23. Twenty-Three

Twenty-Three

T he sun has ducked behind the clouds as we pull up outside Barbara's that afternoon.

Art unfastens his seat belt. "Wait until we tell Mum we've set a date for the wedding. She'll be thrilled."

My phone beeps from inside my handbag, and I pull it out and glance at it as we climb out of the car. "Speaking of made up."

"Your mum?"

"Yep. She's sending me loads of photos of potential mother-of-the-bride outfits, and she wants me to tell her whether they could be a definite or a maybe."

Bless her. My phone's been beeping non-stop since I called her earlier to tell her we'd agreed on a date for the wedding. I push it back into my handbag. I'll deal with it later. I can only handle one frenzied mum at a time, and Barbara's bound to explode when we break the news .

We walk hand in hand up the steps to the front door. Art pushes the doorbell, and we hear it chime somewhere deep inside the house. I steal a glance at him. An ink-blue shirt complements his dark hair and makes his golden skin glow. He catches me looking and gives me one of his easy smiles.

"What?"

He's flawless. But I'm not going to tell him and boost his ego.

I smile sweetly. "Nothing."

He squeezes my hand and leans in for a kiss, but we're interrupted by the front door flying open to the excitable cry of, "Darlings!"

Barbara looks the image of class, dressed in a crisp white linen dress. She throws her arms around us, pulling us into a hug. "So wonderful to see you both."

She releases us from her vice-like grip, and Art leans down and kisses her cheek. "Happy birthday, Mum."

"Yes, happy birthday," I say.

Barbara admires my soft pink dress. "What a pretty colour on you. You've such a lovely figure, Sophie."

A reluctant blush creeps up my cheeks at the compliment. "Thank you."

"Come on in." She ushers us into the house and closes the front door behind us. "Thank you for the flowers and card, dear. They're beautiful."

I glance through the doorway to the living room and notice a large bouquet of white calla lilies and a card sitting on an antique-looking sideboard.

Art flashes his eyes at me. "No problem, Mum."

"It's so lovely to see you again, Sophie." Barbara's diamond earrings twinkle as she turns to me. "Do come through." She beckons for us to follow through to the kitchen. "We're out on the patio, having drinks."

"Drinks? It's only just gone three." Art laughs. "You're starting early, Mum."

"Oh, nonsense," she calls over her shoulder. "It is my birthday, dear."

The bi-fold doors at the back of the kitchen are open, affording a wonderful view of the patio and lawn beyond. A bottle of gin stands on the table on the terrace. Then, I see who's sitting on one of the chairs. My stomach drops to my sandals .

Aisling is sipping a drink from a cut-glass tumbler. Her floor-length animal-print dress plunges into a deep V, showing off her bosom. Her glossed pink lips widen into a broad smile as she takes in Art. I clench my fists at the sight of her and feel my nails dig into my palms.

"Oh, hello, Art." There's a surprised note in her voice, like she didn't expect to see him.

It's his mum's birthday. Of course he's going to visit. And she knew it. This isn't a bloody coincidence.

Her gaze reluctantly slides to me, and her voice stiffens. "Sophie."

I force a smile, not trusting myself to speak.

"Sit down, sit down," Barbara gushes. "Would you like a drink, Sophie?"

No way. I need to be stone-cold sober for the inevitable sparring match that's bound to ensue. "No, I'm fine. Thank you, Barbara," I reply politely.

"Art, dear, would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, thanks, Mum. I'm good."

We sit down on the two seats near Aisling.

"Aisling's very kindly popped by to drop off her mum's birthday present for me," Barbara explains, sitting down. "Poor Cecilia's not well."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" Art asks politely.

I stare down at my hands in my lap and realise I'm twisting them. I'm on edge. Good and proper. Annoyed she's reappeared like a bad penny and pissed off at how awfully polite and nice everyone's being. But of course, not everyone knows the truth, do they?

"Yes, she's on the mend. Thanks, Art." She tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder and smiles.

"I asked Aisling if she'd like to join me for a sneaky drink," Barbara says, reaching for her glass.

"And I could hardly say no." Aisling raises her glass to her lips and looks over the top, directly at me. "That would have been awfully rude of me. "

I press my lips together at the pointed remark and look out across the garden. She's trying to rile me, and it's working. So far, it's two nil to her. I need to even this up a little.

"Actually, we've got some news about the wedding," I pipe up.

Barbara's face lights up. "Lovely! What is it? Have you chosen a date?"

I take Art's hand. "We have."

He breaks into a smile and nods his head, urging me to go on.

"We're getting married on the twenty-third of December at the hotel."

Barbara puts her glass down on the table and turns to face me. Tears well in her eyes as she clasps her hands to her chest. "Arthur's birthday," she says quietly. "Oh, that's perfect, dear. Absolutely perfect. I can't wait. It will be stunning."

"We chose the hotel because that's where we met." Art squeezes my hand.

Barbara's bottom lip wobbles. "And that place has been part of this family for generations. Arthur would be so proud. And you'll make a beautiful bride, Sophie."

It really will be perfect. And I'm glad we'll make Art's dad proud. I'm swept away with the emotion and sentiment of it all, and for a second, I completely forget about Aisling—until I catch movement out of the corner of my eye as she tops up her drink with more gin.

She casts daggers at me from across the table. Judging by the pissed off look on her face, I'd say we're two all.

Barbara takes a long drink of gin to compose herself and then puts her glass back down on the table. "Right, well, after that news, I can't have you both sitting here without a drink. It doesn't seem right. We can at least have a cup of tea to celebrate the lovely news." She gets up. "I'll go and put the kettle on, and then we'll chat about outfits."

"Mum, it's fine, really," Art insists, but Barbara's having none of it.

With a dismissive wave of her hand, she hurries off to the kitchen. "Nonsense, dear. I won't be long. "

Dark grey clouds gather on the horizon, blotting out any trace of sunshine. A cool breeze dances across the garden, and I wrap my arms around me for warmth. There's a storm brewing.

"Well, isn't this nice?" Aisling says, breaking the awkward silence. She takes another slug of gin. "Thank you for giving me a lift to the garage tomorrow, Art."

"It's fine," he replies.

It's not, I think to myself but go with it.

"Art dear, could you come and help me, please? The door to the pantry's sticking again," Barbara's voice calls from somewhere inside the house.

He touches my hand and climbs to his feet. "I'll be right back."

Fantastic. Alone again with her .

Strained seconds pass by. I've got nothing to say to her. It's best we just don't speak. Nothing good will come of it. It's a pity Aisling doesn't feel the same.

"You might have fooled Barbara, but you don't fool me."

I frown at her dig. "Sorry?"

She puts her glass down on the table and meets my gaze with a challenging glint in her eye. "With your Little Miss Perfect act. All I've heard since I've arrived is how wonderful you are and how right you are for her son."

She's got a fucking cheek.

I narrow my eyes, determined not to rise to it. "The gloves are off today. You almost sound jealous."

"Of you?" she scoffs. "I don't think so. I'm a highly respected professional in my field. And what are you? He could do so much better."

"Would you be so highly respected if everyone knew what you'd done?"

She glares at me. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"What would your colleagues think if they discovered you'd had an affair with a client?"

Aisling heaves a dismissive sigh and looks out at the garden, bored. "Not this shit again. "

"I'm guessing you broke quite a few rules," I carry on, forcing her to listen to what she doesn't want to hear. "He was struggling with grief, had just been released from prison, and came to you for help. Not to mention, what happened to him when he was little. I'd imagine if people found out, it would be incredibly damaging to your professional reputation."

"Don't try and threaten me. It won't work," she hisses.

I'm getting to her. And I'm thrilled.

"And what are you talking about, his childhood? What happened to him?"

I frown in confusion. "You don't know?"

Her lips twist in disapproval. "I know he was adopted, but … well, he never spoke about his childhood."

I blink in stunned silence. Art spent a year having therapy with her. And he never discussed his tragic, neglectful childhood.

"You don't know him," I say quietly.

Aisling picks up her glass and drains the remainder of her drink, raising an eyebrow. "I've known him a lot longer than you."

"That means nothing. He never let you in," I snap. I'm on a roll. "What you and he had was superficial."

Her usual serene countenance cracks, and she slams her glass down on the table. "We connected on a deeper level. It was more than just sex. It was about the control he desires so badly."

"Exactly. He wanted control, not you."

Aisling draws her head back as though I'd slapped her. An evil glint appears in her eye. I know whatever she's about to say, I'm going to hate.

"I gave him the control he needed. I opened up his eyes to a whole new sexual world." She flashes me an insincere smile. "You can thank me later."

Bitch .

"I knew he was attracted to me—"

I hold my hand up. "You can spare me the details. I don't give a fuck. "

"He'd not touched a woman in months," she continues, a sly smile on her face at the memory. "He was wild."

I fold my arms, fighting the urge to fly at her across the table. "I said, I don't want to know the details."

"You can imagine how grateful he was when I went down on him."

I'm nauseous. I jump to my feet. "I'm not listening to this shit."

But she carries on, enjoying watching me squirm, "He needed me and showed me just how appreciative he was when he tied me up and fucked me over the couch."

"You should be ashamed of yourself. Call yourself a professional? What you did was wrong," I spit.

"Whatever's the matter?"

I spin round to see Barbara in the doorway. Her eyes dart between me and Aisling, waiting for an explanation.

Aisling's calm fa?ade snaps back into place. "Sophie isn't feeling too well. She's going to go home."

She wants me to leave.

"Oh dear. Art's just popped out to the car because he left his phone." Barbara glances over her shoulder towards the hall and then looks back at us, distracted. "But I'm positive that I heard raised voices. Are you sure everything's okay?"

Aisling forces a smile. "Fine, Barbara." She gives me a threatening look that says, Don't say anything. "Sophie's just going, aren't you?"

This is what she wants. She's trying to push me out. She doesn't want people to find out about her affair with Art, especially not his mum. Deep down, she knows it was wrong. Anger simmers in my blood. If she expects me to stand here and keep her dirty little secret quiet, then she's bloody mistaken.

I throw her a determined look that says, Fuck you.

I'm not toeing the line.

"We were arguing." I fold my arms and watch as a look of alarm flashes across Aisling's face.

"Oh dear," Barbara says worriedly. "Well, what about? "

I glare at Aisling. "Do you want to tell Barbara, or shall I?"

Aisling jumps to her feet in panic. "Sophie, don't."

Barbara looks worried. "Don't what? Will someone please tell me what's going on?"

"Why is everyone standing up?" Art appears behind me, oblivious to what's about to go down.

Barbara heaves an impatient sigh. "Aisling and Sophie have had a falling-out, but no one seems to want to tell me why."

A deep crease appears on Art's forehead as he looks from me to Aisling. He knows. And his presence makes me wobble. I like Barbara. Can I really do this? Can I really ruin her birthday and potentially her friendship in one swoop?

I stare at the slabs beneath my wedge sandals. My anger and determination from a few seconds earlier start to slip away. I'm bottling it. And Aisling is winning. And she can tell.

"It was a silly misunderstanding," Aisling declares.

Art stands perfectly still, watching me carefully, unsure of what I might do next. "Are you okay?"

I can't do this. Sit here with her and make pleasantries.

I scoop up my handbag and sling it over my shoulder. "Maybe it's best if I do go."

His shoulders relax slightly at the realisation that I'm not going to spill the beans. For a second, I almost feel glad that I haven't said anything. Then, her smug laugh rings in my ears, and my blood boils.

"Yes, like I said, I think it's best if you leave," she crows.

And that's all it takes to snap my final frayed nerve.

"They slept together," I blurt.

Barbara looks stunned. "I'm sorry, dear?"

"Correction: they had an affair. When Art went to therapy after his dad's death, Aisling made a pass at him, and they had an affair." I tilt my chin up in defiance. It's too late to back down now. The cat's out of the bag. "I don't think it was right, what she did. But not everyone feels that way." I force myself to look at Art .

His hand is bunched through his hair in frustration as he stares at the ground. Sadness slices through me. He can't even look at me. I've gone against his wishes. He hates me for this. I know it.

"Barbara, listen …" Aisling pleads.

Barbara holds a hand up to silence her. Her eyes are wide. She's shell-shocked.

What did I expect?

Silence hangs between the four of us. Art's still not looking at me. Barbara must hate me too.

Fuck. Part of me wishes I could take it back, but another part of me wants everyone to know the real Aisling. She's a class-A manipulator, just like Theo.

Seconds roll on, and still, no one speaks. Art stands, still not looking at anyone. I've said enough. I've outstayed my welcome. And I need to leave.

"I'm truly sorry that you found out like this, Barbara. And on today of all days." I force a small smile even though I feel like doing anything but. "I think I should go."

I take a deep breath, turn, and walk away without looking back.