by Del, Lissa
“You need fattening up. I’ve made your favourite – roast beef, with apple pie for dessert.”
“That sounds good.” I try to speak over the frenetic yapping descending the stairs as my mother’s Yorkshire terriers join the fray. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s on the patio. Go ahead, I’m just going to check the potatoes. I know you like them extra crispy.”
I wander outside and find Evie ensconced on the sofa beside my dad. They’ve always had a good relationship, unlike Evie and my mother. I’ve always maintained that no man is impervious to Evie’s charms and my dad is no exception. His grey head is bent toward Evie’s shoulder while she shows him something on her cell phone.
“You look good with rabbit ears,” Dad says and, intrigued, I glance over their shoulders. Oh God, Evie’s teaching him how to Snapchat. I grab a beer from the bar fridge and settle onto the single-seater across from them. Through the glass of the sliding-door I can see the kids arguing over the television remote and my mother striding through from the kitchen to veto any ideas they might have about watching anything.
My dad glances up and catches me watching. “She’s been under a lot of stress,” he says. “Some mix-up with a realtor. I’m sure she’ll tell you about it. Also, the annual bingo evening at the country club is coming up next month and she’s chairing the organisation committee.”
Evie’s head jerks up. “Isn’t that on the 18th?”
“I’m not sure, I think so.”
“But that’s the same night as Casey’s ballet recital! I told Mary-Anne months ago and she said she would try to be there.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure she wouldn’t miss it. I might have the wrong end of the stick. You’ll have to ask her, Evie.”
Evie’s eyes narrow and she stuffs her phone back in her bag.
“Right!” my mother’s voice at the door. “Everything’s on track. We’ll eat in half an hour. Evelyn, I’ve given the children a board game to play until we’re ready to eat.”
Evie doesn’t even glance up. “Thanks, Mary-Anne.”
“Mom, Dad says you’re running the bingo evening at the club next month. Isn’t that the same evening as Casey’s ballet recital?”
“Oh, yes, I forgot about that. I meant to tell you, Evelyn, I won’t be able to make it after all. I definitely want a copy of the recording, though, I’d love to see it.”
“Surely the club can find someone else to help out?” Evie is making a concerted effort to restrain herself.
“Oh heavens, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it. It’s the biggest event of the season.”
“The recital is the biggest event of Casey’s life up until this point.” Evie’s stopped trying.
My mother gives a tinkling laugh. “She won’t even remember it, dear. Besides, all proceeds of this event go to a children’s charity. I’m sure Casey wouldn’t want me to abandon dozens of orphaned children.”
“Casey’s four, Mom.” I intercept before Evie can really let loose.
“You need to stop treating them like babies. They understand far more than you give them credit for. David, sweetheart, how’s your drink?” As always, my mother is a master at brushing off what she doesn’t want to talk about, and, as always, my father is quick to get on board.
“It’s fine,” he says. “I was just telling Nick and Evie about the mix-up with the realtor.”
“So unprofessional!” My mom seizes the change of topic. “There was some mix-up and one of their sale boards ended up on our verge. People thought the house was on the market, but they listed my contact number, so I’ve been inundated with calls from people wanting to buy the house!”
“Really?” I narrow my eyes in confusion, about to point out that if it was a mix-up her number would never have been listed, but then I catch sight of Evie’s face. I know her far too well to miss the small upward tug of her lip. Oh shit! “Well, I’m sure these things happen all the time,” I say, trying to keep my expression neutral. “And I doubt you’d have too many calls given the current market.”
“Not when the sale price listed is less than half what the house is worth!” my mother replies indignantly. “It’s been terribly stressful and some of these buyers have been threatening to take legal action against me for false advertising!”
“They won’t do that, sweetheart,” my father tells her gently, “they’re just trying to intimidate you.”
My mother sits up straighter, proving to all and sundry that she won’t be intimidated. “Yes, well, it’s still been a trying time.”
Evie is bent over her handbag, rooting around inside it, but I suspect it’s only because she’s trying not to laugh. “I almost forgot to give you this,” she announces finally, withdrawing a slim, badly-wrapped package and handing it to my dad.
“Evie, you shouldn’t have!” he insists as he takes it from her. My mother eyes the wrapping as if it’s committed a cardinal sin, but even she can’t fault the gift itself. The slim, silver Montblanc writing pen, with my father’s name engraved along the side, is beautiful. It was Evie’s idea. My dad has had a career in investment banking his whole life, but he loves to journal and has been threatening to write a memoir for the past few years.
“How very thoughtful,” my mother says, dabbing at her eyes and bestowing a rare look of kindness on Evie. “That’s a wonderful gift, Evelyn.”
“It’s from all of us,” Evie says, but she gives my dad a hug and I see her whisper something into his ear which makes him smile.
It’s only once we’re back home and the kids are sound asleep that I call Evie out.
“You did it, didn’t you?” I ask her, lowering the book she’s pretending to read, from her face. “The realtor sign – that was you?”
“What?” she tries to adopt an indignant expression and fails miserably.
“Have you no shame?” I ask, while she grins like the village idiot.
“None at all, Mr Danvers.”
“You’re terrible, you know that?”
“She was terrible first.”
I kiss her nose and vault over her to climb into my side of the bed. “True,” I concede. “She was terrible first.”
12
Evie
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” I ask Julia for the tenth time.
“I’ll be absolutely fine,” she insists. “I have your numbers if there’s a problem, plus your in-laws, the fire department, police department and you’ve already made them supper, so I won’t even need to cook.”
“Okay,” I relent. “Just make sure they’re in bed by nine and call me if you need anything.”
“I will. Go and have fun.”
I check my phone. “The Uber will be here in five minutes. I better say goodbye to the kids.”
Julia watches as I tug on my wig. It’s one of my favourites, the streaks of copper through the warm brown and the long shaggy cut almost identical to how I wore my hair before the chemo.
“Is it bothering you?” Julia asks, the gentle lilt of her voice expressing concern rather than curiosity.
“It itches.” I ram my finger up and under the edge to scratch my scalp. “I think I’m allergic to the tape.”
She doesn’t tell me to leave it off or suggest I wear a hat instead. She must sense that tonight I want to feel beautiful again. Instead, she waits until I’ve stopped scratching and then gently places her hands on either side of the wig and adjusts it.
“You look lovely,” she tells me. It makes me want to cry.
The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs reaches us and a small frown crosses Julia’s face, but it’s only Jesse. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and then I’m alone with Julia once more.
“Can I ask you something?”
She smiles. “Technically, you just did.”
“You seem a bit uncomfortable around Nick. Has he done something to upset you?”
Her smile fades. “I… it’s not that. Mr Danvers seems like a very nice man.”
&
nbsp; “But?” I prompt.
“To be honest, I get the feeling that he doesn’t want me here.”
Pretty and perceptive, I think. “He’s worried about me,” I explain. “He thinks having you here might make me feel worse about myself.”
“He said that?”
“Of course not. But I know him better than he thinks.”
“How would me being here make you feel worse about yourself?” The concern is back, mingled with guilt that she can’t put her finger on because she doesn’t know Nick.
“You’re young, and gorgeous,” I reply simply. “And you’re not sick. None of which is your fault,” I add teasingly, “but the bottom line is that I’m not any of those things. Not anymore. Please don’t let it affect how you handle me or my family. And please don’t feel you need to avoid my husband. He’ll get over it, I promise.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she vows, and I’m struck anew by her intuition because that is exactly what I did fear most. “And you’re wrong, you know,” she adds, brushing a wayward curl over my shoulder. “You are beautiful.”
It’s only a fifteen-minute drive to Lapiz. Nick’s hand is warm on my thigh, stirring up memories of car-rides long past. My dresses had been shorter, the rising heat of bare-skin contact usually resulting in compromising activities that were certainly not advisable while driving a motor vehicle, but we hadn’t cared. Back then, it had just been me and Nick against the world, blissful and oblivious in our own little bubble. Now our bubble is a Saab driven by a surly, middle-aged Uber driver named Edward.
“When are you seeing Doctor Moxley?” Nick asks, keeping his voice low.
“Next week,” I reply confidently. The cat’s become an even-more-frequent visitor since I started setting out bowls of tuna. Nick squeezes my leg fondly and I feel a stab of guilt. “How’s Amy doing at the office?”
“Brilliantly,” he says. “She’s created order from the chaos in only a couple of days.” A grateful smile. “It was a brilliant hire, thank you.”
“Two brilliant hires in one week,” I point out. Nick’s jaw tightens. “It’s true, Nick. I know you don’t feel entirely comfortable having Julia in the house, but she’s a godsend.”
Still no response.
“The kids adore her,” I add, looking out of my window. “And she’s taken so much off my plate, I finally feel like I can breathe again.”
“Evie, I keep telling you, I’m here. I can do more, if only you’d let me…”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, Nick. You’re not a nanny. And… well, when I get weaker, I’m going to need someone to help me with things I’d rather you don’t see.”
Quick as a flash, his hand leaves my thigh and he snatches up both of my hands in his. “Evie, I’m your husband. For better or worse, remember? In sickness and in health. I want to be there for you. We can get through this, together.”
“There’s no getting through this,” I sigh softly. “There’s only seeing it through to the end.”
My hands feel cold and empty when he suddenly lets them go. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Nick…”
“No,” he snarls, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the Uber driver glance up with concern to look at Nick in his rear-view mirror. “You’re not going anywhere, Evie,” Nick continues, not noticing, or not caring. “If Julia being there is helping, that’s fine, she can stay, but only until you’re well enough to handle things on your own.”
I don’t correct him again. Deep down he knows the truth, but he’s not ready to face it. I can, however, press my advantage. “She might leave before then,” I say in a small voice. “You’re not exactly making her feel welcome. Please just try to get along with her. For me?”
Nick jabs his thumbs into his eye sockets and presses hard. By the time his hands drop away, his eyes are calm, his face composed. “I’ll be nicer to her,” he promises.
“Thank you.”
I feel a rush of gratitude for this amazing, heroic man who would do anything to please me, anything I ask, if it means I’ll keep fighting. The storm has passed and I face forward once more, but his hand doesn’t return to my leg.
The restaurant is packed, bodies crammed onto every available chair, so I am pleasantly surprised to find that Ian has reserved a booth at the back.
“Evie!” he croons, getting to his feet and spreading his arms wide. I hug him, ducking my face as he plants a kiss on my cheek and then I slip onto the leather seat beside Kat.
Nick sits opposite, next to Ian, and he gives me the ghost of a wink.
“How’s the nanny working out?” Kat asks immediately.
“Her name is Julia,” I remind her, “and she’s wonderful.”
Kat gives me a smug look and then beckons the hovering waiter over. “Bring us a bottle of your best Cabernet, please.”
“I can’t drink red tonight, Kat,” I murmur, trying to be discreet, but both Nick and Ian have heard me.
“Bring the red and a bottle of Chardonnay too,” Nick tells the waiter smoothly. The young man bobs his head and disappears.
“You okay, Evie?” Ian asks, his face filled with concern.
“She’s fine,” Nick snaps.
Ian is taken aback. “I was only asking.”
“I’m fine.” I snatch up the menu and fix a smile on my face that hurts my cheeks. “What’s everyone having?”
13
Nick
I’m going to murder Ian. Kat has become a pro at hiding her concern from Evie, at keeping Evie’s spirits up and going along with her example of pretending that everything is okay. It’s what Evie needs and, no matter how hard it is, we suck it up because Evie is the one who matters. What Evie needs is all that matters. What Evie doesn’t need, is the haunted, pained look that has currently taken up residence on Ian’s face.
Throughout dinner I catch him sneaking lingering looks at her, wincing when she does, at a sudden stab of pain, closing his eyes briefly when she makes a joke, as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever hear, and I swear to God if those are actual tears shimmering in his bloodshot eyes, I’m going to punch him in the mouth.
Thankfully, Evie doesn’t seem to notice. As a result of her low tolerance and the fact that she only managed to eat a third of the penne on her plate, she and Kat are now giggling like a pair of schoolgirls, although, in Kat’s case, it’s more likely because she’s on to her second bottle of wine.
“You sure you don’t want any dessert, babe?” I ask. She shakes her head and I nod, calling for the bill.
“Let’s go back to mine,” Kat says. There’s a wicked gleam in her eye and, to my surprise, it’s reflected in Evie’s.
“What are you two up to?” I ask, not bothering to hide my smile.
“Nothing,” Evie hiccups and she and Kat fall about laughing.
“We can share an Uber,” Ian offers, and I nod, sliding my credit card back into my wallet.
Kat is incapable of giving the driver directions and Ian’s attention is diverted when he pulls up, so I heave a sigh and climb into the front seat. Evie sits in the back, cushioned between Kat and Ian, her speech only slightly slurred - enough to be adorable, but not too much to have me worried.
“I think you two have had enough,” Ian says. “I’ll make you some coffee when we get to Kat’s.”
“Okay, fun police,” Evie says in her best Gru impersonation. She’s got the deep Romanian-sounding inflection to a tee. Ian, who has no children and has never had to endure endless repeats of Despicable Me, looks confused.
“I may have something better than coffee,” Kat drawls, and then, with a very obvious look at the back of the Uber driver’s head, she lowers her voice and whispers loudly, “I’ve got some of Evie’s medicinal herbs.”
“You mean my marijuana?” Evie screeches. The Uber driver grins.
Kat’s house is a sprawling single-storey mansion atop two acres of prime land. Evie isn’t the only one who’s proud of what Kat has achi
eved. She’s come a long way from the wild collegian who dared Evie to whip up her top, and she deserves everything she has. She’s also never let it go to her head and her generosity knows no bounds. I couldn’t think of a better friend for Evie.
We sit outside, on the terrace. Evie shivers against the faint chill in the air and I set about lighting a fire. Once the logs are crackling brightly I take a seat next to Evie. She smells of apples and night-time, and the faint, sweet tang of the joint they passed around while I was busy at the fireplace lingers in her hair.
Ian and Kat have finally gone inside to make that coffee but I can hear from their constant giggling that they’re as high as kites.
Evie smiles up at me, her eyes only marginally bloodshot, and I kiss her forehead.
“Happy?” I murmur, running my hand down her bare arm. She snuggles closer and leans her head against my chest.
“Very.”
I know from experience that the marijuana makes Evie sleepy, but it also relieves her pain, so if I have to carry her out to the car and then into the house later, it’ll be worth it.
“Is she sleeping?” Ian asks, keeping his voice low but managing to trip over the patio rug.
“I’m just blinking,” Evie mumbles, her eyes still closed.
“Ah, hell no!” Kat descends upon us like a crimson-lipped vulture and hauls Evie to her feet, dislodging her wig. Ian winces. Evie giggles. “We have a secret mission to attend to,” Kat tells us. “We will see you boys shortly.” And with that, she steers Evie inside.
Ian watches them go and I watch Ian. He’s always paid Evie too much attention, but this is the first time I’ve really been angry about it.
“You mind keeping your feelings to yourself?” I ask as soon as the women are out of earshot.
That gets his attention. “What?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“Evie wants to be treated normally, Ian. Your long, lingering looks and cringing every time you see evidence of her illness isn’t helping.”