The Friends We Keep(43)

They walked into the dining room for the rehearsal dinner, and there, right by the doorway, was Maggie, chatting with someone they didn’t know while she stood arm in arm with Ben. He looked up as they walked in, and his eyes met Evvie’s. Everything about him, his face, his body, was so familiar to her that she inhaled sharply as her stomach flipped over.

Topher turned to her. “You okay?”

“I . . . Look at Maggie!” She covered up. “Look how beautiful she is.”

Maggie, hearing her name, turned, stunning in a pale pink chiffon dress, the tiniest of roses embroidered all over the bodice, a radiant smile on her face.

“Look who’s here, Ben! You remember my old friends Topher and Evvie.”

“It’s good to see you.” Ben shook hands with Topher, then turned to Evvie, giving her a hug, and Evvie knew that she was wrong, that no matter how many years it had been, there was something about his smell, the chemistry that still seemed to be there, that continued to make her weak at the knees. As he hugged her, he rubbed her back as her heart lurched. This was what she remembered about him, how tactile he was, how affectionate, how these small gestures made her feel loved. She quickly disengaged.

I should have told Maggie, she thought, stepping back, wishing she had come clean at the time, although who knew if she would be here if that had been the case. But perhaps better for her not to be here. It was . . . painful.

“Congratulations,” she said, forcing a neutral smile. “It’s lovely news.”

“It’s been a long time,” said Ben. “It’s been ages since we saw each other. Years, no?”

“Something like that. What a funny, small world that you and Maggie should cross paths again, and now, well! The two of you!” She used every acting skill she had to be bright and happy, as if she were genuinely thrilled.

“I don’t deserve her,” Ben said, suddenly serious, looking at Evvie intently, in just the way he had all those years ago, and her heart fluttered. He was about to say something else, but Maggie slid next to him, her arm up around his neck as she kissed him. Evvie visibly winced with pain, relieved that no one saw.

“I still can’t get over it,” said Maggie. “Evil Ben! Who would have ever thought?”

“Who would have ever thought,” echoed Evvie, looking from Maggie to Ben, feeling that Ben had been about to say something about their time together, the fact that Evvie had an abortion, that Ben said he would never forgive her. But the moment had passed, and Maggie led him away to other guests, leaving Evvie pretending to have a good time.

“Am I imagining this or was there . . . something . . . between you and the groom?” Topher leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“You’re imagining it,” she snapped, and he didn’t say anything else.

She wouldn’t think about Ben again, she decided. After this weekend she would put the past to rest. She wouldn’t see him and Maggie together, not after this weekend. It was too painful, but they had an ocean between them, which made drifting apart an easy choice.

She would miss Maggie, but the truth was it wasn’t the Maggie of today that she would miss, it was the Maggie of their university days, a Maggie she really didn’t know anymore. Of course they still had a shared history, but it was in the past, and they didn’t necessarily have anything in common any longer.

Except Ben. But only one of them knew that.





twenty


- 1997 -



Maggie shook Ben until he stirred, aware that she was being rough, that her shaking barely hid her resentment at how badly she slept thanks to how loudly he snored. He had a “work thing” last night, which meant the same as it always did when he had a “work thing.” He’d roll home in a taxi very late, or in the early hours of the morning, and stumble into their bedroom, crashing into walls and doors, before eventually collapsing into bed and snoring so loudly it felt like the whole house was shaking.

She kept telling him to sleep in the spare room if he was drunk, but he was always too drunk to remember.

So Maggie would lie next to him grinding her teeth, furious with him for being so drunk, wondering why he couldn’t do what most normal people did, go out for one drink and then stop. Ben just didn’t seem to be able to stop.

“Wake up, Ben,” she said, her voice harsher than she intended. “We’ve got the appointment to see the house in Somerset at eleven thirty. You have to get up.”

He opened his eyes and smiled at her, pulling her into his arms, and even though she didn’t want to, she felt herself acquiesce, and as she did so, her anger disappeared.

“Don’t get your hopes up too much,” he murmured into her hair. “Remember what happened last time.”

“I have no hopes up at all.” Maggie thought back to the last house they had seen, two weekends ago. It was an old rectory in Frome that looked charming in the brochure, huge square rooms in need of a little modernization, lovely grounds. In reality, it was decrepit and dark, and those huge square rooms turned out to be so by virtue of a very clever camera lens.

They got up to shower and dress, Maggie quickly making a bacon roll for Ben to eat in the car. She got in the car first, moving the papers on the passenger seat to make room for herself. Ben now drove an Alfa Romeo Spider, still passionate about old sports cars, whereas Maggie would have been happier with a Volvo wagon. She picked up the papers and was about to put them on the back seat when she noticed a flyer from a nightclub, offering two drinks for the price of one on the next visit.