Brides, Beer and Birthdays
The combined birthday celebration required one chocolate cake – John’s favourite – with both names written on it in blue. Ava had been instructed that the blue piping was to be the same shade as the swatch of seersucker fabric Katie had shoved into her hand after dinner one night.
‘The dress is a surprise, but I’m not expecting you’ll be able to match the colour exactly,’ Katie told her.
The end result on the day could not have been bettered. Ava had outdone herself with the two-tiered cake, a work of art. The blue of the piped icing perfectly matched Katie’s skimpy dress. The next thing Ava knew, she was officially invited to attend. Not as the cook, but as a guest. That would have been John’s doing, and while she would have preferred to watch the gathering from the safety of her kitchen, John had called into the cottage earlier all but begging her to come.
‘Please, I want you there.’
‘John, it’s not my place. Besides, I have nothing good to wear.’
‘Not your place?’ John scoffed. ‘You’re not a servant, for Pete’s sake, and you must have something suitable in here.’ He approached the small wardrobe, opening both doors. ‘I carried your ridiculously heavy bag that first day. If not clothes, what else did you have stuffed in there?’
Ava shrugged. ‘Recipe books, of course, what else?’
‘Okay, well, no one’s getting too dressed up, except Katie, probably. What about this top?’ He tugged the sleeve of a red shirt out into the light.
‘Too hot.’ Ava shook her head.
‘This?’
‘No way, John, too frumpy.’
‘How about this top?’
‘Too skimpy and the wrong colour.’
He eyed her dubiously. ‘How wrong can white be?’
‘For a cook? Disastrous, and apart from that little number, chef whites are the only white you’ll find in my wardrobe. Black is always safer.’
‘Well, in my book there’s no such thing as too skimpy.’ He peeled the top from the hanger. ‘Sounds perfect.’
‘Maybe skimpy was the wrong word.’ She returned it to the wardrobe. ‘I meant too small. It doesn’t fit me any more.’
‘Ava, it might lighten the load in that bag of yours if you didn’t cart around clothes that don’t fit.’
Ava’s smile stayed small as she scooped up a handful of white blouson sleeve, pressing the satin of the shirt’s tuxedo-style cuff against her cheek. ‘I bought this on my way home from work one day. It was my seventeenth birthday and I’d already blown most of my pay packet on ingredients so I could make a special meal. Dad and I worked in the kitchen together and I dressed for dinner in this shirt. That night was the last time I heard Dad tell me I was beautiful and that he was proud of me.’
*
John allowed Ava a moment of memory before he slid the shirt off the hanger with the required ceremony.
‘Try it on, please – for me?’ he asked softly. ‘In this, and if you wear that red hair of yours down, I reckon you’d rock a Dolly Parton meets Reba McEntire look.’
Ava laughed. ‘I never pictured you as a Reba fan and I’m missing a couple of important Dolly features, but I’ll try it on if you insist.’ She slipped her arms into the see-through sleeves and tried to do up the little pearl buttons. ‘See? They don’t reach.’
‘Of course it doesn’t fit. You’ve put it on over a T-shirt. It also looks weird.’
‘Thanks for the fashion tip. Shouldn’t you be getting ready yourself? You’ve got birthday-boy speeches to make. Get out of here.’
They kissed and she shoved him towards the door.
‘You will come, as a guest? You’ll be there, with me and not hide in the kitchen all night?’
Ava nodded. ‘Of course I will. Now get going.’
*
With the final platter set out and guests already arriving, Ava hung up her apron and slipped down to the cottage. Against her better judgement, she took the time to relocate the six buttons she hoped would loosen the precious shirt just enough. Compromising on John’s hair-down request, she went for a part-up, part-down top-knot style and was checking herself in the small mirror over the bathroom basin when she realised that the white organza and satin top with its shiny lapels might have been the bodice of a wedding dress. What she couldn’t see of her lower half in the mirror, she imagined: around the peplum-waist was a satin bow, with the same satin trim on a full skirt that tipped the floor. Underneath layers of organza, the stiff lining rustled and swished when she moved, and under that again was a hooped petticoat that swayed and swirled when she danced. Ava closed her eyes, hummed ‘Moon River’, and felt herself floating over the floor, safe in strong arms, the audience awestruck.
When a tear tickled her cheek, she forced her eyes open. She was still standing in front of the bathroom mirror, her hands clasping an imaginary posy of gardenia and lavender, her father by her side, pride in his eyes. Marco stood tall, a white flower in the lapel of his maroon velvet jacket. ‘It’s time to let you go, my little dragonfly,’ he’d say, before they headed down the church aisle. Then…
Idiot! She cursed in the bathroom mirror and pulled on a pair of flared trousers in basic black.
*
Wow! John thought, when he spotted Ava wearing the classy white shirt, her fingers toying self-consciously with the small pearl button between her breasts. He chugged the remaining beer from the glass, sending her a crooked grin as he delivered the punch line to an old gag. His mates all roared, downing their own brews: once they’d got a bellyful some blokes would laugh at anything.
*
By eight o’clock, three hours after the party’s official start time, Ava was wishing she hadn’t accepted the invitation. After Colin had been on the receiving end of a Marjorie tirade over an ice shortage, he had sought refuge elsewhere until needed for the speeches, while between them, Marjorie and Katie had done their best to keep John circulating and Ava busy in the kitchen.
‘We’ve run out of plates, Ava.’
‘We need more sauce for the sausages, Ava.’
‘Can you find more this and more that, Ava?’
The same frustration had forced far too many beers into John’s hands, so when he’d found Ava upset and trying to eradicate a stain on the sleeve of her white shirt he got mad. Really mad.
‘Stop making a fuss, John, and get back to your party.’ Ava pushed him away.
‘Wearing that top was my idea and now it’s ruined.’
‘You didn’t make me wear anything.’ Her whisper was forced and urgent. ‘And it’s not ruined. This sort of stain is…’ She looked down at it. ‘Well, it simply makes a special shirt even more precious.’
‘You’re trying to make me feel better.’
‘It’s true, John. This shirt has always made me think of Dad. The mark on it will now remind me of the other man I’ve loved.’ Finally, she’d said it aloud, and it felt good. Pity the man was too drunk to remember it in the morning. ‘Now get out of here.’
‘John!’ Marjorie’s voice rang out over the dance music that had been getting progressively louder. ‘Where are you?’
Without warning, he grabbed Ava, pushed her into the shower cubicle and drew the curtain. She made to object, but he silenced her with a slurred ‘Ssh!’
A frisson of fear, champagne and high spirits forced a nervous giggle from Ava. She could taste the danger, revelling in it as John’s mouth met hers.
‘Time for speeches, John.’ Marjorie was closing in. ‘Where are you?’
‘Go, get out of here.’ Ava shoved him again.
*
She watched from the back of the crowd. Marjorie had corralled John and Katie and all four parents in front of a garden arch she’d decorated with artificial ivy and blue blooms of fake wisteria. Cameras flashed throughout John’s speech, which was a disaster and ended in tears – Katie’s. Rather than responding to her puckered lips, he’d staggered and spilled beer down her dress. Had he done it on purpose? Ava knew only one thing for certain. According to the scream that erupted from Katie, John Tate had ruined everything!
Nothing like a tantrum to end the festivities. Partygoers, most with a long drive ahead on dark country roads, piled into cars to skulk away. Katie had disappeared and a mortified Marjorie insisted John find her and apologise. Colin had presumably returned to wherever he’d been for most of the night. That left the O’Briens, and Marjorie insisted on driving the distraught parents back to their house. First she had to reassure them that their daughter was a sensible girl who knew both properties well enough to find her way home once she’d had time to calm down.
Ava had left the party too, eager to reach the sanctuary of the cottage with the half-bottle of wine she had secreted in her dirty apron. To hell with the mess in the kitchen. She’d start early tomorrow to tidy up, confident no one else would do it before then. Convinced John would pass out somewhere and not make it to the cottage at all, she showered, then crawled into bed.
When sleep didn’t come she decided to get up and make a pot of tea. Chamomile would help her relax. She turned on the kitchen light and heard a voice.
‘Ava, you’re awake. Please open the door. It’s me.’
She looked at her watch. It was two in the morning. ‘No, John, go home.’
Ava made her tea and was blowing on it when she heard him again.
‘I’ve apologised to Katie. Now will you please let me in?’ His voice rose in desperation. How long had he been out there? ‘I know you’re standing there, Ava, I can see your shadow on the curtains. Come on, please.’
She had no option. But he wouldn’t be staying long, she told herself. If anything, the evening’s events had highlighted the calamitous situation she was in.
When she found him on her front porch, his face pale, lips quivering, Ava had to fight the urge to wrap her arms around him. ‘What’s wrong, John, what’s happened?’
‘You happened, Ava. To me,’ he said. ‘Are you going to let me in?’
She relented, stepping back, her head shaking in disbelief. ‘How did we let ourselves do this?’
‘I love you,’ he said.
‘You’re drunk, John.’
‘Not too drunk, not really, not now.’
‘Tell that to Katie and her blue dress.’
‘You mean the beer thing?’ He shrugged. ‘I kinda spilled it on purpose.’
‘I so hoped you weren’t going to say that.’
‘I had to do something. I was set up. Mum and Katie had me feeling like a bloody performing seal. Yeah, I’d downed a few beers more than I needed, but I wasn’t too pissed to see what was coming or know who I wanted to kiss on my birthday. I didn’t want to embarrass Katie in front of her friends, so I pretended to be drunker than I was. I’d never hurt her on purpose, but I don’t love her. I love you.’
Ava drifted away from the door and fell into one of the dining chairs. ‘There are expectations, John: Marjorie’s, the O’Briens’ and Katie’s. You should’ve made your feelings about her clear well before now. Why didn’t you?’
‘I’ve told Mum a million times, and I’ve never led Katie on. Sure, she jokes about marriage. What teenage girl doesn’t dream of wearing a white dress and having her father give her away? Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.’
Ava said nothing.
‘Look, Katie and I… we’ve always been best friends and sure we’ve mucked around, but we never got serious, not like that. She was supposed to grow up, tire of me and pick another bloke. How could she not see Cameron Duke acting like a puppy around her all night.’
‘A girl in love can be blind to the most obvious messages from others.’
John dropped into the chair behind him, hands cradling the back of his head as he stared into his lap. ‘Ava, I’m not here to talk about Katie.’
‘What do you want, John?’
He looked up, staring hard. ‘You said you loved me.’
‘You remember that?’
‘I told you I wasn’t drunk and it would take a lot more to make me forget something like that. I love you, too, Ava. I love you so much I’ll set you free so you can travel the world, even though it’s the last thing I want. What I feel at the thought of losing you is all the proof I need that I’ve never been in love before. Not with Katie. Not with anyone. Only you.’ He stood up, brown eyes pleading. ‘Can’t you say something?’
‘Yes,’ she said softly, soberly. ‘Go home, John.’
He looked stricken. ‘What are you saying, Ava?’
‘I’m asking you to go home, John. Please, just go.’