Rachel had shaken her head. “Yet you seem to have spent a fortune on condescension.”
He’d stuck his tongue out at her, but he still continued to put “the voice” on whenever he met a stranger; at least until he knew them a bit better.
“It’s good to finally have a face to put to the name,” says Maria. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Rachel wishes that she could replay it, as she’s sure the word “lot” was emphasized.
“All good, I presume,” says Jack, laughing nervously.
Maria doesn’t answer; she just eyes him up and down with a look of … Rachel doesn’t know what. Is it disdain or a silent appreciation and understanding? She can’t quite put her finger on it.
“And this is Rachel,” says Ali.
“Ah, I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you,” says Maria, grabbing hold of both Rachel’s hands and wrapping them in hers. “After everything that Ali’s said about you, I half-expected you to have a shining halo above your head.” She cocks her head to the side and squints her eyes. “In fact, I think I can see it,” she says, smiling warmly.
Rachel is so overwhelmed by the genuine compassion she feels from this stranger, that there’s an unexpected choke at the back of her throat.
Ali had told her about her mother’s car accident five years ago, but Rachel wishes she’d asked more questions, and is now riddled with guilt for not showing more of an interest at the time, instead of writing the conversation off as another of Ali’s over-exaggerated stories. The admission shames her.
“It’s really lovely to meet you too,” says Rachel. “How was the trip over here?”
“Well, while you enjoyed the relative luxury of British Airways, we had to endure the indignity of Ryanair.” Maria laughs. “Who seem to have taken the idea of a budget airline to a whole new level. I think I might have been more comfortable in the baggage hold.”
“We did all right,” says a man, chortling as he comes up behind her with a glass of rosé. He extends a hand to Jack. “I’m Ken, by the way. Maria’s long-suffering husband.”
“Hi, Ken—I’m Jack and this is my wife Rachel.” There’s that fake voice again. “And these are our good friends Paige and Noah.”
They all mutter their hellos and good wishes until there’s a natural lull. “So,” says Rachel, always keen to fill an uncomfortable silence. “Doesn’t it look lovely in here?” She looks around for Ali, who, for all her faults, could never be accused of humdrum conversation.
She’s over by the door, hugging Bob and Val, Will and Jack’s parents. Even that simple gesture grates on Rachel more than it ever would have done before.
Maybe it’s me, she thinks as Val fondly squeezes Ali’s cheek like she’s a five-year-old. Maybe I’m the one with a problem.
As she watches Ali link arms with Val and lead her over toward them, she can’t help but feel replaced in Val’s affections. They’d always had a good relationship, but it had meant even more since Rachel had lost her own mum a few years ago. She looked forward to their monthly shopping trips and the occasional afternoon tea they treated themselves to every once in a while. But now, Val has a new daughter-in-law to do those nice things with.
Once Ali’s deposited Val safely beside Maria like a dutiful daughter-in-law, she heads back to the door and shrieks with excitement as she welcomes more guests.
“Sam! You’re here!” she says, throwing herself at an impossibly good-looking young man, while his girlfriend stands beside them, looking—to Rachel—to be grinning with gritted teeth.
Could it be that that’s just the way Ali is with everyone? Albeit there’s no mistaking that she’s definitely more like it with men. But there’s nothing wrong with that; it just makes her a man’s woman. It doesn’t mean she’s jumping into bed with every guy she sees—including your husband, Rachel says to herself, as if she’s talking to a third party. It just means that she’s more comfortable in their company than that of a woman. When Rachel says it like that in her head, it sounds perfectly plausible. That’s not a crime—there are plenty of women like that, though Paige will gladly cook you over the spit roast if you dare to say so.
As if on cue, using the commotion at the door as a distraction, Paige sidles up to Rachel. “Do you think all of her friends are going to be versions of her?”
Rachel watches a blonde girl edge herself unsurely through the door, almost as if she’s apologizing for being there, even before she’s arrived. Her eyes flit around the room and a palpable resignation seems to course its way through her as she forces herself to accept that what she’s seeing isn’t what she’d hoped for.