A Christmas Wedding(11)

‘I know who you are.’

And it was clear from his tone that he knew everything.

Alex wanted a minute alone with me, but the hard look that Ed gave me as he stalked past still haunts me to this day.

Of course, Alex did go through with marrying Zara, but it all came crashing down just weeks later. To know I was the cause of that breakdown fills me with shame.

But, even if I hadn’t been in love with Lachie, I’m not sure Alex and I could have picked up the pieces. I would have been the woman who broke up a decade-long relationship. Zara had been an integral part of Alex’s life for so long – accepted by all of his friends and family. The easy way his mother spoke to me when she thought I was just Bronte, there to do the photos, would have transformed into something altogether more suspicious and disagreeable. It would have been the worst possible start to a burgeoning relationship. We never stood a chance.

So yeah. That was the first and only time I met Alex’s mate Ed.

‘I guess we should be getting back,’ Alex says after our short stint of mutual reminiscing.

‘Yes.’ I gather my things together.

We walk back, side by side. Neither of us speaks until we’re a block away from the office.

‘Maybe we could go for lunch again next week?’ Alex suggests, casting me a sideways glance.

I hesitate before answering. ‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible.’

‘Oh.’ He sounds taken aback. ‘Okay.’ And disappointed.

‘Sorry, it’s just… Lachie wouldn’t like it.’

‘Oh! Okay. Sure,’ he says quickly. ‘I wasn’t meaning—’

‘No, I know!’ I cut him off, self-consciously. ‘It’s just, you know, this was supposed to be a one-off. Closure.’

‘Fine. Sure, I get it.’

How awkward?

He rolls the sleeves of his shirt down as we walk. There’s a proper chill in the air today. Not that I’d know, because my face is burning.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say again, feeling bad.

‘Don’t be,’ he insists, protesting. ‘I totally understand. It was good to see you. Give my best to Lachie, too, please.’ His voice sounds strained, but only from embarrassment, I think.

‘I will.’

We walk into the building together and he presses the button for the lift. The doors open immediately and we step in.

‘Floor?’ I ask him.

‘Seven.’

I press seven, and five for me. The doors close, leaving us alone in the confined space together. My chest feels constricted as I breathe him in. I’m not sure this has really worked. I don’t feel better for seeing him – if anything I feel worse. There’s so much we still haven’t covered. But I’m not sure it’s appropriate to say any more.

‘Come and say goodbye before you go home?’ I blurt as the doors open to let me out on level five.

‘Okay,’ he replies.

I step out onto the landing and turn around, feeling suddenly panicky.

‘See you,’ I say.

‘Bye,’ he replies with a small, sad smile. His eyes drop just as the lift doors close.

He never does come to say goodbye.

Two months later, Lachie and I head to Perth for Christmas. Lachie has a big family – two loving, happily married parents, four doting older sisters who each have families of their own, plus multiple cousins and aunts and uncles, most of whom still live in the suburbs surrounding the city. So, when I say big, what I really mean is enormous.

Lachie’s parents live in a four-bedroom house, but, on the night before and of Christmas, three of his sisters and their families choose to cram into it rather than go back to their own homes, so Lachie and I take to the back yard in a tent – not just to give them all more space, but to give us some, too. Lachie’s nieces and nephews will still hunt him out in the morning – they absolutely adore him. And me. I’m very good at choosing Christmas and birthday presents, as it turns out.

I love being around Lachie’s family. It’s so completely different from mine. My dad passed away a couple of years ago, so it’s only Mum and me now, but she and her new husband, David, have belatedly discovered a love for travelling. This year they’re going on a cruise that will end up in Sydney Harbour to watch the fireworks on New Year’s Eve. We’ll see them on New Year’s Day, so I’m blissfully free of the usual guilt that comes when trying to decide who to spend Christmas with.

Right now, it’s late on Christmas Eve and I’m squeezed in beside Lachie on the sofa, holding the newest addition to his family: ten-week-old Ella. Lachie’s parents have gone up to bed, but his sisters and their partners remain. Bea is Lachie’s eldest sister at thirty-seven, Maggie is slightly older than me at thirty-five, Tina is thirty-three, and Lydia – Ella’s mother – is thirty. She’s the only sister not staying over tonight and the one who is closest to Lachie both in age and spirit. She’s been to visit us in Sydney a few times.

Last year Lydia finally tied the knot with her long-term boyfriend Mike, but, despite their recent sleepless nights, they seem reluctant to go home to bed.

‘Suits you,’ Bea says to me with a smile, nodding at Ella.

‘Okay, time to hand the baby back,’ Lachie jokes.

‘No way,’ I say, snuggling the little bundle closer and smiling down on her angelic, sleeping face. ‘She’s adorable.’