Page 37 of We Live Here Now

36

Emily

We’d just arrived at the cottage when Sally’s text came— Will be ten mins, just let yourselves in, the door’s never locked. Help yourselves to drinks —and the oddness of it goes some way to clearing the tension between Freddie and me.

The only thing he’d said in the car was quizzing me about getting a cleaner, which in turn pissed me off because it felt like he was expecting me to do it all like some 1950s housewife even though he insisted that wasn’t the case. We’d sat in silence after that, and I’d wondered what was really at the bottom of our constant annoyance with each other. I have the guilt in the empty space in my abdomen, but what does he have?

“I guess we go in then,” Freddie mutters, and opens the door.

As I follow him inside, we both gasp, our bad moods fading slightly with our shocked surprise at what greets us in the hallway. A vast canvas painted in pinks and browns, maybe five feet high and wide.

“Wow.” Freddie glances at me askance and then tilts his head. “Is that a vagina?”

“I think so.” I look at him and pull a face. “Very 1970s though.” And then we both laugh and for the next few minutes, once we’ve found the wine in the kitchen, we’re like schoolkids again, exploring the glorious artistic eccentricity of the cottage. While from the outside it’s a gorgeous thatched country home, the internal decor is almost Moroccan in style, large cushions for lounging rather than sofas, terra-cotta pots, low mosaicked tables. All gorgeous, but all secondary to the artwork on the walls.

“He really likes vaginas,” Freddie says wryly, and I snort another laugh.

“And boobs.”

The paintings aren’t only nudes; there are several more like the big one in the hallway, close-ups of female anatomy in bright and vivid colors, and they’re amazing, but it’s an onslaught of physicality wherever you look.

“I hope they get back soon,” he says. “I’m starving.”

“The art making you hungry?”

We laugh again, like kids, our bad moods melting away, and when Sally and Joe arrive our moods only get better. Joe is a charming host, and the tapas-style food Sally’s prepared is delicious. Once we’ve eaten our fill and are lounging on the large cushions, it feels like we’re Romans after a feast.

This time, when Joe rolls a joint and holds it out, I find myself taking it, caught up in their bohemia, but I immediately cough after the inhale.

“Oh god, that’ll do for me.” I giggle, the thick smoke immediately making my head buzz, and then Freddie takes it, inhaling deeply.

“So all these are from live models?” Freddie hands the joint back, gesturing at the walls.

“All local models.” Joe reclines, and I can make out the muscular tautness of his torso under his soft shirt. He’s at least fifteen years older, but in way better shape than Freddie. Joe is hot , I think again. Super hot . There’s no denying it.

He sees me looking and, stoned himself, smiles. “I probably know them more intimately than their doctors.”

“Women love Joe,” Sally adds. “They always have. It’s how he captures their essence in his work. They relax around him. And he’s a genius, of course.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” He leans over and kisses her, and she looks at him with such love it makes my heart ache. Freddie and I were like that once. Where did it go?

“Is that your daughter?” Freddie points at a framed photo of the two of them with a woman maybe in her early twenties.

“No, my niece. She lives in New Zealand. My only niece, so we try to get over there every couple of years to see her. Children didn’t come along for us and we’re okay with that. But what about you two?” Sally asks. “Larkin Lodge would make a great family home.”

“I’ve always wanted kids,” Freddie says. “A wife and a family. Old-fashioned maybe, but we’ve been working toward that.” He looks down and I think for a moment that he’s going to tell them about the miscarriage, but he doesn’t. “Although getting Emily over her horrific accident has been our main concern.” He squeezes my knee and I take his hand, feeling a sudden rush of affection for him. I don’t want other people to know. I can’t bear their sympathy messed up with my own guilt.

“Speaking of horrors,” Joe says. “How’s the house? Any more strange feelings?”

“Oh, let’s not talk about that, please.” I don’t look at Freddie as my neck prickles with embarrassment. “I feel silly. It’s my imagination, I’m sure. Apparently odd things can happen after sepsis. The brain chemistry inside needs to settle down or something.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts myself.” Joe’s looking into the last of his red wine. “Other than the ones we carry with us.” He looks up and smiles, as if it’s a joke, but something about it makes me shiver, even as Freddie and Sally laugh.

“The house needs some life, that’s all. You should have a party,” Sally says. “The vicar knows anyone worth knowing; he can help you invite people. Cheer the place up.”

“That could be fun,” Joe says from behind a cloud of smoke. “I don’t believe in going back to previous homes, but I could make an exception in this case. I’m curious to see the Lodge again after all this time. And never let it be said that Joe Carter says no to a party. My professional reputation is at stake.”

“Could be a nice idea.” Freddie nods.

“We can invite our London friends too.” I’m not sure I have a party in me, but now that Sally and Joe have suggested it, it feels like a done deal, and if I’m going to meet a bunch of new people, I want my oldest friends around me.

“So what’s the magic to such a long and happy marriage?” Freddie asks when we’ve finished our coffees and straightened out a bit. “You two seem to have it nailed. How do you stay so close?”

“It hasn’t always been perfect,” Sally says. “I had to get used to Joe’s work, so many women. But suddenly it all clicked and we’ve never looked back. I can’t imagine life without him. He’s my world.”

“And Sally is the perfect wife.”

“True love, huh?” Freddie smiles.

“Something like that. You have to be prepared to work at it.”

My thighs prickle against my seat, and I’m sure Freddie feels as uncomfortable as I do. The way we’ve been so snipy at each other hasn’t been good. So what if he doesn’t believe me that there’s something odd in the house? I haven’t really given him any proof, and of course he’s going to worry about the sepsis stuff. The other way around, I’d be the same.

“Marriage is teamwork,” Freddie says, looking my way, and we smile at each other. I do love him. I do. I love him very much.