Her phone buzzed and they both jumped accordingly, as if discovered.
‘It’s Aiden! A video!’ With something close to terror in her tone, she watched as Dominic sprinted from the table and stood behind the island, out of sight. She wasn’t expecting a call and was as ever worried that something was wrong, urging her to answer.
There was no time for her to calm her racing pulse or to consider how she looked. She held up her phone and pressed the button, linking her to her son.
‘Hey, Mum!’
‘Hello, darling, I’m not too good with the old video thing, can you see me okay?’
She did her best to control the warble to her tone, wary of betraying the fact that Dominic was standing on the other side of the room. It felt awful, in the way anything deceitful did.
‘Yes! Just hold your phone still, you’re a bit shaky.’ She gripped the phone. ‘Anyway, Trish and Iris are here.’ He moved the screen, changed the angle, and pulled it further from his face to ensure all three were visible. Enya felt her stomach shrink.
‘Hello, everyone!’ She waved.
‘Hi, Enya!’ Trish waved back and Iris smiled.
‘We were just talking about colours for the cake ribbon, the chair bows, napkins, that kind of thing, and we thought it would be a good idea for you to be involved.’
‘Oh, Iris, that’s really lovely of you.’
She felt like crying, biting her bottom lip, reminding herself never to mention the pub Trish had worked in or the fact that Stu, Trish’s ex, who was now fat and content, had been her best man. All knowledge that could only have come from one source, knowledge that she should not have.
It was the foulest pressure, hearing the sweet sentiment that indicated a kind nature from which her son would only benefit, allwhile the girl’s father was in the wings, hiding in plain sight. She felt dirty and regretted inviting him in. She wished he would just disappear, imagining how quickly their smiles would fade if they knew who was lurking in her kitchen. Trish looked lovely, her hair shiny, lipstick just so, and Enya could only imagine what it would have felt like to be married to a man like Dominic, who was able to make a plan to dismantle his marriage, his family. Jonathan always put her first and would not have done a thing to cause her a moment of anguish or worry. Apart from dying and that was, in fairness, beyond his control.
How she felt about Dominic, this surge of unexpected joy, this perfect diversion, a new take on things, a lift from the predictability and mundanity of her waning grief, was no compensation for the knowledge that while she and this man sat and secretly sipped rosé in the dying light of a summer’s day, his wife was at home, welcoming her soon-to-be son-in-law, smiling for the camera, and doing her best to show kindness to the boy’s mother, a widow, who might be a little lonely.
‘Oh, Enya, don’t! You’ll set me off! It’s an emotional time, isn’t it? Listen, we wanted you to know what we’re up to, we’ve got samples!’ Trish held a clutch of ribbons up to the camera, and teals, greens, golds and rose pinks fluttered in her palm. ‘But we were hoping you might come over on Saturday. Nothing too formal, we’ll have a BBQ, get to know each other a bit and we can go over wedding plans, what do you think?’
‘I think . . . I think that sounds lovely.’
It was the last thing she wanted to do, enjoy the woman’s hospitality, chit-chat about ribbon colours and cake. Realisation dawned then that one of the consequences of this... dalliance... emotional affair... whatever the label, it gave her something, many things. But it spoiled so much too. It spoiled the honesty she had shared with her son. It spoiled the planning for her only child’swedding, and it forever moulded the shape of her relationship with Trish and Iris. These women who had been chosen for her, one to be the wife of her son, and the other, should they so choose, grandmother to her grandchildren. She thought briefly of Jenny, her words still thumbtacks of pain lodged beneath her skin.
‘... it would be easier for me, for us all, really, if we kept to ourselves.’
‘Oh, look at you! Enya, please don’t cry!’ Trish smiled and Enya could only look away, filled with something very close to shame.
‘Oh, Mum!’ Aiden put his hand over his heart.
She did her best not to glance across the island at the man who was quiet, his expression troubled, as it should be.
It was definitive, her decision to end it now.
End it and walk away from whateveritwas and whatever it could be.
Enough was enough.
Even if she considered his words that she was meant to be his, even if every moment in her life up until that point had been waiting for this, waiting for him, even then.
‘Saturday will be lovely,’ Trish continued, ‘you’re very welcome to stay over, we have spare bedrooms.’
‘Thank you.’ She had no intention of staying over but didn’t want to quash the woman’s kind offer so quickly.
‘It’ll be great to see you!’ Iris leaned forward in her seat and Aiden smiled.
It was only because she knew his every expression, was in tune with every nuance, having studied his face since he was mere minutes old, that she could see the flicker of anxiety in his eyes, that his laughter felt a little forced, it didn’t linger. It was easy to guess that he had yet to tell Iris that Holly was pregnant. Enya felt for him, felt for Holly too, for them all in fact. Three families who at no more than the whim of an airline computer allocating seatinghad seen their lives thrown into chaos, in this series of events that were, to quote the esteemed philosopher Lemony Snicket, most unfortunate.
‘Have a lovely evening!’ Trish chimed.
