by Fiona Lowe
She wanted to yell, ‘How can I?’ but then she remembered his own loss. ‘Is that how you cope?’
‘In the early days.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Taking breaks where I refused to think about any of it was the only way I survived.’
She locked her fingers with his and squeezed gently. Whenever she thought about what life had inflicted upon Edmund, she always gave thanks it hadn’t happened to her. Everyone did. ‘In that case, I bow to your experience.’
And she did. She spent the evening enthusiastically sampling everything the chef had prepared for the degustation menu. She savoured the perfectly matched wines and joined in the discussion on which food and wines made her palate sing. It was years since she’d eaten or drunk so much.
With her body buzzing and her arm linked easily through Edmund’s in the relaxed way of old friends, she appreciated the bracing winter-chilled air on the walk home. When they reached the front door of the old cheese factory, the thought of being alone in the flat surrounded by all the happy memories Alex had now tarnished hit her like a brick.
‘Nightcap?’ she asked and immediately wondered if there was anything still in the small cupboard she and Alex used as a bar all those years ago.
‘Why not?’ Edmund followed her up the stairs before helping her off with her coat. He hung his and hers on the wobbly coat stand she’d found in the op shop nineteen years earlier. Back in a time when her wallet held more dust particles than dollars.
‘Sorry about the mess.’ She picked up a half-full coffee cup, suddenly acutely embarrassed by her depression-induced slothfulness. ‘I’ve been a bit distracted since I moved in.’
‘No need to apologise for anything, Sarah.’ Edmund was squatting down in front of the drinks cupboard. Despite everything life had thrown at him, she was struck by how square his shoulders were. How straight his back. Why hadn’t she ever noticed that about him before? Glass clinked against glass and her fuzzy mind finally decoded that Edmund was talking again.
‘Sorry?’
He held aloft a dark green bottle. ‘Port?’
‘Lovely.’ She rummaged through another cupboard and found some dusty liqueur glasses. After a quick rinse and dry, Edmund filled the crystal glasses before carrying them to the couch. They sat, sipping the rich tawny liqueur, and she welcomed the mellow warmth stealing through her, stripping the tension from her muscles.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening. For being such a good friend.’
‘Always.’ He leaned in, kissing her gently on the forehead. ‘You know I’m always here for you.’
She wasn’t so drunk she didn’t notice he’d dropped his usual ‘and Alex’.
Surrounded by memories and too tired to hold her head up any longer, she let it fall onto his shoulder. ‘Remember the night we stayed up until 4 am filling our first big order for the Lygon Street Deli?’
‘I remember you filling me with coffee and berating me for crooked labels.’
‘Presentation makes people buy the cheese,’ she said automatically, the mantra as much a part of her as her limbs.
‘And then we hook them with the taste,’ he said, attempting to mimic her voice and smiling. ‘You taught me that too. I say it to my staff.’
‘That order was our first big turning point. It put us on Melbourne’s foodie radar.’
‘And then you moved to Riverbend.’ Something in his voice made her look up. ‘For a long time, I missed this place. Missed working so closely with you.’
The quietly spoken words combined with the soft touch of his fingers in her hair and it lit along her veins. Suddenly, she was very awake. ‘But you and Catriona were …’
He shook his head. ‘Not then. That came later. Months after the new cheese factory. For a long time, it was you. In a way, it’s always been you.’
She stared at her dear friend, her mind spinning. ‘I … I didn’t know.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t let you know. There was no point. You were in love with your husband. But now Alex has hurt you. He has no idea what he has in you. If he did, he wouldn’t be doing this. You don’t deserve it.’
Now his hand was on the back of her neck, gently cupping her skin. His warmth and tenderness infused her and her blood pumped it quickly around her body in a heady rush. For the first time in days—hell, weeks—she felt cared for and cherished instead of judged and discarded.
‘You’re a beautiful woman, Sarah. Inside and out.’
Gratitude almost made her weep.
The kiss was natural; the coming together of two close friends who were used to greeting each other with warmth and affection. Her response to it, however, was far from familiar. Her body leaped, surging on the heady elixir of being wanted and utterly deaf to the tiny voice of reason saying, Unwise.
Whether it was the culmination of the days of shock from Alex’s betrayal, anxiety about her mother’s health, concern for her kids, her large intake of alcohol or a mixture of everything, she let go of her pain and heartache. Giving herself over to the blissful and delicious sensations that strummed her body, she tumbled into bed with Edmund.
* * *
With the pearly rays of dawn peeking in around the blinds and sneaking under her eyelids, Sarah opened her eyes. The peach light swooped in across the bedclothes and a sharp pain dug into her head. She quickly squeezed her eyelids shut and without the distraction of sunshine, slowly tuned into the body heat warming her back. She stiffened from head to toe. Edmund’s arm lay across her chest and his leg was hooked high and snug between her thighs. Her very naked thighs.
Oh God. She’d had drunken sex with Edmund.
Her vagina fluttered involuntarily and hopefully at the thought and she stifled a groan. It had been good sex, which, considering the circumstances, was totally unexpected. Wasn’t sex with a stranger supposed to be fraught with fumbling and missteps? Not that she had any real idea, given she’d slept with the same man for twenty-four years. She and Alex knew each other’s bodies intimately and knew exactly what turned each other on. Before Alex, her experience had been limited and very fumbling.
But she and Edmund hadn’t fumbled at all. Despite her intoxication—or perhaps because of it—they’d had surprising rhythm. On the back of misery and fuelled by far too much booze, she’d given in completely to the heady addiction of being adored. A delicious shiver ran across her skin. Edmund had held nothing back and offered her everything. She’d taken it all and then some.
Shame flared hard and fast, spreading an itching discomfort that came close to guilt. Oh God. She’d committed adultery. What would her mother say if she ever found out? Margaret talked a lot about the sanctity of marriage. Hell, she still invoked it twenty-six years after her husband’s death, especially if someone asked her why she’d never remarried.
What on earth are you on about? This is Alex’s fault. Alex broke our marriage vows first.
He didn’t have sex with Kelly!
Shut up! He will have by now. I’m just evening the score.
The idea should have soothed her but instead it made her heart race. She’d just had sex with her dearest friend. It’s okay, you love him. Of course she loved him; he’d delivered Gus. Still, she had a gnawing feeling that perhaps she didn’t love Edmund with quite the same intensity that he loved her.
‘Good morning.’
She jumped as Edmund’s mellow voice stroked her ear. With anxiety pressing painfully on her chest, she rolled over to face him. ‘Good morning.’
The smile that greeted her—filled with love, admiration and contentment—flipped her stomach with a jolt of longing. Perhaps she should listen closely to her body. It was clearly telling her that her mind was an idiot and she loved and wanted Edmund plenty.
He kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘I should go before the joggers hit the streets.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’ll call you later.’
‘Okay.’ Okay? She should be using big, grown-up words in cohesive sentences but her heart and mind were
too busy competing for supremacy.
He laughed fondly. ‘You need coffee. I’ll brew you some before I leave.’
Appreciation and trepidation flooded her. ‘Thank you, but as amazing as last night was, I don’t think you have the time to make coffee and miss the joggers. I’m not ready to share what happened with the town and have it driving the gossip mill.’
‘I understand.’
It crossed her mind that Alex would have said something like, ‘I was pretty amazing last night, wasn’t I?’ before kissing her and demonstrating once again exactly how amazing he could be. Did he say things like that to Kelly? Her heart twisted and she made an involuntary sound.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Everything is perfect.’ The lie was far less fraught than the truth. Besides, it was too early in the day to contemplate the mess that was currently her life, especially when her body was still delighting in the lingering effects of good sex.
Edmund swung out of bed and shoved his long legs into his trousers. She didn’t know whether to lie there and admire the body she’d explored in the dark with her mouth and her hands or look the other way. Excitement duelled with decorum. This situation was a perfect example of why she’d loved being married: there were well-established protocols. She could gaze at Alex dressed or naked as little or as much as she wanted and she’d gazed plenty, having lost all skerrick of embarrassment years ago. But this was different—she was clueless on the rules of morning-after behaviour. Some people might find it exciting and exhilarating; she found it both those things as well as daunting and exhausting.
The mattress moved again and then Edmund was squatting by her side of the bed. ‘I hope your mother’s test results are good.’
She touched Edmund’s cheek. ‘Thank you.’
He turned his head and pressed a kiss into her palm before standing and striding across the room. She heard the front door close and then she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about the night before. She was grinning widely when reality hit her. Shit. Having sex with Edmund meant she’d just gone and squandered the moral high ground with Alex.
You’re overcomplicating this. Alex doesn’t know. He doesn’t need to know. No one needs to know. You’re a grown woman. Take responsibility for your actions.
But they were actions she would never have contemplated, let alone taken, if Alex hadn’t pulverised her heart into a thousand tiny pieces.
‘Argh!’ She threw off the covers and got up, welcoming the chill of the floorboards against the soles of her feet. As she padded to the shower, the irony of her current situation hit her. For a month, she’d wanted some time to herself and now that she had it, she craved the back-to-back busyness of work to still the machinations of her mind.
After a slice of breakfast seed loaf slathered in homemade strawberry jam and far too much coffee, Sarah telephoned Cameron. He was driving to Melbourne with their mother and he answered on speakerphone. Margaret kept asking, ‘Where are you, Sarah?’ and Sarah finished the call wearing a heavy coat of remorse. She should be the one driving her mother to her appointment. She should have insisted on it, but she’d been so taken aback by Cameron’s unexpected offer that she’d agreed without thinking past, It’s about time you did something to help. Now her selfishness was causing her mother anguish and grief. As much as Margaret adored Cameron, Sarah knew her mother appreciated her for her sensitivity and caring; two things Cameron wasn’t known for.
There was more than one way to help her mother and she picked up her keys, gripped by the need to compensate for this lapse. She’d spend the day tackling Margaret’s filing cabinet—a task that would not only assist Margaret but keep her mind away from the tangled mess that was Alex and Edmund and the tingling sensations of pleasure that whipped her whenever she thought about the night before. Lust and guilt were a hell of a cocktail.
Just like when she was a kid, she amused herself on the short walk to Mill House by blowing into the fresh alpine air and watching her breath vaporise. Mrs Makin gave her a wave as she passed and Sarah got the same grip in her stomach she always did when she remembered the magnificent elms, oaks and bunya pines that had been felled to make way for the new estate. Her childhood garden was now covered in cookie cutter–style housing lacking any architectural character. Sarah and Cameron had both strongly argued with Margaret over the decision to subdivide the large property Mill House once sat on. In fact, it was one of the few times they’d joined forces either for or against their mother, but it was an alliance of convenience. Cameron, who had still been angry over the sale of the saw mill, considered the subdivision another betrayal.
Sarah had grieved for the garden; for the chance to show yetto-be-conceived children the joys and wonders of playing hide and seek in the grove of silver birches. She also grieved for the gauzy memories of time spent there with her father, both of them escaping from the house and Margaret’s critical comments. In the end, despite aligning herself with Cameron, neither of their arguments prevailed. It was Robert Horton who won the day—again. He’d invested the profits from the sale of the land and gone on to double them for Margaret, giving her more financial security than she’d ever known.
The familiar and worn bluestone steps of the red-brick Georgian house welcomed her, as did the faded gold lettering above the door. Mill House 1845. As she slid the key into the lock, the door swung open before she’d turned it. The hairs on her arm stood up. The door should be locked. Had the thieves who’d stolen her mother’s car returned?
You’re being ridiculous. It’s probably Anita.
But it’s Wednesday. There’s no reason for Anita to be here.
‘Hello! Anita?’
‘Sarah?’ Her sister-in-law’s voice floated from the depths of the house. ‘Yes. It’s me.’ Anita met her just as she reached the kitchen door and gave her a kiss. ‘Hello. I wasn’t expecting you.’
A prickly feeling ran up her spine, a righteous sense of ownership for her childhood home. ‘I wasn’t aware I needed to call.’
‘No, of course not,’ Anita said, her words breathy and her cheeks flushed pink. ‘I’m just surprised to see you. I’ve been ordering things for my first high tea.’
Sarah, who was still on the fence about the entire project of using Mill House for Cooked By a Friend, wondered why Anita needed to be here to place an order. Surely she could have done that from home? As she was thinking it through, Anita’s words suddenly registered.
‘High tea?’
‘Yes!’ Anita clapped her hands like an excited six-year-old. ‘I’m having so much fun planning it.’
‘I thought you were only doing the occasional cooking class here?’
‘I am, but high teas are all the rage. This house is the perfect setting and Margaret has the Spode to make it really special for the guests.’
Sarah felt her jaw clench. Guests? They were paying customers. ‘And Mum’s okay with all of this?’
‘Of course.’ Anita touched Sarah’s arm. ‘You know I wouldn’t be doing it if she wasn’t.’
Sarah took in Anita’s worried expression and sighed. ‘Of course you’ve run it past her. I’m sorry. It’s just with everything that’s going on with Mum and Alex and …’ Don’t mention Edmund. The warning surprised her because Anita was the first person she’d wanted to tell about Alex’s perfidy. ‘The kids.’
‘You’re stressed. I get it.’ Anita glanced at her watch. ‘I have to be at the Farrells’ out on Tannery Road by ten thirty, but I can squeeze in a quick cup of tea.’
Chatting over a cup of tea put Sarah at risk of blurting out something about Edmund. ‘Thanks, but you’d be cutting it fine to make it on time. I’m good. Really. I’ve got a list of things to do for Mum that will keep me occupied for most of the day.’
‘Well, if you’re sure …’ Anita was already fishing for her keys from a designer handbag Sarah hadn’t seen before and heading to the door.
Sarah walked with her, waved goodbye and then threw
the lock on the front door before going directly to the study. Although the room had been painted and the chesterfield reupholstered, it still looked much the same as it had when her grandfather was in residence. As a child, the painting ‘Hounds on the Hunt’ fascinated her not only because of its content but also because, to her knowledge, her grandfather and her parents had never hunted. Her mother’s decorating choices were always a mystery to her; some things Margaret modernised with ruthless efficiency and others she refused to change. The painting was a perfect example.
Sarah switched on her mother’s computer. Although Margaret was ‘on the line’, as she insisted on referring to the internet, her computer was five years old and slow. For over a year, Sarah had been suggesting that Margaret invest in a new computer and that Finn or Gus would set it up for her and teach her how to use it. Her mother, however, was resisting in her obstinate way that could never be predicted. Each time Sarah was secure in her anticipation of her mother’s reaction to something, Margaret would do the complete opposite. The computer was a case in point. Her mother prided herself on being the first of her social set to acquire a computer and later a smartphone. Email and texting were now part of Margaret’s way of life and she was often heard to say, ‘I love the internet.’ But then she asked Sarah to book theatre tickets and accommodation for her because ‘I don’t trust the internet’. Sarah was happy to help but occasionally wondered at Margaret’s logic that it was fine for her daughter to risk her credit card to hackers when she wasn’t prepared to risk her own.
Plugging her phone into the computer, Sarah turned on the speakers and selected her ’80s music playlist, starting with Duran Duran. She turned to face the walnut filing cabinet. As well as being functional, it was a beautiful piece of furniture. Should she start with the top or the bottom drawer? Starting at the bottom meant she could sit so she sat, tugged on the brass handle and then pulled out the green expansion files. The first four contained instruction manuals for long-gone items such as her father’s pride and joy, the 1983 Bose sound system. She pictured Kevin standing in the centre of the lounge room, head tilted, listening intently to the crisp sound and smoking his pipe. When he noticed her watching him, he’d smile and open his arms. Even if she didn’t like the music, she always snuggled in next to him just to be near him.