Page 41 of The Side Road (Love Chronicles #3)

As she finally closed the store and locked the front door, her phone rang. It was Tash. Mia’s heart raced. Why would Tash be calling her? She looked at Snood, who was sitting at her feet. ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

When Mia answered, Tash said, ‘They’ve been fighting like cats and dogs for hours.’

‘I’ll come right over.’

Fifteen minutes later, Mia parked the BMW outside Blanche and Leo’s house.

Sitting on the front step, Tash looked like an orphan. ‘They were so angry.’ She held back her tears.

‘They’re an emotional couple. Passionate. They argue, they make up. They do love each other, very much.’

‘I don’t want to stay over anymore.’

‘Give me a few minutes, and then I’ll take you home. ’

In the kitchen, Blanche, wearing a loose kaftan, sat on a stool sipping whisky. ‘He’s being completely unreasonable,’ she said.

Mia adjusted Blanche’s dress, which had slipped over her shoulder. She kissed her cheek and removed the whisky glass from her hand.

‘He accused me of all kinds of things, adultery, flirting with the butcher.’

‘You do flirt with the butcher.’ Mia put the kettle on. She set out the mugs for tea.

‘Harmless fun. And it’s worth it, because I get the best cuts.’

‘Not that harmless, obviously.’

Mia looked around for Leo.

‘He’s in the living room watching TV,’ Blanche said.

Mia poked her head into the living room. Leo had dived into the washing basket, which was perched on a nearby chair. He fished through the clothes and pulled out a sock. ‘Where are all my socks?’ he demanded. ‘How come I only have one?’

‘Wash your own socks next time. See how many you can get out of the machine,’ Blanche said.

‘She’s with you and she loves you,’ Mia said, before returning to the kitchen.

‘I can’t help it,’ Blanche said. ‘It’s not my fault if men still find me attractive.’

‘You know it upsets him.’

‘It’s who I am.’

‘Then for goodness’ sake, tone it down. For him. The man you’re supposed to love.’

The kettle whistled.

‘I’m going to make tea and then take Tash home. You’re going to sort this out. Say you’re sorry. Say you love each other, stop drinking and go to bed.’ After Mia made the tea, she placed the cups on the kitchen table. ‘Goodnight.’

Mia closed the front door behind her and greeted Tash, who was still sitting on the step. Taking a seat beside her, Mia said. ‘They’re happy. But occasionally things go off the rails – alcohol, old age, frustration. Pretty much in that order.’

When Tash looked unconvinced, Mia added, ‘Sometimes loving another person is hard work, and you can’t be in love all the time. At some point, I think everyone has a difficult time.’

‘Dad says no one really knows what other people’s relationships are like. He’s gone for a ride. Can I stay with you?’

Mia didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course. We’ll have a girls’ night. What’s your favourite food?’

‘Pasta and cheese.’

‘Just cheese?’

‘Occasionally I have a chopped egg on the side.’

They cooked spaghetti carbonara. Tash grated the cheese and stirred the eggs, while Mia chopped the bacon. They ate together at the table and talked about art and fashion, and how Mary’s parents were also fighting, because her father set random alarms on his phone, which annoyed her mother.

‘There might be something in the air,’ Mia said.

Tash declared the carbonara the best meal she had ever eaten.

There was no dessert, but Mia had expensive cocoa and rich, full-cream milk from a local dairy.

They lit candles, and while Mia read, Tash finished her art essay on Howard Arkley.

It was due tomorrow. Mia was familiar with the artist who painted the post-war suburban landscape in garish colours.

She told Tash that in the 1950s, the government had encouraged families to go west (and north and east) into the suburbs, but then they provided no infrastructure.

Essentially, abandoning them in a wasteland.

It was a way of removing the radical elements in society.

A great way to stifle creativity and kill the human spirit – especially in women.

‘But creativity will thrive anywhere because it doesn’t live in the city, it lives inside of us,’ Mia said. ‘So, here’s to the suburbs.’ She lifted her cup of hot chocolate and clinked mugs with Tash.

Tash drank half of her hot chocolate in one gulp.

‘Dad says life isn’t a straight line to old age and dying. He says you have to take lots of different roads along the way. Some are highways, others are side roads. When you leave one lane, you need to merge into the next, and sometimes that’s hard.’

‘It’s a good metaphor,’ Mia said.

After Tash was settled into the third bedroom with Quinn, the chicken nestled under her arm, Mia texted Oliver. I have your daughter. She’s fine, but Blanche and Leo had a fight – it upset her.

Mia watched the ellipsis of Oliver’s reply glow, fade, and then disappear from her screen. Her heart swelled. What was he not saying?

Another row of ellipses followed, and this also disappeared.

She wrote I miss you. Then slowly deleted the message.

He was typing again – an eternally long reply.

Her racing heartbeat synced to the dots.

But soon, this message also evaporated. Staring at the blank screen, she willed him to write something else.

When no reply came, she wrote, I’m so sorry.

I made a terrible mistake. But paralysed by regret and fear, she couldn’t send it .

Eventually, he said, Thank you.

She wrote, Of course, and pressed send. She considered forwarding him the brand of cocoa she used. Tash had finished two mugs. Mia had set a high standard with the chocolate, and Tash, now accustomed to the premium grade, would reject inferior substitutes.