The Younger Wife(29)

‘It’s a joke!’ Heather whispered, glancing back towards the house. She could see Rachel squatting down in front of a low cupboard. By the time she looked back, Tully was thumbing a reply. ‘What are you doing? You can’t answer him!’

‘I can,’ Tully said, her thumbs moving at an astonishing rate. ‘I told you, Rachel doesn’t go out with men. What we saw earlier was the closest she’s come to flirting since she was sixteen. We need to help her make a move.’ She pressed send, then held up the phone.

Heather blinked. Eat me?

‘I panicked!’ Tully cried. ‘I’m not good under pressure.’

‘Give me the phone,’ Heather demanded. She thought for a minute, then typed: Do you want a piece of me? She showed it to Tully, who nodded enthusiastically. Heather pressed send.

Almost immediately three dots appeared.

‘Are you girls okay with rosé?’ Rachel called from inside. ‘I haven’t got any more chardonnay.’

‘Fine!’ they called in unison, as a message appeared on the screen.

Even though I love your cakes . . . it said, I would never dessert you.

Heather and Tully chuckled.

‘What’s so funny?’ Rachel asked, coming outside with the bottle of rosé. ‘Sorry, I can’t find – why have you got my phone?’

Heather dropped it, just as it beeped again. She couldn’t help it; she looked at the screen.

If you’re enjoying my sweet jokes, you’re going to love my savoury ones. I can tell you all about them over dinner . . . maybe tomorrow night? It was followed by a winking emoji.

Rachel grabbed the phone and paled. ‘What did you do?’ Frantically she scrolled back through the texts. After a second, she looked up. ‘Eat me?’

‘Sorry,’ Tully said. ‘I wrote that.’

Rachel sat down heavily in her wrought-iron chair and filled her glass to the top. ‘I can’t believe you did this.’

Tully looked suitably sheepish. ‘Are you free tomorrow?’

‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘As it happens, I’m not.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘None of your business.’

‘She’s not doing anything,’ Tully said to Heather.

‘I am!’

‘Are not.’

Heather watched the back-and-forth interestedly. It was funny. During the last lunch, it had seemed to her that the sisters were not particularly close. Today, perhaps because of the wine, or maybe because talking about Darcy felt vaguely adolescent, she saw an intimacy that she hadn’t seen before. And despite Rachel’s protestations, she got the feeling that she might be losing some of her reluctance.

‘Look,’ Rachel said, ‘we don’t even know him. He’s probably a serial killer or something.’

‘Who cares?’ Tully cried.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. Heather took another sip of her drink as the phone lit up again. All three women screamed.

I could do the next night? he wrote. Or the night after that.

‘See?’ Rachel said. ‘He doesn’t have plans for the next three nights! He’s definitely a serial killer.’

‘You could meet in a public place, if you’re worried about the serial killer thing,’ Tully suggested. ‘I could even come to the restaurant in dark glasses and hide behind a menu so I can make sure everything is above board.’

Rachel appeared to be wavering. Whether it was because of Tully’s suggestions or not, it was hard to tell. ‘It’s not a good idea,’ she said. ‘Yes, he’s good-looking, but he’s got to have issues. Why else would he have been unemployed for so long? Besides, we work together.’

‘Actually,’ Tully corrected, ‘he works for you. If things don’t work out you can sack him. It’s not as if you can’t find another person to deliver your cream buns!’

‘Pretty sure that’s illegal.’

‘Again,’ Tully said, exasperated, ‘who cares?’ She grabbed the phone out of Rachel’s hand, thumbed, Tomorrow night works, and handed it back. ‘There. Now let’s move on to the next stage of the day, which is drinking to calm your nerves.’ Tully refilled their glasses all the way to the top. ‘Look at that,’ she said. ‘We’ve gone through another bottle.’

‘There’s plenty more inside,’ Rachel said, and Tully and Heather cheered.

Maybe Stephen’s daughters were her kind of people after all?


Heather was drunk. The most marvellous part about it was that Rachel and Tully were too. The comfort of being around drunk people when you were also drunk was not to be underestimated. Heather was sinking into the pleasure of it, really enjoying it, when the air was pierced by a very annoying noise. ‘What is that?’ Heather said.

The three women looked around, at first in that dopey, half-interested way, but when it continued, with more desperation.

‘It’s my phone,’ Tully said when she realised. ‘Where is the damn thing?’

Heather was already out of her seat. She followed the ringtone into a Gucci handbag. She dug past some salad servers, a single patent-leather shoe and an expensive-looking candle, still in its box, before clasping her hand around the phone. It was funny; she’d imagined Tully’s bag would be just so, but it was an unholy mess.