The Missing Wife. Sam Carrington

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       9

       THE PARTY

      ‘Mum, where’ve you been? Come on, the food is out. It’s the most food I’ve seen in ages.’ Emily’s eyes were wide as she took Louisa’s arm, dragging her towards a long table to the side of the room filled with a buffet-style feast.

      ‘Oh, sorry, love. Just had to get some fresh air, it’s all been a bit overwhelming.’ Her tongue felt funny: tingly and enlarged. She worried she was slurring her words.

      ‘I bet. I did tell Dad it wasn’t a great idea – that you were dreading being forty so a bloody party drawing attention to the fact would only make matters worse.’

      ‘Language, Emily. But thanks.’ Louisa put her arm around her daughter and pulled her in close. She realised it was the first moment of real closeness they’d had since Noah’s birth. Louisa had always felt lucky to have such a good relationship with Emily; they shared a closer bond than she’d ever had with her own mother. There’d been times when Brian had commented they were more like sisters: chatting about the latest films and TV programmes, gossiping and going clothes shopping together most weekends. Louisa hoped those moments would return once she’d got through the awkward early months with a new baby.

      She turned her face towards Emily and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘You were right,’ Louisa whispered in her ear. As she lifted her head again, her balance faltered, and she had to hold on to Emily to keep herself upright.

      ‘What’s the matter?’

      ‘Lack …’ Louisa took a slow, deep breath in and out. ‘Lack of food. Blood sugar’s low I think.’

      ‘Dad!’ Emily’s voice was shrill in Louisa’s ear. Damn. Now everyone was looking over at her. But it wasn’t Brian who came to her side.

      ‘Are you okay?’ Oliver had obviously been right behind her the whole time.

      ‘I’m fine. Emily’s just making a fuss. I’ll take these roasties and sit down for a bit. I’ll be all right.’

      ‘I’m not fussing, Mum. You looked as though you were about to faint.’

      ‘Don’t worry, Emily. I’ll take her, you go find your dad.’ Oliver’s dark eyes found Louisa’s – the intensity in them was one thing she hadn’t forgotten about the past, but the strong arm she felt around her waist was something new. He’d always been fit, but the thickness in his arms now was clearly the result of regular weights. Her heart picked up speed. She hated herself for it.

      Oliver sat her down, placing the plate of food in front of her before sitting down himself.

      ‘How have you been?’

      ‘For the past twenty-two years? How long have you got?’

      He gave a quick, nasal laugh. ‘I guess it’s been a long time. How about you tell me over lunch one day?’

      ‘God, Oliver,’ Louisa said, shaking her head in disbelief. The same slick Oliver who’d been the centre of her world for two years before he left her in their small town while he escaped to the University of York – the opposite end of the country – to do something with his life and ‘be something; someone important’. She wondered what, or who, he’d become, but she wasn’t going to ask.

      ‘Why are you at my surprise party?’

      ‘You mean apart from the opportunity to meet up with old friends?’ He cast his eyes around the room, but clearly not spotting any of those said friends, returned his attention to her. ‘I’ve just moved back here, temporarily at least, to oversee a new business project.’

      ‘Right.’ Louisa didn’t want to get into a conversation about what precisely this business was; she didn’t want any conversation really.

      ‘And, well, if I’m honest, I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Lou-Lou.’

      She straightened, her muscles tensing, her lips pursed. ‘Don’t call me that.’

      ‘Sorry, old habits.’ He grinned. Louisa looked at his face properly for the first time. The square jawline, once smooth, was now dotted with stubble. It suited him. He still had black hair, but the hairline was higher up and less defined at the crown and temples than it’d been when he was eighteen. There were crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but they weren’t deep like Brian’s crow’s feet – somehow, Oliver’s made him appear distinguished. Rugged. He’d practically been СКАЧАТЬ