‘Open the bag, Kate,’ Gran ordered.
Kate gave me a wide berth as she moved to the dress.
‘And, Abigail Cavendish, instead of going to this party this evening, where presumably there will be decent champagne and music and lots of men in tuxedos, what will you be doing, my love?’
‘I thought I would have a bottle of wine for dinner and watch a murder mystery,’ I retorted, fed up with their interference.
Iris rolled her eyes at me.
‘Here it is, Gran.’
I turned around and got my first look at the dress.
‘Oh,’ I said. My impassioned denial of this gift was suddenly silenced. ‘Nick chose this?’
Kate had helped Gran up and the three of us stood there, silently staring at it.
‘I have not seen a dress that fine, since … Well, it has been a long time. That is a fabulous dress. It looks like you, Abigail.’
The dress was divine. No, it was honestly the loveliest thing I’d ever seen. There was a whimsical simplicity to it. It was a dark-gold metallic fabric, with a sweetheart neckline and a bodice that ran to the waist. A pleated skirt draped softly to the floor and a thigh-high split saved it from being too sweet. If I had endless money to spend on a dress, I might buy this dress. The bag readMade in Italy,which to us regular folk meansunaffordable.
‘Wait, there are these as well.’ Kate practically skipped to the corner and pulled out a shoe box.
I recognised the brand. I recognised that these shoes could pay my mortgage this month or go pretty bloody close. I opened the box and a gorgeous pair of black suede slingbacks in my size stared back at me. They were perfect. The heel was not too high, which was considerate, and they were unadorned enough that I might have the chance of wearing them again.
‘Jesus.’
‘Well, go try it on,’ Iris ordered.
Kate and I looked at each other. ‘Go on, Abs, at least try it.’
I nodded. I did have to; I might never get the chance to wear designer clothes ever again.
Kate walked me to my room, and I put on the dress. It fit as though it had been measured for me. I slid my feet into the shoes and stood looking at myself in the mirror. I looked elegant, taller, slimmer than I normally did. I swept my hair to the side and realised no matter what I did, it looked good.Jesus Christ.Was this what life with him was like? There was not a girl in the world that could not get used to it. Germaine Greer popped into my head and slapped my face, but still … a girl could dream.
My phone vibrated. I knew it would be him before I even looked.
I still don’t have your RSVP.
Jesus, what was happening? It was confusing. Was he trying to tell me something? If Holiday Nick had been allowed to speak the other day, what would he have said? I began to think about him in a tux and it all became very, very tempting.
There was no way on earth I would get away with not showing Gran and Kate what the dress looked like on, so I dutifully walked out to the lounge room. The twirl I did upon entering was a bit of showmanship.Ta da.
‘Holy fuck, Abbey. It looks perfect.’
‘Oh, Mum, you look so beautiful.’
‘Of course, Cavendish women always scrub up rather nicely.’
‘Jesus, Abbey. Where are you off to?’
I turned to see my ex-husband standing in the doorway. I was instantly irritated. I looked at him and at that moment attempted to establish what I had seen in him that had made me want to marry him in the first place. He was wearing funky cuffed cargo pants, expensive sneakers and a T-shirt, which was a brand I was not cool enough to recognise. His hair was longer than when I last saw him, and I wondered if he was attempting to look younger than he actually was. He had helped himself to my fruit bowl and was crunching loudly on an apple.
Why had I given up my youth for him? I remember thinking he would be an amazing father and he had a great job. When I was twenty, he seemed to be a man, responsible and willing to be a grown-up.
But I didn’t notice how much I changed for him. He liked to have an opinion on everything, including how much I ate (women don’t normally eat that much, Abbey) and what I wore (you wear too much black, women who are mums should wear colour). I thought it was normal.
The fact that he did not love me was, surprisingly, not the source of my antipathy. I didn’t love him either. The affair … the affair bothered me; it was deceitful and disrespectful of the love we had once shared and the child we had created. I would always maintain a relationship with him for Ella, but we were not friends, and I did not appreciate him being here at this particular moment.
