The Right Time (15 page)

‘You are eating properly?' Liz added, coming to stand beside Ellen and folding her arms as she gazed down at Evie.

‘Of course,' she dismissed, lifting the dress over Tayla's head and pulling it down carefully into place.

Just then Kate stepped out of the bathroom. Her dress was incredibly simple, with shoestring straps and a filmy overlay, but it was so well cut, it fell beautifully over her tall frame.

‘My dress isn't as nice as Kate's,' Tayla pouted.

‘Oh nonsense,' said Kate, ‘you look very sophisticated.'

‘Do I?' Tayla was impressed, though clearly she didn't have a clue what that meant.

‘Yes you do, so come on, let's go show Aunty Emma.' Kate held out her hand and Tayla rushed forward to take it. Evie stood up wearily and followed in their wake.

Ellen flopped down on the bed, leaning back on her elbows. ‘Do you think Evie's all right?' she asked Liz.

‘No,' Liz said, pulling her top up over her head. ‘She's probably on one of those ridiculous diets, starving herself half to death.' She slipped off her skirt and picked up the hanger, examining the dress. ‘Here goes nothing.' She lifted the dress up over her head and started to wriggle into it.

‘Should we say something?' Ellen wondered.

Liz adjusted the dress into place. ‘No, she's a grown woman. Besides, you know it won't last,' she added, turning around. ‘Can you zip me up?'

‘Sure.' Ellen sat up and felt for the end of the zip. It was sewn right into the seam, making it virtually invisible. ‘They really are gorgeous dresses,' she sighed. ‘I just don't know how I'm going to be able to afford all this.'

‘So tell Emma.'

‘I can't,' she said, sliding the zip up. ‘You know how she is with me, she'll take it as a criticism.'

‘Then don't worry about it, I'll pay for Kate's dress.'

‘I can't ask you to do that.'

‘You didn't,' she said simply, turning around to face the mirror. The dress was a slim-fitting silk sheath with beaded detailing on the bodice.

‘Wow,' said Ellen, shaking her head in admiration, ‘you look amazing. How is it that your figure hasn't changed since you were in high school?'

Liz raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, it's changed. You haven't seen me starkers. And don't forget I haven't had kids.'

As the evening wore on, the girls tried on virtually every dress, and every combination. Cara even relented and tried on one in cinnamon, but she had been right all along, it didn't suit her colouring. But the pewter didn't do a great deal for Kate either, and it was simply drab on Tayla, despite the addition of various jewel-coloured sashes. And putting her in a different colour dress altogether did look a bit hotchpotch.

‘Oh, dear, I think I'm going to have to go back to the drawing board,' Emma frowned, biting her lip. She eventually decided the only thing to do for now was to take photos of each of the girls and consult with some of her favourite designers.

This was going to be a long process.

Cara left as soon as her photo was taken, and straight after Liz excused herself to the balcony when her phone beeped to signal an sms message. When she came back inside she announced she had to get going.

‘Andrew, I assume?' Emma said stiffly.

Liz glanced warily at her young nieces. ‘There's nothing else we can do now, is there? And Cara is already gone.'

Emma shrugged. ‘I just thought we'd have a drink together . . .'

‘It's a school night,' said Evie. ‘I really have to get Tayla home.'

‘School night for me too,' added Ellen.

‘And I've got a class at nine,' said Kate.

Of course. Emma saw them all off at once. She shouldn't have been surprised by their lack of interest, she hadn't even been able to get their mother to come along tonight. Evelyn told her daughter it really didn't have anything to do with her, and she was so busy getting the house ready for the auction. Besides, she said, it would be fun to get a surprise like everyone else, which made it crystal clear to Emma that she was not intending to be involved with the wedding preparations at all.

Emma sighed heavily as she went around the room, picking up discarded dresses and returning them to the racks. So much for bonding. She had put such a lot of energy into trying to make tonight fun, but all everyone had done was turn up to fulfil their duty and then hotfoot it out of here as soon as they had the chance. She brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye, feeling stupid, and disappointed, and hurt, yes, hurt, as she hung up the last dress and looked around the empty apartment.

Whenever it came up around other women that she had three sisters, they would carry on about how wonderful that must be – especially those who didn't have sisters. It must be like having built-in best friends, they would say. But it wasn't like that at all. Best friends would still be sitting here with her now, having a drink, as excited as she was about her wedding plans. But Emma wasn't going to let it get to her. Blake was her best friend, her partner, now her fiancé. Ellen's marriage was over; Liz was stuck on a man she could never have, and Evie was stuck with a man no one else would want. She wasn't alone in the world. She was being silly. She picked up her phone and dialled Blake's mobile.

‘Hi,' she said when he answered. ‘The coast is clear, you can come home.'

‘Oh, already?' he said. ‘We're actually in the middle of something here, Em, I might be a while yet.'

Emma could hear noise in the background, the clinking of glasses, voices, faint music. ‘Where are you?'

‘We were hungry so we decided to continue the meeting over dinner.'

‘Oh.'

‘Well, I knew there was no hurry.'

‘No, of course, it's fine.'

‘So I'll see you later, don't wait up though.'

Emma hung up the phone and slowly walked along the racks, lightly touching the dresses as she passed. She noticed the champagne bottle on the coffee table. Picking it up, she realised there was still some left. She dropped into the sofa and drank straight from the bottle.

When Liz let herself in through the door of her flat, Andrew had already made himself a drink and was sitting out on the balcony. He jumped up when he heard her and slid open the glass doors.

‘Stay there, I'll grab a drink and join you,' said Liz.

But he had already closed the door behind him. ‘I don't have much time,' he said, coming towards her and taking her in his arms. ‘I only hope Jen hasn't decided to wait up for me.'

Liz always bristled slightly when he mentioned his wife, especially when he used the diminutive. It seemed too familiar, even intimate. But Andrew was kissing her now and thoughts of his wife rapidly faded into the background. She felt his hands sliding up under her top.

‘Whoa boy, can you give me a minute to catch my breath?' she said.

‘I'd rather not,' he murmured, nuzzling into her neck. ‘Breathless is good. Breathless is sexy.'

‘Andrew . . .'

‘Sorry,' he said, lifting his head to look at her, a glint in his eyes. ‘I just miss you, it feels like ages.'

‘It's only been a week.'

‘Eight days, actually,' he corrected her. ‘Which is at least seven days too long,' he added, leaning in to kiss her again.

And who's fault was that? She didn't know where that thought had come from. It wasn't his fault, she knew that, she knew all the reasons, all the restrictions on his time . . . She was just feeling cranky tonight. She'd started to feel cranky at Emma's. She hadn't wanted to go; Andrew had phoned before she'd left the office to let her know he'd been called into emergency surgery and he'd already told Jennifer that he couldn't say how long he'd be, thus giving them a window of opportunity. Immediately Liz was pissed off that she had to be somewhere else. But moments later she was equally pissed off at the idea of hanging around at home waiting for him. But when she arrived at Emma's and she was pouring champagne and running around manically, Liz couldn't help resenting being there. She resented that Emma was getting married, and that she would be the last sister left on the shelf.

Which was all very childish of her. She hadn't been left on the shelf, she had the love of a wonderful man who was currently
guiding her, gently but persistently, towards the bedroom, while he removed each piece of her clothing, and ran his lips over her bare skin, and made her forget, for now, what had made her feel so pissed off in the first place.

All too soon Andrew was sitting up on the side of the bed, buttoning his shirt.

‘Stay,' Liz said impulsively.

‘What?' he said, turning around to look at her.

‘Stay the night, say that the surgery had complications, it took longer, that you were too tired to drive home, that you slept at the hospital.'

Andrew breathed out, leaning over to kiss her lightly on the lips. ‘You know I wish I could.'

‘Why can't you?'

He frowned. ‘What's going on?'

‘Nothing.'

He shifted around fully to face her, planting a hand either side of her. ‘Lizzie, don't do this. This is not what we do.'

‘No, we just have sex and then you go home.'

He sighed. ‘What's the matter?'

Tears were stinging her eyes. She blinked, she didn't want to cry in front of him.

‘Nothing,' she repeated, turning away from him.

Andrew curled in behind her, drawing his arms around her and holding her tight. ‘Talk to me,' he said, close to her ear.

Liz swallowed down the lump in her throat. She didn't behave like this; they both knew how things stood, she didn't get petulant and needy. And she didn't like herself when she did.

She cleared her throat. ‘It's nothing, really. I must be premenstrual.'

‘This isn't like you,' he said. ‘Where were you tonight?'

She sighed then, shifting around to look at him. ‘I was at Emma's, for the bridesmaids' dress fitting.'

He stroked his hand across her forehead, moving her hair away. Then he kissed her. ‘I'm sorry,' he said.

That was the thing about Andrew, he knew exactly how she
was feeling without her having to spell it out. And Liz had not a doubt he felt as badly as she did right now. They were so good together, so perfectly in sync that it made her ache inside. It was incredibly unfair that he couldn't be hers, completely, all the time . . . Circumstances were to blame here, bad luck, bad timing. She knew he would be hers, completely, if he could. Liz didn't doubt that for a moment. It was all that held her together.

‘No, I'm sorry,' she said, kissing him. ‘I love you so much.'

‘I love you too.'

He held her for a while longer, then he got up and dressed, and inevitably, he left the apartment to go home to his own particular challenges. They were far worse than anything Liz had to face, she consoled herself as she turned around to the empty flat.

Evie peered out of the car window up at the house. It looked ordinary enough. In fact it looked like every other house on the street. Maybe Craig was right, there were houses like this all throughout the suburbs, that lots of people were into it, that it was just a lifestyle choice between consenting adults.

So why did she feel sick in the stomach, not just now but all the time? She had barely been able to eat for months and she'd lost twelve kilos. Evie had never been on such an effective diet in her whole life. But even the weight loss wasn't giving her any joy. She didn't care what she looked like; in fact, she would have preferred to look less attractive tonight, if anything.

But here they were, and Evie was wearing her best dress, the one she hadn't been able to fit into for the anniversary party. Craig's mother had made such a fuss when Evie had walked down the hall this evening.

‘Oh, Evie, you look gorgeous, darl!' she'd exclaimed. ‘When was the last time you even fitted into that dress?'

Evie had just given her a weak smile.

‘I'm so thrilled you're having a night out, just the two of you,' she went on. ‘You never get to do that! And for no special reason! That son of mine is a hidden treasure, so romantic. Don't know where he gets it from, certainly not his father.'

‘Evie?'

She stirred, Craig was watching her expectantly from the driver's seat. ‘Are you ready?'

No, she wasn't ready, she would never be ready for this. But she had no choice. She just had to get through tonight. If she made the effort at least, then surely that would make him happy, and maybe he'd get it out of his system. Maybe he wouldn't even like it very much.

But the spring in his step, his sweaty palm in hers as they crossed the road, made her doubt that very much.

It was a woman who opened the door to them. Evie instantly disliked her, and then hated herself for it. She didn't instantly dislike anyone. It took her a long time to dislike people, and they usually had to do a lot to make her dislike them. But all this woman had done was open the door, give them a sugary smile and say, ‘Here for the party?'