Once drinks were poured and plates loaded up with nachos, we settled in to dissect the goings-on of the past couple of weeks.
‘I’ll go first,’ Bridget said, cheeks pink with excitement beneath her Mediterranean complexion. I was relieved to see it. While I admired how Bridget’s positive outlook enabled her to treat something as potentially challenging as organising a wedding as nothing to stress about, I was growing slightly irritated at her total lack of decision-making so far.
‘Go for it,’ Sofia agreed, cosied up next to her on the sofa. ‘Oh, wait, is that Annie messaging, Orla?’
Orla looked up from her phone, slapping it face-down on the arm of her chair in a suspiciously hasty manner. ‘Ur, no. Just someone from the gym.’
‘Who from the gym?’ I asked. Wednesday Wine had a strict ‘emergency messages only’ rule, with the exception of the weeks Annie was able to video call.
‘A work friend. It’s not a big deal. I do have friends, who sometimes message me, and they didn’t know I’m on lockdown for the next two hours.’
‘And what is the name of this friend?’ Sofia asked. Come on, we were sisters. We could sniff out a story from the merest glint in each other’s eye.
Orla shifted on her seat, attempting to take a nonchalant sip of Sauvignon Blanc, which only made us more interested. ‘Jim.’
‘Jim from the gym?’ I asked.
‘Do you call him Gymmy Jim?’ Bridget added.
‘A bloke from work is messaging on your day off?’ Sofia asked, throwing Bridget and me a hard stare.
‘Afriendfrom work is following up on a previous conversation we had. He’s one of the trainers, and I asked him a question about using the weights. Stop making it into a thing – I’m allowed male friends.’
‘Of course, you’re allowed male friends! Which is why we’re all wondering why you’re acting so guilty. What’s really going on?’ Sofia asked.
Orla gripped her wine glass, face flushing. ‘What’s really going on is that I finally have a life that doesn’t revolve around my kids. I have a job now, and workmates, I’m getting my body back, and I’m loving it. For the first time since I was a teenager I’m starting to love me. None of you know what it’s like to spend eleven years being nothing but a boring, knackered, frumpy mum when all my mates are off to uni and having amazing careers and going on mini-breaks and out drinking every weekend. So back off, it’s just a message from a friend at work.’
‘Okay. We get it. As long as he knows that’s all it is,’ Sofia said.
Orla rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, because a trainer at the gym who’s got a body like Jason Momoa would consider being more than friends with someone like me.’
‘What, someone strong and fearless and funny and wise, and amazingly generous and loving?’ Bridget asked. Orla might act tough, but she loved her three kids with a tenderness that she’d inherited from Dad, and they could never doubt for one second how fiercely devoted she was to them. We also knew that, secretly, she loved us that way too.
She snorted out a few drops of wine. ‘I don’t think that’s quite how he sees me, Young One. But don’t worry, even if he did it’s cool. I’m not going to do anything stupid.’
Tolerably reassured for now, we allowed her to change the subject by calling Annie. I don’t think I was the only sister, however, to notice her checking her phone several more times as the evening went on.
Initial hellos with Annie over with, she got straight to business. ‘So, twin of mine, what’s the wedding news? I need a date already, but I’m presuming the lack of info on SisterApp means you’ve not got one sorted yet.’
‘Not yet. Now Hatherstone Hall is open for weddings, we’re thinking we should have a look there. It’ll be easier for Dad being so close, and we know Ginger organises great parties.’
‘Okay, well, get a move on and let me know. I want to know every detail. In fact, video chat me when you look round. And you need to start looking for a dress – don’t you dare choose any old thing without showing it to me first!’
‘She could wear your old dress?’ Sofia joked. While Bridget and Annie weren’t identical, they were pretty close, both having inherited more than their share of the Italian genes, leaving Orla and me with the pale Irish skin and blue eyes. Sofia, as diplomatic as ever, had ended up somewhere in the middle. With chestnut hair and hazel eyes, there might have been questions asked if it weren’t for her Donovan nose and wide, Barone mouth.
‘It would save some money…’ Bridget mused, pretending to consider it. ‘But might freak Greg out a bit. Is he there? Shall I ask him? We’ve not chatted in ages.’
‘That’s because when you’re meeting to guzzle booze and eat cake in your pyjamas it’s three o’clock here. He’s at work, keeping me in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed. Speaking of which, I’ve a client arriving in a few minutes. Is that it for noteworthy news, or anything else I need to know about?’
‘Nothing that can’t wait until you’ve got more time,’ Sofia said. Orla gave her hand a squeeze. No news was always heart-rending news as far as Sofia and Moses were concerned.
We said goodbye, topped up our drinks and settled into the more mundane business of the evening. To my relief, Sofia told us about the offer of a loan from Dad. I had been stressing out about whether to say anything, not wanting to interfere, but I had hated keeping such a potentially significant secret from her.
‘What are you going to do?’ Orla asked, face pinched. The biggest cost of doing IVF was not the money.
‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘Moses says he doesn’t want to. But I’m sure that’s for my sake. Plus, he’d feel terrible taking Dad’s money, of course. But I know how much he wants a baby. There must be a part of him that wants to take the chance. If I was being totally unselfish, I think I’d persuade him, because it’s what he really wants.’
‘But it’s not what you want?’ I asked.
