Page 58 of The Three of Us
And, as for social media, I haven’t dared go there. If I were to find her Facebook page, I might stumble across their wedding photos or something equally horrifying. While I’ve avoided her, both virtually and in real life, I’ve been able to tell myself she doesn’t really exist. But she does, and she’s here, and I have no idea what to do, except wait for my breathing to calm down and my shocked face to return to something like normal, and get the hell out of here. Fast. Except my bag’s still out there, next to my abandoned chair, in the garden. Suze. I need Suze. She’s the only one who will understand, the only one I can rely on to help me, rescue my bag and think up some excuse for my sudden departure. Where the hell is she?
I have a pee while I’m here, even though I don’t really need one. Then I slosh a few handfuls of warm water over my face and look in the mirror. I could just about pass as okay, if nobody looks too closely.
I slide the bolt and open the door just a crack. I’m lucky. There’s no one hovering. Suze. Where can she be? The last I saw of her was when she arrived, just after Fran and me, with her new fiancé in tow, and they came up here to find a place to put their coats. They can’t still be in Rosie’s bedroom, surely?
The giggle gives her away. She is in there, the dirty mare!
Forget Suze’s modesty, if she even has any these days. It’s not even four in the afternoon yet, for heaven’s sake, and a christening party as well. There’s appropriate and there’s downright flooze, if that’s even a word. I fling open the bedroom door, half expecting to see a pair of naked buttocks bobbing about on the bed, but she’s over by the window, messing about with a safety pin and squinting at a tiny button that seems to have come off her dress, unfortunately right at boob level, so there’s a fair amount of lacy balconette bra on show. Sean is sitting on the edge of the pile of coats, looking bored and moaning about needing a drink, although he is definitely having a good look at her cleavage while he waits.
‘Carls. Thank the lord! Come and give us a hand. You’re so much better at this stuff than I am. Every time I try to stick the pin into this fabric, I stab myself. I know I shouldn’t laugh, but there are times when I wish I wasn’t quite so well-endowed. I’m starting to look like an overstuffed pin cushion!’
‘Never mind that. You’ll never guess who’s here. Out in the garden.’
‘No, I probably won’t, as it could be anybody from Jeremy Clarkson to Genghis Khan. You’re gonna have to give me a clue.’ She hands me the pin and I do my best to slot it through both halves of her dress front and close it together. ‘There. Done. Now can I have your attention, please? This is a matter of life and death.’
‘Is it? Ooh, now I’m interested. And we’ve only been here ten minutes!’ She casts a glance in Sean’s direction. ‘Go on,’ she says, as if she’s giving permission for a child to leave the table. ‘You can go and get that drink now. And I’ll have a white wine while you’re at it.’
As soon as he’s gone, I grab her by the shoulders to make sure she’s looking at me properly. ‘It’s her.’
‘Who’s her? Carly, what are you going on about?’
‘Her. Molly. Jack’s wife. She’s here. Sitting outside, all happy and pregnant, surrounded by all these mothers and babies, like butter wouldn’t melt. Like she belongs here. At Rosie’s party, for God’s sake. Our Rosie.’ I grab Suze’s hand and pull her to the window, making sure I don’t disturb the net curtain, our faces close together as I point. ‘Look, that’s her, over by the rose bush. The one sitting next to Fran. In the flowery dress. It only turns out she made the damn christening cake. What are the chances of that?’
‘Right. I see.’
‘And there’s my bag, see? I’ve only gone and left it out there. How am I meant to get that back now?’
Suze pulls me back from the window. ‘You walk out there and pick it up. Easy as that. But, Carly, why exactly does any of this matter? It’s not like she knows who you are. Or like anything has actually happened between you and Jack, who is her husband by the way, so I’m not sure why you’re being all high and mighty. Blimey, Carls, if she had any inkling, it should be her mad at seeing you here, not the other way round. She doesn’t, does she? Know about you, I mean?’
‘God, I hope not.’
‘Then calm down. Take a breath. There must be enough people here to lose yourself in, to keep your distance. Nobody says you have to be best buddies, or even talk to her if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to eat any of the cake if you’re worried it might choke you!’
‘Oh, ha, ha. Make a joke, why don’t you? Look, I think I should go home. I just don’t feel right about us both being here. I don’t feel… comfortable. You can go outside and get my bag, tell Rosie I’m not feeling well or something, and I’ll just slip quietly away, okay?’
‘Or you can be a grown-up about it and stay. Rosie’s been your closest friend for years. Although I like to think I come a close second! It’s not very nice to lie to her, is it? Or to not be here to celebrate the babies, or to meet the long-lost Aussie family? I hear Syd’s brother, Daz, is a bit of all right. And why should I do your dirty work and tell a pack of fibs anyway, just because you’re being a total coward? I’m sure this Molly is a perfectly normal person. Nice. Friendly. Well, she must be for Jack to have married her. Let it go, Carls. Let it go…’ She twirls around, bursting into song, the words of the Frozen hit ringing out across the room, and then she laughs out loud, and takes a little bow. I wonder if she’s had a drink or two already before she even got here. ‘There is no you and Jack, remember? Whatever you might have hoped for never happened, did it? Nothing to feel guilty about.’
‘Guilty? Who said anything about me feeling guilty?’
‘Well, if you ask me, guilt is the only possible explanation. I mean, you can’t actually hate her, can you? You don’t know her. You’ve never met. And she’s certainly not someone to be scared of. She knows nothing, so she’s not coming after you with a meat cleaver, or a divorce petition. So, guilt’s all it can be. You can’t face the poor woman because of something you only ever did, or thought about doing, in your own head.’
I sit down on the bed, somebody’s coat zip pushing into the back of my leg, and close my eyes. I think back to that moment, in my room, when we so almost did a hell of a lot more than something that was only happening in my head. There were clothes coming off, bare flesh, nipples, tongues… But we stopped, didn’t we? So maybe Suze is right. I’m blowing this up out of all proportion.
‘It all sounds mad to me,’ she goes on, oblivious to what I’m thinking, remembering. ‘A drunken kiss years ago, that’s all it was. We’ve all been there, got a bit swept up in the moment. And he wasn’t even married then, was he? No matter how bloody good it was, it’s done. Get over it. Like he did, when he married Molly and not you. And you had your chance to go for it properly and you bottled it. Both of you did. Couldn’t go through with it. Or so you say?’ She looks at me enquiringly, checking I’ve told her the truth. I nod. ‘That surely tells you all you need to know then, doesn’t it? It’s never going to happen. Not now, not ever. Time to find yourself a bloke of your own. An available, unmarried bloke, not some fantasy lover you’ve never even screwed. And no time like the present. There’s one downstairs, right this minute, all the way from down under. No baggage, except his rucksack or swag bag or whatever Australians call it. So, let’s go track him down, say hello, and you can have a dance or something, prove you’ve still got it… and then you can go out there and rescue your own handbag. With your head held high.’
‘Okay.’ I don’t know if I really mean it or if it’s simply the only option. There’s nothing to lose. I stand up and pull my dress straight. ‘Do I look all right? Make-up not smudged or anything?’
‘You look gorgeous, as always. And this Molly probably won’t stay long anyway. It’s not as if she’s a real friend, or known Rosie for years, like us. She’s only here because she made the cake. It’s like inviting the vicar along to the party after a church do. They come to be polite, have one sherry and leave.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right.’
‘I’m always right. Well, about most things, most of the time. Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’ Am I? Really? God knows.
We’re halfway down the stairs when the bell rings. The glass is frosted so he’s a bit blurry, but I still know it’s him. I would recognise him anywhere. His height, his hair, the way he stands, everything…
‘Jack!’ I squeal, grabbing Suze by the hand and dragging her back up the stairs again, my heart pounding, and just making it to the safety of the landing as Rosie opens the front door.