‘But . . . but he can’t miss Christmas!’ I cry, utterly and irrationally distraught.
‘He doesn’t care, love.’ Michael waves me away.
‘But Mum’s made a turkey for him!’ Even to me, this sounds like a ludicrous thing to say.
‘Maybe we can save him some.’
‘Can we take it to him later? Today – after lunch?’ I ask hopefully, my voice squeaking more and more with each question.
‘Erm . . .’
‘Please? Will you give me a lift?’ I beg.
‘Oh, Lily, would you stop going on?’ Mum interjects with annoyance, but Michael concedes.
‘No, it’s fine.’
‘I want to check that the koala is alright. It might be Olivia,’ I add, ignoring Mum as she tuts and rolls her eyes. And of course, Idowant to make sure Olivia is alright. She should have been my primary concern and I’m instantly ashamed at myself that she wasn’t.
Lunch drags by. By the time Michael reaches for the bottle of bubbly to top up his glass for the third time, I can’t stop myself from speaking out.
‘Should you be drinking that if you’re going to drive me to Ben’s?’
Michael immediately looks sheepish and takes a sip of water instead.
‘You know, youcouldcatch a taxi,’ Mum points out.
‘I’ll never get one on Christmas day!’ I cry.
‘Why the hell do you want to go over to his place?’ Josh butts in.
‘I want to check on the koala,’ I reply, giving him a pointed stare. ‘You know, the one whose mother you killed.’
‘Lily . . .’ Mum warns.
I turn to Michael. ‘Do you want to take me now? Then you can have a drink. Ben will give me a lift home.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ he says.
Mum stands up wearily and smoothes down her blonde hair. ‘I’ll get a plate together.’
Fifteen minutes later I’m in the front seat of the car nursing a plate of hot food covered over with aluminium foil.
‘He’ll really appreciate this,’ I say to Michael.
‘He sounded very pleased on the phone,’ he agrees. ‘It was nice of you to think of him.’
I don’t say anything, but joy is bubbling over inside me at this turn of events. I glance out of the window as we pull up outside Ben’s place. I was too busy concentrating on reversing out of his driveway when I last came here in daylight, but now I can see that his quaint colonial-style house is nestled in amongst the trees. Large round purple flowers have been planted around the front porch.
‘He’s been a bit lonely without Charlotte here,’ Michael adds.
‘Who? Oh, is that his nan?’ It’s not a very old lady-ish sounding name.
‘No.’ Michael laughs. ‘Charlotte. His girlfriend – fiancée, rather.’
My heart stops. Literally – stops.
‘I beg your pardon?’ The blood drains from my face.
