Chapter Seven #2
‘And, Abigail Cavendish, instead of going to this party this evening, where presumably there will be decent champagne and music and lots of men in tuxedos, what will you be doing, my love?’
‘I thought I would have a bottle of wine for dinner and watch a murder mystery,’ I retorted, fed up with their interference.
Iris rolled her eyes at me.
‘Here it is, Gran.’
I turned around and got my first look at the dress.
‘Oh,’ I said. My impassioned denial of this gift was suddenly silenced. ‘Nick chose this?’
Kate had helped Gran up and the three of us stood there, silently staring at it.
‘I have not seen a dress that fine, since … Well, it has been a long time. That is a fabulous dress. It looks like you, Abigail.’
The dress was divine. No, it was honestly the loveliest thing I’d ever seen.
There was a whimsical simplicity to it. It was a dark-gold metallic fabric, with a sweetheart neckline and a bodice that ran to the waist. A pleated skirt draped softly to the floor and a thigh-high split saved it from being too sweet.
If I had endless money to spend on a dress, I might buy this dress.
The bag read Made in Italy, which to us regular folk means unaffordable.
‘Wait, there are these as well.’ Kate practically skipped to the corner and pulled out a shoe box.
I recognised the brand. I recognised that these shoes could pay my mortgage this month or go pretty bloody close.
I opened the box and a gorgeous pair of black suede slingbacks in my size stared back at me.
They were perfect. The heel was not too high, which was considerate, and they were unadorned enough that I might have the chance of wearing them again.
‘Jesus.’
‘Well, go try it on,’ Iris ordered.
Kate and I looked at each other. ‘Go on, Abs, at least try it.’
I nodded. I did have to; I might never get the chance to wear designer clothes ever again.
Kate walked me to my room, and I put on the dress.
It fit as though it had been measured for me.
I slid my feet into the shoes and stood looking at myself in the mirror.
I looked elegant, taller, slimmer than I normally did.
I swept my hair to the side and realised no matter what I did, it looked good.
Jesus Christ. Was this what life with him was like?
There was not a girl in the world that could not get used to it.
Germaine Greer popped into my head and slapped my face, but still … a girl could dream.
My phone vibrated. I knew it would be him before I even looked.
I still don’t have your RSVP.
Jesus, what was happening? It was confusing. Was he trying to tell me something? If Holiday Nick had been allowed to speak the other day, what would he have said? I began to think about him in a tux and it all became very, very tempting.
There was no way on earth I would get away with not showing Gran and Kate what the dress looked like on, so I dutifully walked out to the lounge room. The twirl I did upon entering was a bit of showmanship. Ta da.
‘Holy fuck, Abbey. It looks perfect.’
‘Oh, Mum, you look so beautiful.’
‘Of course, Cavendish women always scrub up rather nicely.’
‘Jesus, Abbey. Where are you off to?’
I turned to see my ex-husband standing in the doorway.
I was instantly irritated. I looked at him and at that moment attempted to establish what I had seen in him that had made me want to marry him in the first place.
He was wearing funky cuffed cargo pants, expensive sneakers and a T-shirt, which was a brand I was not cool enough to recognise.
His hair was longer than when I last saw him, and I wondered if he was attempting to look younger than he actually was.
He had helped himself to my fruit bowl and was crunching loudly on an apple.
Why had I given up my youth for him? I remember thinking he would be an amazing father and he had a great job. When I was twenty, he seemed to be a man, responsible and willing to be a grown-up.
But I didn’t notice how much I changed for him. He liked to have an opinion on everything, including how much I ate (women don’t normally eat that much, Abbey) and what I wore (you wear too much black, women who are mums should wear colour). I thought it was normal.
The fact that he did not love me was, surprisingly, not the source of my antipathy.
I didn’t love him either. The affair … the affair bothered me; it was deceitful and disrespectful of the love we had once shared and the child we had created.
I would always maintain a relationship with him for Ella, but we were not friends, and I did not appreciate him being here at this particular moment.
‘Peter,’ I said politely if not warmly.
‘Dad, Mum is going to a party for work. Doesn’t she look amazing?’
‘Geez, bit old to be showing so much leg, Abbey. And a bit much for work, isn’t it? You hate those dos.’
Peter completely failed to notice the death stares he received from both Iris and Kate.
But I was having a fucking epiphany. How many times over the years had he done that?
Planted the seeds of doubt in my head? I had just looked in a mirror and I knew I looked good.
I felt confident, and yet with one sentence, he had tried to alter that and encourage me not to go.
How many times had I just given in, in an attempt to please him, instead of doing what I wanted? Instead of living my life?
‘Peter, you can just call Ella’s phone and wait out the front from now on. There’s no need for you to come into my house.’ I gave Ella a quick apologetic look, but she just nodded, approving of my suddenly firm spine. I turned to my sister. ‘Kate, any chance you could help me with my makeup?’
A proud smile appeared on her beautiful face.
‘Peter, what the devil is wrong with your hair? Good lord, you look like one of those middle-aged men trying to look younger.’ My love for my grandmother grew exponentially.
‘It’s borderline ridiculous. You will take me back to the nursing home and we shall leave the girls to get ready.
Ella darling, grab your bag. Your father needs to get going … to a barber, preferably.’
I covered my snort with a cough and walked over to Iris to kiss her goodbye.
‘Love you, Gran.’
‘You look like an absolute knockout, child. Nothing feeble about that outfit.’ She dropped her voice for just my ear. ‘Dance, drink champagne and have sex with a stranger tonight. It’ll do you good.’
Jesus Christ.
***
Two hours later I was in the back of an Uber, looking out the window.
The rain from the week before had cleared, leaving beautifully warm autumn days and chilly evenings, and Kate had lent me her black faux-fur bolero to ward off the chill.
Gold and black earrings sparkled, dangling against my neck.
Kate had swept my waves to one side and had insisted I wear a red lip colour, making me feel slightly unlike myself.
There was a nervous energy inside my stomach, which I did not want to acknowledge but could not deny.
I wanted to see him. I wanted to see him in a tux.
I wanted him to see me looking like this.
We were both doing a pretty good job of avoiding our holiday romance selves, but how long could that hold out for?
After everything that had happened, I was as drawn to him as I had been on that island. And there were times at work when I would look up and find his eyes resting on me and the only reason I knew was because I was looking for them.
Whenever he entered a room, my body knew it before I did.
We were two individuals, connected gravitationally, an inexplicable magnetic force between us.
And though we had drawn a huge line in that white sand to mark the end of our affair, it felt as if he might have flirted with the edge by buying me this dress.
And the question was, now that the barrier had been crossed, would it hold?
The thought that it wouldn’t … well, I could not deny … it thrilled me.
The real question was, could I keep my feelings separate if he offered me more? I honestly did not know the answer to that.
My Uber passed through the familiar, almost abandoned-looking, suburb of Tempe into Sydenham, the two suburbs marked only by how low the planes passed over, an Ikea the size of a suburb and a train station that could take you anywhere.
Through St Peters and onto King Street, Newtown – still clinging on to its bohemian soul despite the multi-million-dollar housing market – and into the city.
Sydney glittered. It always seemed to me like the little sister of other major cities in the world, unsure of who she was, until you got to the harbour where it all just made sense and her genuine beauty shone.
I got out of the Uber down the street from the hotel, as the no-standing zone in front of the Delacqua had left a row of cars dropping people off that stretched down the road.
I walked the short distance to the hotel lobby.
Even if I hadn’t just spent the day here overseeing preparations, I had been in the company so long and visited often enough to be a well-known figure.
Larry Bertram, the legendary doorman and porter, kissed my cheek when he saw me and then raised his eyebrows, shaking his head, whispering that I looked ‘pretty as a picture’, which filled me with renewed confidence.
I took my place in the back corner of the lift and fidgeted nervously, my hand rising to the spot where my pendant should be, mourning its loss.
When the lift opened, the occupants poured out into the glowing foyer.
The room itself was lit gently by candlelight, chandeliers and a soft turquoise colour I had picked from the lighting team.