Chapter 61
CHAPTER 61
O n Christmas Eve Eve, after the kids were in bed, Matthew and I made love. It was sweet and romantic. I drifted to sleep. My dreams weren’t about Arnaud or any other fantasy. Tonight, Matthew was the man in my dreams.
In the early morning hours, I felt Matthew’s hand resting lightly on my thigh. The barest pressure, but the heat… Then his fingers found their way, teasing me. He slid his fingers inward and leaned over to kiss my neck, then lips, raking my throat with his tongue, biting, nipping. I could taste the earthy honey on his breath. Instinctively I pressed against him, moaning. This wasn’t a dream. It was so much better. The real deal. My life.
At daylight, Matthew loved me, cuddled me, kissed me and bounded out of bed. He showered, left his wet towel on the floor, dressed, made me a cup of tea and brought it up to bed. I breathed a sigh of contentment.
Determination and faith. I’ve got the determination. Matthew’s got faith. He really does have faith in me.
I’m not sure if I’ve resented Matthew all these years because I gave up photography after Angus was born – I mean, we both wanted children and I was the one with the womb and the breasts – but he’s right. I can’t spend the rest of my life blaming him and the kids for not pursuing my dream. I must at least give it a try. It’s time for me to step out and do something for myself.
Until now, it’s always been others who have defined who I was as a person – Matthew, Lexi, Angus, Mum, Dad, Robyn. And it’s not like I don’t want to continue being a wife, a mother, a daughter and a sister, but the time has come to look after myself as well. And I was more determined than ever to succeed.
An alert came up on my phone, an advertisement for February’s issue of Delicious Bites . Ha! Fern had stood her ground. My photo was on the cover. My photo! I allowed myself a tiny smile. I wonder if Fern had walked over Graeme’s dead body.
‘Mum, are you getting up?’ Angus was standing in the doorway, Cleo wrapped tightly in his arms. ‘She’s trying to eat the babies.’
I rolled over and glanced at the bedside clock: five minutes past seven. ‘I guess I should.’ I dragged myself out of bed and wandered into Lexi’s room. ‘Wedding day, darling.’
‘Later,’ she mumbled from under her blanket.
I opened her curtains to reveal the brilliant sunshine outside and Lexi poked her head out from underneath the covers.
Four hours later, even with her broken arm and bruised face, Lexi looked lovely, angelic. I almost didn’t recognise her. So tall and grown up in her pale-pink, silk halter-neck dress.
‘Don’t start thinking I’m going to look like this all the time.’ Her cheeks glowed from the soft, barely-there blush the make-up artist had applied.
I took her good arm and slipped it through mine. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘I’m not your little girl anymore, Mum.’
‘I know. ’
‘But I’ll still be your little boy.’ Angus rushed towards me for a hug, a mini-Matthew, wrapped in a tux.
‘Will you, Gussy?’ I scooped him up with my free arm.
Matthew was smiling. ‘Ready, gorgeous people?’
‘As ready as we’ll ever be.’ It was time. This was no dress rehearsal.
‘Bob, I’ve had twenty-five years to stop loving you,’ Mum said, eyes misty, voice strong. ‘I could have traded you in, but you were such a comfortable ride.’
I glanced at Robyn. ‘Did our mother really say that?’ I mouthed.
Robyn nodded.
‘I couldn’t. I didn’t. When I saw you at the gallery, my heart skipped and it’s still skipping. You are the man of my dreams. You always were and always will be. Forever. I’m so thankful you’ve given me a second chance… us, and our family. Bob, I love you. Will you twirl with me again?’
There were no dry eyes when Mum and Dad danced to their wedding song, Frank Sinatra’s ‘Fly Me to the Moon’, a second time. After a full thirty seconds, all the party stood to dance. Matthew with Lexi, me with Angus, Carol and Bernard. Dana jigged amongst us.
No arguments, not even a tense moment. We didn’t need Family Conversation Starters cards. We were doing well all by ourselves.
There are three sides to every story, just as there are three sides to every person. There’s how you see yourself, how others see you and how you really are – the truth.
But the truth is… well, the truth is too hard to live with sometimes. That’s why we tell stories, and purposely forget si gnificant facts. It’s why we daydream and create reckless and exciting fantasy worlds. It’s to save us from hurt and protect us from the pain and drama of everyday life.
As the clock ticked over to Christmas Day and Matthew snuggled in and cupped my breast, Robyn cried from the guest bedroom. ‘The baby’s coming.’
This time I knew it was for real.