Sarah Mayberry - More Than One Night

“Potatoes dauphinoise, green beans with garlic and coq au vin.”

“God, I wish you were a man. I would so marry you.”

“What say we hold off on the proposal until after we’ve eaten? This is all a bold experiment at this stage.”

Cooking had never been one of Charlie’s strong suits, but she was determined to improve now that she was personally responsible for all her own meals. The days of making excuses for living off canned and frozen meals were over.

“You want to eat these little puppies now or later?” Gina asked, nudging the bakery box suggestively.

“What do you think?”

“This is why we’re friends,” Gina said with a happy sigh.

Charlie grabbed two wineglasses and the bottle and followed Gina into the living room.

“You make me feel like such a slattern every time I come here.” Gina dropped onto the white couch.

“Why?” Charlie asked, startled.

“Because your place is always so organized and clean and perfect,” Gina said, one hand making a sweeping gesture.

Charlie glanced around at her black leather Eames chair and ottoman, white wool Florence Knoll sofa and midcentury glass-and-wood coffee table. Art books sat in a neat stack beside the open fireplace, arranged so their spines formed blocks of color, and a cluster of thick, creamy pillar candles sat in the empty grate. Apart from a handful of red-and-black throw cushions on the couch and a single white vase on the mantel, the room was bare.

“Is it too sterile?” She loved it like this—calm and clean—but she knew that her minimalist bent gave some people the heebie-jeebies.

“No. It’s soothing, actually. I just don’t know how you maintain it.”

“Magical elves. With tiny hoovers and feather dusters.”

“I knew you’d been holding out on me, bitch,” Gina said amicably. “You need to send some of that elf magic my way.”

Charlie smiled as she opened the wine and poured. “I’ll see what I can do. But even elves have their standards, you know.”

“Careful, or I won’t share,” Gina said, flipping off the lid. The smell of cream and cheese and bacon filled the room.

“Oh, boy, this is going to be good,” Charlie said.

“Word,” Gina agreed.

They dived into the box. They both made appreciative noises as they scoffed their first quiche before going back for seconds.

“So good,” Charlie said around a mouthful of food.

“Tell me about it,” Gina mumbled.

The phone rang, catching Charlie in the act of reaching for her third quiche. Rolling her eyes at Gina over the bad timing, she wiped her buttery fingers on a napkin and went to grab the phone.

A softly spoken woman identified herself as a nurse at the hospice where her father had spent his final days, and Charlie listened in bemusement as she explained that they’d discovered a previously overlooked box of personal belongings with her father’s name on it in their storage room.

“I was under the impression my father had either given everything away or thrown it out,” Charlie said.

“Well, there’s a box that didn’t go either way. What would you like us to do with it?”

Charlie gave the woman her address and credit card details to cover shipping the stuff from Melbourne, then ended the call and returned to Gina.

“What was that all about?” Gina asked as she sipped her wine.

Charlie explained briefly before changing the subject. There wasn’t much to discuss, after all—her father was dead, and the odds were good that the box contained a bunch of meaningless bits and pieces. Keith Anderson Long had been too organized and orderly a man for it to be any other way.

They continued to slurp their wine and made each other laugh with anecdotes from their respective days as they consumed the pastries. Finally the box was empty and Gina pushed herself to her feet.

“Fantastic. I’m now going to loll on your couch and complain about how full I am and how I couldn’t possibly fit another thing in while you finish making dinner,” she said as she headed for the bathroom.

“Or I could put you to work, stringing the beans and whatnot.”

“Hard-hearted wench,” Gina said, her voice echoing down the short hallway.

Charlie smiled as she sat back in her chair, sipping her wine.

“Hey, Charlie—my stupid period has come early. Can I borrow a tampon?” Gina called, her voice muffled by the closed door.

“Sure. In the cupboard behind the mirror.”

There was a short pause then Gina called out again. “There’s nothing here.”

Charlie set down her glass and stood. “Did you have a boy look or a girl look?” she asked as she headed for the bathroom.

“I had a girl look. A really good one. Smarty-pants.”

Charlie paused outside the bathroom. “You decent?”

“Give me five secs. Okay, come in.”

Charlie entered. Gina was standing in front of the open bathroom cabinet, a frown on her face.

“I dare you to find a tampon in there.”

“Watch.” Charlie stepped toward the cabinet, one hand already raised in anticipation of finding what she was looking for. She frowned as her gaze scanned over toiletry and medicinal products and failed to find the familiar pink-and-white box.

“That’s weird,” she said. “They should be in here. I always make sure I restock after my period.”

“Guess you must have forgotten last month, then,” Gina said lightly. “No worries. I’ve probably got one lurking in the bottom of my handbag.”

She slipped past Charlie, who remained staring at the bathroom cabinet, her frown intensifying as she tried to remember when she’d had her last period… and couldn’t.

“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered to herself.

She must be getting mixed up somehow. She could remember having her period in Perth because the cramps had come at exactly the wrong time. Two weeks later, she’d cleared out the flat she’d been sharing with another female officer, packed her bags and flown to Sydney.

And she hadn’t had her period since.

And in the interim, she’d had sex with Rhys-the-unforgettable. Three times in the one night.

Adrenaline fired in her belly, sending a shock wave through her body. She took a step backward, appalled by the thought that had snaked its way into her brain.

“Told you I’d have one,” Gina said as she returned. “Hey. What’s wrong? You’re pale.”

Charlie took another step backward and sank onto the edge of the tub.

“What’s the failure rate for condoms?” Her voice sounded as though it was coming from a long way away. Cleveland, perhaps. Or maybe Moscow.

“I don’t know. Not high. One or two percent, maybe?” Gina was still frowning, but suddenly her eyes rounded and her eyebrows headed for her hairline. “Oh, my God. Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

Charlie looked at her friend, her mind busy doing the math and getting the same answer over and over.

“I’ve missed two periods. I’ve been so busy getting everything sorted that I didn’t even notice. That’s why there are no tampons in the cupboard.”

Gina swore and sank onto the bathtub beside her. There was a moment of profound silence as they both processed their own thoughts.

“Okay. First things first—before we hit the panic button, we need to know what we’re panicking about.” Gina looked at her watch. “It’s only four-thirty. The pharmacy around the corner should still be open.”

“Good idea,” Charlie said. She pushed herself to her feet. A wave of anxious dizziness hit her and she sat again.

“I’ll go,” Gina said instantly. “You stay here. Don’t start freaking yet, okay? I’ll run all the way.”

“Okay,” Charlie said meekly.