What if it was bad news about Rachel herself?
Why were there always so many bloody what-ifs?
As it turned out, it wasn’t bad news at all. Quite the opposite.
‘Can you strain the potatoes for me?’ Rachel asked, placing a sugar flower just so on the side of the cake.
Tully leaped up. It was a rare moment when she was able to help Rachel and she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. The funny thing was, if a guest of Tully’s ever tried to strain the potatoes, she would have been mortified. If Tully was having guests over, even if it was just Rachel, the potatoes would have been strained hours ago, the pots would have been washed and put away, and the place would be devoid of all evidence of life, allowing her to devote her entire attention to her guests for the duration of their visit. It was good manners, she thought. But now, straining potatoes for Rachel while her sister decorated her cake, Tully had to admit that Rachel’s lack of attention on her wasn’t harming her experience in the least. On the contrary, Tully felt charmed at being authorised to assist in the lunch-making while watching Rachel do something as special as icing a wedding cake. She felt more special, more privileged, than if she’d been given Rachel’s undivided attention.
She placed the strainer in the sink and tipped the potatoes in.
‘Hey, Tul,’ Rachel said, still focused on the cake, ‘did Mum ever say anything to you about money?’
The steam from the potatoes rose up from the sink. ‘What do you mean?’ Tully said. ‘What about money?’
‘I don’t know. I just wondered if she might have put any aside for’ – Rachel shrugged – ‘emergencies or something.’
‘Why?’ Tully looked at her. ‘Do you need money?’
‘No, no.’
‘Because if you do, all you need to do is ask, and Sonny and I will . . . it wouldn’t even have to be a loan.’
The offer rolled off her tongue so fast she couldn’t stop it. This was, after all, how they’d been raised. Don’t be mean with money. Always pay more than your share. Money isn’t something to hoard; it is to be shared and enjoyed. If someone you loved needed it, you gave it, no questions asked. Tully had always thought of herself as generous for that reason. Now she saw it for what it was. A privilege. Giving money was an easy way to support someone. A lot of people didn’t have that ability. Now, neither did Tully. Funnily enough, the ability to be generous was one of the things she would miss the most.
‘Thanks, but I don’t need money,’ Rachel said. ‘I was just thinking about how Mum always told us we should be more independent than she was financially, and I wondered if she had ever put anything away for us.’
Tully tipped the potatoes into the serving bowl that Rachel had left out. ‘Like in a trust or something?’
‘Yes,’ Rachel said. ‘Or something.’
Tully felt a surge of hope. If Mum had put money in a trust for them, she and Sonny could be saved! They wouldn’t have to sell the house. They wouldn’t have to endure any humiliation at all. Depending on the amount, she supposed. But every little bit helped. ‘Well, Dad would know if she’d put any away for us,’ she said eagerly. ‘Why don’t we ask him?’
‘Oh,’ Rachel said. ‘No, I’m sure he would have told us.’
Tully deflated. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, he probably would.’ She took a long sip of wine.
‘But you don’t need money, right?’ Rachel said after a moment. ‘You and Sonny, you’re . . . pretty comfortable?’ She paused in her icing and looked at her sister.
This was, Tully knew, the opportunity she’d been waiting for. She could tell Rachel about Sonny losing their money. About them selling the house. Maybe she could even tell her about her . . . habit? The shame of it would be immense, but there would be relief in it too. And Rachel wouldn’t judge her. She might not be able to help her, but at least she’d send her home with a frozen meal and an offer to babysit the boys. （Tully would take her up on that offer too, as Rachel was one of the few people Miles was happy to be left with.） Yes, she decided. She was going to tell Rachel.
But just as she opened her mouth to begin, the doorbell rang.
‘Oh,’ Tully said, irritated. ‘Who is that?’
She expected to see her confusion and exasperation reflected in her sister’s face. Instead, Rachel looked wary. ‘I invited someone else,’ she said, putting down her piping bag. ‘To lunch.’