by Del, Lissa
Thinking of it now I feel the stirrings of an erection pressing up through the thin cotton of my sleeping shorts. I shift, uncomfortably and try to put some distance between me and Evie, but she only wriggles closer, following me in her sleep.
Men should have an off-switch, I think, as the pressure builds. It’s been over two weeks since Evie and I made love on the sofa. Slowly, I ease myself out of the bed. I pull the covers over her and Dylan and leave her, the small, contented smile on her face at odds with the grimace on my own.
As the hot water cascades over me I touch myself with fumbling hands. I’m not used to doing this. I know most men are experts, but I’ve never had to sort myself out, not while married to Evie. I feel guilty, but the physical ache is worse. I think of her while I do it, of the way her hair used to smell of mandarin and freesias, how her skin tasted of soap and salt and the way her toes would curl at the moment of orgasm. When I’m done, I lean back against the cold tiles behind me and sink to the floor, head in hands as my throat closes up and tears mingle with the water running down my face.
21
Evie
I’m dripping with sweat. My shirt is drenched and the back of my neck itches as trickles of perspiration dribble into my collar. Surely it’s not that much work to make meatloaf?
Julia’s dad, Ted, is coming for dinner tonight and I want everything ready well in advance. I know how the older generation loathes to be kept waiting.
“What can I do?” Julia asks, pulling an apron from the broom closet and tying it around her waist.
“Check the potatoes, please?” I groan, abandoning any attempt to refuse her help.
She does so, then removes the vegetables from the steamer and deposits them in a bowl which she sets in the warmer. She moves around the kitchen with prompt efficiency and her skin is dry and cool.
“You really didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” Julia says, her tongue caught beneath her front tooth. It sounds like an apology.
“Nonsense! It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”
“You pay me,” she points out.
“True. But I’d still like to meet your dad and it’s worth it to see Jesse out of his slump.”
“He’s been practicing a Justin Bieber song all afternoon.”
“I know,” I groan. “Why couldn’t he be a rock fan?”
“Zepplin?” she grins.
“Pearl Jam,” I correct.
“He could learn both,” she says, as the opening chords of My mama don’t like you drifts down the stairs.
“Bieber,” I sigh. “Justin Bloody Bieber. I’ve failed at parenting.”
“My dad will love it,” Julia says. “He hates rock.”
“How can anybody hate rock?” I ask, bending over the oven to check the meatloaf. The gust of hot air that emerges engulfs me.
“Right?”
“Okay, we’re just about-” I break off as a spasm of pain cuts through my lower back. I can’t straighten my spine, so I crouch in front of the oven like a little old lady, my hand reaching desperately for my back.
Julia is at my side in an instant. “Evie! Evie, what can I do?”
“Just help me into the living-room,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “And keep the kids away, I don’t want them to…”
“Hold on,” she flies out of the kitchen and I hear her telling Casey and Dylan to go upstairs to get dressed for dinner. “Now!” she scolds when they start to moan about missing the end of whatever program they’re watching. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her raise her voice before and the scampering of little feet a second later would imply my children haven’t either. If I wasn’t in agony, I would be smiling.
Julia is back and she slides her arm around my back. “Lean against me,” she murmurs, “I’ve got you.” By the time we make it to the living-room she’s supporting most of my weight.
“You’re stronger than you look.” It’s a pitiful attempt at humour, and tempered by the choked sob at the end.
“I spent a lot of time helping my dad get around before he got his prosthesis,” she says. She lowers me gently onto the sofa, propping cushions up behind me as we go. “What do you need?” she asks, the second I’m sitting. “Your pain meds, where are they?”
I shake my head. “I already took them. There’s a red bag in my vanity cupboard, it’s behind the-” I break off. She’s already gone, flying out of the room on feet as graceful as a dancer’s.
Julia sits beside me as I open the red bag with trembling hands. I take out the clean plastic spoon and scrape a tiny amount of cannabis oil – about the size of a grain of rice – out of the jar. Then I open the pill bottle and remove one of the empty pill capsules.
Julia disappears. For a second I think she’s offended by the sight of the drug, which I haven’t mentioned to her before, but then she’s back, holding a glass of water. “You’ll need something to take that with,” she says.
“Thank you.” I swallow the blue pill and settle back onto the cushions.
“How long will it take to work?”
“Not long. I might not be in any state to finish dinner, though. I haven’t built up much of a tolerance.”
Julia gets to her feet. “I should call my dad. To cancel.”
“No, please don’t. I’ll be fine, I promise.”
She hesitates for a few seconds, torn, but then she slowly lowers herself back onto the sofa beside me.
“So, my dad’s going to be meeting high Evie?” she tries to smile, but she’s still worried.
“I’ll try not to let him know.”
“I wouldn’t worry, he spent most of his career around the mink and manure of horse-racing. I doubt there’s anything he hasn’t seen. Or tried,” she adds. She picks up the small jar and examines the contents. “I wonder if this would’ve helped with his pain after the amputation?”
“Best pain relief in the world,” I say. The pain is easing, whether naturally or because of the cannabis, I can’t tell.
“Where does it hurt?”
“The base of my spine.”
“Here, shift forward, I’ll rub it for you.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that this pain isn’t something you can massage away, so I shift forward and let her fingers go to work.
“Look who’s come to visit,” Julia says, after a while. Doctor Moxley has deigned to enter the room and he gives me a foul look before he leaps onto the sofa beside me and sticks his nose inside the red bag.
“Oh no you don’t,” I lean forward to zip it up, “that’s mine.”
“Why do you call him Doctor Moxley?” Julia asks curiously.
“After my specialist,” I tell her, scratching Doctor Moxley between his flea-bitten ears.
Julia’s soft chuckle washes over my shoulder. “Is that a compliment or an insult to the cat?”
“I’m still undecided. And Nick doesn’t know,” I add, “he doesn’t like to be reminded, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention it to him.”
“Cat’s the word,” Julia promises without hesitation.
The cannabis is working by the time Nick gets home from work. If he knows I’m a little high, he doesn’t say anything.
“How was your day?” he asks. We’re in the bedroom, getting ready for dinner. Julia will be back with her dad any minute and I’m putting on my wig while Nick gets dressed. I sneak a peek at his naked body reflected in the mirror. At thirty-seven, Nick is in great shape. His stomach is flat, a trail of dark hair tapering down his belly, and his legs are lean, but muscular.
“What time is…” he catches me staring and raises a dark brow at my reflection. “You see something you like?”
“How are you coping?” I ask, swivelling round to face him.
His mouth straightens. “What?”
“Without sex. I mean, I know men have needs, and I’m not exactly meeting those needs at the moment.”
“You meet my needs just fine.”
“Nick…”
“No, Evie. You’re not allowed to feel guilty because you got sick. Besides, it was your mind that attracted me first.”
“I thought it was my boobs?”
He cocks his head to one side as if trying to remember. “Okay, they helped.”
“Do you think you’d ever get married again?” I ask. I try to look him in the eye but my courage fails me so I turn back to the mirror as I wait for his response.
“I’m not into polygamy.”
“Seriously, Nick. Say I left you-” I catch sight of the look on his face and add, “for a Brazilian football player. Would you ever remarry?”
He knows I want to talk about it. He doesn’t, that’s as clear as day, but he can’t avoid every single conversation about life after Evie.
“No,” he replies after a tense silence, and, for just a second, I think he might actually give me a straight answer. Then he speaks again, and his voice has taken on the teasing tone that means the conversation is closed. “I’d fight to get you back. Those football players are renowned for their infidelity, you know. It would only be a matter of time before you realised, and then you’d come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness.”
22
Julia
Evie’s recovery is remarkable. Her eyes glitter, but other than that there are no signs of her earlier pain, and if she’s slightly more maniacal than usual, it’s nothing like the high I expected. My dad is wearing his best suit. It’s brown, with a thin grey stripe and the pants are straight cut, completely disguising his prosthesis.
“We’re so glad you could join us, Mr Soanes,” Evie says as we gather around the table. I’m sitting on Dad’s right. Jesse insisted on sitting on his left.
“Call me Ted, please,” Dad replies, “and I’m glad to be here. I wanted to thank you in person for offering Juju this job.”
“You must miss having her around,” Nick says.
Dad waves his hand in the air. “Please, I’m getting up to all sorts of mischief without my chaperone.”
Everyone laughs politely and we begin the rigmarole of “please pass the salt” and “would you like any peas?”
We make it all the way to dessert before my dad informs the Danvers that my birthday is next weekend.
“Oh!” Evie blushes. “I should have checked – I know it was on your resumé.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Dad stops dabbing at his mouth with his napkin and rounds on me. “How many times do you turn thirty, Juju?”
“Probably as many as you turn twenty-nine,” I tease.
“Don’t you sass your old man.”
Jesse snorts and I can see Nick trying desperately to keep a straight face behind his own napkin. Evie is grinning outright.
“We should do something!” she announces, “for your birthday. Let’s have a barbecue.”
“Evie,” Nick murmurs, “Julia might already have made plans.”
“No, actually I haven’t.” It’s the truth. I don’t exactly have a strong social network, so I figured I’d just visit my dad as usual, only with cake.
“Well that settles it,” Evie says. “We’ll barbecue on Saturday, for lunch.”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” I mumble, recalling how her efforts this afternoon had taken such a toll on her.
“I won’t.” Evie’s cheek dimples. “I’ll invite Kat and Ian and Nick can cook. I won’t have to lift a finger. You will join us, won’t you Ted?” she adds.
“I’ll have to check my diary,” Dad teases, “but I’m sure I can make a plan.”
“Is there anyone you’d like to invite, Julia?” Nick asks.
Dad clears his throat. I know what he’s thinking – that I have no one to ask.
“Actually,” I say, raising my wine glass, “I do.”
“You do?”
“Don’t look so surprised, Dad!”
“No, I’m not… it’s not, I just didn’t know you…”
“Had any friends?” I tease.
“No! Of course you have friends, I just haven’t seen many of them around lately.”
It’s true. When Aaron and I had split, our social circle had too, but, one by one, those who had supported me had trickled over to team Aaron. It didn’t help that he was throwing parties and inviting them all to his wedding while I was stuck taking care of my dad and always strapped for cash. Still, I’m sure Kylie and Angela would come if I asked them too.
“I’ll let you know if they can make it,” I tell Evie resolutely.
“Perfect.” She raises her glass of sparkling water. “Well, cheers: to good food, good friends and good health.” I don’t know if she’s taking the piss, but her eyes sparkle wickedly.
“To family,” Nick adds, and then he leans forward to clink our glasses.
I’m stuffed by the time we finish eating. For all Evie’s insistence that she can’t cook worth a damn, dinner was delicious, but now I’m regretting that second helping. I get to my feet a moment before Evie does, and together we start ferrying the dishes through to the kitchen. Nick makes to stand, but Evie halts him with a look and, meekly, he sits back down again and engages my father in conversation.
“I still can’t get over how the two of you can carry out a whole conversation without uttering a single word,” I tell Evie as we move around the kitchen in perfect unison.
“We’ve had eighteen years to perfect it,” she giggles. “And really, most of it is me bossing him around with my evil-Evie look.”
I go out to retrieve the last of the dishes to find that my dad and Nick have been dragged upstairs to listen to Jesse’s song. I smile as I recognise the opening chords.
I’m wiping down the island when Evie speaks my name.
“Yes?” I ask, standing on tip-toes to reach the other side of the granite top.
“I have something to tell you but I’m not sure how you’ll take it,” Evie confesses. I drop back down onto the balls of my feet and frown at her.
“Okay…?”
“I spoke to Kat, about your dad. You know she owns a whole bunch of companies, right?”
I nod. I did know that, or at least I had suspected. I’ve seen her clothes and her car. It’s obvious she has money and her working hours are far too flexible for her to be reporting to a boss. Kat comes and goes as she pleases, and, while I’ve been out of the working world for a few years, I’m pretty sure drinking in the middle of the day and taking the rest of the afternoon off isn’t usually permitted.
“Did you know she owns a racehorse? Three, actually.”
I shake my head, too numb to speak because I think I know where this is going and I don’t dare speak the words aloud in case it’s not true.
“She bought them a few months ago,” Evie says, making sure I know it was before my time, “but she can’t seem to hold down a trainer.” Evie laughs at herself and then admits, “Okay, she keeps sleeping with them.”
I have a sudden vision of Kat and my dad going at it and I shake my head, trying to dislodge it.
Evie must read my mind. “Kat only likes younger men,” she says. “Anyway, the latest just resigned yesterday and she really doesn’t have time to look for someone new. I mentioned your dad and Kat would like him to come in for an interview.”
My heart drops. “My dad can’t ride anymore.”
“Has he tried?”
“Well, no, but…”
“He’s not going to be a race jockey,” Evie points out. “And Kat has a couple of contracted jockeys who work the horses. What she’s looking for is a trainer. I figure your dad’s probably overqualified to do that, but he’ll be around horses again and the yard’s not far from here. You could probably lift him in when you take the kids to school and pick him up in the evenings. Or one of Kat’s drivers could help out.”
“He takes the bus,” I whisper.
“I didn’t catch that?” Evie looks nervous.
“Are you serious?” I ask. “I mean, are you being absol
utely serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious.”
“Oh my God.” I collapse onto the stool beside me and cover my mouth with my hand. “You have no idea what this will mean to him…” I choke on the words and take a few breaths to clear my head. “He tried so hard to find work but nobody would see him. They wouldn’t even give him a chance.”
Evie moves closer, her hand brushing lightly across my back, the way I’ve seen her do countless times with the children. “He’s got the interview,” she says softly, “the rest is up to him, but everybody deserves a chance, right?”
I give a half-laugh, half-sob. “I think so.”
“Do you want to tell him now, or…” she trails off and I shake my head, no. “He’s going to be so overwhelmed and he’d be mortified if he broke down in front of everybody. He’s still so proud… I hope that doesn’t sound ungrateful.”
“Not at all. Tell him when you take him home. I’ll find out when Kat can see him and let you have the details.” She picks up her phone and starts typing, as if it’s nothing. As if she didn’t just give me hope for the first time in three years. As if she didn’t just change my life.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I murmur.
Evie grins. “You can start by doing those dishes for me.”
23
Evie
“Shhh!” I hiss at the kids, who are ‘whispering’ at the-house-just-caught-fire level. “She’s going to hear you!”
“Hurry up, Mom!” Dylan whines. I shuffle forward more quickly until Casey steps out in front of me, unexpectedly, and the tray I’m carrying tilts alarmingly to the left. I right it just in time, before the Spiderman cup filled with freshly-squeezed orange juice and probably about a billion germs from the children’s hands, tips over the edge.
The toast is only slightly burned. I left Casey in charge and she loves pressing the handle up and down, so what should have been a responsibility became a game. I’d finally noticed and hauled it out, but not before the edges had caught. After that, I’d made the eggs myself.