The Younger Wife(86)

‘My son Carlin did this one,’ Valerie said, pointing to an eagle sprayed on a corner of the wall. ‘He knew I was cleaning down here today. Rascal.’ She laughed.

Tully looked at the eagle. It wasn’t half bad.

‘How old is Carlin?’ she asked.

‘Fourteen.’

Tully looked at the picture again. ‘He’s got talent.’

‘Yeah. Talent at making stress for his mama.’

‘He should go to art school,’ Tully said.

‘I can barely get him to show up to his supermarket job. How do you think I’m gonna get him signed up to art school?’

Tully shrugged. But she made a mental note to make some enquiries about art school scholarships anyway.

She’d invited the girls back to her house for lunch afterwards, an offer only three people accepted. But three was better than none, which was the reception she’d got the first time she offered. Progress not perfection, she always said. She’d made a round of chicken sandwiches, some lemonade and a chocolate sponge cake. It wasn’t to Rachel’s standards – nowhere near – but over the past few months, now that ordering catering was out of the question, Tully had grown quite adept at cooking basic things. She understood why Rachel and Mum loved the art of casual dining now. There was something soul-affirming about it.

The urge to steal hadn’t gone away like she’d hoped. In fact, Tully often found herself standing in the supermarket, wondering if she could just drop a small packet of herbs or a ballpoint pen into her pocket so that she could breathe properly again. Those times, she’d learned to abandon the shopping cart and return home without the things they needed. Online shopping helped a lot with this, and Sonny went to the store in her place when she was having a particularly anxious day. But she’d noticed it was getting easier. Once again, progress, not perfection.

Sonny had been working hard, trying to make back the money they had lost. In the meantime, they enjoyed living in a smaller house. Tully no longer had a cleaner, and she found it rather satisfying to do the cleaning herself. The boys were doing fewer hours at their community pre-school than they’d done at their private one, and Miles was loving having more time with her. That, combined with the therapy he had every week, had resulted in a huge change in him. He’d slept in his big-boy bed every night since they moved house.

She still thought about Dad a lot. She missed his face, his throaty laugh, his intelligent perspective on things. She missed hearing him on the phone with the boys, listening with delight to whatever nonsense they decided to tell him. She missed the way he used to listen to her, too. Like he was interested. Like a father listened. The hardest part, though, was the special occasions. They’d made it through Father’s Day, but Christmas was coming up soon. She hadn’t told Rachel how much she missed him. It felt like a betrayal to Mum. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t all bad. Perhaps the very worst people still had some good in them. And perhaps the very best had some bad.





67


HEATHER


It was the Christmas Heather had always dreamed of. In her big, beautiful home, the light sparkling off the pool, with children playing on the grass. Rachel and Tully had provided most of the food, but Heather had bought a ham. Before lunch they’d all exchanged exquisitely wrapped gifts, then embarked on a hilarious game of Stealing Santa, where they all opened a ‘silly gift’ and then fought over one or two of them. The whole thing was magnificent.

Stephen should be here, she thought, not for the first time. Over the past few months, every time they got together as a family, she thought it. He would have loved to see them all coming together like this. It felt so wrong that she was here, with his family, when he wasn’t. Still, she didn’t take the privilege for granted, even for a second.

She refilled her glass of champagne, which helped a little. She’d been drinking a lot more lately, but she supposed that was understandable. She was a grieving widow, after all. Part of it was the loneliness, but the other part was the sleep. At night, on the nights she didn’t drink, she laid awake in their bed, plagued by fears and doubts. It turned out that Stephen was doing a good job of gaslighting her even from beyond the grave.

‘Can we go in the pool, Hevva?’ Locky asked.

Behind him, Miles sat on the floor, already nude, slipping an inflatable floatie onto his wrist.

‘Sure,’ Heather said, sipping her champagne, ‘if it’s okay with your mum and dad.’

‘I’ll take you in, buddy,’ Darcy said, appearing in his board shorts.

Heather had to admit, she felt a pulse of something at the sight of Darcy’s pectoral muscles. Then again, she supposed he was a good match for Rachel, who looked particularly stunning today in a floor-length bohemian sundress with a low-cut neckline. Her curves were truly out of this world. Heather had always worked hard to maintain her slim figure but there was something about seeing Rachel that made her want to have a second helping of lunch. Rachel, ironically, hadn’t eaten much at all today, perhaps too distracted by the lovely man on her arm and the family around her.

Sonny appeared then, also in board shorts, carrying a giant inflatable swan. ‘Ready, boys?’

‘Wait,’ Tully said, ‘I have to put sunscreen on them.’

The men disappeared outside, and Tully clasped Locky between her knees, smearing sunscreen over his scrunched-up face. Heather squatted down next to Miles – who was much more accommodating – and did the same to him. He’d been much calmer these past few months, Heather had noticed. Perhaps it was having Tully around more? Or perhaps it was the fact that, since Stephen’s death, everyone was a lot calmer.