We were so different growing up. Grace was rebellious and headstrong while I was timid and eager to please. Each time I won new freedoms because of my maturity, Grace would get hers taken away. “Give that girl an inch and she thinks she’s a ruler,” my father would say.
I studied English at Edinburgh—choosing a university as far away from home as I could find. I passed my exams, graduated with honors, all the while watching Grace talk her way into nightclubs at sixteen, get drunk, chain-smoke, wear miniskirts, and run away to Europe for two years, pretending to be a hippie. Eventually she came home and went to university, somehow passing her exams. I suspect she slept with some of her tutors, but that’s my jealousy showing.
For most of that time I thought we had nothing in common, but we’re closer now. She’s easy company—never trying too hard to impress or make me laugh.
“How about lunch?” she says as we’re leaving.
“Only if you let me pay.”
Her car is parked on a side street. We walk arm in arm, still drowsy from the spa.
“You’ve been quiet all morning. Is everything all right?” she asks. “Is it Jack?”
“No.”
“The kids?”
“They’re great.” I take a deep breath. My voice shudders. “I’m in trouble.”
“Bit late now.” She laughs, looking at my bump. Her smile vanishes because I’m not joining in.
“I can’t tell anyone. I can’t tell you.”
“Sure you can. We tell each other everything.”
“Not this.”
Tears are hovering. I wipe them away angrily.
Across the street, I notice a removal van with its back doors propped open. Two men are carrying a sofa from a house and hauling it up the ramp. I imagine that it’s my home and Jack is divorcing me.
“Come on, Megs, don’t cry, it can’t be that bad.”
“I fucked up. I did something truly stupid.” My voice trembles. “It only happened once. I was drunk. Angry.” I stop. Sigh. Steel myself.
Grace frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“I slept with Simon.”
Grace doesn’t react. She can barely speak.
“Jack and I had a fight. He said some hurtful things . . . he said . . . he said he wanted out of the marriage. I went to Simon’s house. I wanted to know if Jack had said anything to him. Did he still love me? Simon poured me a drink. We talked. I cried. He put his arm around me. It was really stupid.”
“You had an affair!”
“It was one time.”
“You? Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”
“Please don’t.”
“I mean, I know it happens all the time, but not to you.”
“I know, I know.”
“Didn’t you have a fling with him—before you met Jack?”
“Yes.”
She sucks air between her teeth, making a whistling sound. We’ve reached her car. She unlocks the doors and we sit in silence, staring out the windscreen.
I bite my bottom lip. “Say something.”
“I’m shocked.”
“Is that all?”
“I feel a little vindicated.”
“Why?”
“You were always Little Miss Perfect—the favorite daughter. You could do no wrong.”
“I wasn’t the favorite. Compared to you, I was sensible.”
“Until now.”
Why are we arguing about this?
Grace has both her hands on the wheel. I wonder how much she’s had to drink. There is an edge to her voice. “Get over it, sister.”
“What?”
“You’re feeling guilty. Get over it. Move on.”
“It’s not that. There’s more. Simon thinks the baby is his.”
This time her mouth opens and shuts without a sound emerging. She tries again. “Is it?”
“No. Definitely not.” I’m shaking my head adamantly, trying to appear confident.
“So why does he think it is?”
“He has this stupid idea . . . because . . . you see, I asked him about whether he used a condom, so he thought . . .”
“So it could be Simon’s baby?”
“He said he used a condom.”
“You don’t remember?”
I shake my head. Grace laughs.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a nervous laugh, OK? But why does any of this matter? If you both keep quiet, nobody will ever know.”
“Simon wants to know. He’s demanding I take a paternity test after the baby is born.”
“Tell him no.”
“I told him.”
Grace is finally fully engaged and cognizant of my problem. She is angry, which is good. She has a first-class mind and third-class morals, which is exactly what I need right now if I’m going to stop Simon.
“I’ll talk to him,” says Grace.
“It won’t do any good.”
“I can be very persuasive.”
“You’re not going to . . . ?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes narrow and create twin creases that concertina on her forehead. “No, Meg, I’m not going to sleep with him. Contrary to your perception of me, that’s not my answer to everything.”
“Sorry.”
“We need something on him.”
“Like what?”
“Dirt.”
“That won’t work.”
“Didn’t he used to take a lot of drugs?”
“So did lots of people.”
“Did he deal in them?”
“Yes . . . a little.”
“Maybe we can blackmail the blackmailer to guarantee his silence. I’m sure his bosses won’t be impressed by employing a former drug dealer.”
Grace is on a roll, enjoying this a little too much.
“No! We’re not going to blackmail him. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
“Hey! This is war, big sister. We have to fight fire with fire—or in this case, dirt with dirt.” She squeezes my hand. “If this doesn’t work out—you might have to tell Jack.”
“I know.”
“What will he do?”
“I wish I knew.”
AGATHA
* * *
Jules went into hospital yesterday and had her baby in the early hours. I heard the news from Kevin, who came home this morning to shower and change.
“A little girl,” he said breathlessly when I met him on the stairs.
“How is Jules?”
“Brilliant. No dramas. It was textbook, according to the midwife. They’ll be home later today.”
“So soon?”
“Jules doesn’t want to stay in hospital. I’m off to pick up Leo from her mum’s so he can meet his baby sister.”
“If you need any help,” I said, but Kevin was already skipping down the stairs. I imagine Hayden being like that when he becomes a father. He’ll be bouncing around the place like an Irish setter puppy. He’ll be clumsy, of course. I’ll have to teach him how to hold a baby and change a nappy, but he’ll soon get the hang of things.
Later that afternoon I hear Jules arriving home. Kevin is carrying the baby in a car seat while Jules struggles with her overnight bag and two bunches of flowers—one of them from me.
“I got a new sister,” brags Leo as he climbs past me on the stairs.
Taking the flowers from Jules, I give her a hug and follow her up to their flat, where I make a cup of tea and put water in vases, arranging the bouquets on the table.
Kevin wants to go out with his mates and celebrate the old-fashioned way with beer and cigars. “To wet the baby’s head,” he says. “But if you want me to stay . . . ?”
“No, you go,” says Jules. “Say hello to the boys from me. And don’t get too pissed.”
“I won’t.” He peers into the crib. “A little girl.”
“Have you decided on a name?” I ask.
“We’re thinking of Violet,” says Jules.
“That’s pretty.”