The Younger Wife(24)

She held it up to show Stephen, amazed. ‘Told you,’ he said. ‘I know things.’ He gestured for her to answer it.

‘Rachel,’ Heather said.

‘Heather! I hope this isn’t a bad time? I just wanted to follow up about lunch. I was thinking I could host at my place, if that works for you.’

She lifted her gaze to gape at Stephen. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said. ‘And . . . Tully will be there too?’

‘Of course,’ Rachel said, after a slight pause. ‘Tully wouldn’t miss it.’

When Heather hung up the phone, Stephen looked positively triumphant.

She shook her head. ‘How did you know?’

He tapped his temple, still smiling, but with a slightly different look in his eyes now. Then he opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the whisky bottle.

‘Told you,’ he said. ‘I know things.’





11


TULLY


As Tully sat on one of Rachel’s counter stools with a glass of wine in hand, she felt herself relax for the first time in weeks. Part of it was the wine. The other part of it was Rachel. As silly as it sounded, she was touched that Rachel had invited her to lunch. Generally, they caught up as a family – or they had before Mum went into the nursing home – for birthdays and Christmas, or to shop for a gift for Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. And there were the other odd things – like their cousin Caitlin’s hens’ party or the time they got tickets to see Frozen, the musical. But intimate one-on-one meet-ups at Rachel’s house weren’t something they’d ever done before, and Tully was excited.

Rachel lived in an unappealing blonde-brick unit on the hip north side of Melbourne. It should have been ugly as sin, and yet somehow she’d managed to make it charming, the kind of place people wanted to hang out. Even her tiny courtyard was lovely, decorated with fairy lights and hanging plant pots. She also had a gift for entertaining – being able to produce a good bottle of wine, spectacular lasagne and a salad with absolutely no notice, and without any apparent effort. Any time you went to Rachel’s, your glass was full, your plate was warm, and conversation flowed all night. It was a vibe Tully had been unable to re-create, even when paying caterers.

Today, as Tully sipped her wine, Rachel stood on the other side of the counter, piping intricate flowers onto a wedding cake that she’d been making for days.

‘That one isn’t straight,’ Tully said helpfully. At least she hoped it was helpful. If it was her cake, she would definitely want to know. And Rachel, to her credit, didn’t seem bothered; she merely examined the crooked flower, said, ‘You’re right,’ and straightened it.

Rachel had called the day before to invite her to lunch. Tully had been in the middle of hiding a pile of recently acquired goods in the garage and she’d been about to ignore the phone when she got a case of the What Ifs.

What if it was Dad? He was their only living functioning parent – what if he’d had a heart attack? What if he was lying on a table in an emergency room somewhere, taking his last breaths, thinking, I’d love to see my daughter Tully one more time before I go, and she didn’t answer the call?

What if it was Mum? Before she’d moved into the nursing home they’d received several worrying phone calls about her. The one from the supermarket cashier who’d found her wandering around the car park when she couldn’t remember which car was hers. The one from the cleaning lady when Mum had gone ballistic at her for ‘breaking into her home’. They’d had fewer worrying phone calls since Mum moved into the nursing home, but Tully knew enough about Alzheimer’s to know that more worrying phone calls would be coming.

What if it was bad news about Rachel herself?

Why were there always so many bloody what-ifs?

As it turned out, it wasn’t bad news at all. Quite the opposite.

‘Can you strain the potatoes for me?’ Rachel asked, placing a sugar flower just so on the side of the cake.

Tully leaped up. It was a rare moment when she was able to help Rachel and she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. The funny thing was, if a guest of Tully’s ever tried to strain the potatoes, she would have been mortified. If Tully was having guests over, even if it was just Rachel, the potatoes would have been strained hours ago, the pots would have been washed and put away, and the place would be devoid of all evidence of life, allowing her to devote her entire attention to her guests for the duration of their visit. It was good manners, she thought. But now, straining potatoes for Rachel while her sister decorated her cake, Tully had to admit that Rachel’s lack of attention on her wasn’t harming her experience in the least. On the contrary, Tully felt charmed at being authorised to assist in the lunch-making while watching Rachel do something as special as icing a wedding cake. She felt more special, more privileged, than if she’d been given Rachel’s undivided attention.

She placed the strainer in the sink and tipped the potatoes in.

‘Hey, Tul,’ Rachel said, still focused on the cake, ‘did Mum ever say anything to you about money?’

The steam from the potatoes rose up from the sink. ‘What do you mean?’ Tully said. ‘What about money?’

‘I don’t know. I just wondered if she might have put any aside for’ – Rachel shrugged – ‘emergencies or something.’