‘Mamma, I’m really not in the mood.’ Orla folded her arms and leant back on the bench. ‘Let’s talk another time.’
‘What, like once Sam is home, and the rehab place given to someone else, who doesn’t have a wife and three children to support?’
Orla shrugged.
‘Orla Peterson, you are not going to make this decision without hearing first-hand what it is like to take care of a proud, stubborn man when some days he hates that he can’t take care of himself so much, he acts like he hates you. Everything your man thinks makes him a proper man has vanished. You want to hear how you can show him what being a man really is, even when he can’t wash his own backside? Or you want to stick your nose in the air at your silly old fool of a mother who has been married all these years, who knows better than all you girls put together what better or worse, sickness and health really means? Don’t be ridiculous, child. Get up, we’re going for a walk.’
Orla got up, and went.
The rest of us spent the hour and a half while we waited for them to come back discussing our relief at her removal of all things gym/Jim related from her life, our concern about how the challenges ahead would impact our niece and nephews, and how, in an odd way, something so terrible might have saved Sam and Orla’s marriage.
Then Sofia tossed us a complete humdinger.
‘Sam had been reading her messages.’
‘Jim messages?’ Annie sat back, mouth open, before deciding to pour herself another glass of wine. ‘Well, that maybe explains some of his behaviour lately.’
Sofia nodded, wincing. ‘He told Moses at the wedding.’
‘How bad were they? I mean, don’t give us details or anything.’ I was horrified.
‘Moses didn’t givemedetails. Sam deduced they hadn’t crossed over into anything physical yet, but they were definitely heading that way. He was contemplating paying Jim a visit.’
‘Jim would have beaten him to a pulp,’ Annie said.
‘Not if Sam ran him over first.’
‘Well, thank goodness Moses talked him out of it!’ I shuddered to think what might have happened otherwise.
‘Oh, he didn’t,’ Sofia replied. ‘Moses offered to go with him. Only then, well, the accident.’
‘Orla doesn’t know,’ Annie said. ‘She feels terrible enough already. It would devastate her.’
‘Should we tell her?’ I asked my younger, more-experienced-in-marriage-matters sisters.
‘Maybe we should wait and see if Sam says anything.’ Sofia shook her head, eyeing us gravely. ‘It’s not really our place. I think they have more than enough to deal with right now, without this knowledge of an almost-affair on top of it.’
‘Yes, but both of them already have knowledge of the almost-affair, they just don’t know the other one has it,’ I said. ‘Are secrets ever a good thing in a relationship? Don’t they inevitably create a wall between you? If Sam won’t let her know, should we step in? Let them start again with a clean slate?’
‘It’s not our secret to share,’ Annie pronounced, finishing off her wine with a grimace and starting to gather her things together.
Maybe not. That had never been a reason to stop us sharing, all the same.
Once upon a time it hadn’t anyway.
18
Moses and Sofia gave me a lift to Ben and Cooper’s – now my – home. It was nearly eleven by the time I’d swapped the bedding on Orla’s futon ready for Annie, gathered my stuff together and made the journey into the city. The decision had been made that I’d move in with Cooper as I considered it too weird for all of us to be living with Bridget, especially given that she knew both Cooper and I better than we did each other. Ben wouldn’t be around much as he travelled a lot for his work, which was a plus, and when he was home he’d be on hand to do more filming for the research project. Which was a big fat minus.
Once Bridget was married in June, we’d look at moving into my apartment in Sherwood. Or, with two incomes, maybe even consider buying a house together. Providing the very thought of such a long-term commitment had stopped causing me stomach cramps by then.
I let myself into the flat, using my shiny new key. I’d messaged Cooper to let him know I’d be coming home, but had no response. Of course, I didn’t know what time he usually went to bed – perhaps he’d already been asleep? The lights were off in the kitchen and living room, and I had no idea which was my bedroom. Dumping my bags in the hallway, I sent Cooper another quick message.
Three minutes later I still had no response, so I tried calling. No answer. What if he was a really heavy sleeper? Should I try a door anyway? There was a fifty-fifty chance it would be Cooper’s bedroom, rather than Ben’s. I could try to get comfortable on the sofa. But then I’d feel awkward in the morning about being too embarrassed to find my own bedroom. Which would mean a night of fretful sleep as I counted down until the inevitable humiliation.
Come on. Start acting your age and knock on a door. What’s the worst that can happen?
I gently tapped on the nearest door. The worst happened, when, instead of anyone responding to my tap, the door swung wide open. Straight ahead of me, duvet crumpled to one side, lay a naked man, face pressed into the pillow, back and legs and everything else swathed in shadow from the light of the hallway behind me.
