The Woman Who Lied(91)
‘Tasha?’ I hear Aaron behind me and turn to see him standing in the middle of the room with a mug in each hand, still wearing his work overalls that smell of turps. ‘Relax. You’d think it was royalty coming to stay.’
‘Hardly,’ I say, taking one of the mugs. It’s too-strong coffee. You’d think, after being together for nearly eighteen years, he’d remember that I like it weak and milky.
‘Alice has been here loads of times.’
Yes, but Kyle hasn’t, I think, but I don’t say. Aaron will only take the piss out of me for wanting to impress Alice’s husband.
‘She grew up here,’ reasons Aaron. ‘Your childhood home wasn’t much bigger than this one.’
‘Yeah. In Clifton.’ Which is a lot posher than around here.
He shrugs and moves towards the sofa and sits down and I try not to wince at the indents he’s making in my freshly plumped cushions. ‘I don’t get why you’re so jittery about it. This was your idea.’
‘It was Alice’s actually.’
‘You didn’t have to say yes.’ He slurps his coffee. I can’t face mine and put the mug down on the coffee table. My feelings oscillate between dread at them arriving and excitement about seeing them.
‘Don’t you want to spend a week in their fancy Venetian apartment overlooking the Grand Canal?’ I tease.
‘Ah, well now, I didn’t say that, did I?’ He crosses his ankles like he’s settled in for the afternoon. No concept of time. His mother, Viv, always chuckles at this as though it’s something to be proud of. Yet the longer we’ve been together, the less funny it is. ‘Who wouldn’t want a slice of your sister’s lifestyle? And we’ve never been to Venice.’
When my sister had first proposed the idea that Aaron and I get away from it all on our wedding anniversary by staying in their holiday home for a week, while they came and looked after our twins, Aaron had jumped at the chance. Not least because it won’t cost him a penny and my husband likes a bargain. And I found myself thinking that, yes, I could be the type of person who whiles away hours in bijou pavement cafes, quaffing cocktails, or wandering carefree and childfree through high-ceilinged galleries marvelling over the sculptures. I pictured myself and Aaron, tanned and relaxed, kissing on the Rialto bridge, the years peeled back to reveal the people we were when we first fell in love as teenagers: rebellious, fun and besotted with each other. And even though the thought of walking in Alice and Kyle’s glamorous footsteps for a week massively appealed, now that it’s actually time to go I’m having doubts. For one thing I’ve never left the twins for longer than a night. And another, I just can’t imagine Alice and Kyle living our provincial life for a week. Will they judge us, snigger to each other as they slide between our bobbled sheets? No. I’m being unfair. Despite my sister’s success and wealth, she’s still the same Alice.
‘Although,’ Aaron casts an eye around the room and nods approvingly, ‘the place scrubs up alright, doesn’t it?’
It does. Our house has never looked as tidy. At least, not in the three years since we’ve had Elsie and Flossie. Even so, I glance around with a critical eye – with Alice’s eyes – at the internal doors that need a repaint, the wooden floor that could do with oiling, the grubby fingerprints on the pale grey walls and the rug that’s been clawed by our cream Persian rescue cat, Princess Sofia.
I assess Aaron sitting there in his dirty overalls. ‘Are you going to jump in the shower before they get here?’ Aaron’s a mechanic at the local garage and has been working this morning.
‘Fine. But I’m not standing on ceremony for them – I don’t care how much money they have. I’ve known Alice too long.’ He gets up and stretches his long legs before downing the remainder of his coffee.
Aaron and I met when we were seventeen. He was doing his apprenticeship and I was at a college learning Teeline shorthand and how to touch type. Alice, only thirteen months older than me, was about to go off to university. The first one in our family to do so. The only one. And Oxford no less. Aaron has never been particularly impressed with Alice’s high IQ, or wealth. He’s never felt less than good enough and I admire him for that. I just wish I felt the same.
He opens his mouth to say something else when we hear the slam of a car door and we both turn automatically towards the window. Alice is stepping out of the passenger side of a bright orange sports car, looking stunning in a low-cut jumpsuit, her red hair lying in perfect waves around her shoulders.
Aaron emits a low whistle as he moves to the window. At first I think he’s whistling at Alice – who is, after all, a glamorised version of myself – and I’m just about to tell him off for being a sexist pig, when he says, ‘Fuck me, that’s a McLaren!’
I have no idea what that is but it looks expensive, not that I’ve ever cared less about cars as long as it gets me from A to B. I notice it only has two seats. Good job I got Alice insured on my car otherwise they wouldn’t be able to take the twins out. Before I can react, Aaron has dumped his mug on the windowsill and is hot-footing it out the front door. He almost runs down the path to where the car is parked and he looks comical in his overalls which are slightly too short for his 6ft 2in frame. I watch, rooted to the spot, as he hugs Alice and then, emerging from the driver’s side, is the magnificent Kyle, resplendent in a tight-fitting linen shirt and jeans. He has a tan and his dark blond hair is sun-streaked at the front. My stomach swoops and I instantly feel guilty.