The Younger Wife(6)

The waiter appeared – a handsome, charming Italian man full of compliments for Rachel, including a quite risqué one about wanting her in his bedroom (Rachel had excelled at Italian at school). She ignored the compliments, got a quick rundown of the specials, and ordered for the table in a matter of minutes. Then, in consultation with the others, she ordered a bottle of pinot gris. She was relieved to see that Tully was drinking. Tully had been known to go on some strange diets or, heaven forbid, detoxes from time to time, which was always a bummer because, surprisingly, Tully and alcohol went together very nicely. It relaxed her, slowing her brain to a more normal pace. In fact, some of Rachel’s favourite times with Tully had been when her sister was flat-out drunk.

‘So, what did I miss?’ Rachel asked.

‘Heather was telling me a bit about herself,’ Tully said. ‘She enjoys gardening and yoga.’

‘Is that right?’ Rachel said. She hoped her pleasant tone would compensate for Tully’s sarcastic one. ‘Anything else? Have you told us about your family?’

Heather shook her head, sweeping her hair behind her ear. Her hand, Rachel noticed, was shaking slightly. ‘No family, really. I’m an only child, and my parents died in a car accident ten years ago.’

‘That’s awful,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ Heather said. Heather’s tone indicated it did indeed appear to be fine. ‘It was a long time ago.’

Tully sat forward, suddenly animated. ‘How did it happen? The car accident, I mean. Was it a head-on collision? Did they drive into a tree?’

Rachel stared at her. ‘Tully!’

‘It’s fine,’ Heather said again. ‘Their car was hit by a drunk driver. I never got the details of whether it was head-on or not.’

‘Didn’t you want to know?’ Tully said. ‘I’d be desperate to know.’

‘So no other family?’ Rachel said. ‘No cousins or aunts?’

‘None that I’m in touch with. It’s sad, really. When I was younger, I always envied people who had big families with lots of cousins and in-laws and grandparents. It felt like ... insurance. If something happened to someone, there were spares.’

‘Must make you want to have a big family of your own,’ Tully said. ‘Lots of kids.’

Rachel’s instinct was to reprimand Tully again, or deflect her, but she let this one go, out of curiosity. Rachel half expected Dad to come to Heather’s rescue, but he looked more flustered than she did.

‘I do love kids. I always thought that one day I would have as many kids as I could,’ Heather said. ‘But I’ve grown accustomed to a quiet life now. It suits me. So I wouldn’t say kids are on the cards.’

‘It is a lot of work,’ Tully said.

Rachel had to hand it to her: Heather was doing a great job, coming up with the right answers. In fact, for the first time since Rachel arrived, Tully was looking almost relaxed, sitting back in her chair rather than perched on its edge in her customary rigid stance.

Then the waiter returned suddenly. ‘I forgot to mention,’ he said, ‘we also have freshly shucked Tasmanian oysters. Their aphrodisiac quality is at its height in spring, you know.’ He raised his eyebrows suggestively at Rachel, which was unsettling enough.

Then Dad winked at Heather. ‘We’ll take a dozen,’ he said.

‘Excuse me,’ Tully said abruptly. ‘I need to use the bathroom.’

‘I’ll join you,’ Rachel said.

By the time she stood, Tully was already halfway across the room, pushing on the bathroom door. Rachel hurried after her.

Being Tully’s sister required a very specific skill set. You had to be an animated conversationalist (Tully was easily bored) but also a calming influence. You had to be fully invested in whatever she was talking about, but be prepared for the fact that Tully would lose interest five minutes later. You had to love her with your whole heart but do so from arm’s length. Getting close to her was like trying to get close to a helicopter – you always ended up windswept and breathless ... and occasionally you lost your head.

Tully had always been a bundle of neuroses that equalled no particular diagnosis. A little OCD. A little mania. Some ritualistic behaviour. As a child and teenager she’d had periods of being plagued by intrusive, obsessive thoughts. It had settled down to a generalised eccentricity as an adult, but since Mum’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis and subsequent move to the nursing home, Tully had regressed significantly, descending into odd bouts of hysteria at inopportune times. Sometimes Rachel envied Tully’s propensity for wild reactions. It seemed healthier somehow to get all those feelings out. Sometimes she pictured her own insides, full of all the things she’d pushed down over the years rather than articulated. She imagined a series of ugly deposits, masses of secrets and regret, wedged around her lungs and stomach.

‘Tul?’ Rachel called, as she pushed open the heavy bathroom door. It was one of those trendy bathrooms with large hexagonal tiles and wood and pink marble. Tully’s handbag sat on the counter. Only one stall was occupied, and Tully’s nude flats were visible at the bottom. ‘It’s me.’

The toilet flushed and then the door to the cubicle swung open to reveal Tully’s tear-stained, frazzled face. ‘I’m not coping, Rachel.’