58

Sophie wakes up early and goes to the bathroom to look at the progress of her cold sore, which looks quite pretty now, just like a smudge of pale pink lipstick. It’s a pity all those horrible, humiliating feelings for Callum can’t just dry up and fade away too, until there’s nothing left but a nice, socially acceptable smudge of friendship.

As she’s cleaning her teeth she decides to give herself her own version of electric-shock aversion therapy. Every time she thinks of Callum she will pinch herself hard above the elbow. She will train her mind like a rat in a maze. Today should be a good day to start training because she has something new to preoccupy her mind: a new life. Yesterday, at yum cha, she and her mother unexpectedly came up with a new plan for Sophie’s career.

Gretel had started talking about that ‘fraudulent psychic’ they’d met at the Korean baths, and ‘who ever heard of a caramel aura’ and ‘why would Sophie, of all people, need a positive career-change when she was already doing so well in her career!’

That’s when Sophie admitted that well, actually, she’d been coasting for the last couple of years at work and that, while she still enjoyed it, she’d really gone as far as she could go there and it wasn’t really challenging her any more, and all of a sudden she was talking to her mother about how she’d always thought that when she had children–ha!–she would give up work and do something part-time, something completely different, like teaching a wine-tasting course, or perhaps using her HR skills for something different, like career counselling for teenagers or hardened (handsome, unshaven) young crims, and how she’d quite like to play violin again in a string quartet like she did when she was at uni. Her mother had said that she might have had some unrealistic ideas about just how much spare time she’d have with a baby, but seeing as Sophie owned a house outright and didn’t need to worry about her mortgage payments any more, why didn’t she just resign from work and take some time off and pursue some–if not all!–of these ideas.

‘Why not?’ cried Gretel, excitedly spilling her green tea.

‘Why not?’ said Sophie, thoughtfully spearing a chopstick through her steamed pork bun.

And just like that, the fraudulent psychic’s prophesy came true, and today Sophie is sitting down with her notepad to consider an entirely new lifestyle and wondering why she’d never thought of it before. She thinks about how interested Callum will be and immediately pinches her arm so hard it brings tears to her eyes. She puts on her Eva Cassidy CD and thinks about what Callum said about this album–and pinches her arm again. She would have thought she might have picked things up faster than the average rat.

She is standing at the sink, pouring herself a cup of tea, when she sees a strange man standing on the balcony, with his face pressed up against the window, peering in. She jerks back in fright, spilling boiling water over her hand and dropping the mug, which shatters on the floor.

Instantly the back door swings open and a tall, lanky, pale man is suddenly filling all the space in the kitchen, saying, ‘I’m so sorry for scaring you. I thought there was nobody home. I’m not an axe murderer, I’m Callum’s friend, although I suppose Callum could be friends with an axe murderer, who knows,’ and while he’s talking he has taken hold of Sophie’s wrist and is holding her hand under the cold running water. ‘Oh dear, I hope it’s not too bad. I’ve probably scarred you for life. And was that mug your favourite?’

‘I think it’s going to be OK.’ Sophie smiles up at him and he smiles back. He has a sad, accepting sort of smile, as if he knows life probably isn’t going to work out but he’s doing the best he can.

‘I’m Ed,’ he says. ‘And you’re Sophie. And I think I knew you a very long time ago. Do you remember me?’

And suddenly that mournful smile is so sweetly familiar.

‘Eddie Ripple,’ says Sophie, and to her own surprise she takes her wet, sore hand out from under the tap and stands on her toes so she can throw her arms around his neck.

Grace and Callum are making the bed together. He says, ‘Ed is going to stop by at Sophie’s place and see if she wants him to quote on painting it. He thinks he knows her.’ Grace lifts the mattress and tucks in her side of the sheet. Sophie sent around a big bunch of flowers after the Anniversary Night, but Grace hasn’t seen her yet and it’s odd that she hasn’t been around. It’s also odd that Callum hasn’t mentioned her before now. It seems to Grace that something must have happened between Sophie and Callum that night, and it makes her feel guilty because whatever it was, Grace made it happen. They were the unwitting puppets in Grace’s plan to give away her husband to another woman and step out of her life. Then again, they’re not made of wood¸ they do have their own brains, they didn’t have to fall in with Grace’s plans quite so willingly!

Callum says, ‘Do you remember how your Aunt Connie thought Ed and Sophie would make a good match?’

‘Did she?’ says Grace. ‘I don’t remember. Oh dear. Ed Ripple. Aunt Rose always said she thought Connie’s matchmaking skills left a lot to be desired.’

‘I’m sure Sophie will meet somebody herself,’ says Callum.

Grace looks up and meets his eyes on the other side of the bed, and he looks away and pretends to be interested in tucking in the corner of the sheet perfectly. So, she’s right. Something did happen that night. She wonders what it was. Just a kiss? Surely they didn’t sleep together? Where would they have gone? Aunt Connie’s house? She imagines Callum kissing Sophie (she’d have to stand up on tippy-toes, which would be so adorable!), his hand caressing the back of her creamy white neck. When he kisses, he does this thing with his thumb on the back of your neck, a slow, delicate, circular motion, which used to drive Grace into a frenzy of weak-kneed desire when they first started going out. And Sophie, what would she be doing? Saying something funny and cute? Blushing? She probably has kissing techniques of her own. She probably does something really unusual and stylish with her tongue. Grace has no kissing techniques. She just lets Callum kiss her and enjoys herself.

Then it hits her. Callum and Sophie probably danced together. Of course they danced together; how could Callum resist dancing with a real live woman instead of a cardboard cut-out?

She becomes aware of a digging pain, as if someone is poking her in the side. It’s jealousy. She wanted Sophie to marry Callum and now she’s jealous at the thought of them dancing together. She lets the feeling take hold of her. It’s so much better than that horrendous dull nothingness; it’s a proper, human emotion. Real spiteful human blood is pumping through her veins.