Sam Carrington - The Missing Wife

Tiff was silent, her eyes downcast. She didn’t even mention the fact that Louisa was smoking – it was Tiff who’d helped her give up four years ago, but she’d obviously decided now wasn’t the time to give a lecture.

‘I realise you were trying to do something nice. But why invite all the people from my Facebook? And – for God’s sake – why did you accept that stupid invitation to the Exeter College group and then invite Oliver Dunmore here?’

‘Shit. Because you didn’t talk about other friends – you never have! But, you know, I assumed those on your Facebook were friends, so didn’t see the harm—’

‘Tiffany. Really?’ Louisa shot her a disdainful look. ‘You were the one who added half of them when you set up the account in the first place, remember?’

‘Well, yes, but they are still your friends .’

‘So, you’re friends with everyone on your Facebook are you? Should I invite Sarah to our next girly night? You’d be good with that, would you?’

‘I – no.’ Tiff sighed loudly. ‘Sorry. Okay, okay. Fair point. But chill . So you don’t actually like some people I invited, no biggie – you don’t have to speak to them all. Everyone will be eating soon, and drinking loads – they won’t notice if you’re not being particularly sociable. And Oliver said only good things; he made it sound like you were great friends.’

Tiff telling her to ‘chill’ was bad enough, but her last line was the one requiring Louisa’s response.

‘How exactly did you contact Oliver, Tiff? There were no messages on my Facebook.’

‘There’d been one. I deleted it as soon as I read and replied to it, giving him my mobile instead. I immediately fessed up, Lou. Told him I wasn’t you, and that I was arranging this surprise party for your fortieth. He jumped at the chance to come.’

‘I bet he did,’ Louisa said, her teeth clenched.

‘Weren’t you good friends then?’ Tiff’s eyebrows knitted, a brief look of panic fleeting across her perfectly made-up face.

‘We were more than that, Tiff.’ Louisa put her cigarette out in the ashtray on the closest wooden table. ‘He was my first love. He broke my heart. Broke me, in fact, and when he left he took a part of me with him. A part of my memory at least.’

Louisa didn’t want to explain more. Couldn’t explain more even if she’d wanted to.

‘Oh. I’ve screwed up then, haven’t I?’ Tiff’s face paled.

‘Quite possibly, Tiff. Yes,’ Louisa said as she drained the glass of wine and turned to walk back inside.

‘Mum, where’ve you been? Come on, the food is out. It’s the most food I’ve seen in ages.’ Emily’s eyes were wide as she took Louisa’s arm, dragging her towards a long table to the side of the room filled with a buffet-style feast.

‘Oh, sorry, love. Just had to get some fresh air, it’s all been a bit overwhelming.’ Her tongue felt funny: tingly and enlarged. She worried she was slurring her words.

‘I bet. I did tell Dad it wasn’t a great idea – that you were dreading being forty so a bloody party drawing attention to the fact would only make matters worse.’

‘Language, Emily. But thanks.’ Louisa put her arm around her daughter and pulled her in close. She realised it was the first moment of real closeness they’d had since Noah’s birth. Louisa had always felt lucky to have such a good relationship with Emily; they shared a closer bond than she’d ever had with her own mother. There’d been times when Brian had commented they were more like sisters: chatting about the latest films and TV programmes, gossiping and going clothes shopping together most weekends. Louisa hoped those moments would return once she’d got through the awkward early months with a new baby.

She turned her face towards Emily and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘You were right,’ Louisa whispered in her ear. As she lifted her head again, her balance faltered, and she had to hold on to Emily to keep herself upright.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Lack …’ Louisa took a slow, deep breath in and out. ‘Lack of food. Blood sugar’s low I think.’

‘Dad!’ Emily’s voice was shrill in Louisa’s ear. Damn. Now everyone was looking over at her. But it wasn’t Brian who came to her side.

‘Are you okay?’ Oliver had obviously been right behind her the whole time.

‘I’m fine. Emily’s just making a fuss. I’ll take these roasties and sit down for a bit. I’ll be all right.’

‘I’m not fussing, Mum. You looked as though you were about to faint.’

‘Don’t worry, Emily. I’ll take her, you go find your dad.’ Oliver’s dark eyes found Louisa’s – the intensity in them was one thing she hadn’t forgotten about the past, but the strong arm she felt around her waist was something new. He’d always been fit, but the thickness in his arms now was clearly the result of regular weights. Her heart picked up speed. She hated herself for it.

Oliver sat her down, placing the plate of food in front of her before sitting down himself.

‘How have you been?’

‘For the past twenty-two years? How long have you got?’

He gave a quick, nasal laugh. ‘I guess it’s been a long time. How about you tell me over lunch one day?’

‘God, Oliver,’ Louisa said, shaking her head in disbelief. The same slick Oliver who’d been the centre of her world for two years before he left her in their small town while he escaped to the University of York – the opposite end of the country – to do something with his life and ‘be something; someone important’. She wondered what, or who, he’d become, but she wasn’t going to ask.

‘Why are you at my surprise party?’

‘You mean apart from the opportunity to meet up with old friends?’ He cast his eyes around the room, but clearly not spotting any of those said friends, returned his attention to her. ‘I’ve just moved back here, temporarily at least, to oversee a new business project.’

‘Right.’ Louisa didn’t want to get into a conversation about what precisely this business was; she didn’t want any conversation really.

‘And, well, if I’m honest, I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Lou-Lou.’

She straightened, her muscles tensing, her lips pursed. ‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Sorry, old habits.’ He grinned. Louisa looked at his face properly for the first time. The square jawline, once smooth, was now dotted with stubble. It suited him. He still had black hair, but the hairline was higher up and less defined at the crown and temples than it’d been when he was eighteen. There were crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but they weren’t deep like Brian’s crow’s feet – somehow, Oliver’s made him appear distinguished. Rugged. He’d practically been a boy when he left. Now Louisa was sitting opposite a man. She didn’t know him anymore, but the spark that had drawn her to him at college alighted again now. Despite her mixed feelings, she was still attracted to Oliver Dunmore’s charm and good looks.

Louisa knew she had to bring herself back to reality. She thought about the woman standing beside Oliver on the stairs. ‘So, you’re married?’

‘Yes, but not for long,’ he said, matter-of-factly.

‘Oh, I’m sorry …’

He tilted his head back laughing. ‘No, we’re not separating. I meant she’s not been my wife for long. Married last year.’

Louisa’s stomach dropped. She urged herself to get a grip.

It didn’t matter if he was married, so was she.

Louisa’s gaze bounced from person to person around the room, searching for Emily and Brian. She needed them to interrupt this encounter, give her an excuse to get away. The food on the plate Oliver had put in front of her looked unappetising. It would be physically impossible to consume solids right now; she’d choke on every mouthful. Her pleasant, relaxing night away had rapidly turned into a nightmare.