He withdraws and ruffles Bridget’s hair. She bats him off with a smirk, blushing. Has she gone all shy? She has! She really wants us to like each other, I realise.
Charlie’s even better-looking in person. His eyes, which are a sort of golden hazel and are really striking, don’t come across on the small screen when Bridget has made us say hi via FaceTime. He’s also taller and broader than I expected, with shortish, dark-blond hair, the same sandy shade as Lachie’s, I think with a pang.
I haven’t wanted to talk about Lachie yet, but I know that Bridget will get the whole story out of me later.
‘You want a cuppa, Bronte?’ Charlie offers, jerking his head towards what I assume is the kitchen.
‘Yes, please.’
‘April!’ Bridget calls out. ‘Where is she?’
‘In the living room,’ Charlie replies over his shoulder.
‘She’s quiet. What’s she doing?’
‘Go and see,’ Charlie calls back with amusement.
‘What are you up to?’ Bridget asks in a high-pitched voice as we round the corner. There’s a small, blonde-haired girl in a red-and-white spotted dress lying on her tummy on the wooden floor. She’s surrounded by about two dozen brightly coloured crayons and several sheets of paper covered with messy scribbles.
‘Oh, wow, these are beautiful!’ Bridget exclaims, crouching down beside her adopted daughter.
April grins up at her and then looks at me.
‘This is Bronte,’ Bridget introduces us.
‘I see Bonty on phone,’ April replies, pointing at me.
Oh, my goodness, she’s adorable. She’s not quite three.
‘Yes, Mummy talks to Bronte on the phone quite a lot, doesn’t she? She’s Mummy’s very good friend.’
‘Hello!’ I say to April, sitting down cross-legged and proceeding to act as if her artwork were worthy of Picasso’s protégé.
She seems to like that.
That evening, once Charlie has taken April upstairs to bed, Bridget and I retire to the living room with a bottle of rosé.
‘How are you feeling?’ Bridget asks, and I know it’s time to talk about the break-up.
‘I’m going to need tissues,’ I alert her.
She passes me a box from under the sofa, followed by a pack of baby wipes. ‘There are more where those came from,’ she says.
I tearfully bring her up to date.
‘Can I speak completely freely?’ Bridget asks after a while.
‘When do you not speak freely?’ I reply with an emotional grin. ‘I’d expect nothing less. I want nothing less.’
She smiles. ‘Well, I’m kind of surprised that you and Lachie lasted this long.’
I’m a little taken aback.
‘I never really thought he was your forever love,’ she says. ‘Did you?’
I shake my head. ‘I guess not, if I’m also being honest with myself. He was there at the right time and the right place and I loved him to bits. But you’re right. If you’d asked me back then if I thought we’d still be together four years later, I don’t think I would have said yes. Lachie is still all of the things that worried me about him when we first met. Young and carefree and flirty. And I did grow to like that about him, but I’ve been getting increasingly tired of it. I just wanted him to grow up a bit, take things up a notch. But if anything, he’s been hitting the pub more than ever lately, almost as though he’s rebelling against getting older.’
‘I don’t suppose it’s helped that Elliot’s been free and single and a willing accomplice.’
‘No.’ I shake my head ruefully.
Elliot gave me a card to give to Bridget, actually. He’s in a pretty good place now, I think.
‘I wonder if you’d still be breaking up if Elliot and I had stayed together,’ Bridget muses.
‘Who knows? Possibly not.’
That’s a slightly freaky thought. We all know that the people we meet shape us, but who knew that our friends’ experiences could alter our entire destinies? Maybe I wouldn’t be so broody if Bridget and Elliot were still a couple and resolutely child-free. And, if Lachie had never met young, fun Fliss, would he be so resistant to growing up?
‘I could’ve fought for him,’ I say. ‘He wasn’t sure about breaking up, you know. We did – do still – love each other, but I’m scared I’ll waste some of the best years of my life with him and we’ll still break up eventually. Then again, maybe he would have come around to the idea of having a baby. It terrifies me that I’m back to square one and might not meet anyone else. Who wants a single woman in her mid-thirties?’
‘Erm, Charlie did,’ she teases, and I blush, feeling like an idiot. ‘You can’t think like that,’ she carries on. ‘If you think like that, you’ve already lost. You’ve got to believe it will all work out. Throw yourself in headfirst and live positively and love will find you.’
I brush away another tear. ‘I’ll try,’ I promise.
‘Are you going to see Alex while you’re here?’ she asks discerningly.
I blanch. ‘You’ve got to be kidding, right? As if I need another complication.’
She shrugs. ‘I just thought…’
‘What?’ I’m astonished at the direction this conversation is taking. ‘You hate the guy!’
‘I don’t hate him. I just hate what he did to you, how shit he made you feel. But I know there are two sides to every story and he was going through his own struggles.’
I’d told her how he’d apologised when he came to Sydney. I gave her the full lowdown at the time.
‘I know you’ve never got over him,’ she says. ‘You thought he was your soulmate, not Lachie. I still remember the way you let him continue to email you after he left Zara, telling you he loved you and that he’d wait for you… I know you loved him back, even though you were happy with Lachie and loved him, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if you still had the pictures of him looking at you on his wedding day.’
My face heats up.
‘Ha!’ She points at me. ‘Gotcha.’
‘No,’ I state, trying to be firm about this. ‘I’m not going to see Alex again. I’m sure he’s moved on by now, anyway.’ Despite everything, my heart pinches at the thought. ‘I’m just not going there again,’ I say adamantly. ‘I’m not strong enough.’
She reaches across and presses my hand. ‘It’s all going to be okay. Failing everything else, there’s always sperm donation. I bet Charlie’s younger brother would help you out.’
We crack up laughing.
‘I’m so happy to see you,’ I reply, when we’ve both calmed down.
‘We’re going to have the best week!’ she exclaims. ‘I’ll cheer you up.’
‘Believe me, you already have.’
Bridget always was the best medicine.