The cork pops, flies, hits a beam, skitters across the sitting room floor, coming to rest in front of the window. Champagne drools from the rim of the bottle.
Jayne thought about asking again if the others wanted to drink the champagne and decided against giving them the choice. She opened it anyway, hoping to provoke Emily and Ruth into being more defiant in the face of Edie’s attempt to sabotage their weekend.
It’s not too long until dark now, and Jayne’s hopeful that if she can distract them by encouraging them to enjoy themselves, they’ll give up on wanting to go out.
She pours.
Ruth glances at Emily. With her makeup off and hair tied back Emily looks like a teenager. It’s disconcerting.
Perhaps, she thinks, it’s the very existence of Emily, her young body, the beautiful blank slate of her, ready for a man to draw on,that has piqued Edie beyond reason. Edie can offer a man a lot, but not that. Has her grief provoked jealousy in her?
Though that only makes sense if Edie wanted Paul for herself, after Rob died. And then found she couldn’t have him. Ruth wouldn’t have thought of this if Toby hadn’t made a recent comment about it, suggesting that it was well known that Paul had always been Edie’s second favorite in their gang, the one they all thought she’d pair off with before she chose Rob.
It does seem far-fetched. But it would be a better explanation than the possibilities that have been tormenting her. She glances at Emily again. It’s quite unnerving how young and innocent she looks. And her skin is perfect. Flawless. How, Ruth wonders, have I been so comfortable with Toby being around Emily?
“What about a toast?” Jayne says. She nods at Emily, encouraging her to pick up the glass.
“Oh, sorry!” Ruth has taken a drink already. The bright sparkle of the liquid on her tongue thrills her, builds on the warm glow of the vodka she’s just helped herself to more of upstairs, holds the promise of obliterating some of her anxiety.
Jayne raises her glass. Ruth mirrors her. Emily picks hers up reluctantly, as if it might bite. Jayne is pleased with how cozy the room feels now the fire is lit. It took well. The swarming flames are reflected in their champagne glasses.
“Here’s to us, to our tradition of weekends away, to friendship and to having a great time in spite of everything,” Jayne says.
“Cheers!” Ruth lifts her glass and drinks. The champagne is tartly delicious. Almost a punishment. A little bit like spending time with Edie herself. The compliments, followed swiftly by the sarcasm, or the gentle put-down. Toby tells her she imagines those, that she’s too sensitive to Edie, but she thinks he’s wrong. The back of her nose prickles. She can’t remember when she last drank champagne. It feels like such a treat.
Ruth has always admired the way that Edie can make you feel special when she wants to. She wouldn’t even need champagne to make you feel good. She could do it with a look, a smile, a thoughtful gift.
But why is she thinking like this? This champagne isn’t a special gift from Edie, or not in the right way anyway, because it came with that horrible letter. It’s bittersweet. Backhanded.
But she can’t help taking another sip.
She decides it’s specialin spite ofEdie.
Emily raises her glass but sets it back down without drinking. “I can’t,” she says. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t feel right. I need to know more about Edie’s hoaxes.”
“Oh!” Ruth says. “I could tell you a story or two about that!” Suddenly she feels on a high, awash with optimism that’s verging on mania. The vodka has hit her system with a bang and she happily anticipates the champagne kicking in, too. “Edie played lots of hoaxes at school. All the usual stuff,” she says. “Hiding nasty things in people’s bags. Gluing the pages of books together.”
She laughs, the way she always does when Edie and the men reminisce about this stuff, because the gang loves solidarity, even though behavior like that would have humiliated Ruth if she’d been its victim and behind her laugh, she’s always painfully aware of that. She drains her glass.
Jane snorts. “Edie did far worse than that. Paul didn’t tell you about the ‘love’ letter?”
“No,” Emily says.
“When they were in school, in the sixth form, Edie faked a love letter from one of the teachers, a man she hated, to a pupil. She claimed she found it somewhere in school and handed it in. She copied his handwriting well enough that it convinced the head.”
“What happened?”
“The teacher denied writing it and the pupil denied receivingit. There was a moment when Edie might have come forward to admit that she’d written the letter, but she didn’t.”
“Were Mark and Toby aware of this?”
Jayne nods. “Paul was, too.”
“And none of them told the truth?”
“They didn’t want Edie to get into trouble. Her mum could have lost her job and they would both have had to leave the school.”
“Wow. What happened to the teacher?”
