by Amy Bratley
‘What are you doing?’ Daisy said, pushing open the door and peering in. ‘I’ve got your glass of wine downstairs. Coming down?’
‘Yep,’ I said. ‘Definitely.’
I put the box-file back, picked up the recipe then followed her downstairs and out into the garden, where we sat on deck-chairs in the evening sunshine, while Benji climbed the stump of an apple tree that had been cut down months before. I sipped the wine, ice-cold and delicious.
‘Sorry about earlier,’ Daisy said with a sheepish smile. ‘I’m so worn out at the moment I didn’t mean to sound interfering. You must be feeling horrible, now that Ethan is back. I know I can be bossy and moody, but if you want to talk about Ethan, I can be a good big sister sometimes . . .’
I looked at Daisy and we shared a smile. ‘You’re always a good big sister,’ I said. I cast my mind back to when Ethan had left. Daisy had been absolutely amazing. From the moment he walked out, she had supported me, even though she was going through hell herself, in the early stages of pregnancy and breaking up with Iain, who didn’t want her to have Benji at all. When I was dying to see Ethan, she kept me from giving in and flying out to Rome to find him. She had basically helped me function, feeding and watering me for a few weeks while I got myself together enough to cope with everyday life. In return, I helped her through the latter stages of pregnancy and was her birth partner when Iain refused to come back. In those few months, I felt we had bonded more as sisters than ever before.
‘So how are you feeling?’ Daisy asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I love Joe and don’t want to jeopardize that at all, but Ethan confuses me. The thought of not seeing him again now he’s back seems stupid, but then again, what will I achieve by seeing him? I need to sort my head out.’
I sipped my wine and closed my eyes, feeling the setting sun through my eyelids. I felt for my phone in my pocket, checking for messages, relieved and mildly disappointed that Ethan hadn’t replied to my reply the night before. I should never have sent it.
‘Let’s face it,’ she said. ‘Ethan can’t be trusted. He let you down. You’re so much better off with Joe. I’m sorry to be blunt, but seeing him again would be really stupid.’
Stung by Daisy’s words, I forced myself to remember that what she said was true. Ethan had let me down.
‘I know that,’ I said, irritated. Daisy always felt she had to point out the obvious.
‘I know you,’ she said kindly. ‘You’ll be searching for some kind of resolution, but there isn’t any resolution here. The best thing you can do is to forget he exists.’
‘Is that what you’ve done with Iain, then?’ I asked.
Daisy sighed and looked sad, but nodded slowly.
‘I try to,’ she said. ‘But it’s different with Benji’s dad, isn’t it? I’m constantly reminded that his dad is missing, aren’t I? It’s hard to forget.’
‘Then why don’t you go and see him out there?’ I asked. ‘Take Benji and introduce them? Then he’ll be forced to take responsibility.’
Daisy shook her head vehemently.
‘I can’t just turn up on his doorstep with Benji,’ she said, almost laughing. ‘It’s not fair on Benji. I think we should wait until Iain expresses interest, then it will all be smoother, but I do feel guilty about the whole thing.’
I poured more wine into my glass.
‘Could you send him an email?’ I said. ‘Ask him. Don’t you think Benji should meet him now?’
Daisy pushed her hair back from her forehead, then massaged her temples with her fingertips.
‘Yes, at some point, maybe,’ she said. ‘But what would I say? There’s no future for us, is there? Our relationship wasn’t working before he went back to Canada, nothing’s going to change. God, I hate talking about him, it’s too depressing. I feel like such a failure.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Look, let’s just change the subject. Let’s talk about what we could have done at the Sanctuary.’
‘OK,’ she said, reaching over and touching my arm. ‘But look, I want you to promise me you won’t go to that next Saturday Supper Club. I can’t stand to see you so upset again, raking up all those bad feelings. What good can come out of it?’
‘None,’ I said with a sigh. ‘In any case, he was more interested in this other girl, Maggie, than talking about us.’
Daisy shook her head and tutted.
‘What a bastard,’ she said. ‘I mean, you don’t see the guy for three years and he’s virtually shagging another girl in front of your eyes? You should tell him where to go and refuse to speak to him again, shouldn’t you?’
I didn’t have an answer to that. I shrugged and fiddled with a thread coming loose in my top.
‘I’m definitely not going,’ I said categorically.
For a moment, I believed what I was saying.
‘Good,’ Daisy said, smiling. ‘It’s all in the past and you should leave it that way, even though it’s hard.’
‘I won’t go,’ I said again too quickly, feigning interest in the tendrils of smoke blooming from the neighbour’s barbecue. ‘I don’t want to see him again.’
‘Promise you won’t go?’ she said. ‘I’m just looking out for you, Eve. I’m saying what Mum would have said if she were here. Dad’s too soft to say what he really thinks—’
‘Yes,’ I said, staring at the floor. ‘Yes.’
I felt Daisy looking at me, but I couldn’t turn around and face her. I hated myself for it, but she’d know I was lying.
PART TWO
Maggie’s Supper Club
Chapter Eight
‘Actually,’ said Maggie, raking her hedge of curls into a pile on top of her head, ‘I’ve become even more of a commitment-phobe since the last guy I went out with wanted to tattoo my name onto his neck. I mean, for God’s sake, his neck?’
Maggie rolled her eyes, shook her head in despair and handed me a Turin-sized glass of red wine, which smelt like a handful of freshly picked blackberries squashed into a glass.
‘Thanks,’ I said, swallowing a big gulp. ‘I need this.’
We were in Maggie’s artfully chaotic living room in her Bethnal Green flat, where I was perched on the edge of a shabby red-velvet chaise longue, surrounded by a fleet of colourful cushions, some knitted, others screen-printed with illustrations of owls. I rested the glass of wine on my knees. Even though it was warm enough to have the windows flung wide open, the sky blue and vast beyond, I shivered with nerves and adrenalin. I was going to see Ethan again. Against my better judgement – against everyone’s advice – I was here. I hated myself for it, but I’d made an effort to look good, too, wearing my flower-print shorts and red top, my arm jangling with bracelets. Any minute he would walk through the door, which I eyed as if it were an unexploded bomb.
‘So,’ said Maggie, moving across her living room in her silver strappy dress and vintage-style silver shoes, ‘how’s your week been? Just got to check the food. I’ll be back in a second.’
I sighed, thinking about my week, as Maggie disappeared briefly into the kitchen. Music was playing – the kind you hear tinkling out the door of a Moroccan restaurant in a Soho side street – and the smell of lamb, cinnamon and cumin assaulted my senses, making me salivate. A selection of dips, eggplant salad and hummus, were laid out on the table in big earthenware pots, sprinkled with paprika and parsley. She came back into the room and raised her eyebrows in question.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘So, you were about to say?’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Yes. Good. Great.’
I put my glass down on the table and sighed.
‘Quite shit, actually,’ I said, blowing out. ‘To be frank.’
I’d spent the week since the last Saturday Supper Club feeling completely tense, avoiding everyone and not being able to sleep or eat properly. I didn’t hear anything from Ethan, though I had expected to and probably wanted to. I’d worked at the cafe every hour I could, falling into bed after Joe was asleep and leaving be
fore he woke up. Joe had asked me repeatedly if anything was wrong, but each time I decided to tell him that Ethan had turned up out of the blue, I couldn’t find the words. The more time passed, the worse and more difficult it seemed to get, so I’d vowed to myself I’d tell him that night, after Maggie’s dinner. I knew it was wrong that I’d come to her meal but the pull of seeing Ethan again was too strong. I justified it by convincing myself that there are some things in life that you have to do, for yourself. I needed to do this, especially if Joe was thinking about proposing. I needed to work Ethan out of my system once and for all. After these unresolved issues were resolved, I’d have a clearer head. And this was less bad, in my mind, than setting up a meeting with him for just the two of us. This way, I wasn’t letting Joe down by messing up the London Daily competition and I was getting my head straight for when Joe proposed.
‘I’ve actually been wondering if my boyfriend is about to propose,’ I was astonished to hear myself say, instantly feeling disloyal. ‘He hasn’t yet, but something tells me he might be about to, and I’m feeling a bit confused about the whole marriage issue. I love him, Joe, my boyfriend, but marriage I’m not so sure about.’
Maggie, now sitting on a chair, with her legs swung up over one arm, looked up in surprise.
‘Have you talked about it, then?’ she asked, stretching to the table to reach the bottle of wine and fill up her glass. ‘What is it you’re not sure about? Most girls I know are mad keen on it, especially when they get to our age.’
I tucked my hair behind my ear and shook my head.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said slowly. ‘What I mean is, I love him, I’ve known him my whole life, so it’s almost like . . .’
‘Eeurgh,’ said Maggie, looking up. ‘I hope you’re not going to say he’s like your brother. That’s gross.’
I shook my head and rolled my eyes.
‘No, I was going to say it seems almost inevitable that we’ll be together . . .’ I said. ‘We’re the best of friends and I trust him completely, but marriage seems so kind of final. And I want to get it really right, you know? My parents had this amazing marriage, but then my mum died and my dad’s never got over her or had another relationship. It just seems like such a massive thing to do. And can anyone be right for you, for life? How do you know what you’ll feel like in ten years’ time?’
Maggie nodded sagely.
‘I know where you’re coming from,’ she said. ‘When marriage was created people only lived until they were about forty years old, so life didn’t mean an eternity, like it does today.’
‘I never thought of it like that,’ I said. ‘But, well, I know Joe’s parents have an awful marriage and I think he wants to prove to himself he can do better. I sometimes wonder if that’s the most important issue for him.’
I realized, as soon as I’d said the words, I sounded like a bitch and I hadn’t meant to. I knew that Joe loved me. Why was I throwing it up for contemplation with an almost stranger? It was easier, in a way, to talk to someone I hardly knew.
‘That sounded all wrong,’ I said. ‘There’s a huge part of me that does want to get married but . . . I’m just . . . just . . . not sure. And you have to be certain.’
I sighed. I wasn’t even sure of what I was saying. I was incredibly nervous, that was all. My eyes skitted around the room. You could tell from her flat that Maggie was an arty person. Everywhere you looked there was something gorgeous and carefully chosen: kitsch porcelain figurines and antique tins on a shelf, vintage fabric throws, an old-fashioned birdcage nestled in the fireplace bursting with dried flowers, a chandelier with tiny spotted lampshades over each bulb, and an enormous wooden dining table decorated with tree branches of small lights at one end of the living room. It was delightful.
‘To be honest with you,’ she said, ‘and I’m sticking my neck out here – I would rather be a mistress than a wife. No ties, much more fun and much less hassle.’
I widened my eyes and watched Maggie carefully. I wasn’t that shocked by her statement – Maggie struck me as someone who might say almost anything at any moment – but most of my girlfriends and I hated the threat of the mistress, especially in the form of gorgeous, almost feline, Maggie.
‘Really?’ I said. ‘You don’t care if a bloke has a girlfriend? That’s a brave statement to make! You’d get lynched if you were out with my friends. There’s no one less popular than the “other woman”, unless, of course, it’s one of us who’s the other woman; then it’s absolutely fine and totally justifiable, of course.’
I snickered at the hypocrisy of my words, while Maggie, narrowing her eyes knowingly, stood and picked up a bowl of pistachio nuts from the table. She placed them on the arm of the chaise longue, took one and gestured for me to help myself.
‘I know it’s not a popular thing to say in female company,’ she said, looking out from under her mascara-thick lashes. ‘But I’m pretty convinced that there’s no one out there I want to marry or have kids with. And relationships are so complicated and muddled. People have so many issues tucked into their closets. I just want to have fun. That’s why I like Ethan. He seems like a bloke who enjoys life. He’s vivacious, extrovert, but he probably has an interesting dark side. We all do, don’t we?’
I thought about Ethan’s dark side. He was deeply restless, probably frustrated, rather than dark. He couldn’t sit still for long. He always wanted to do something, was always on the go, not wanting to miss out on life. He drummed his fingers a lot. He hated going to bed at night, because he couldn’t see the point in sleeping and only I knew how fearful he was of his nightmares. I’d often thought he was like someone who’d been told he had three months to live and had decided to get the most out of his remaining days. And, of course, deep down, there was his grief, his great sorrow that he carried in his heart, a picture in a locket.
‘We went out on Wednesday night,’ Maggie said, rubbing a finger around the rim of her wine glass. ‘He’s a lot of fun but, like I said, there’s a certain enigmatic darkness there, too, isn’t there? You’re old friends, so you probably know better than I do.’
I froze, my glass halfway up to my mouth.
‘You went out?’ I asked thinly, my stomach turning in on itself.
‘We did,’ she said. ‘There’s definitely chemistry there, and we were having a good time, I thought, until right at the end when he got all maudlin and started talking about some relationship he’d messed up, a girl he couldn’t have for one reason or another.’
Maggie rolled her eyes and pretended to yawn.
‘A girl in Rome?’ I choked out.
She shook her head and shrugged.
‘I didn’t ask,’ she said. ‘To be honest, I was trying to steer him back on to conversation about me. I like him; I think he’d be good fling material, though I can’t quite put my finger on what’s going on with him, but he seems to have quite a self-destructive streak, do you think? I thought I could drink, but wow, he can really put it away.’
I gulped, my heart hammering in my chest at the thought of Maggie and Ethan out together. Jealousy crept up my spine. And what of this girl he was talking about? I didn’t let myself think it might be me.
‘Ethan is a total party animal,’ I said. ‘But you’re right, he does have a self-destruct button. He had a horrible thing happen to him when he was young and I think it explains quite a bit about him. I don’t think he’d mind me telling you that when he was six, his twin brother drowned in a swimming pool when his family were on holiday in France. There were no pool alarms and it was only a few minutes, but no one noticed that his brother was gone until it was too late.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Maggie. ‘That’s awful.’
I nodded and continued to speak.
‘Ever since, I think he’s tried to be two people rolled into one to make up for his brother’s absence,’ I said. ‘He feels he owes it to his brother, you know? Perhaps he feels guilty it wasn’t him who died. But he doesn’t want sympathy about it. God, no. He ins
ists that people are happy, that they celebrate life and that his brother’s life is remembered, with joy, by his parents. He’s wild, gregarious, charming and funny, always on the go. His mother absolutely adores him, phones him twice a day. He’s like a firework going off in your life.’
I probably shouldn’t have divulged so much personal information about Ethan, but after Maggie’s news that the two of them had been out, I was, quite pathetically, trying to claim some kind of ownership of him. I could, of course, just tell Maggie about our relationship, but I didn’t want her watching us later. I wanted to keep it secret, so I could work out how I felt.
‘That’s so terrible,’ Maggie said, shaking her head sadly. ‘I feel really sad for him now. I’ll have to be extra nice to him tonight. Poor Ethan.’
I blinked, ignoring her coquettish comment. I was desperate to ask if anything had happened between them on their date. Awful images of them together flashed into my head. Maggie the Mistress wearing full dominatrix gear straddling a glow-eyed Ethan – I shook them away. Why did my mind always take me to places I didn’t want it to go? It was as if I was actively trying to sabotage my own well-being.
‘So, have you been someone’s mistress, then?’ I said, trying not to sound the vicar’s wife, though, on this topic, I was probably with the vicar’s wife. I hated the idea of women like Maggie actively trying to bed your boyfriend, because she didn’t want the commitment of a single man. Men would be putty in her hands. God, I mean, why couldn’t she just find another commitment-phobe and have a half-baked relationship that suited them both and didn’t hurt anyone else?