Rosie doesn’t know what to say so she just nods furiously and says, ‘Yes, well, I’m fine. Fine!’
She heads out of the back door, leaving Eva to deal with the human maggot she raised whom she can still hear, laughing, above their heads.
Rosie walks quickly into the water and the cold screams through her as she wades up to her hips. A huge wave, made up of a million angry foaming mouths, rises to bite, but she dives underneath it. The freeze makes her retract into herself so she can hardly move at all. Then a great pull drags her up and out and she surfaces, screaming, swearing, and she’s so fucking small but she’ll keep fighting because there’s nothing else. Another enormous wave roars towards her, a great salty mouth howling for her. This time, she lets it take her, pulling her into its mess, its rage, and while it plays with her, rolling her around with its watery tongue, there’s a moment of immense silence, of such elemental gentleness that Rosie doesn’t feel scared, she doesn’t feel anything and, for a second, she disappears. Then, without warning, the sea starts chewing her again, her lungs panic, heave, and suddenly the sea is done with her. It spits her out, a diner spitting a bone out of a stew. She’s left in the shallows, spluttering and breathing hard. The water has worked smooth Rosie’s jagged edges like sea glass. She isn’t thinking about Abi and all those other plastic women online and for a moment she’s left with just the clean, simple realization: Seb was never good. He’d been yearning and suppressing and hiding himself all along. He’d had secrets. And she loves him, and she hates him and she loves him and she hates him, and she has no idea how they’re going to survive.
She doesn’t dry herself well so she’s shaking with cold by the time she gets back to the car, but this is the best bit, her skin tasting of salt, the sparkle and fizz of blood in her veins. Her phone buzzes with more missed calls from Seb and one from Eddy and then a text comes through from Anna.
Just got to the cafe, babe. Will order us some tea. Love you. X
Anna has been ending every message to Rosie with ‘love you’ since Saturday, which to Rosie feels more indicative of Anna’s guilt, for not telling Rosie that Abi and Seb had had sex, than genuine love for her. Rosie wishes for the millionth time that, apart from Maggie, her architect friend in Sydney, she hadn’t let her old friendships from school and university fade over time. She’d known it was happening, especially after they moved to Waverly, but her children were so young, her life already overly stuffed with people. She couldn’t handle any more, so letting those relationships splutter and die had felt more like a relief than a loss. Until now. Now she just has Anna and a handful of other Waverly women whom she calls friends, who no longer feel safe. Especially not now when she really needs help.
Rosie dresses, for once not caring that her dimply bottom and sagging breasts are on display. She slowly makes her way along the beach to the cafe; it’s windy so she clamps her arms around herself in a hug to try to keep warm. Her hair is cold and wet, like seaweed dangling around her face. She’s shivering by the time she arrives at the almost empty cafe and sees Anna sitting at a table for two in the far corner by the window, a pot of tea and two mugs in front of her. Anna stands and opens her arms as soon as Rosie walks through the door. The young girl behind the counter glances up from her phone to look at Rosie, but the screen drags her eyes back immediately.
It’s good to feel Anna’s soft, warm body against her own. Anna kisses the side of her face and Rosie shakes her head so Anna knows it’s not her fault as she whispers, ‘I’m so sorry, I’m sorry about all this, Ro.’
When Rosie at last pulls away, Anna rubs Rosie’s upper arms and says, ‘You’ve been swimming!’
Rosie nods. ‘I had to clear my head.’
Anna’s doing her best to hide it, but Rosie can still feel her excitement, the anticipation just behind her gentleness. It’s in the way she smiles, the spark in her eye. Anna’s always loved drama.
They sit and Anna pours tea, adding two spoonfuls of sugar to Rosie’s mug without asking before handing it to her.
The hot mug in Rosie’s hands feels wonderful. Anna settles back in her seat, spine straight, braced and waiting, which Rosie knows is challenging for her. They don’t mention how upset Rosie had been that Anna hadn’t told her earlier about Seb; Anna has already explained her reasoning in texts and, besides, there are more important things to talk about now. When Anna can’t take the silence any more, she leans in and says, ‘I want you to know, anything you tell me won’t go any further. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.’ Adding as an afterthought, ‘Not even Eddy.’
Anna says it like she’s bestowing a great gift on Rosie rather than offering her the simple dignity of confidentiality. Still, Rosie remembers how hard it was talking to Anna after Eddy’s affair, the pressure she felt to find the right words, so she nods and mutters, ‘Thanks,’ before adding with a sigh, ‘I talked to Abi the other day, just before pick-up.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Yup.’
Anna’s eyes pinball around Rosie’s face, trying to keep her talking, but she doesn’t, so Anna says, ‘Well, I hope she apologized.’
Rosie frowns, threads her fingers through her salt-stiff hair and says quietly, ‘She didn’t, actually.’
Anna tuts, rolls her eyes.
‘You think she should?’
‘Ro – she had sex with your husband. More than once. Yes, she owes you a bloody apology! She owes you a thousand apologies and it still wouldn’t be enough in my view.’
There’s a part of Rosie that likes Anna’s interpretation of all this, part of her that wants to be the uncomplicated victim.
Anna leans towards Rosie, eyes gleaming as she asks in a whisper, ‘Did she say anything about being a prostitute?’
‘Umm, not really.’
‘So she said something about it …’
‘Anna.’ Rosie holds up her hand to get her to stop.
‘Too much, you’re right, too much. Sorry, Ro.’
They sit in silence for a moment before, again, Anna’s had enough and asks quietly, ‘So, did he find her online?’
Rosie nods. She sees them all again, all those thrusting, parading, hairless women cooing how much they love sex; how Seb must have, at some level, believed they were waiting desperately for him. It was pathetic. Laughable. The lies they were all telling themselves.
‘Yes, and about a thousand other prostitutes.’ Rosie feels a fresh slap of rage as she says the words out loud, but why shouldn’t she? Why should she protect him? ‘Another thing he lied about.’
Anna actually gasps. ‘He didn’t just see Abi?’
Rosie shrugs because, really, what the hell does she know about her husband any more?
‘Where did you find this out?’
‘On his computer.’
‘The one from school?’
Rosie nods and notices how Anna’s eyes widen and her mouth clenches like she’s stopping herself from shouting something out loud.
‘It’s the premeditation that really hurts,’ Rosie says, more to confirm the fact to herself than to share it with Anna.
Anna nods like she understands, but she doesn’t because she repeats, ‘Premeditation?’
Rosie looks away, waits for Anna to twig.
‘Oh, you mean the planning that went into it. Booking the time, buying the train ticket, making sure you were busy so you wouldn’t be suspicious, taking the cash out …’ Rosie holds up her hand again to show that’s enough. Anna’s made her point.
‘You’re right,’ Anna says, reaching for Rosie’s cold hand. ‘All that stuff, I can’t imagine. It must make it so much harder.’
Anna doesn’t need to explain herself. They both know what she’s getting at. That what Seb’s done is worse, much worse than what Eddy did. Even in infidelity there are hierarchies.
Rosie takes a sip of tea before saying, ‘Then there’s all this other stuff, like, at some deep level, Seb wants women to perform for him no matter the cost to them. I mean, how fucked up is that?’