Page 64 of The Art of Loving You

The hours passed, the bottle emptied and still I waited, too angry, too stubborn to make the first move but hoping that she would. Not understanding why she wouldn’t offer, if not an olive branch, an explanation.

I had accused her of sleeping with Owen.

She hadn’t denied it.

I seesawed between being confident she wouldn’t, to doubting her loyalty.

She hadn’t denied it.

Again, I checked my mobile. I could call her, but …

She hadn’t denied it.

A shiver shimmied down my spine; I wasn’t sure if it was the sliding temperature or the fear that my relationship with my sister might be irrecoverably damaged. I tottered unsteadily into the snug,flopped onto the sofa and pulled Norma’s quilt up to my chin. I stared up at the nicotine-yellow ceiling. Yesterday’s hope had been brutally cast aside by utter despair. Everything had already seemed unachievable without Jack, but without Alice’s support it was all so impossible.

‘I can’t do it,’ I slurred as I spoke. ‘I can’t fix this bloody house up.’

My heavy eyelids closed.

‘You can do it, Libby. Don’t give up.’

Jack’s soft voice was the last thing I heard as too much alcohol and too little sleep dragged me deep into an unsettled slumber.

A loud knocking roused me.

Disorientated I pushed myself up onto my elbows, Norma’s quilt slithering to the floor. There was a rank taste in my mouth, a blinding headache behind my eyes.

The knocking came again.

I wobbled as I stood; outside the window the sky was goose-feather grey and I checked my watch, surprised to see it was still the same day. My body felt heavy as I stumbled into the hallway and answered the front door.

On the step, Mum and Alice. Alice’s eyes were threaded with tiny blood vessels and I knew she’d been crying. Part of me wanted to tell her to go away, go back to Owen, but then I caught sight of her bump and I softened. Even if the baby was part Owen, he or she was still half Alice and stress couldn’t be good for them. I led them into the kitchen. Mum made a tsking sound behind her teeth as she removed the empty wine bottle from the table, flicked on the kettle.

Alice took a seat at the table while I leaned against the worktop near the sink.The lingering smell of alcohol was turning my stomach.

‘Now Alice has told me all about the misunderstanding earlier,’ Mum began as she searched for clean mugs.

‘Isthatwhat she called it?’

‘It’s been a long time since you girls had a falling-out and a long time since I had to step in. Libby, I know it must have been a shock—’

‘That’s an understatement. And had she told you about this … thisrelationship?’ I crossed my arms.

‘It’s not a relationship.’ Alice didn’t sound angry, she just sounded sad.

‘He bought you flowers.’ I could still picture that delicate bouquet of baby pink roses, the image of them pricking like a thorn.

‘They were for hiswife.’

‘You were holding hands.’ She couldn’t deny that.

‘He wasn’t … he … it’s my rash.’ Alice stood and thrust her wrist towards me. ‘The eczema cream isn’t working. Owen is one of our suppliers, gluten- and dairy-free cakes. He thought cutting out dairy might be good for my skin.’

‘You’ve had …’ I made a show of checking the time, ‘six hours and that’s the best excuse you’ve come up with?’

‘It isn’t an excuse.’

Mum opened her handbag and pulled out a glossy leaflet. ‘This is the health business Owen runs with his wife.’

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