‘My sister’s stuck with both you and that ring for a long time. I already know what you look like.’
‘Fair dos.’
‘But seriously.’ Annie pointed one long, manicured nail at him. ‘While you may become Bridget’s other half at some point in the near future, she’s been my other half since we were twin blobs of gloop jostling for the juiciest section of womb wall.’
‘A lovely analogy as always,’ Bridget murmured.
‘In short, you’re marrying the joint top woman in the universe. Make her happy, treat her with the respect all women deserve, and you’d better love her nearly as much as I do.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Oh, and about bloomin’ well time. It’s weird me married and her not.’
‘Antonia, did you see I made lemon cannoli? With pistachio sprinkles?’ Mum moved us on to more important topics.
‘Yes, Mamma. It looks lovely.’
‘And where’s Greg? We haven’t seen him in so long I’m forgetting what his beautiful face looks like. Is he working? I keep telling you, he works too hard. You need to talk to him about this again, Antonia. I don’t know what is going on these days, all these people working on a Sunday.’
‘He’s gone to the deli to pick us up some bagels, Mum. And you have no idea what hours he works, so please stop worrying about it.’
We might not have to worry about how hard Annie’s husband worked – he was an accounts manager for an international advertising firm, of course he worked ridiculously long hours. But we sisters were starting to wonder about how rarely we saw him on Sundays, and how Annie’s gushing reports on her loved-up wedded bliss were noticeably absent lately. At forty-four, Greg was nineteen years older than Annie. They had met on holiday in Rome, and, after a couple of short visits to meet his family and ours, she had gone to the US on a three-month spousal visa, marrying as required within the ninety days before flying back to England a week later for a lavish wedding reception. As used as we were to Annie’s impulse decisions, we were also well used to them crashing down around her once the initial enthusiasm had worn off. We knew the pair wouldn’t have married so fast if they’d not had to in order to live in the same country. We worried that, given a little more time and consideration, they wouldn’t have married at all.
We liked Greg, and he had certainly seemed to love Annie. But a suit-wearing professional with a house in the suburbs who coached little league baseball was not who we’d envisaged her ending up with.
But we could hardly quiz her about it over roast potatoes and beef stew. I wondered if it would be too late to find out what was going on when she came home for Bridget’s wedding.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Mum collapsed in an armchair to sleep off her efforts, while Paolo and Bridget played football with the kids in the garden. Leaving Orla and Sofia to clear up the remains of the mess, I went to take everybody’s hot drink orders. Hearing Dad’s voice coming from the study, I was about to open it when I caught Moses’ deep reply.
‘Thank you, Bear. But I won’t take your money. Not even for this. If it is meant to be, God will make a way.’
‘Maybe this is the way God is making?’ I could hear the frustration in Dad’s tone. There was a long silence. To my shame, I remained there, rooted on the spot, breath caught somewhere behind my pounding heart.
‘I know that Sofia would do anything to have another chance, but, with respect, you didn’t see what the last time cost her. Physically, and emotionally, I cannot put her through that again.’
‘Don’t you think you should make that decision together? She’s a wise woman, she can figure out what’s best. And if it gave you a child, wouldn’t you both consider it worth it?’
‘Of course.’ Moses’ voice broke on the words, and it tore at my chest to hear his pain. ‘If I could do it for her, I would keep going as long as it took. If we could be certain… but the doctors have warned us, for her the chance is so slim. I couldn’t take your money on a lost cause. And to hope again, only to have those hopes… to be told it was all for nothing… I can’t risk putting her through that…’
Hearing Moses break down released my frozen limbs. I hurried back into the living room, where Sam was slumped across the sofa opposite Mum, head on his chest.
‘Hey, Sam!’ I spoke softly, not wanting to disturb Mum, but loud enough to jolt him awake.
‘Oh! Emma. Was I asleep?’
‘You must be getting old, needing a Sunday afternoon snooze. Welcome to your thirties.’
‘Please don’t tell Mamma, she’ll not stop going on about how I’m working too hard.’
‘Are you – working too hard? Or was it a late night last night?’
‘It’s never a late night with him, these days,’ Orla said, walking in with two mugs of coffee. ‘You should be out playing with your kids on a Sunday afternoon, not sat here snoring like a grandad.’
Sam sighed, sitting up straighter to accept a mug. ‘I do get up with them at six every morning.’
‘It’s not a very sexy trait in a man, crashing out at nine-thirty on a Saturday night.’
