Emma sighed heavily as she went around the room, picking up discarded dresses and returning them to the racks. So much for bonding. She had put such a lot of energy into trying to make tonight fun, but all everyone had done was turn up to fulfil their duty and then hotfoot it out of here as soon as they had the chance. She brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye, feeling stupid, and disappointed, and hurt, yes, hurt, as she hung up the last dress and looked around the empty apartment.
Whenever it came up around other women that she had three sisters, they would carry on about how wonderful that must be – especially those who didn’t have sisters. It must be like having built-in best friends, they would say. But it wasn’t like that at all. Best friends would still be sitting here with her now, having a drink, as excited as she was about her wedding plans. But Emma wasn’t going to let it get to her. Blake was her best friend, her partner, now her fiancé. Ellen’s marriage was over; Liz was stuck on a man she could never have, and Evie was stuck with a man no one else would want. She wasn’t alone in the world. She was being silly. She picked up her phone and dialled Blake’s mobile.
‘Hi,’ she said when he answered. ‘The coast is clear, you can come home.’
‘Oh, already?’ he said. ‘We’re actually in the middle of something here, Em, I might be a while yet.’
Emma could hear noise in the background, the clinking of glasses, voices, faint music. ‘Where are you?’
‘We were hungry so we decided to continue the meeting over dinner.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well, I knew there was no hurry.’
‘No, of course, it’s fine.’
‘So I’ll see you later, don’t wait up though.’
Emma hung up the phone and slowly walked along the racks, lightly touching the dresses as she passed. She noticed the champagne bottle on the coffee table. Picking it up, she realised there was still some left. She dropped into the sofa and drank straight from the bottle.
When Liz let herself in through the door of her flat, Andrew had already made himself a drink and was sitting out on the balcony. He jumped up when he heard her and slid open the glass doors.
‘Stay there, I’ll grab a drink and join you,’ said Liz.
But he had already closed the door behind him. ‘I don’t have much time,’ he said, coming towards her and taking her in his arms. ‘I only hope Jen hasn’t decided to wait up for me.’
Liz always bristled slightly when he mentioned his wife, especially when he used the diminutive. It seemed too familiar, even intimate. But Andrew was kissing her now and thoughts of his wife rapidly faded into the background. She felt his hands sliding up under her top.
‘Whoa boy, can you give me a minute to catch my breath?’ she said.
‘I’d rather not,’ he murmured, nuzzling into her neck. ‘Breathless is good. Breathless is sexy.’
‘Andrew . . .’
‘Sorry,’ he said, lifting his head to look at her, a glint in his eyes. ‘I just miss you, it feels like ages.’
‘It’s only been a week.’
‘Eight days, actually,’ he corrected her. ‘Which is at least seven days too long,’ he added, leaning in to kiss her again.
And who’s fault was that? She didn’t know where that thought had come from. It wasn’t his fault, she knew that, she knew all the reasons, all the restrictions on his time . . . She was just feeling cranky tonight. She’d started to feel cranky at Emma’s. She hadn’t wanted to go; Andrew had phoned before she’d left the office to let her know he’d been called into emergency surgery and he’d already told Jennifer that he couldn’t say how long he’d be, thus giving them a window of opportunity. Immediately Liz was pissed off that she had to be somewhere else. But moments later she was equally pissed off at the idea of hanging around at home waiting for him. But when she arrived at Emma’s and she was pouring champagne and running around manically, Liz couldn’t help resenting being there. She resented that Emma was getting married, and that she would be the last sister left on the shelf.
Which was all very childish of her. She hadn’t been left on the shelf, she had the love of a wonderful man who was currently guiding her, gently but persistently, towards the bedroom, while he removed each piece of her clothing, and ran his lips over her bare skin, and made her forget, for now, what had made her feel so pissed off in the first place.
All too soon Andrew was sitting up on the side of the bed, buttoning his shirt.
‘Stay,’ Liz said impulsively.
‘What?’ he said, turning around to look at her.
‘Stay the night, say that the surgery had complications, it took longer, that you were too tired to drive home, that you slept at the hospital.’
Andrew breathed out, leaning over to kiss her lightly on the lips. ‘You know I wish I could.’
‘Why can’t you?’
He frowned. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’
He shifted around fully to face her, planting a hand either side of her. ‘Lizzie, don’t do this. This is not what we do.’
‘No, we just have sex and then you go home.’
He sighed. ‘What’s the matter?’
Tears were stinging her eyes. She blinked, she didn’t want to cry in front of him.
‘Nothing,’ she repeated, turning away from him.
Andrew curled in behind her, drawing his arms around her and holding her tight. ‘Talk to me,’ he said, close to her ear.
Liz swallowed down the lump in her throat. She didn’t behave like this; they both knew how things stood, she didn’t get petulant and needy. And she didn’t like herself when she did.
She cleared her throat. ‘It’s nothing, really. I must be premenstrual.’
‘This isn’t like you,’ he said. ‘Where were you tonight?’
She sighed then, shifting around to look at him. ‘I was at Emma’s, for the bridesmaids’ dress fitting.’
He stroked his hand across her forehead, moving her hair away. Then he kissed her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
That was the thing about Andrew, he knew exactly how she was feeling without her having to spell it out. And Liz had not a doubt he felt as badly as she did right now. They were so good together, so perfectly in sync that it made her ache inside. It was incredibly unfair that he couldn’t be hers, completely, all the time . . . Circumstances were to blame here, bad luck, bad timing. She knew he would be hers, completely, if he could. Liz didn’t doubt that for a moment. It was all that held her together.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said, kissing him. ‘I love you so much.’
‘I love you too.’
He held her for a while longer, then he got up and dressed, and inevitably, he left the apartment to go home to his own particular challenges. They were far worse than anything Liz had to face, she consoled herself as she turned around to the empty flat.
A week later
Evie peered out of the car window up at the house. It looked ordinary enough. In fact it looked like every other house on the street. Maybe Craig was right, there were houses like this all throughout the suburbs, that lots of people were into it, that it was just a lifestyle choice between consenting adults.
So why did she feel sick in the stomach, not just now but all the time? She had barely been able to eat for months and she’d lost twelve kilos. Evie had never been on such an effective diet in her whole life. But even the weight loss wasn’t giving her any joy. She didn’t care what she looked like; in fact, she would have preferred to look less attractive tonight, if anything.
But here they were, and Evie was wearing her best dress, the one she hadn’t been able to fit into for the anniversary party. Craig’s mother had made such a fuss when Evie had walked down the hall this evening.
‘Oh, Evie, you look gorgeous, darl!’ she’d exclaimed. ‘When was the last time you even fitted into that dress?’
Evie had just given her a weak smile.
‘I’m so thrilled you’re having a night out, jus
t the two of you,’ she went on. ‘You never get to do that! And for no special reason! That son of mine is a hidden treasure, so romantic. Don’t know where he gets it from, certainly not his father.’
‘Evie?’
She stirred, Craig was watching her expectantly from the driver’s seat. ‘Are you ready?’
No, she wasn’t ready, she would never be ready for this. But she had no choice. She just had to get through tonight. If she made the effort at least, then surely that would make him happy, and maybe he’d get it out of his system. Maybe he wouldn’t even like it very much.
But the spring in his step, his sweaty palm in hers as they crossed the road, made her doubt that very much.
It was a woman who opened the door to them. Evie instantly disliked her, and then hated herself for it. She didn’t instantly dislike anyone. It took her a long time to dislike people, and they usually had to do a lot to make her dislike them. But all this woman had done was open the door, give them a sugary smile and say, ‘Here for the party?’
Evie let Craig do the talking, she had nothing to say anyway. The woman ‘Crystal’ – like that was her real name – offered to give them a tour of the house, and Craig jumped at it with an eagerness that turned Evie’s stomach even more. Crystal relieved them of their cooler bag – you had to bring your own to this shindig: selling or even supplying liquor without a licence was illegal. Evie found it ironic that they were so concerned with legalities. However, they did provide a cheery barman, who took the cooler bag from Crystal and promised a drink would be waiting on their return.
‘So through here . . .’
She led them into a large living room with a massive flat screen on the wall playing porn, predictably. A curved leather modular lounge took up most of two other walls, where several people lolled about and there was some kissing and fondling going on. It reminded Evie of the parties she’d been to as a teenager, except for the porn. Crystal ushered them across the room and opened the sliding doors to outside, where a steamy spa was crammed with eight people, all naked. Well, Evie assumed they were; the women’s bare breasts were bobbing away on the surface like melons floating on water.
‘Hey,’ Craig said to her, ‘maybe we can have a go in there later?’
‘I didn’t bring my swimmers,’ Evie said flatly.
Crystal laughed. ‘You don’t need your swimmers, love.’
Evie tuned out after that, as Crystal continued the tour upstairs to the bedrooms. She remained resolutely in the hall while Craig happily followed Crystal into rooms that were . . . in use, so to speak. ‘If you leave the door open,’ Crystal explained, ‘that means you’re happy for others to join in, or you can close it if you’re happy as you are.’
The place smelled heavily, and sickeningly, of scented candles, sweaty bodies and something chemical. Then it occurred to Evie it was probably lubricant. Yuck.
They went back downstairs where their drinks were waiting on the bar.
‘Well, have fun!’ Crystal said. ‘That’s why you’re here, remember,’ she added, with a rather pointed look at Evie.
Evie slid onto a stool at the end of the bar and quickly gulped down a few mouthfuls of her wine. Maybe she should just get really drunk and then she might not care. But they hadn’t brought enough wine with them for that.
Craig perched himself on the stool next to her, turning immediately towards a couple sitting further along.
‘Hey, I’m Craig,’ he said, ‘and this is my wife, Evie.’
They introduced themselves as Cheryl and Steve, and then the three of them rearranged their stools so that they could all face each other. Evie stayed where she was, leaning heavily on the bar. Cheryl immediately commandeered Craig’s attention, yabbering away in an annoying, tinny voice. Evie could feel Steve watching her. She gulped down some more wine.
‘First time?’ he asked.
‘Is it that obvious?’
He smiled kindly. ‘You get used to it.’
‘I don’t want to get used to it.’
‘So it was all his idea?’
She nodded glumly.
‘Well, we all seem to be getting along,’ Cheryl chirped. ‘Shall we go find a room where we can relax a bit, have some privacy?’
‘No!’ Evie cried.
They all looked a little taken aback by her outburst.
‘Come on, hun,’ Craig cajoled. ‘You said you’d give it a go.’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ she hissed. She turned away from the other two. ‘For godsakes, Craig, we’ve been here barely fifteen minutes.’
‘You just need more time then?’ he asked hopefully.
‘You said I didn’t have to do anything.’
‘I’ll stay here with her,’ Steve offered. ‘Why don’t you two go along?’
‘Is that all right with you, hun?’ Craig asked.
No it wasn’t, of course it wasn’t! What kind of a buffoon had she married? One that would leave his wife sitting with a strange man and go into a room alone with another woman and do God knows what. Evie felt her heart breaking; she wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, she wanted to beg him not to go. But here she was, in a stranger’s house, with all of these ‘consenting adults’ who were so open and mature and comfortable within themselves. Evie had never felt so uncomfortable, less of an adult, more powerless. But she had agreed to come . . .
So she said, because she felt she had no choice, ‘Go ahead.’
Craig reacted like a giddy schoolboy who had been given permission to raid the lolly jar. That’s what she gleaned from his voice anyway, because she couldn’t look at him. He leaned over to kiss her, but she turned her cheek, and he went ahead and planted an exuberant kiss, oblivious to her distress. Evie kept her eyes downcast as he walked away, she presumed arm in arm with Cheryl.
‘Are you okay?’ Steve asked after a while.
Evie breathed out. ‘Look, if you think you’ve got a chance with me, you’re wasting your time. It’s not you . . . really, you should go and talk to someone else.’
She heard a deep chuckle and looked across at him.
‘You think I don’t know you’re not interested?’ he said. ‘I’m not going to try and come on to you, Evie. I’m happy just to sit and talk, if you don’t mind.’
Evie lifted her gaze to meet his. His eyes seemed genuine.
‘Would you like another drink?’ he asked.
She nodded.
He gestured to the barman. ‘Could we have top-ups here, please?’
After their glasses had been refilled, Steve turned to her. ‘Your husband shouldn’t have forced you to come.’
‘He didn’t force me,’ she returned. ‘I came of my own free will.’
‘But you’d rather be anywhere else but here?’
She glanced around. ‘Surely there are a lot of women who come along reluctantly.’
He nodded. ‘My wife for one.’
‘Who, Cheryl?’
‘Yep.’
‘Well, she seems to have got over it.’
‘Yes, she has, admirably.’
‘So this was your idea, but you’re happy just to sit and talk?’
‘You have to understand, we’ve been coming for a long time,’ Steve explained. ‘The novelty’s worn off a little.’
Evie was intrigued. She wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. Maybe this was some sort of come-on line, to lull her into a false sense of security so she’d trust him. ‘Why would you keep on coming if the novelty’s worn off?’
‘It hasn’t worn off for Cheryl,’ he said. ‘Not one bit. Funny, I had to talk her into it, and she was reluctant the first time. Maybe not quite as reluctant as you, there was a tiny bit of curiosity there that helped her get over the starting line.’
‘Whereas me? No curiosity at all,’ said Evie, sipping her wine.
‘No kidding,’ he grinned.
She looked at him. ‘I suppose you think I’m frigid or something.’
‘Of course I don’t,’ he scoffed. ‘A
lot of people wouldn’t be into this, they can’t all be frigid.’
That was nice of him to say. It made her feel normal in a completely abnormal situation. ‘So what was your first time like?’ she asked.
‘Like I said, it was my idea, so I was champing at the bit,’ he said. ‘But I had to restrain myself, give Cheryl a chance to get used to it. Surprisingly, for both of us, she enjoyed herself. We hardly did anything, mind you, just a bit of kissing and touching . . .’
Evie suddenly got a mental picture of Craig and Cheryl and she recoiled.
‘. . . she was less reluctant the next time, and by the time after that she was beginning to get enthusiastic. It used to excite me. For the first year –’
First year? How long had they been coming?
‘– I was on an absolute high,’ he said, somewhat wistfully. ‘But then when you’re coming month after month, sometimes more often, a funny thing starts to happen. You start to lose interest in sex on tap, or at least I did. That’s weird for a guy, right?’
‘I don’t know,’ Evie shrugged. ‘Doesn’t sound all that weird to me.’
‘Maybe. Most people who become regulars, I reckon they must get addicted to it.’
‘But you didn’t?’
He shook his head. ‘It was there for the taking, all the time, whenever I wanted it. There was no chase, no emotion, no excitement any more, nothing. Just sex.’ He paused, taking a drink. ‘But Cheryl couldn’t get enough.’
Evie didn’t know what to say.
He shrugged. ‘Ah, but I’ve got no one to blame but myself. I couldn’t very well insist she give it up when I was the one who suggested it in the first place. I just had to let her get it out of her system.’
‘So how long have you been coming?’
‘Five years last summer.’
Five years and his wife still hadn’t got it out of her system? Is that what Evie could expect?
‘You should be really clear with your husband before it becomes a habit too hard to break.’
The Right Time Page 12