The Missing Wife. Sam Carrington

And inviting Oliver? Jesus.

      Finding a quiet corner of the garden, away from prying eyes, Louisa unzipped her bag and took out the pack of cigarettes. Her head swam, as it usually did with the first few draws. It was worse now though – she had too much alcohol in her system, as well as the tablets. Likely a dangerous mix, but no more dangerous than the mix of people in that room.

      ‘Are you mad at me?’

      She turned sharply at the sound of the voice. Tiff approached Louisa with another glass of wine in her outstretched hand. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘This might take the edge off the shock.’

      ‘I doubt it.’ The words carried more venom than she’d realised she possessed. She took the drink anyway, not making eye contact with Tiff.

      ‘I’m sorry. I really thought we were doing something positive, and that it would give you a lift. Organising a small party—’

      ‘Small? Call that small, Tiff?’ She waved her arm towards the pub. ‘Shit. Small would be my little family and you. And that would’ve been fine. I’d have coped with that. But not this.’ She dragged on her cigarette. Her eyes stung. From the smoke, or from tears, she was unable to distinguish.

      Tiff was silent, her eyes downcast. She didn’t even mention the fact that Louisa was smoking – it was Tiff who’d helped her give up four years ago, but she’d obviously decided now wasn’t the time to give a lecture.

      ‘I realise you were trying to do something nice. But why invite all the people from my Facebook? And – for God’s sake – why did you accept that stupid invitation to the Exeter College group and then invite Oliver Dunmore here?’

      ‘Shit. Because you didn’t talk about other friends – you never have! But, you know, I assumed those on your Facebook were friends, so didn’t see the harm—’

      ‘Tiffany. Really?’ Louisa shot her a disdainful look. ‘You were the one who added half of them when you set up the account in the first place, remember?’

      ‘Well, yes, but they are still your friends.’

      ‘So, you’re friends with everyone on your Facebook are you? Should I invite Sarah to our next girly night? You’d be good with that, would you?’

      ‘I – no.’ Tiff sighed loudly. ‘Sorry. Okay, okay. Fair point. But chill. So you don’t actually like some people I invited, no biggie – you don’t have to speak to them all. Everyone will be eating soon, and drinking loads – they won’t notice if you’re not being particularly sociable. And Oliver said only good things; he made it sound like you were great friends.’

      Tiff telling her to ‘chill’ was bad enough, but her last line was the one requiring Louisa’s response.

      ‘How exactly did you contact Oliver, Tiff? There were no messages on my Facebook.’

      ‘There’d been one. I deleted it as soon as I read and replied to it, giving him my mobile instead. I immediately fessed up, Lou. Told him I wasn’t you, and that I was arranging this surprise party for your fortieth. He jumped at the chance to come.’

      ‘I bet he did,’ Louisa said, her teeth clenched.

      ‘Weren’t you good friends then?’ Tiff’s eyebrows knitted, a brief look of panic fleeting across her perfectly made-up face.

      ‘We were more than that, Tiff.’ Louisa put her cigarette out in the ashtray on the closest wooden table. ‘He was my first love. He broke my heart. Broke me, in fact, and when he left he took a part of me with him. A part of my memory at least.’

      Louisa didn’t want to explain more. Couldn’t explain more even if she’d wanted to.

      ‘Oh. I’ve screwed up then, haven’t I?’ Tiff’s face paled.

      ‘Quite possibly, Tiff. Yes,’ Louisa said as she drained the glass of wine and turned to walk back inside.

       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