All Stirred Up

by Brianne Moore

  Bernard clasps her hand, smiles genuinely, and says, “You’ve done really well, my dear. Your mother and grandfather would be pleased, and so am I.”

  Susan blinks at him for a moment, then manages to say, “Thanks, Dad.”

  He releases her as Kay sweeps in, pulling Susan into a hug so tight Susan can barely breathe.

  “You’ve done it, Susan! You’ve really done it!” she gushes. “Your mother would be so proud!” She looks around. “Where’s Philip disappeared to?”

  “He had to go,” Susan replies, turning to embrace Meg and William, whom she notices for the first time are looking very sullen. “Everything okay?” she whispers to Meg, who just shakes her head and steps away. Susan holds onto her hand. “Let’s get together soon, okay?” she says, frowning. “We’ll have lunch or coffee or something, and a good talk.” She can’t help but feel like she’s been neglecting her sister lately, with everything else that’s been going on, and that worries her. Meg looks haggard, and William is refusing to make eye contact with anyone or stand within two feet of his wife.

  The family drifts away, and Susan looks up and sees Chris standing at the bar with a half-drunk glass of beer in one hand. She tenses a little, remembering the awkwardness downstairs. But he lifts the beer in her direction, inclining his head in a sort of bow, and has a word with the bartender, who promptly pours a glass of champagne.

  “You look like you need something to make you giggly,” Chris says, approaching and handing over the drink. He seems more himself now, and she thinks, It was all in your head, that awkwardness. He didn’t hear anything.

  “Do I?” She takes the champagne and clinks the edge of his glass.

  “You should be pleased—you had a great night,” he says. “But you look like someone just kicked your dog and then ran it over.”

  Susan can’t help but snort. “Thank you. That was … graphic.”

  “Well, if anyone should be looking unhappy right now, it should be me. I’m the one who’s got bigger competition now.” He grins. “And I couldn’t be more pleased.”

  “Thanks,” she says warmly. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

  He chuckles ruefully. “Yeah, guess I haven’t been the nicest. I’m really sorry about that. Sorry I snapped at you the day you came to Seòin—I know you were just trying to be nice. And that comment at the party after the play …” He clears his throat. “It was uncalled for.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she reassures him. “We all do hurtful things without meaning to. If anyone knows that, I sure as hell do.”

  “Well, you’re not the only one who turns things over and over and over in their head long afterward,” he says.

  Oh my God, he did hear, Susan thinks, blinking up at him, trying to think of what to say next. He seems embarrassed, though, realizing what he’s just blurted out. He’s looking down at his beer, fiddling with it. So she decides it’s best to let the comment lie.

  At last, he clears his throat and asks, “At the risk of pushing my luck, would you be willing to consider trading support for support?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m going to be appearing at the Book Festival next week, and I was wondering if you’d come.” He drops his voice. “My publicist says I shouldn’t worry, but I keep having nightmares about nobody showing up.”

  “I doubt that’ll be a problem,” Susan reassures him, remembering how the crowd cheered when he arrived that night, though he hadn’t seemed to notice. Too busy talking to that journo he spent the next hour with at the bar. “But yes, I’ll come.”

  He grins. “Thanks.” He sips his beer. “So, are you all right?” His forehead is puckering in concern. “You didn’t look … happy, when I saw you earlier. Or just now.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she reassures him. “Just a little tired, and overwhelmed.”

  “Yeah, I know how that is.” He gestures to her now-empty glass. “Another?”

  She wants to. She’s tempted. She wants to get giggly with him. She wants it to be like it was, but at the same time, she reminds herself that this would just be a tease. It’s a stolen moment, and things can’t be like they used to be. They can be courteous; friendly, even. It’s certainly an improvement over the hostility he used to show. But she can’t get her hopes up—it would only crush her. He’s just being polite; this is a professional courtesy, one chef congratulating another on a job well done. And it would be best for her not to try to make this more than it is.

  “Thanks, but I think I’m all right with just the one,” she answers.

  He nods and polishes off the last of his beer. “Well, I’d best be off, then. Restaurant life is a busy one, and we both need our sleep, hey?”

  “Yeah.”

  With one last smile, he turns away and is swallowed up by the remaining crowd.

  And she is alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Starving Artist

  The reviews are in, so glowing they’re “practically radioactive” (Gloria’s words). Susan’s so relieved she almost cries when she reads them, the stress and anxiety of the past few weeks threatening to drench the chef’s office.

  “Hey, now, come on! You had more faith in us than that, didn’t you?” Gloria asks, noticing Susan tearing up, even as she smiles, paging through the newspapers and printouts of online content. “You knew we’d get there in the end, right?”

  No, actually, she hadn’t. It’s not that she didn’t have faith in her staff, but with all their setbacks she’d started to feel like it would take a miracle for everything to come together.

  Dan’s place, on the other hand, has met with a collective shrug from the few critics who tried it. “About what you’d expect from a restaurant in a touristy area,” one wrote, rather damningly. “Trying to be everything to everyone, but hitting the mark for no one.”

  Elliot’s is fully booked for the next two months, and everyone is working flat out. They’re serving lunch and dinner six days a week, and it’s almost time to start planning and testing recipes for the autumn menu. In the back of her mind, Susan knows she should really step up the recruitment for a pastry chef—they’ve had some applicants, but none she was really excited about. And she has to admit, she’s reluctant to hand over the pastry reins. She uses Rab’s ongoing training as an excuse. She can’t just pass him along to a whole other person, now, can she?

  He’s coming along beautifully: his puff pastry is a marvel now, and he’s beginning to invent new dishes of his own. He and Susan are tweaking a cranberry linzer torte one afternoon a few days post-relaunch when her phone rings.

  “Suze,” Julia says from the other end, “I think you’d better come home. Meg’s here, and I think I could use some backup.”

  “Why? Is she holding you hostage?”

  “Just come home, okay? She needs something, and I don’t think I’m the best person to give it.”

  The cryptic nature of the message sends Susan into a panic, so she reels off instructions to Rab while tearing off her apron, then leaps into the first cab she can flag down, and races home as fast as the traffic and crowds will allow.

  “What’s happened?” she shouts as soon as she’s through the door at Moray Place.

  Julia appears in the doorway of the sitting room. “For God’s sake, Susan, calm down. No one’s died.”

  “Well, what was I supposed to think? Where’s Meg? What’s wrong?”

  Julia steps aside and gestures into the sitting room. “See for yourself.”

  Meg is lying prone on one of the sofas, face red and puffy, tears and snot streaming continuously.

  “Oh, Meg,” Susan murmurs, sinking onto the sofa beside her. “Sweetie, what happened?”

  “I’ve abandoned my children!” Meg wails.

  Taken aback, Susan asks, “Excuse me?”

  “I just left! I just walked out of the house! I just left and came here!”

  “Jesus, Meg, the kids are home alone?”

  “No, of
course not. They’re with their dad!”

  “Oh God, Meg, then what the hell are you talking about, you abandoned them? They’re perfectly fine!”

  “Are they? Are they really? William never notices when one of them has a fever. He doesn’t know what to do when they get sick or need something. He doesn’t know what Ayden likes to eat.”

  “I think he’ll figure it out,” Julia comments. “I mean, that kid eats dirt and dog food; it’s not like he’s picky. And Meg, can you use a tissue or something? The upholstery …”

  “Can you make some tea or something?” Susan suggests sharply, glaring at Julia. Julia looks relieved to have something else to do.

  “Okay, let’s reel this back a little,” Susan suggests, stroking Meg’s hair and reaching for a box of tissues. “Did something happen this morning?”

  “There was a fight,” Meg sniffled, mopping at her face. “A bad one. I’d been talking to the GP about postponing some of Ayden’s immunizations, or spacing them out a bit, because I heard that’s better for them, and William’s been so difficult about it, and he told me I’m just an idiot, and I’ll end up killing our children or making them crazy, just like I make him crazy. And he said that I’m crazy, that I’m sick and I need help and everyone thinks I’m just a stupid mess.”

  “That was a terrible thing for him to say,” Susan tells her. “And it’s not true. We don’t think you’re crazy or a stupid mess. I certainly don’t. You’re just … well, you worry a lot, Meg. And that worries me. And I think it worries William too, and that’s why he’s saying these things. I’m not saying he’s right,” she adds hastily as Meg’s face crumples anew. “I just think he’s expressing his fear very, very poorly.”

  There’s a long silence as Meg snuffles and sniffles.

  “He doesn’t understand,” she hiccups. “He doesn’t know just how easily a simple thing can become a complete disaster, does he? We understand, but he doesn’t. And I’m—Susan, I’m so tired. I’m tired all the time because I’m on constant high alert, and I can’t seem to stop it. Every time one of the boys gets a cough or I get a pain, I think, ‘Jesus, this is it! All over again!’ And when Andrew fell …”

  She shifts onto her side, curling up in a fetal position, and renews her tears. “I felt like the worst mother. I try so hard to keep them safe and healthy, and then that had to happen! On my watch! And they all blamed me for it; you should have seen some of the looks Helen gave me afterward! It just kicked me into overdrive—I’ve had Ali at Sick Kids four times in the last month because he keeps telling me his tummy hurts, and they’ve run all sorts of tests and can’t find anything, and they’ve started to say he might just be saying that because that’s what he thinks he should be saying. So, either I’m making my own child crazy, or there really is something wrong with him and they just can’t find it, and I don’t know which one is worse!” She bursts into wracking sobs.

  “Oh, love.” Susan wraps her arms around her sister, squeezing as hard as she can, feeling guilty for getting so wrapped up in other things lately that she’s barely had time for Meg.

  “I-I feel like I’ve been trying to cope with all of this on my own for ages,” Meg continues. “I mean, no one was there for me when Mum died. You had Aunt Kay, and Julia had Dad, and who was left for me? Just William, but he doesn’t even want me!”

  “Megs, honey, of course he does!”

  “No, he doesn’t! I heard him with you that one Christmas. I’m just the sister he settled for!”

  Susan feels another guilty pang. “William was drunk when he said that; he didn’t mean it. And I’m really sorry I couldn’t be a better sister to you when Mum died. We kind of failed as a family back then, didn’t we?”

  Julia is hovering in the hallway, a tray of mugs in her hands, peeking into the room as if she’s not sure she’ll be welcome. Susan gestures for her to join them, and Julia sets mugs down on the table in front of both her and Meg.

  “Meg, I made yours with extra milk and sugar,” she announces, curling her legs under her and settling down on the carpet near Meg’s head. Off Susan’s startled look, Julia shrugs. “What? Mum used to say it’s more comforting that way.”

  “I miss Mum,” Meg whimpers, hauling herself into a sitting position and taking a sip of her tea. “If she hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be like this.”

  “If she hadn’t died, a lot of things would be different,” Julia observes, glancing meaningfully at Susan. “But she did die, Megs, and we have to muddle on as best we can, right? Try and un-muck things.” She pats Meg on the knee and sighs. “I miss her too.”

  “Do you?” Meg shoots her older sister a skeptical look. “You never seem to.”

  “Like I told Suze, I try not to think about it.” Julia shrugs. “But you know, Mum was the only person who didn’t just tell me I was pretty. Well, except for you,” she adds, looking at Susan. “She used to listen to me going on and on about design plans. Everyone else just seemed bored. She was the one who encouraged me to start the business. It’s why I couldn’t quite bear to go on with it after she died. I thought she was the only one who thought anything of me.” Another glance at Susan. “But things are different now. And I don’t want you talking about having no one, Meg. You’ve got two sisters, right? Come and talk to us, but, you know, without the hysterics. And there’s something else that might help.”

  “Oh? What’s that?” Meg asks.

  “Well …” Julia clears her throat and sits up straighter. “You know that Susan and I saw someone after Mum died? A professional? Now, don’t look at me like that—I’m not saying you’re mad, but it did both of us a lot of good, wouldn’t you say, Suze?”

  Susan nods.

  “There you are, then. It might help for you to talk to someone. And find something else to do besides just mothering. You need a hobby, Megs. Or a job.”

  “You say that like it’s such an easy thing to do!”

  “It is an easy thing to do,” Julia insists. “Get out of the house and away from the kids. Get a new nanny and join a club. Take up knitting or—I don’t know—get an allotment or something. Maybe Susan’ll hire you at the restaurant!”

  “I don’t think Meg really wants to work at the restaurant,” Susan interjects, “but there are plenty of other things to do. What about joining a choir? I miss you singing, Meg!”

  Meg sniffles and stares down at her mug. “I do miss it, sometimes,” she mutters. “I thought about joining one of the Edinburgh choirs, but I kept telling myself I was too busy … I don’t know … maybe you’re right and it’d be good for me to have something to do. I mean, Jules, you’ve been much happier and more interesting since you started redoing the restaurant. You actually seemed excited about it, and I haven’t seen you excited about anything for years. Same with you, Susan.”

  “Thank you, sweetie,” Susan says.

  “Tell you what—I’m going to look into counselors, okay, Megs?” Julia offers. “I’ve a friend whose wife is a GP; I’m sure she’ll know of someone. And I’m going to get you out of the house more. Let’s make a standing date to meet for a drink—say, once a month or so. Be more family. You can come too, Susan.”

  “Aw, thanks.” Susan chuckles.

  “If you’re not too busy,” Julia adds.

  “I’ll make time,” Susan promises.

  Meg finally manages a wobbly smile. “Thanks,” she says to both her sisters. “I’d like us to see each other more. Away from the rest of the family. Just us sisters.”

  “We’ll be besties, just like in the movies,” Julia comments with a wry smile.

  The doorbell rings and Julia rises to answer it, returning a few moments later with Kay in tow.

  “Oh, Susan, you’re here!” Kay notes. “I thought I’d have to go to the restaurant to say goodbye.”

  “You’re not leaving now, are you?” Susan asks. “I thought you were staying on until next week.”

  “Oh, I am, I am, but you’ve been so occupied lately.” Kay takes in the mugs of te
a and the tearstained face of her youngest niece and asks, “What’s been going on here?”

  “Just family drama,” Julia answers. “Can I get you some tea?”

  “That’d be lovely, darling. Susan, may I borrow you for a chat?”

  “I know when I’m not wanted,” Meg grumbles, hauling herself to her feet.

  “Come on, you,” Julia says to her. “We’ll find some vegan something-or-other to cheer you up.”

  Kay takes Meg’s spot on the sofa and looks meaningfully at Susan. “Now, my dear, I’ve had breakfast with a rather sorrowful young man of your acquaintance. What on earth happened to you and Philip? I thought you were going gangbusters, but the poor lad tells me it’s all over.”

  “I’m sorry that he’s sad,” says Susan, “but it just wasn’t right, you know? It was nice, it was good, but good just isn’t good enough. I hope he’s not too upset.”

  “Oh, he’ll be fine, dear—don’t worry. He’ll be shooting in a few weeks and a little on-set romance will bounce him right back.” Kay bites her lower lip. “Susan, my love, is it really that he wasn’t right for you, or were you too distracted by someone else to give him a fair chance?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  There’s a sudden sting of tears behind Susan’s eyes, and she glances away, pressing her lips together and trying to regain control of herself.

  It’s all the answer Kay needs, and she reaches out and hugs Susan fiercely. “Oh, Susan, my darling,” she breathes. “I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for?” Susan asks.

  “Just … I’m sorry you’re sad, my love. You know I want more than anything for you to be happy, don’t you?”

  “I do. And I am happy.”

  “No, Susan. You’re not. You’re content, in a sense. But you’re not happy. Not the way I want you to be.”

  “Well, there’s not much to be done about that, is there?”

  “Isn’t there?”