Читать книгу Chance - Alex Hines - Страница 6
ОглавлениеChapter Two
Later – Monday, 22 August
On the dot of 5.30 Ava waved goodbye to a cheery Matt and indulged in some Olympic-level pottering once he’d gone. She gave the easy option – simply locking up thoroughly – a swerve, instead indulging in a little time in her shop. Polishing the brass handle and plaque on the door as if it was a fancy hotel, twisting the coloured twine neatly on its reels and all the while enjoying the silence of a closed Dunne’s the Florist. She made sure all of the paperwork for the next day was in order, closed her laptop properly instead of just hitting ‘sleep’ and slamming the lid, then gave the mugs by the kettle a little tidy. Sure, a women’s magazine would have advised heading home early for a luxuriant, candle surrounded bath, but this level of A-Grade faffing about relaxed Ava and she loved every minute of it. Once more she watered the cornflowers, the tall, lonely-looking bay trees and the herbs now inside on the shop floor. She picked up one of the rosemary plants and inhaled the refreshing scent again, before popping it in her canvas bag to take home. Yesterday’s roast, cooked with rosemary from the same delivery, had been such a success that she decided to take another pot home and plant it. First, a nice terracotta pot on the windowsill to keep an eye on, and then in the garden in the spring, for future roasts. After a day filled with hassle and hustle, anything seemed possible in this stillness.
She felt a sudden surge of affection for Dunne’s. It was her safe place, one created by her, for her. A place where she had made her dreams and those of others come true. The haughty woman from that morning seemed a distant memory, an irrelevance. Ava was happy to have left it to Matt to call her housekeeper, the elusive Mary, and she was right to do so for he had charmed her in no time at all and the order had been smoothly made. The majority of the red roses had been bought by an exhausted and exhilarated new father who turned up towards the end of the day, who clearly hadn’t slept since Saturday night and was covered in a thin sheen of nervous sweat. He stared manically at Ava, while explaining in at least 40 words per sentence more than he needed that he had driven in from the hospital on the recommendation of one of the nurses as his older brother once told him that garage or hospital flowers would be a mistake he’d come to regret for the rest of his life. Ava listened calmly, letting his manic stream of too much information wash over her while Matt smirked to himself in the background. Twenty long-stemmed deep red roses … Exquisite, they had been the high point of her day apart from the doe-eyed flirt, who she hurriedly pushed further to the back of her mind.
Before she put on her coat, Ava texted Rob to tell him that she was now on her way home and to ask if she could pick anything up en route. She knew he’d probably be back by now and would have let himself in. Maybe he’d even got to work on her meal. As partner in a small local web agency, his work was largely portable, which meant that he usually finished work very promptly. When she first met him, she had recoiled at the mention of him working for a web agency, imagining soul-sapping London-based companies named ‘Obtuse’ or ‘Slap Tha Truth’. But Rob’s agency was considerably less cutting edge: named after himself and his business partner Laurence, it was simply Collins & Cook – creators of websites for local businesses, data companies and a couple of regional artists and authors. The whole thing sounded mind-numbingly dull to Ava, but as he had pointed out to her when they were still friends: ‘It’s how I make my money, not who I am.’ To be fair, he had gone on to win her over in that first year of friendship with trips to the local playhouse, the cinema or museums. He liked to read, he enjoyed similar TV shows (within reason) and he was also enthusiastic about discussing all of this, as well as her growing business.
Rob’s punctuality was a real bonus when it meant long romantic evenings in together while his portable, self-employed ways seemed a modern, cutting-edge way to live but it was less enticing when he started tinkering around with his phone late at night, checking up on things in the second half of a film, suddenly jabbing at the touch screen in a frenzy. In fact, it pushed Ava to the very limits of her patience and reminded her of how glad she was to have a shop whose well-polished brass plated door she could firmly shut at the end of the working day. She smiled to herself as she locked up, feeling a small, almost smug glow about heading home to such dependability and love, before crossing the market square towards her car.
Ava walked past the cinema, the butchers and her favourite shoe shop, pausing to admire a pair of strappy sandals that she was hoping to find the excuse to buy any time soon. After crossing the cathedral square just as the bells were briefly pealing, she walked beside the river, whose banks were delicately lovely in the hazy evening light. She stopped to buy a bottle of crisp white wine at an off licence not far from the river and as the shop owner handed it to her, she could feel the condensation from the fridge chilling the paper he had wrapped it in. She pictured herself peeling off the paper, pouring two glasses and handing one to Rob at the hob. Maybe she could persuade him to give her one of his shoulder massages, too. She was almost hugging herself with contentment by the time she reached her car and began the 10-minute drive to her little house. The roads were clear and she was home in no time, pleased to see that the roses she had spent years encouraging around the front door were now as English and elegant as she had always hoped. Now the sun was dipping over the horizon and Ava could hear a cuckoo in the distance as she reached for her handbag and the wine from the passenger seat, then shut and locked the car door. She peered into the front window – her sitting room was neat, untouched since last night.
On turning her key in the front door Ava gave it a shove, but it was slow opening, edged on a heap of post beneath the letter box. For the second time that day she picked up an uninspiring clump of bills, direct mail and flyers. She dumped it on the hall table, with the wine and started to take her coat off.
‘Hellooo! I’m home!’
Silence. She paused. The house was clearly empty. After hanging her coat on one of the pegs above the table, she walked through the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. The evening light made the room look so pretty, but it was unavoidably empty. There was a used mug on the wooden surface next to the sink. It was the same one that Ava had left on Rob’s bedside before heading to work that morning. Next to it was a half-full milk bottle, gently warming in the sun’s rays. And in the sink itself was a used cereal bowl containing the dregs of some old, once-damp muesli, slowly cementing itself to the edges. Ava turned and went back to the hallway, where she placed a hand in her coat pocket to retrieve her mobile phone. She glanced at the screen: nothing. Following this, she placed it on the hall table next to the wine, which was now in a small puddle of condensation, its tissue paper sodden. She picked up the bottle and put it in the fridge. As she did so, she heard the buzz of a text on her phone and went back to look at it.
‘Sorry darling forgot I had squash with Laurence. Promise dinner tomorrow? At mine?’
Ava glared at the screen, as if she might develop special powers – the ability to rearrange the letters into something a little less rage inducing, perhaps. Stepping into the sitting room, she hurled the phone and then herself on to the soft leather sofa. She slumped, staring into space, with nowhere to vent her frustration. In seconds her evening had transformed from the kind of perfection that justified her every adult choice to an anxiety-inducing pity-party for one. How could he be so casual about it? Why had he only thought to tell her now? Surely they were already at the courts? So why hadn’t he suggested coming over afterwards? Why did he care about none of this, and how was it that she suddenly felt so desperately flat?
She took her shoes off, rubbed her feet and then rubbed her shoulders. All alone, an evening in … Maybe she was the woman no one bought flowers for, after all.
The phone buzzed. Ava wriggled a hand back down behind the cushions and glanced at it again. An apology? Not a chance.
‘Hey hey you. Can we talk later? Major dress stress coming up. Can. Not. Deal.’
Ava winced a second time. It was not Rob, but Lauren. Ugh, an enticing suggestion for what would inevitably be a half-hour conversation about wedding dresses! What a way to finish the day. More ambitious, tougher-skinned and more inclined to relish a confrontation than her sibling, Lauren often seemed to play the older sister role, despite being five years younger. Relishing every life stage, she sailed through them, competence oozing from every pore. Her career as a property finder for Wiltshire’s finest appeared to go from strength to strength, she had a gorgeous and supportive fiancé in Rory and she was also a rigorous athlete, regularly competing in local and regional triathlons. Lauren seemed intimidated by nothing, prepared to take on anything and with the ability to create drama and excitement, wherever and whenever she felt like it. Invigorating as she was infuriating, she had thrown herself into wedding plans with the enthusiasm of a woman accustomed to succeeding.
‘Just got in. Give me 5 mins’ typed Ava, keen to buy herself enough time to open that wine and pour herself a large glass. She’d need fortifying for this particular chat.
To be held at the same stately home in whose adjacent garden centre Ava had been employed when she first returned to Wiltshire, Lauren’s wedding was to be one of Wiltshire’s finest: a full country-house extravaganza, complete with the dress of her dreams. Only trouble was, Lauren’s dream dress wasn’t quite coming into line with her dreams. Where her pragmatism and straightforwardness usually served her well, it now meant she was struggling to explain her ‘vision’ to the dressmaker she had chosen. Tensions were rising. Somehow, Ava had found herself Designated Listener.
Shoulders slumped, she wandered into the kitchen barefoot, casting a dismissive glance at the cereal bowl in the sink on her way to the fridge. She swung open the door, looking for inspiration – or at least a snack. There was a lump of old Parmesan, nearly at the rind, some watery ham in its supermarket packet, the top now curling, and three eggs. Omelette it is, she thought to herself. In the shelf on the fridge door was half a lemon, turning green at the edges: the remnant of a long-forgotten gin and tonic. Next to it was the wine, which Ava opened and tipped liberally into her glass, cherishing the glug that only comes from the first pour. She took a sip and returned to the sofa, where her phone was already ringing.
‘Hi there!’
Momentarily confused, she paused. That wasn’t Lauren’s voice. She glanced at her phone to check: it was Mel.
‘Oh hi there! Sorry about that – I thought you were Lauren for a minute. She was about to ring and now you’ve saved me. Anyway, boring! How are you?’ Ava took another big sip, relaxing into the idea of a good gossip with an old friend.
‘Marcie, NO! Sorry, Ave, just a minute …’ There was a pause. Mel was one of the legion of Ava’s friends from college who was currently knee-deep in homework, scribbled-on walls and bruises from accidents sustained by slipping on Lego. She had two small children: two-year-old Marcie and six-year-old Jake. Ava waited, half-listening to Mel as she reprimanded her youngest, who was at the stage where experimenting with paint while wearing a highly flammable-looking pink princess dress were life’s greatest joys. She was mindful never to judge Marcie, though. After all, she spent several hours a week daydreaming about the infinite romance of owning a proper ballroom dancing gown – one with a train, sparkling diamante straps and a skirt that swished with every movement. She realised she would much prefer to talk to Marcie about her dresses than to Lauren about hers.
‘Sorry, honey, I’m back,’ Ava’s reverie ended. ‘I was just calling for a catch up really, no big gossip. I know it’s easier to email, but I fancied a chat. Jake’s making a cake for the first time and I’m not allowed in the kitchen for another 40 minutes, apparently.’
‘Awwwww, sucks to be you!’ teased Ava. ‘But, um, is he by himself?’
‘Ha, yeah! I’ve just left him to it – Rich is upstairs on the Xbox.’
Their relationship, based on ridiculous teasing, had remained largely unchanged since college, which was exactly how Ava liked it.
‘Oh great, sounds wonderful – make sure he cleans up the knife drawer afterwards,’ she replied.
‘I’ve got Marcie on it now. For Mummy, it’s Wine Time.’
‘Tell me about it. What a day!’
Ava pictured Mel at home on her bright pink sofa. She knew she’d be wearing jeans, her Birkenstocks and a hoodie in an eye-wateringly bright colour, probably orange. Her dark hair, of which Ava had been so envious when they were flatmates in London, would be scraped back – the brief period of trying to blow dry it for work long over. Mel had always been scruffy in a sexy kind of way, so the mayhem of motherhood suited her. She was rarely any messier than before, but she was certainly not going to let impending middle age prevent her from dressing how she wanted. Nor was Ava, but whenever they spoke it crossed her mind that it was somehow more impressive that Mel was pulling off motherhood with such verve, especially as she still worked part time.
‘You okay, hon?’ began Mel.
‘Yeah, fine really,’ she muttered before beginning to explain Rob’s last-minute change of plan but she didn’t get very far without almost being able to hear Mel’s hackles rising all the way from London. She could sense her bristling at the mention of him failing to meet her exacting standards for what Ava’s boyfriend should be.
‘What a charming way to behave!’ observed Mel, dryly.
‘Yeah, it’s not ideal. Fridge scraps for me tonight. You’re the one with the kids, I’m the one with the lover and yet you’re at home with your feet up while I’m the one foraging for dinner. This is not what the lady mags tell me our roles are supposed to be.’
‘This turn of events is far from usual for either of us, at least you can console yourself with that.’
Certainly it was rare for Mel to sound so relaxed at this time in the evening, but Ava realised with a shiver that this wasn’t exactly the first time that Rob had flaked out on plans lately.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Ava bit her lip, thinking.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Mel pounced on that small pause.
‘Yeah, yeah! Let’s put it this way, it’s certainly not something I’m used to or intend to put up with.’
‘Good! Getting used to it would be the worst of all.’
As the words were still leaving Mel’s mouth, Ava felt something unfurl within her: the realisation of her acceptance. She was getting used to this.
‘Anyway, let’s park Rob for a minute,’ Mel continued. ‘I’ve got a plan – and I want you to hear it.’
‘Oooh, go on!’
‘I’m going to apply for tickets to Strictly Come Dancing this year. We are going to do this …’
‘Oh wow, that’s given me the Summer Strictly Feeling.’
‘Eh?’
‘Sorry – it was Lauren who coined that term, not you. You know what I mean, though – end of the summer, nights are drawing in, you’re wondering if the diamante sandals you bought for summer are ever going to get used again this year but secretly, deep inside, you’re thirsting for Saturday nights curled up in front of the telly with a stew, instead of marinating chicken breasts in peri-peri sauce and chopping up endless feta for salads.’
‘Oh I HEAR you! I am dreading the day I have to accept that the kids will be back playing inside all day instead of using the garden but still … winter jumpers, new long boots and Strictly?’
‘Exactly ! It’s so bittersweet. On the one hand, dark evenings coming up; on the other, dark evenings of Salsa and Waltzes.’
‘Oh goodness, you’ve got me all excited about it now. So – tickets?’
‘YES! I want to do this. How come we never thought of this before?’
‘You know how it is – new babies, new businesses, you leaving London and deserting me.’
‘I suppose. What made you think of it?’
‘Emma – she’s started taking Salsa classes.’
Ava snorted with laughter. Emma was a particularly pushy mum who lived on Mel’s street – albeit the ‘smarter’ side, as she was always quick to remind her. She had two children the same age as Jake and Marcie, and felt very strongly that Mel would be quite unable to cope without her peerless and never-ending stream of advice. It was always delivered in a stage whisper, with a dead-eyed smile, while Emma’s children slept angelically in their expensive double buggy and Mel’s threw their shoes – and socks – into the hedge. From breast feeding to violent video games and even as far as how to ‘keep the spark alive’ between herself and Rich, Emma’s advice was a constant source of both fury and hilarity to Mel and Ava.
‘Wow! Emma. At Salsa classes.’
‘I know.’
‘That, I simply cannot imagine. Where is she doing it?’
‘Same place as I do Pilates!’
‘How do you know?’
‘She took me aside to tell me in her special whisper – some things never change. I was in the supermarket car park, trying to get everything in the boot and she came over and announced it, as is her way.’
‘Well I never!’
‘I know, I thought I was about to be given a lecture on how spending too much time on Angry Birds had a 72% chance of Jake being a crack addict by the age of 13, but no – she wanted to talk Salsa.’
‘So what did she actually say?’
‘She decided it was going to be a good way to keep fit during the winter, when the outdoor tennis courts are closed. Remember, she gets bored terribly easily because of her fierce intellect, so the gym – or running around after her children like a normal person – just isn’t enough stimulation for her. She says the instructor is very respectful and he’s called Damiano. And you know what?’
‘What ? She’s run off with him?’
‘No ! It was the first time she has ever not bragged. She wasn’t telling me in a “Now you must do this because guess what, I’ve just raised the bar in the being-as-good-as-me stakes”, she just seemed to be enthusing about it. I was braced for the “fierce intellect” nonsense, but this time she managed to keep it all in. She says she now has a different relationship with her body – she feels more free!’
‘I don’t know what to say. I want to take the mickey but it sounds kind of sweet.’ ‘Yes, it was. For the first time, she seemed … happy.’
‘Wonders will never cease.’
‘And that, my friend, is why we must make sure we sort ourselves out with tickets this year. I’ve got the link to the website, and I’m poised like a cat, ready to pounce into action to apply. My children will be playing with knives behind my back as I sit there clicking “refresh”. Can’t wait! Apparently they allocate for the whole series in one go and we just have to wait and see which show we get tickets for. So exciting!’
‘That would be great. Not the knives bit, please – I love those kids. But imagine if we got them. I could get Matt to look after the shop for me and make a proper weekend of it – leave Rob to his squash games, and come and see you and the kids for a while.’
‘I’d love that, it’s been too long to be left with only Emma for company.’
‘It would be wonderful, cheer me right up.’
Ava didn’t realise what she was saying until she had said it. But suddenly, what had been unfurling in her was spreading its tentacles. Loneliness, unhappiness or was it simply a case of the grass always being greener?
‘Do you really need cheering up? I’m worried about you.’
‘Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m just, well … a little bit flat.’
‘Because of Rob?’
‘No. Well, yes – but not just Rob, just a creeping sense of …’
‘MUUUUM!’ Mel’s son Jake was screaming from the kitchen, alarmingly loudly even via Ava’s phone.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Oh, God! I think Wine Time is already over … It’s not fair to leave Rich to deal with this alone.’
Sounds from the kitchen were ominous. Was that a plate breaking? ‘No problem, you get back to them.’
‘But we’ll pick this up in an hour or so when I’ve dealt with this lot.’
‘Sure,’ Ava tried to give an audible but reassuring shrug but it didn’t work very well. ‘You take care and love to the lot of them.’
Ava pottered back to her kitchen with an empty glass, refilled it and then made what she could of the Parmesan, ham and eggs. She snipped a few needles from the rosemary plant she had left by the door, telling herself calmly that there was no need to let standards slip just because she was unexpectedly alone. After all, it wasn’t as if she lived with Rob yet. That was a whole separate discussion.
She sprinkled the rosemary onto the omelette, gave it a final turn, put it on one of her favourite plates and then sat with it at her kitchen table, listening to next door’s cat squawking at a blackbird. Soon she saw the bird flap up over the wall and fly away, clearly flustered. She remembered Mel’s obsession with feeding the birds in their shared flat at college: she had spent hours staring out the window at birds on the adjacent garage roof pecking away at the stale bread and bird balls she had thrown there for them. It was possibly the most unglamorous and most endearing thing any of her college friends ever did. But the two were firm buddies long before the bird-obsession revealed itself. They met at swing classes in their first year and warily spent time together, each fearful the other was what they considered to be a ‘part timer’ where their love of dance was concerned. Back in the early nineties being a dance fan had seemed almost subversive and certainly not a regular hobby for 19-year-olds, so their commitment was unusual.
‘Ava, as in Ava Gardner?’ had been Mel’s first words on being introduced to her.
‘Yes,’ she replied hesitantly. Usually people turned their noses up at such a deliberately retro name, or thought she was assuming a mannered alias.
‘Wow! Named after The Barefoot Contessa. Impressive … I think my parents had been watching too many Melanie Martin dramas when I was born.’
And then the dancing began. Ever confident, Mel had paid Ava little attention for the next few weeks as she was furiously pursuing a boy whose name neither of them could remember any more. But after a few months of regular attendance at Swing Night and some pretty raucous parties, they formed a close friendship. By the end of the year they were flatmates. Despite the inherent skankiness of their student accommodation, dancing proved an irremovable streak of glamour and romance in an otherwise average student experience and despite house moves, babies and their impending forties, it remained the glue that bonded them. Mel’s unstoppable pragmatism needed a friend with Ava’s ability to let her imagination fly. And Ava’s over-imaginative tendency for anxiety was grounded by the reassuring sense Mel was always able to provide.
The unfamiliar trill of the landline jump-started Ava from her memories.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, how are you?’
Lauren’s sugary, super-kind tone was the one used when she was keen to get the polite practicalities out of the way as quickly and emphatically as possible before launching into a chat that was to involve her getting her own way. It worked like a dream in the property finding business when she was schmoozing with City players for whom she was commissioned to find idyllic boltholes in which to install their docile wives, movie location scouts who needed country homes that didn’t require the guttering to be digitally removed, or privacy conscious celebrities who wanted a driveway slightly longer than the longest of lenses. But it was too much of an old trick for Ava, who was able to read the signals loud and clear. In fairness, it wasn’t always Lauren’s tone – Ava did her fair share of whinging too, but tonight this was the last thing she felt like. She poured a further slug of wine into her glass.
‘I’m fine, sweetie, just a bit down but it’ll pass.’
‘Oh, right.’
Ava noticed that Lauren didn’t ask why she was feeling down – a classic move. ‘Rob messed me around over dinner.’ she continued, regardless.
‘Were you supposed to go out?’
‘No, but …’
‘Oh, right.’
Another slice of classic Lauren: in her opinion, if it wasn’t a smart restaurant in Marlborough or a genteel gastropub with portraits of hunting dogs on the walls, it can’t have been a big deal.
‘You sound really disappointed, though.’
‘I am. It’s no big deal, though.’ Her tone softened as Lauren showed genuine concern.
‘But you’re okay, you two?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
Now a pause when Ava would have liked Lauren to ask a little more.
‘Great. So listen, about this dress …’
And that was that.
‘Yes?’
‘There are big problems with organising this dress fitting. The woman is being totally unreasonable about timings and when I can actually get to see her. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not at a desk all day like normal people.’
Ava wondered what was so bad about being at a desk all day, and if Lauren had ever noticed she wasn’t either.
‘She is saying she won’t cut the fabric without my approval but the times she’s giving me are really restrictive. I can’t just drive all over Wiltshire on a whim because it suits her – I am the customer after all! Honestly, I knew I should have had it done in London, one of those lovely ateliers.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘This woman,’ Lauren seemed to spit the word, ‘is some kind of well-kept secret. One of the guys working on Bishopstone Park told me about her – she had worked on the costumes and did the dress for Violet Bennett.’
Violet Bennett, breakout star of the country-house drama Bishopstone Park, had indeed worn a glorious dress for her well-documented wedding to the romantic hero of a gritty urban crime series. Elegant, befitting of a leading lady, but avoiding the trap of trying to look like a princess, it had been praised by the weekly magazines and the designer had been the subject of much debate but a name never released. Sadly, if the tabloids were to be believed, the marriage itself was not enjoying quite the same level of success as the gown itself.
‘If she did that dress or any of the other dresses on the show maybe she can call the shots, Lauren. She’s clearly a pro – she can probably pick and choose her clients.’
A moment’s silence.
‘Look, the long and the short of it is if we don’t want the whole thing to turn into a total ’mare, I’m going to have to take a half day off work – rearranging a really important client meeting – and I’d like you to come with me.’
Ava, apparently, had no essential meetings with clients.
‘Right, when is this?’
‘Just under two weeks: Saturday, 3 September.’
‘And you’d like me there?’
‘Yes, of course – I think it would be less tense if you were there and we could discuss your bridesmaid’s dress.’
Ava watched the blackbird circling the garden again, and prayed for a quick, sudden death. She swallowed another sip of wine. Being an adult bridesmaid had long been such a source of complete terror to Ava that she and Lauren had been joking about since long before she even met Rory. It was time to face the music.
‘My what …?’
‘My bridesmaid! Don’t say it like that – it’ll be fun. I’m not going to put you in a weird prom dress, you’ll be in a Viv creation just like me and we can choose it together.’
‘I’ll put the 3rd in the diary, but I want you to know that I hate you.’
‘I know you love me, sis. Honestly, if I’d known getting married was this much stress there’s absolutely no way on earth that I would have decided to do it.’
‘That couldn’t be less true. It simply could not be less true! For that ring, sis, you would have agreed to do whatever Rory asked you to do.’
‘Oh God, you’re so right!’
‘And you bloody love him …’
‘I do!’ And she did. Rory was a godsend, to the point where Ava and her mum had started to refer to him as the ‘Lauren Whisperer’. Indeed, the rest of the family was no longer able to imagine living without him. He was gentle and had eternal patience with Lauren’s more diva-ish demands, but secretly Ava suspected her sister not only really loved him but still found him wildly sexy and would do more than she was ever going to let on to keep him happy. There was also the engagement ring, which had almost blinded Ava the first time she saw it. Rory, a man who spent all day working with his hands and had been too shy to speak to Lauren’s family for the first six months they had been dating, had surpassed all expectation when he surprised Lauren with it. A woman who always maintained she would like a say in any jewellery bought for her discovered in an instant that sometimes not being in control could have its pleasures. And that instant was when she opened the small, dark green velvet box containing a 1920s Art-Deco ring: an antique-cut solitaire surrounded by three baguette cut diamonds on each side. It took her just under a second to say yes. She was as stunned with joy at being asked as she was by the heart-stopping fact that Rory had bought the piece at auction, paid for the history to be written up and presented an elegantly framed version of it to her. Lauren liked to pretend her car – a terrifyingly fast Audi TT – was her favourite possession but she wasn’t fooling anyone.
After hanging up, Ava washed up the few things in the sink. Before doing so, she carefully removed the small diamond that Rob had bought her to celebrate the one-year anniversary of Dunne’s. At the time it had seemed such a romantic gesture, so respectful of her work and her pride in the shop, but now it was hard not to see it as a friendship ring, a holding pattern to postpone any more serious discussion. Resentfully, she chipped away at the muesli around the edge of Rob’s cereal bowl, wondering if they should have a relationship more like her sister and Rory. Trying to impose such a thing would never work, but still, it already seemed as if she and Rob had been married forever and now they might never make it down the aisle. Was this the worst of both worlds, she wondered while drying up her plate and replacing it in the cupboard.
Enough, this moping must stop, she then told herself. A successful independent woman in a contented relationship should not be spending her evenings comparing diamond sizes with a sister she loves dearly. That way, madness lies. She headed upstairs, had a quick shower and set up Swing Time on her laptop to watch in bed. After half an hour, the Fred and Ginger Waltzes and the heavenly frocks lulled her into a dreamy sense of calm. Just as she turned off and turned over, her phone buzzed.
‘Sorry again about tonight, hope you had a good evening. Will make it up to you tomorrow or even better, Sunday, I promise. I won the squash!’
The thought was sweet, but Rob had clearly forgotten they were going to her parents for lunch on Sunday. As she turned over and curled up, she told herself firmly that it didn’t matter, that the absence of kisses on his text weren’t a sign. She replayed the Waltzes in her head until sleep finally came.
