Oscar had been forlorn and then agitated for a few days even though he said he understood. Oscar is so sensitive when it comes to this sort of stuff and marriage isn’t something he takes lightly. It would have taken him a lot of effort to have worked himself up to propose. But he doesn’t understand what I have to achieve to prove to Caitlin that I am worthy one final time. I have so much riding on this wedding being successful, and I want her wedding day to be perfect. For once it’s over, nothing will be again.
I sink into the sofa and look at my phone. It has been pinging with messages and emails all afternoon. Roxy is letting me know about days she is available for me to come to her and a few of Caitlin’s friends have questions about the wedding and the overnight accommodation. There’s also a text from Oscar asking about dinner plans.
Then I see an unrecognised number amongst my text messages. I click on it and read.
Hello, Sasha, I do hope you are well. I found your number on your delightful little website. I haven’t heard back from you after my last correspondence via email and I wondered if perhaps you were available for some lunch one afternoon? You and I haven’t seen one another for some time, and with Caitlin’s wedding so close, now might be a good time to catch up. What do you say? My treat. I know a splendid little French place close to your area, I could meet you there.
Regards, Ava
My initial reaction is to text back, telling her in a not so polite way to do one. But after I take a few deep breaths, it occurs to me that Ava and I hadn’t spoken properly for a really long time. Josephine’s funeral had been fleeting, with little time for intimate conversations. I wonder if, after all this time away from Saxby and the Clemonte clan, it was time to go back and have that conversation with Ava.
I meet her the following day at the French restaurant she referred to in her text. It is a small intimate place with only ten or so tables, all classically set with white tablecloths, starched white napkins and small clear vases with a single red carnation. I have walked past it a handful of times, but never thought much of it from the front, and I can’t help being annoyed that Ava seems to know more about my local eateries than I do.
I arrive ten minutes early so I can get seated and wait for Ava, but it appears she’s had the same thought and is already seated in the far corner. Her dark hair is swept back in a graceful style. She is in a pale pink shirt and white trousers. Her nails are painted a deep red that match her lips. The red crescent breaks into a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes as I approach the table.
‘Sasha, so good to see you.’ She holds her hands firmly in front of her, as a sign she is unwilling to greet me with even a formal handshake. I sit down opposite her, that fuzzy feeling in my gut returning immediately, like some sort of annoying muscle memory. I remind myself, I’m thirty-three, not thirteen. She can’t intimidate me any more.
‘Hello, Ava,’ I say, trying not to let my voice waver.
‘I’ve ordered sparkling water, I hope that’s acceptable. The menu is quite something, do take a look.’
I quickly eye the small menu in front of me with a handful of starters and mains. A salmon mousse choux pastry and jambon persille jump off the page.
Ava looks across the other side of the restaurant. ‘They have a sweet trolley, how perfectly quaint!’ To anyone looking in, we may look like old friends.
‘Would your daughter like to see the wine list?’ A waiter is at my side, yet addressing Ava. Is it that obvious to everyone that she is the one with the money?
‘I’m not her daughter,’ I say abruptly.
Ava looks at me, her fake enthusiasm dwindling. ‘No, no you’re not,’ she says.
‘Excuse me,’ the waiter bows his head in apology. ‘I thought I saw a similarity there for a moment.’
‘And no wine for me, thank you,’ I say as I let my gaze fall to the menu in front of me again. I see how expensive the food is and then I curse myself for agreeing to come here. If I let Ava pay, then she will have won the power battle, but if I pay my half, then I will be forking out a fortune on one lunch. I had been brought up to be frugal, even when we had some surplus income at Saxby, my parents were saving it to buy the house they live in now.
As though Ava has read my mind, she speaks.
‘Do feel free to order anything you fancy, Sasha. It’s my treat – after all you have made the effort to meet with me. I know it’s been some time.’
‘So why have you decided to get in touch now?’ I know I sound blunt, but this is how I need to be with Ava; she seems a little too bright, considering our history.
She clears her throat very delicately, holding her hand to her mouth as she does so. ‘It’s come to my attention that…’ Ava pauses. She is never lost for words and her stalling throws me. ‘Caitlin gets married in September, and, well, I have seen the guest list. Caitlin saw fit to involve me with the seating plan – awkward aunties and so forth. There are sixty-seven guests at the wedding, all of whom I can name. Except one. They are simply down as “guest”.’
A slight panic comes over me. I have seen the guest list, but it was the one thing Caitlin had been adamant she
