prescription for whatever ails me.”
“We aim to please,” I said, and raised my coffee cup in a salute.
She put hers down and leant forward, lowering her voice. “It’s not me then, is it?”
I shook my head. “You’re sex on legs, honey. If he’s not bonking you, he’s the only man in Sydney who doesn’t want to.”
She tried to smile but her eyes were dewy. “Maybe it’s familiarity.”
“Maybe.” But I knew other couples who’d been married for fifty years with no sign of straying along the way.
“So what do I do?”
I leant forward as well, so she could hear me over the drone of passing traffic. “If you want to keep him—and I’m not saying you should—all you can do is concentrate on yourself. Stay happy and busy, getting on with life even when he’s around. Don’t worry about what he’s doing.”
I’d read that on a dating website.
“Okay.” She frowned. “That’s not what I’ve been doing. I gave up singing in the club, and I’ve been home every night making delicious meals, thinking that would convince him I was worth keeping.”
“Oh sweetie.” I grabbed her hand. “You are worth adulation, not just keeping. He’s such a fuckwit.”
The attentive waiter chose that moment to return to our table with his dark Italian eyes, buff young body and sexy ponytail. He stilled when he saw our joined hands. “I brought the dessert menu,” he said, as if we’d asked for it. His gaze licked up Ange’s arm and lingered on her breasts beneath their thin lime covering, before skittering to her face. “I can recommend the gelato. But on a hot day like today, you have to…lick it quickly if you order a cone. I suggest the bowl if you want to linger over the flavors.”
He was not only suggesting, he was suggestive, but Ange merely let go of my hand and smiled at him. “What flavors do you suggest we linger over?”
I didn’t know whether to kick her under the table or high-five. I was so pleased she was enjoying herself despite Danny’s fuck-wittery.
“There are Italian flavors I could recommend,” he said, looking so delightfully earnest I was sure she’d want to take him home, like a puppy she’d found abandoned in a park.
“Mmm.” She frowned. “I’m not sure my husband would want me eating gelato. I might get fat.”
The waiter shook his head. “Gattina, what man does not love curves?” He was clearly busting to say Especially curves as sexy as yours, but somehow he managed to keep that in.
Still, the endearment was sliding over into too familiar territory. I snapped the menu out of his nerveless fingers. “So, I’ll have…” I glanced down the list. “…the pistachio biscotti and another skinny cappuccino. Angel?” I handed her the menu.
“Angel,” he breathed softy, and then seemed to hold his breath, waiting for her order.
She didn’t even look at the menu, just handed it back to him. “You pick something you think I’d like.”
“Bella angel.” He nodded, still gazing at her adoringly, before he realized he’d been there too long and backed away.
When he was out of earshot I said, “You naughty minx.”
She grinned at me. “I’ve missed that.”
“You need to get back to singing.”
“I do like external validation.”
“And if Donny’s not giving it to you,” I said with a raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s time you found it elsewhere.”
She slapped my hand, but she was smiling, and I was so glad I’d been able to cheer her up. When a car horn tooted a minute later, followed by a wolf whistle aimed in our direction, she grinned at me and I felt like I had the old Ange back.
We discussed the club then, and how easy it would be for her to slot back in there, but as the conversation continued, I found my attention flagging. I started remembering how Finn would look at me, as if he wanted to eat me up, exactly the way that young waiter had devoured Angel with his gaze. An ache opened up inside me, and although I reminded myself that I’d been asked out too, I didn’t get the same buzz out of it that Ange did.
She’d clearly forgotten that she was desirable, whereas I’d had men fucking me for weeks, lusting after my body, but only one of them had touched my heart. Unfortunately, there was no way I was taking up with a man who had a baby on the way. And because he hadn’t told Katinka before he’d done it, my mind had filed him into the ex drawer labelled cheating bastard.
Yet even as I tried to bolster my anger at him, I remembered Angela’s thoughtful gaze as I’d told her the story. She’d probably been thinking I was too rash, pushing him away—probably remembering when I’d walked away from Doug that day, having decided that the boredom of our relationship would drive me slowly mad if I didn’t escape it. She’d wanted me to reconsider my decision, but I’d known it was over, and I still had no regrets about that parting of the ways.
I hoped like hell it would be the same with Finn. Only, when I’d left Doug I’d felt relieved. This time I felt empty and numb. While I’d been focused on Angela’s sadness, I’d been able to push my own emotions away. But as her mood lifted, mine sank, until it was almost impossible to keep laughing and bantering.
So when my phone rang—which it never did—I jumped on it as a welcomed distraction. I was sure it would be Finn, so I planned to block the call, but was Louella, and I had no idea why she would be ringing me.
I put the phone to my ear. “Missy Lou?”
This prompted Ange to start a pantomime of hush hush fingers against her lips, which required a reciprocal hand gesture from me of I know, I won’t tell her about the vasectomy, all while trying to listen to what sounded like an invitation.
“…and Marcus has invited Doug, who has agreed to come.” There was a pause, but I was so stunned by that revelation, I had no ready response. “I can only imagine he’s matchmaking, and I apologize for that,” she went on. “But he wouldn’t be deterred. He insisted I ask you to come alone and stay for the weekend. Fritha is coming with a guest, and of cours
e I’ll invite Angela and Daniel.”
When I got over my what the fuck reaction, I landed at, what the hell is she thinking? “I’m not getting back with Doug. That’s ridiculous. I’m not coming.”
Across the table, Ange’s eyes widened at the mention of Doug’s name.
“Jillian,” Missy Lou said, in her coolest Rose Bay voice. “I don’t ask much of you, but I’m asking this. Be nice to Doug at my home for two days. I want him here.”
My face went suddenly hot. Did she suspect that Marcus had a crush on Doug? Was she trying to set them up? How could that work? Doug didn’t have a gay bone in his body –that I knew of, anyway.
I swallowed down my own misgivings. “I’ll only do it if he’s sleeping in a separate room.” A part of me was standing outside my body, aghast that I’d say such a thing. Two days with Doug? It would be awkward-times-ten.
“Marcus has already organized Doug into a room of his own.”
Oh my God, that was too convenient. “All right then.” There really was nothing else for me to say.
I ended the call and put the phone down. “She wants us all at her house for the weekend. In a fortnight.”
“And Doug?”
“I know. Right?”
“What’s the occasion?”
I shook my head. I’d been too shocked to ask.
“Perhaps she’s got a new kitchen to show off.”
It wasn’t often that Ange let her inner bitch out, but there’d been rivalry between the two of them since the time they’d both married, each trying to outdo the other as the best wife. It was cruel irony that neither was happy in their marriage, but I wasn’t about to tell Ange that. She’d always expected to have children, which would have trumped finances in her view of family, but now that wouldn’t happen. Which meant, Missy Lou was about to be the winner in Ange’s eyes, and the planned weekend would only rub her nose in it.
“I’m not going,” she sniffed, and took a sip of her latte.
Husband Sit (Husband #1) Page 25