One Small Mistake(7)
‘I’ll try it but I’m so bloody pregnant it might not fit.’ I hear a zipper, then the rustle of fabric and think maybe the bitching session is over, but Ruby’s clearly on a roll. ‘Elodie thinks she’s so special because she went to university, like that makes her better than everyone else. Better than us.’ She scoffs. ‘Did you hear her out there? “University was challenging” and “I just need some time for me” like, she works in a fucking coffee shop.’
They both laugh and heat creeps up my neck and spreads across my cheeks. I cringe, hating how pretentious I sounded. My conversation with Mum made me feel so inferior that I overcompensated with Uncle Gregory, Ruby and Ada. ‘You know your mum is going around telling everyone Elodie is still in marketing, working from home, right?’
I frown, sure this is a lie – Mum knows I’m not.
‘I heard her talking to Ethan’s parents earlier. Obviously, she’s embarrassed. Look at you, Adaline, at what you have, but Elodie? She’s one step away from stacking shelves in Asda.’
Ruby’s words drip coldly down inside me. Mum is concerned, and disappointed, but it hurts to know she’s so ashamed she’d lie to people.
‘When Auntie Meredith said Elodie had an agent, I googled it and the odds are seriously stacked against her.’ The glee in Ruby’s voice is so thick, I could spoon it like soup. ‘She’s never going to get a publishing deal.’
‘Really?’
Maybe I’m wrong, but did Ada just sound a little disappointed?
‘Really. And I’m glad. You should be too. She’s so stuck-up, no wonder her last boyfriend threw himself in front of a car.’
I inhale sharply like I’ve been struck. On the back of the shock comes outrage. How dare she bring Noah into this? How fucking dare she?
‘Ruby …’ Ada’s tone is reproachful and beneath my anger, there’s a smudge of respect for my sister.
‘What?’ she asks, all innocence. ‘He did though.’
‘It was a hit and run.’
‘Did they ever find the driver?’
‘No.’
I wish my big sister would turn around and slap Ruby instead of handing her dresses. Ada was there after the accident; she came over the day I got the call from Noah’s mum to tell me he’d died. She was there the days that followed too, ones that passed by in a dark blur of sympathy and hushed voices, in tears and the black burn of too many bourbons to get me to sleep at night. And on the day of the funeral, she helped me off my bedroom floor and into the shower where she washed my hair and cleaned my skin. She fed me lasagne from Tupperware and dressed me too – fresh underwear, thick tights, a black velvet number she must’ve bought because she lifted it from tissue paper in a glossy box on the end of the bed. There was something soothing about her soft hands on my skin, putting me back together, taking care of me in the same, precise way she did with her dolls when we were children. She slept in my bed every night for a week after the funeral, and one morning, when the haze of grief was lifting enough that I could wash and dress myself, I woke up and she was gone, and that cool detachment with which we treated one another returned. I didn’t understand but the chasm of distance between us meant I never felt I could ask.
Hurt by Mum’s lies, Ruby’s attack and Ada’s complicity, I turn and hurry down the stairs. When I get to the front door, I yank it open. And there’s Jack, all tall and broad-shouldered, his hand raised, ready to knock. We stare at each other, both surprised, but the second Jack sees my tears, his eyes darken and he steps inside. ‘What’s happened?’ He dumps his champagne offering on the side table by the door and pulls me into a hug. I breathe him in – sandalwood and leather – and some of the hurt and humiliation eases.
He leans back so he can see my face. There’s a line of concern creasing his brow. He wipes away my tears with his thumb. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Laughter glitters down the hallway, drifting in from the party in the garden. He glances up in the direction of the noise and scowls, then takes my hand and pulls me into the dining room. When the door closes behind him, it’s just the two of us. For a while, I can’t speak, too afraid that if I do, I’ll cry again. Jack sits opposite me, leaning forward, eager to help, but not knowing how.
After a few deep breaths, I tell him everything. He listens, face carefully blank, but his eyes betray him. They’re blue and remind me of Icelandic oceans, and right now, anger swirls in their depths. Jack is nothing if not fiercely protective. He thrusts his fingers back through his hair. ‘What the fuck do they know? Jesus Christ, at least you’re trying for something. Getting published isn’t as easy as marrying rich.’
‘I shouldn’t have told you,’ I say, feeling guilty for riling him.
‘They’re just jealous.’
‘That’s what people tell themselves to feel better. What do Ruby or Ada have to be jealous of?’
‘You’re talented, and brave, and ambitious. You’re everything they’re not—’
‘Jack …’
‘I’m serious.’ He takes my hands in his; his skin is warm, and his long fingers make me think of tree roots in earth. They were hands which held my hair back after too many tequilas, broke Chris Flynn’s nose when he called me ‘frigid’ because I wouldn’t put out, and built my bookshelf after I moved back to Crosshaven and into my little one-bedroom house. ‘Ruby’s a cheap copy of Ada, and the only thing going on in her life is pregnancy. She’s going to spend the next few months swelling up like a balloon and complaining about her fat ankles until Tim—’