Tempting Fate Read online

  And the men? They get blow jobs.

  He just closes his eyes and succumbs to the waves of pleasure washing over him.

  Chapter Four

  Pushing open Claire’s back door, a door they know almost as well as their own, Gabby, Elliott and the girls walk through the mud room, gingerly stepping over the sneakers and backpacks littering the floor, through to the kitchen, where Claire is making a salad.

  ‘Hi, girls!’ She greets Olivia and Alanna first. ‘Sasha is outside on the trampoline, and I think Jolie’s upstairs. Go on out. Or up. Did you have fun camping?’ she calls after them as an afterthought, but they’ve already gone out through the back door.

  Gabby puts her bowl on the table and slides out of her fleece as Elliott walks outside to find Tim. She is grateful to be here tonight, to do something as familiar and normal as a barbecue at Claire and Tim’s. Each normal step she takes is a step away from the events of last night, from thinking, in what is rapidly becoming an obsessive way, about what could have happened.

  ‘What did you make?’ Claire peers over at the bowl Gabby brought.

  ‘Asian slaw.’

  ‘Yum! I love that slaw. Trish is coming too. She’s made some kind of meringue dessert.’

  ‘Oh God. It’s going to be some kind of perfect dessert. I wish I’d known she was coming. I would have made more of an effort,’ says Gabby.

  Claire laughs. ‘Will you stop? Why do you always have this thing about her? You think she’s judging everyone else by her standards, but she really isn’t. She doesn’t look to see what other people bring, and, before you say anything, she doesn’t care what anyone looks like either. Despite what you’re always saying. You know it’s your insecurity and nothing to do with her.’

  ‘I know. She’s so nice, but she’s so perfect, and, really, how is it possible for one person to be amazing at everything?’

  ‘I don’t know, but she’s bringing some guy she’s dating. Ella said he’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Of course he is. As if she’d date anyone less.’ Gabby peers at Claire. ‘Speaking of gorgeous, you look good. Did you spend the entire day in bed? You look totally well-rested.’

  Claire smiles. ‘I feel good. Hang on.’ She goes to the back door. ‘Tim? Will you come in? You too, Elliott.’

  Tim walks in and leans down to give Claire a kiss before standing next to her with his arm round her shoulders.

  ‘O-kay,’ Gabby looks at Elliott, then back at her friends, ‘would someone mind telling me what’s going on here?’

  ‘We have some news.’ Claire grins. ‘We wanted to tell you together and we wanted you to be the first to know.’

  Gabby frowns. It can’t be what she thinks, because Claire is older than she is, and it wouldn’t be fair, and she has never talked about it, and she knows Gabby wanted …

  ‘We’re pregnant!’ Tim says, and Claire’s eyes fill with tears.

  ‘Can you believe it?’ she says to Gabby, opening her arms to embrace Gabby in a hug.

  ‘Oh boy!’ Elliott embraces Tim, then Claire, and Gabby does the same, as a dagger of pain slices her heart in two. It’s exactly what she was dreading, exactly what she has always wanted – but for her.

  ‘That’s huge!’ says Elliott.

  ‘It is huge!’ Gabby says. Her eyes have filled with tears, but she smiles through them, leading Tim and Claire to believe she is as overwhelmed with joy as they are. ‘When did you find out?’ she asks.

  ‘About an hour ago!’ Claire laughs. ‘I’m not telling anyone else because God only knows what’ll happen. I mean, I’m forty-four! But I told Tim I had to tell one person because I just can’t keep this excitement in, and you’re our closest friends, so … We shouldn’t celebrate, not yet, but I couldn’t get through the evening pretending everything was normal.’

  ‘I’m glad you told us,’ Gabby says, hugging Claire again before excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

  She doesn’t go to the bathroom off the kitchen. She walks through the house to the formal powder room because it is quiet there, and secluded.

  She doesn’t want anyone to hear her cry.

  Six months ago, Gabby finally did the unthinkable, sorting through her closet and boxing up all her maternity clothes. She was less tearful than numb at finally, reluctantly, acknowledging there wouldn’t be another child; her baby days were done.

  She pulled the baby seats and buggies and bouncing chairs out from the attic, collected up the brightly coloured toys her daughters had long outgrown, and piled them into the car, then she dropped them off at a charity shop, feeling nothing.

  She had never been able to get rid of the baby things before, knowing she wasn’t done with having children, no matter what Elliott thought. Her two girls were wonderful, but three was the magic number, the number she had always dreamed of. She didn’t care whether the third was a boy or a girl, only that there would be a third.

  After Alanna was born they decided to wait for a while before having another baby. Elliott said he needed time to feel more established in his specialty, and a doctor’s salary wasn’t what it used to be. He always said, ‘Let’s wait until we have some more money in the bank; until we can really afford it.’

  The years went by, and it never seemed like the right time. Gabby wondered whether she should accidentally-on-purpose fall pregnant: say she was on the pill but forget to take it, secretly puncture a condom, tell him the timing made pregnancy impossible, say that she had finished her period that morning, when in fact she was at the height of ovulation.

  But she couldn’t lie, couldn’t wilfully deceive the man she loves. Not then. So she waited for the right time, for Elliott to decide that they could do it. At thirty-nine she started to panic, and Elliott started to voice his second thoughts. They were already settled; they had two beautiful girls; their family was complete.

  Other people fight about money, disciplining kids, in-laws. The only thing Gabby and Elliott fight about, have ever fought about, is this. Once Elliott voiced his opinion about not wanting any more children, his stance grew ever firmer. Gabby thought she could change his mind, persuade him otherwise, but he was clear: there were going to be no more children.

  And even though Gabby knew she would never deliberately trick him into having a baby, she also knew she could be a little less … careful. She learned to be forgetful about taking the pill; she welcomed going on antibiotics, knowing it reduced the efficacy of the pill, praying each time that she would become pregnant.

  In the back of her bathroom cabinet was a paper bag filled with pregnancy tests, and each time she had been ‘forgetful’, she would unwrap a test on the first day her period was due then hold her breath with excited anticipation as she peed. Her whole body would be flooded with disappointment when the tests had a negative result.

  Six months ago, Elliott announced he was having a vasectomy. He had been thinking about it for a long time, and there was no question in his mind that it was the most efficient form of birth control. He couldn’t ask her to have her tubes tied, and, frankly, it was bad enough that she had to take the pill. She had gone through childbirth twice; now it was his turn.

  It was the fair thing to do.

  The operation, minor, was booked, he said. They sat down to discuss it, and Gabby expressed her upset, her reasons for not agreeing, her wish to have another child.

  ‘How dare you make such a momentous decision unilaterally!’ She had burst into tears. ‘You can’t do this without my agreement.’

  ‘But you know I don’t want more children.’ He was confused. He had no idea how serious Gabby was about her need for another child; he had no idea she had a stash of pregnancy tests, was still hoping against hope for another baby, despite her advancing age making it unlikely. ‘You knew this. You knew I wasn’t going to change my mind.’

  However many times they talked, and fought, there was nothing Gabby could do to change his mind. He was only able to see it from his point of view: once she got over her disappointmen
t, he reasoned, how could she fail to see how much easier it would be – they would be able to make love spontaneously! No more pills! No more condoms! It would free them to truly enjoy the rest of their lives.

  Gabby ran out of patience explaining her reasons for him not to do it, the subject eventually becoming a no-go area. Every time they tried to talk about the vasectomy, it ended up as a fight. It was easier to stop talking about it and sweep it under the carpet.

  Elliott went ahead with the appointment, figuring he would ask forgiveness, not permission. This was the right thing for their family.

  Gabby, silent with resentment for a week, finally boxed up her maternity clothes and gave away her baby toys.

  And still she hasn’t forgiven him. It is done. The deed cannot be undone, nor can any number of apologies heal the pain of knowing she will never again hold her newborn baby in her arms, smell the new-baby smell as it suckles at her breast, blow raspberries on a chubby little belly as her tiny infant waves its arms and legs in the air, giggling with delight.

  Gabby loves Elliott. She will never not love him, but she is not certain she can ever forgive him for going ahead and having the vasectomy. It is akin to how he would feel had her machinations worked, had she suddenly found herself pregnant, but that is irrelevant.

  It has made the past year a hard one. Gabby knows that time will heal, that as each day goes by she will feel less anger, less resentment, but standing in the kitchen, looking at Tim and Claire aglow with joy, she felt, just now, nothing other than overwhelming fury.

  It should have been them.

  In the bathroom Gabby weeps. She puts the lid down on the toilet and sits, her head in her hands, her entire body wracked with sobs. She is quiet, but not so quiet that she can’t be heard by anyone who should happen to be standing directly outside.

  ‘Gabby?’ Elliott leans his head on the door, his face a picture of sadness.

  Gabby tries to compose herself. ‘I’m okay. I’ll be out in a second.’

  ‘Let me in, Gabs,’ he says, and she unlocks the door, unable to look at him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, taking her in his arms. ‘I am so sorry. I never realized how much you wanted this. I thought you’d be okay, that you’d get over it. I was wrong.’ Gabby bursts into a fresh round of sobs, her head against his chest, her tears soaking his T-shirt.

  That he finally admitted it should make it better, should make the pain go away.

  But it doesn’t.

  Chapter Five

  Gabby comes back to the kitchen to find that Trish, sweeping long, streaky blonde hair over a shoulder, beaming a perfect white smile, has just deposited on the table a white-china cake plate holding a meringue piled with whipped cream and strawberries, a plate of raspberry bars and a platter of chocolate-chip cookies.

  ‘Gabby! It’s so nice to see you!’

  ‘Hi, there,’ Gabby says, then she smiles as Claire reaches for a cookie and swoons in delight after she takes a bite. ‘Tell me you didn’t bake all these yourself.’

  ‘I did. It was nothing. Gavin helped.’ They all turn to look approvingly at Trish’s date. He is standing outside with the men.

  ‘He’s that handsome and he cooks too? Are you kidding me?’ Claire murmurs. ‘In my next life can I come back and be you?’

  ‘Oh silly,’ trills Trish, looking over at the chopping board. ‘Can I help? I can finish off the salad if you want.’

  Gabby steps forward. ‘Don’t worry, I’m doing it.’ She moves over to the board and picks up the knife, slicing the onion while Trish watches her with a frown on her face.

  ‘Oooh. Careful of your fingers,’ she warns, just as Gabby cuts herself.

  ‘Shit!’ She immediately sticks her finger in her mouth, and Claire spins to open a drawer, pulling out the Neosporin and a Band-Aid.

  Trish picks up the knife and carries on, tucking her fingers into a claw and slicing the onion into perfect, paper-thin rings, at the speed of light.

  ‘Where did you learn to do that?’ Gabby asks.

  ‘I went to cooking school.’ Trish shrugs. ‘It was ages ago, but I picked up some good knife skills.’

  ‘Is there anything you can’t do?’ Claire says. ‘There must be something you’re really, really bad at.’

  Trish stands still, thinking, as Gabby and Claire exchange a secret smile. That she even has to think about it is extraordinary, thinks Gabby. Eventually Trish’s face lights up.

  ‘I’m really bad at maths,’ she says. ‘Like, I don’t get numbers at all. I can never work out tips in restaurants.’

  ‘Thank the Lord!’ whoops Claire. ‘The woman isn’t perfect! So,’ she says, glancing out of the window at the men standing round the barbecue, ‘where did you meet the gorgeous Gavin?’

  ‘Match.com,’ Trish says confidently.

  ‘Really? Do you do a lot of dating on match.com?’ Gabby is surprised she is so open about it.

  ‘It’s become one of the only places. People do occasionally set me up, but out here in the suburbs the singles scene is very small, and you have to cast your net wider. I used to struggle with people knowing, but the stigma really doesn’t exist any more. Everyone who’s single does it. It’s either that or going to bars, which is pretty horrendous. The last thing I’d want is to meet the kind of man who’s into the bar scene.’

  Claire gives Gabby a knowing look. ‘They’re not all awful …’ She grins as Gabby flushes.

  ‘No?’ Trish turns to Gabby, who shrugs and looks away, as if she has no idea what Claire is implying.

  ‘Oh, come on, Gabs.’ She turns to Trish to explain. ‘Ella organized a girls’ night out last night at the Grey Goose. We were all there, surrounded by middle-aged cheesy men, except for Gabby. She got totally hit on by this rather adorable young guy. I’m telling you, if I wasn’t married I’d have snapped him up. He was delicious!’

  ‘What?’ Elliott appears in the kitchen. ‘Did I hear you just say my wife got hit on by a hot young guy?’ He’s smiling. ‘Gabs! You didn’t tell me that!’

  ‘I didn’t want you to feel threatened,’ she says lightly, mortified that anyone is talking about the evening, instantly feeling guilty, wishing they would just keep quiet and move on, yet thrilled, too, that they are talking about her! Thrilled that she should be the one who was noticed last night, that perhaps Elliott, perhaps all of them, would see her in a new, flattering light.

  ‘Apparently your wife is a MILF.’ Claire laughs. ‘The rest of us were stuck with the lecherous old sleazeballs. You should count yourself lucky you have a wife who’s still got it.’

  Elliott puts his arms round Gabby as he kisses her neck. ‘Oh I do,’ he says. ‘I absolutely do.’

  Alanna appears, sidling quietly up to the counter and attempting to slide a large handful of chocolate-chip cookies into her pocket.

  ‘Alanna!’ Gabby is shocked. ‘Put those back right now! Those are for after we’ve eaten.’

  ‘They’re not just for me,’ she protests. ‘I was sent inside to get them for everyone.’

  Gabby shakes her head. ‘And I suppose if they asked you to jump you’d say, “How high?”’

  Alanna just stares at her. ‘What?’

  Gabby sighs. ‘Never mind. Put them back. Everyone can wait.’

  Alanna grumbles in a way that seems far too teenaged for an eleven-year-old, but puts the cookies back.

  Trish walks over. ‘How is Alanna finding middle school?’ she says. ‘My girls had such a rough time, and I hear it’s got worse. A very difficult transitional phase.’

  Gabby would love to be able to say that everything is fine, but everything is not fine. To others, Alanna seems to be the same girl she has always been, only quieter, but Gabby knows that, having given up trying to be in with the group she called the Populars at her old school – little girls Gabby has known all their lives, who are sweet as pie with the adults, and vicious minxes as soon as they are on their own – Alanna has found a new group of friends in middle school.
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  A new group of friends who were clearly the Populars in their own elementary school and who are exactly the same as the old girls Gabby never liked, only couched in different clothes, with different names.

  Alanna refuses to talk about them, and when Gabby encourages her to find different friends, ones who are not obsessed with boys at the age of eleven, ones who aren’t given the iPhone 5 as soon as it comes out, Alanna doesn’t want to hear. She isn’t interested in the girls in the softball team, or the girls from art class. She wants only to be accepted by the cool girls in school, and nothing her mother says or does will make her want anything else.

  Gabby takes a deep breath. ‘Alanna’s a tough cookie,’ she lies to Trish. ‘I think she’ll be fine.’

  Chapter Six

  The sheets are refreshingly cool as Gabby slips between them, pulling up the covers and revelling in the comfort of her bed, the comfort of her life, all of it effectively rendering more and more dreamlike the fact that she met a man to whom she was attracted last night.

  In the bathroom Elliott brushes his teeth, then he turns away from the basin and leans against the door jamb, looking at her.

  ‘I like that Trish,’ he says. ‘And Gavin seems like a great guy. Young, though. How old do you think he is?’

  ‘Thirty-five?’ Gabby ventures, before making a face.

  ‘What? You didn’t like him?’

  She sighs. ‘It’s not him. It’s Trish. She’s always pleasant enough, so why do I feel so damned inadequate around her?’ Gabby laughs, knowing how ridiculous she sounds.

  ‘Why would you feel inadequate? I’ll admit, she’s great at a lot of things, but so are you.’

  Gabby gives a bark of laughter. ‘You are kidding, right?’

  ‘You don’t run your own business as she does, but other than that you cook pretty well, you’re fantastic at restoring furniture, which I bet she can’t do, and you’re a great mother. You …’ He pauses.

  ‘See! You’re struggling. Me too. That’s the point. Look!’ She grabs a handful of her belly. ‘She’s perfect! She doesn’t have this! Or these!’ She tries to show Elliott the two prickly hairs she’s recently found on her chin, but in vain: he doesn’t have his glasses on and can’t see them. ‘I bet Trish doesn’t have any chin hairs!’ They both laugh. ‘Seriously! She’s there with her taut, yoga-honed body, and I get hives just driving past the damn place. Everything about her is perfect. There isn’t a wrinkle on her face or a grey hair on her head, and look –’ Gabby bends her head down – ‘look!’ She sounds like she is joking, but there is a touch of hysteria in her voice as she points out her grey hairs.