Authors: Charlotte Oliver
When we drove past the townships, back past those awful little houses made of cardboard and sheets of plastic, I felt sad again. But this time Tinyiko pointed out something I’d missed before: the new houses, built in sturdy brick, that were slowly encroaching on the old slum. “You see that? I told you it was true. One day it will be beautiful even here.”
My mobile kept ringing, and I knew it was Jack. I thought back on how I’d spent the last week hunched over my mobile, desperate for him to call, to no avail; I marvelled at how much things had changed. I didn’t have to even try—ignoring him seemed natural now. Kind, even. I didn’t want to get his hopes up: it would be a cruel thing to do.
But I started to get annoyed at the sound of the phone. I put it on silent, but then it still vibrated. So I switched off the vibrate function. But then it still lay there, blinking, trying to get my attention. So I rolled down the window just as we crossed into the city centre and threw it out onto the tarmac outside.
When we pulled up to the Hideaway, my tears had dried and I was fluttering with excitement.
Wait till Sharon hears about this
, I thought gleefully.
She’s going to love it!
I’d put her through hell. Dragging her off to a foreign country, being a colossal mope while she tried to cheer me up, refusing to tell her the truth about Jack, then up-and-offing with him the moment I had the chance . . .
Was I really arrogant enough to think she would even want to talk to me?
I hovered outside the front gate of the Hideaway, having said goodbye to Tinyiko all over again. Well, I had nowhere else to go. I certainly couldn’t go and knock on Tam’s door, what with the horrific price he’d paid to give me my freedom from his brother. Where was he going to go? What would he do for a job? I’d made such a mess.
With a heavy heart, I rang the buzzer. It almost hurt to hear Peter’s voice answer.
“It’s me,” I said disconsolately. “Ava.”
Complete silence on the other end. Then I heard him put his hand over the receiver and say something to someone else. I gulped. Who was he talking to? Was he going to tell me to fuck off? I couldn’t bear it if he did.
After an excruciating pause, he said, “Come in.”
I pushed the garden door open and trudged miserably up the path. This was going to be terrible. I’d been so excited to see Sharon again, but now I just hoped she was skulking in her room. That way I could quietly take a dormitory bed and we could avoid each other very carefully until I’d made my travel arrangements.
The french doors that led into the sitting room gaped open, the gauzy curtains billowing silently in the morning breeze. It was so quiet. They were probably all off on an excursion somewhere; what a relief. Although I’d still have to talk to Peter, and deal with whoever he’d been whispering to. I sighed.
There was no-one in the sitting room. At the sight of the empty sofa, I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me; I sat down heavily, but not unhappily. I still felt like the lion that was finally free of the thorn in his foot. Just a very tired lion.
I stared out onto the quiet garden, still partly in shade. Little sparrows alighted on the birdbath, washed themselves, flitted away. Butterflies ambled by. I marvelled at how the world carried on, even in the wake of disasters and miracles. And me leaving Jack for good was, for me anyway, up there with tsunamis and Our Lady of Lourdes.
I wondered idly where Peter had got to. Maybe he was avoiding me too. I couldn’t blame him.
“Fuck,” said a voice.
A familiar voice. I whipped my head around.
“Shh,” said another voice, as familiar.
It can’t be,
I thought, confused. I peered through into the kitchen. Were those—black balloons?
Surely not—
“Ah, fuckit. You know she’s heard us now,” the voice whispered. “Go on then.
Go on!
”
And then an almighty roar. “SURPRIIIIIIISE!”
What felt like millions and millions of smiling people
poured
in from the kitchen, and from behind the couch, and through the french doors, and out of the hallway, and from under the rug, and who knew where else.
“Mia!” I gasped, stunned. “MUM!” There they stood up from behind the couch, looking dishevelled but definitely not imaginary. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?” They surged up to me and hugged me. Mia hugging me! Maybe this
was
imaginary.
“Ava, love!” It was Sharon, barrelling towards us like Randy on the mushrooms, slurring like nobody’s business. “We thought you were gone. I thought you were—” And she started blubbing helplessly into my hair. “I’VE BEEN CRYING FOR SOOOO LONGGGGG,” she wailed.
“Is she drunk?” I asked Mum, who nodded apologetically.
“She decided to hold a vigil. We kept telling her to go to bed, that there was nothing she could do about it—but she insisted.”
“You mean she’s been up all night waiting for me to come back?”
“Yes, you bitch,” Mia said good-naturedly. “We aren’t all selfish cows around here.”
“Mia,” Mum warned, “language.”
Mia stuck her tongue out at Mum as soon as her back was turned. I felt a twinge of happy nostalgia: lots of things had changed, that was for sure. But not Mum and my horrible sister. “Sharon rang us three days ago,” Mia said, “She told us about what that awful Jack had done.” Then she looked cautious. “So you’ve left him now? Properly? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
I smiled at her. “Good,” she said briskly. “Welcome to the ex-wives’ club.”
“Ava!” called another voice. It was Declan, trailed by Randy and Peter, who were carrying something cakelike. They set it down on the coffee table and stood back proudly, waiting to be complimented.
Meanwhile, dozens of people I’d never met before were lining up to hug me and congratulate me and offer me drinks. “Who are they all?” I asked Declan over the shoulder of a tall young man in bell-bottoms who smelled of incense. (He was preceded by a lady from Hull with an enormous, mahogany-tanned cleavage, who was celebrating her retirement with a Cairo-to-Cape trek. “We’ve all been so worried about you, pet,” she drawled in a deep burr.) “And how come they all know what’s happened?”
“Sharon’s fault,” Declan replied peevishly. “Don’t you have anything to say about your cake?”
They’d iced it. It said ‘WLCM BK’. “We only had a minute,” Peter explained, “Sharon said we were to put ‘SHE’S FKD’ on it if you weren’t back by teatime.”
“Have you all been up with Sharon all this time? With all these people?” I looked them over. They were all looking a bit grey around the eyes, admittedly. “Waiting for me?”
“So do you not want your cake?” Declan muttered. “It’s going in the bin if you don’t.”
Although I was in the middle of a bear hug from a guy from Sydney, I reached round and patted him on the arm. “I do want it. It’s lovely. Thank you.” I made meaningful eye contact with Peter and Randy. “You’re all lovely.”
Then I started to get a bit teary because of all this kindness and Sydney Man gave me another hug—although I suspect not purely out of the goodness of his heart. Then Sharon stuck her hand out from the sofa where Mum had laid her down and grabbed me.
“I knew you were goin-t’ come back,” she hiccupped. “I knew it when I sawr it in your face at that—at that—” Then she flung her arms around my neck and wailed. “I can’t b’lieve what he did to you,” she blared, “he’s such a bastard!”
“Shh, shh,” I soothed. I’d never understood how Sharon could drink so much and not pass out. She’d been on the Jägermeister all night, no doubt about it. “Shaz, I promise you I’ll never put you through something like this again.”
“I’ll fuckin’ kill ya next time, I swear I will,” she sniffled. Then she dropped into a theatrical whisper. “I’m not suppost t’tell you, but your man’s here.”
My skin prickled with sudden awareness. This time, there was no doubt who she was referring to. “Tam? Where?”
She tried to raise an eyebrow mischievously, but it didn’t work that well and she just ended up looking like Spock. “Inna garden. Don’t tell him I told.”
“OK,” I breathed. “Promise I won’t.”
Obviously I had to go outside. It was really hard to get past everyone and I met dozens of people as I tried to make it outside.
“Hello,” said a youth with a lip ring, floppy black hair, a French accent and a Bullet For My Valentine t-shirt. “I have heard of your excellent news of divorce. Many felicitations.”
“Thanks,” I replied, hoping that was the appropriate response. News got around quickly. I caught a glimpse of Mia through the kitchen hatch—pouring grapefruit schnapps shots for a rapt male audience. “To my stupid sister getting DIVORCED!” she bellowed, and they all knocked one back simultaneously. So
that’s
how word was spreading.
When I finally got outside, Tam wasn’t in view, and I was horrified to feel my heart tremble with worry. I had been overjoyed to hear he was at the Hideaway—surely his presence meant that he’d forgiven me? Or, at least, that he’d nearly forgiven me? So if he wasn’t here, that was bad.
I rounded the corner of the patio towards the koi pond, but stopped when I saw the glint of his hair. There he was.
His scent made me feel weak with happiness. He was so close to me! If I took one step forward, reached out my hand, I would be able to touch him . . .
“Oh!” He spun round. “I didn’t know you’d come back.”
That was a lie. He would have heard the whoops from miles away. So why was he hiding in the garden? And why did he look so pinched and unhappy? “Are you alright?”
He jerked his head up like a puppet’s, a plastic smile on his face. “I hear you—you’ve decided to—divorce Jack. That you’ve left him for good.”
What is going on here?
“That’s—right. Tam, you wouldn’t have known that if you didn’t know I was here. I only just told everyone. Well, I only just told Mia, which is the same as telling everyone.” I was babbling with fear. “What’s wrong? Whatever it is, let’s talk about it. You’ll feel better if we do.”
Let’s talk about it. As if
we’re
married, and this is some kind of ‘relationship’ talk. Honestly, Ava, you’re ridiculous.
“I suppose I should offer my congratulations,” he said stiffly, still with that horrible smile on his face. Like there was a knife in his back, and he just wanted me to stop talking to him so he could go and find a nice, quiet place to curl up and die.
I tried to smile back at him, but it was impossible. He was just freaking me out too much. “Thank you,” I said quietly.
Then it occurred to me:
is he angry with me for leaving Jack?
We stood in an uncomfortable silence, me toeing the ground, trying to think of how to approach this but feeling more and more angry and confused by the moment.
“I haven’t got much of a choice, you know,” I said, trying not to sound bitter. Trying to think of a way to make him understand.
Why should
you
try? He of all people should know what you’ve gone through.
“If you didn’t want this to happen, why did you tell me about Jemima? You knew it would be over between me and Jack after that.”
“Well, you had a right to know,” he said, a little huffily.
“But what was the point of telling me if you didn’t want me to be happy at the end of it? To choose the life I wanted?”
He was becoming agitated.
Good,
I thought.
At least this is having some kind of an effect on him.
“It’s just—I didn’t think—that this is what you’d choose.”
I was flabbergasted. “Why on
earth
not?” I could feel tears building up again. He was rejecting me; that was what was happening. It was dawning on him that I wanted something to happen between us, and he just didn’t want that. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t lose Tam on the same day I’d said goodbye to Jack—or at least, to the person I’d once thought Jack was. “What did you expect me to do?”
“I suppose you’re right,” he replied, sounding as bitter as I felt. “I should have seen it. I think I just didn’t want to.” And with that he pushed gently past me, back towards the house.
A big part of me wanted to go after him, who’d become so precious to me that it hurt to have him leave. Another, slightly bigger part didn’t want to extend the humiliation.
I stood staring into the koi pond at the stupid fish, watching them swim around drunkenly and mouth sweet nothings at one another. What had just happened? Had Tam just told me he didn’t want me to divorce his brother?
I almost had another wobble. I almost thought that I should have gone meekly back to London with Jack, just accepted my lot as a convenience wife and taking on all the perks that it would entail. But then I didn’t think any of those things. If Tam didn’t want me (want me! as if I was a sports car or a swish flat or a designer haircut!), that was fine; I didn’t need anyone.
It was then that I heard the sounds of an unearthly commotion waft out into the garden. A crash, some screams, and raised voices—at least one of which I recognised as Sharon’s.
Oh dear,
I thought, glad for the distraction,
what’s she gone and done now?
I scurried back to the house immediately. This had better be good.