CHAPTER7
Erin quickly checked her face in the hall mirror as she heard the first car pull up at the front of the house, swiping away a large mascara fleck from under her eye, which then smudged down her cheek.For feck’s sake, she thought, using the sleeve of her cardigan to clean it up.Twenty-six euros for Yves Saint Laurent mascara and I look like a bleedin’ panda.
She was surprised at how nervous she felt. In her line of work, nerves were nothing new and something she generally controlled quite successfully, but this felt different. This wasn’t remembering lines in front of an audience or hitting her mark on time, this was unscripted. Unplanned. She wanted so badly for this to go well.
What if we have nothing in common now? People change. Jesus, sure you bumped into that shagger Frazer O’Leary from high school last year and he was a bloody born-again Jehovah’s Witness!
She straightened her sleeve, took a breath and threw open the front door to see a tall, blonde-haired woman exiting the passenger side of a white Kia.
The woman who scurried towards Erin was understandably less baby-faced than the last time she had seen her. Her once wild, wavy hair was straight and tidy and she wore trousers instead of the flowing maxi skirts that Erin used to admire so much. But her huge, bright smile remained unchanged.
‘Becky!’ Erin bellowed, her arms outstretched. ‘Agh! It’s so good to see you!’
‘Oh my God!’ Becky responded, flinging herself at Erin. ‘You look amazing! How are you?’
‘Oh, you know; same old,’ Erin replied, which she immediately thought was an odd thing to say, but it was better thana bit shit to be honest. Husband’s dead. Don’t leave the house much.Thankfully, Becky didn’t respond, instead going in for a second hug.
‘I can’t believe you’re selling this place. I’d forgotten how beautiful that view was,’ Becky remarked. ‘If I had a spare million, I’d buy it from you. Hey, do you remember that time—’
‘Rebecca, can you give me a hand please?’
‘Oh jeez, sorry, yes, of course!’
Becky darted back across the gravel towards the woman standing at the open boot of the car. Erin hadn’t even noticed her get out. She waved over to the woman who stood with one hand on her hip and the other on the lid of the boot, looking like a slightly irritated mum. Older than Becky definitely, much shorter and, although pretty, Erin thought she currently had a face like a skelped arse.
They each took a bag, their feet crunching across the driveway.
‘Erin, this my girlfriend, Christine.’
‘Partner,’ Christine quickly corrected, firmly shaking Erin’s hand. ‘Thanks for inviting us.’
‘Pleasure,’ Erin replied, her eyes darting towards Becky, who apparently now dated rather lugubrious women, unlike the giggling hipsters she used to go out with at university.
‘Won’t you come in? You’re the first to arrive. Dump your bags in your room and we’ll have a drink, yeah?’
She led them upstairs to the first bedroom and left them to unpack while she fixed the drinks: margaritas. They had made and consumed hundreds during their house share and Erin thought it would be a nice homage to their university years, hopefully minus the outrageous hangovers. She giggled to herself as she remembered a particularly boisterous party, at the end of their third year.
‘Christ on a bike, Erin, did you just pour a whole bottle of booze in there?’ Alex had asked. ‘I can’t feel my legs.’
The ‘end of third-year exams’ party was a rather raucous one. Countless people crammed into their small house, with the rest spilling out into the even smaller garden outside. Thankfully most of the neighbours were students too, so noise complaints were non-existent.
‘No, just the normal amount,’ Erin had replied, peering into the bowl. ‘Though maybe I did add a little extra… who can say? But it’s not that strong, no one else is complaining!’
Tara laughed. ‘She has a point, to be fair. I’m frightened to light my ciggy in case I’m eighty percent proof and combust. Beth, I think your boyfriend just threw up in the sink.’
Beth leapt off the edge of the couch, yelling for him to get his disgusting puke hole away from her dishes.
‘I don’t see any of you lot offering to bartend,’ Erin replied indignantly, squeezing the life out of another lime. ‘When did you all become such lightweights? Besides, it’s fruit based. It’s good for you.’
Becky dipped her cup into the large punch bowl. ‘Unless we all have scurvy, I’m not sure that’s true. Has anyone seen Luna?’
‘She was in the garden, talking to that weird guy from next door,’ Tara replied. ‘I swear, Becks, if you ever date someone who doesn’t sound like a character from a gothic novel, I’ll drop down dead.’
‘She’s very bubbly,’ Erin remarked with a sly grin. ‘Better than the last one, what was her name? Raven or Crow something?’
‘Wren,’ Becky reminded her. ‘And she was perfectly nice… well, apart from that whole cheating on me fiasco.’
‘You only dreamt that,’ Tara said. ‘Pretty sure she didn’t actually do it.’
‘Only because I broke up with her first… Jesus, Erin, this does taste like rocket fuel!’ Becky exclaimed. ‘Dilute this before someone dies or worse.’
Still laughing at the memory, Erin began rubbing the glasses with lime before edging them in salt. Then she squeezed more limes to add to the tequila and triple sec. Reaching into the cupboard for the cocktail shaker, she smiled as she noticed the one Scott had bought her for Christmas a few years back. It was shaped like a pineapple and played a jingly jangly version of ‘Tequila’ by the Champs when picked up. It had once made them both laugh, but soon the song began to grate on her nerves and she banished it to the back of the cupboard to be forgotten. As she lifted it out and the familiar song played, she felt a hot, fresh wave of sadness wash over her. God, she missed him. Everything still felt so raw.
‘I’m afraid the damage from the crash was catastrophic. We did everything we could, but your husband died a few minutes ago. I’m very sorry. Is there anyone we can call for you?’
Catastrophic. Erin always thought that word was perfect. Not only to describe her husband’s injuries but to define the impact it had on everyone who loved him.
She placed the musical cocktail shaker back in the cupboard, instead choosing a plain silver one to work with instead. As much as she loved this house, everything in it reminded her of Scott. Everything he touched, everywhere he sat and every word they said to each other, it was all deeply ingrained in the walls. As much as she found comfort in this, it was a constant reminder that he was never coming back.
One more weekend and then it would officially be on the market and she could attempt to start over.
