Invite Me In by Emma Curtis

Author:Emma Curtis [Curtis, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781473576186
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 2021-07-21T16:00:00+00:00

29

It almost doesn’t matter that Martin is keeping me inside, because social invitations dwindle. A lunch is cancelled. The hostess emails to say that she isn’t feeling well and could we reschedule? She doesn’t suggest any dates. I email back that I’m sorry and hope she feels better soon, but I know. People are starting to take sides.

And another thing: Lucas was invited to a birthday party. He still is. The only difference being that one of the other parents has offered to pick him up and drop him off, because she’s ‘passing my house anyway’. The lie is a kind one, but the result is the same. I am not welcome. Parents will hang around at the end of the afternoon catching up with those they haven’t seen during the holidays. My presence would only make them feel awkward.

I wonder what Ali’s actually said. I can’t believe she would tell anyone about the long-ago fling with Pete, because it would reflect badly on him, but she might hint that I’m not what I seem.

Why do our friends believe her without listening to what I have to say? I suppose the answer is obvious, I think despondently. It’s Ali people are drawn to, not me. And she’s just had a baby, so she’s more worthy of compassion as well as being easier company. But then she can afford to be that way. She has nothing to hide. She isn’t married to Martin. She grew up in a loving environment.

I am in the car, with Martin’s permission, on my way to the supermarket to pick up a few last-minute items for the party this evening, and Isabel has come along to make sure I don’t go crazy in the wine and spirits aisle. I picture myself doing a supermarket sweep, racing my trolley up and down, chased by Isabel as I grab indiscriminately at bottles of wine, spirits, beer; bottles smashing on the floor as my clumsy, desperate fingers slip.

Martin is at home overseeing the men erecting the marquee and stringing the garden with fairy lights. Kate has arrived early to keep the children out from under our feet. As she’s brought Leonie and Briony, I have no doubt they will have reached a fever pitch of excitement before Isabel and I get home. I dread to think what they’ll be like by the time we kick off.

The first couple of times we threw a party to celebrate our birthdays, people arrived at four and the last stragglers didn’t leave until well into the small hours. Somehow I can’t see that happening today. Only the children are in the mood.

Beside me, Isabel scrolls through Instagram, her feet up on the dashboard. She’s wearing denim dungarees, a yellow tee and espadrilles, and her hair is unwashed and scrunched up. I remember when I picked her up at the airport she was dressed like this, but her demeanour was different. I spotted her pushing her luggage trolley through the doors, looking around anxiously. We had FaceTimed, but she was different in the flesh, less sure of herself.

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