Rosie Knight was seven years old, chasing her sister around the summer house, when she ran straight through a glass door. There was an almighty crash, a sudden shocked frozen moment, and then screams, blood. “Like a bomb had gone off,” her mother would say, when the story was retold at family Christmases.
Nobody blamed her sister Abigail, and Rosie never mentioned it, not even when the girls were grown up and living together and there would be weeks of icy silence between them, time spent in their rooms and meals quickly heated. At thirty-three, Rosie still had the scars, and sometimes, after too many shots and at the encouragement of her friends, she might show one of the boys who were buying them drinks. That’s how she met Craig,
“I could have died,” she said, pulling her skirt down just a little to show the faintest white line on her hip.
Craig peered more closely. “I’ve had worse cuts shaving,” he said, standing up straight and taking a swig from his beer bottle but keeping his eyes on her.
“I’ve got more. I had lots, but you can’t really see any of them now. Not unless you look hard.”
“I’d like to try,” he’d said, and although she thought his aftershave too strong and his voice too loud, she gave him the chance to do just that. He didn’t waste any time looking that night though, and she had to remind him the next time. Then, later, with the extra weight she put on, she didn’t want him spending too much time looking over her body. Not that there was ever any real danger of that.
Rosie got a new job with more money and bonuses every year and she took Craig on a work conference to Bali where everyone but them got sick from a dodgy belly straightaway. They spent their time by the pool trying out different coloured cocktails, and she told herself she was falling in love. When they got back Craig found out he’d been promoted at the Call Centre, looking after a team “because they’re all idiots there and they need me,’ he said. They decided to rent a place together, choosing the townhouse that had a corner bathtub, and space in the living room for a bar where he could put up some of his footie and motor racing posters.
They both worked in the city, caught the same train morning and afternoon, but soon she left him to his iPhone and concentrated on her magazines. She learned to cook recipes she saw on TV, and didn’t complain when their joint account kept dipping on his Friday nights out with the boys.
One day at work, while she was trying to make sense of a set of invoices, she got a call from her sister. “You’re home?” she asked, surprised. Last she’d heard her sister was in India.
Turned out Abigail had run out of money and could she stay with Rosie, for just a little bit? Abigail was in the city already, and they got the train home together. When Craig saw her he laughed and asked what had happened, had she turned lezzo overseas or what?
Abigail ran a hand through her dark, short, almost shaved hair. “It was to stop getting hassled by dicks like you,” she laughed back. Rosie was thinking, even with the dyke haircut, her sister still looked gorgeous, with the olive skin that had passed her by, and the skinny hips. “Yeah, but no tits,” her sister used to say, raising her eyebrows and leering at Rosie and they’d both laugh.
Abigail turned to her sister. “The groping,” she said, “it was unbelievable. At least like this I didn’t get bothered as much. But seriously Rosie, you have to go. It was mindblowing. Here, I got you a gift.”
Abigail dug through her backpack, past the dirty clothes, and came out holding a colourful little book. She handed it to Rosie.
When Rosie read the cover, and flicked through it, she blushed. Craig looked over her shoulder.
“The Karma Sutra!” he said, too loud. “Ha, babe, you see that, it’s the Karma Sutra.” He took it off her and started looking through it.
Rosie nodded, said thanks in a small voice.
“It’s what they do,” Abigail said, “give that book as a gift to newlyweds. Conjugal bliss, and all that. I know you guys aren’t married, but doesn’t hurt to practise, eh.”
That night Rosie cleared all their un-ironed laundry off the spare bed and got the room ready. When she came back downstairs Craig had already hooked the Plasma TV up to her camera and Abigail was showing him photos she’d taken on her travels. Some Rosie recognised from emails titled “Greetings from Istanbul”, “Hello from Beirut”, “Me in Goa” and the like. Abigail was skipping through some taken on a beach that looked too white to be real, with impossibly tanned people in the background. Abi in a little bikini, Abi smiling with a hot young local, Abi and her friend laughing with a postcard sunset in the background.
“Looks like you had fun,” Rosie said. “You speak to Mum and Dad yet?”
Abigail waved her hand, dismissing it for now. “Oh, look, this is us cliff jumping in Guatemala.”
Rosie left them to it and started getting dinner ready.
After a couple of weeks, and with no sign of Abi moving out, Rosie convinced Craig they should go away for a weekend. She’d been dropping heavy hints about their future, showing him rings she liked, and though he mostly laughed it off she thought he might be getting the message.
She convinced him they should go camping – “But in a cabin, with TV” – at a place down south her good friend Emma had raved about. Craig was reluctant to spend his time admiring the natural wonders but once there he got into the spirit and took photos and ran around laughing, scaring the wildlife and making the other tourists give them wary looks. Rosie didn’t care, she was enjoying herself, the time together.
Driving back through the country, they stopped at a little coffee shop serving scones and cream. That’s when he proposed, and it shocked her, the timing, the lack of fuss. He didn’t even have a proper ring. That will come later, he promised. It wasn’t quite as she’d imagined, but then again, it was a proposal, as best he could manage, and she said yes. The old ladies running the café congratulated them and gave them a piece of sponge cake to celebrate.
They got home that night, three hours later than planned. They’d taken a wrong turn, driving in the wrong direction through closed up towns, and Craig had blamed her when she said they’d have to turn around. He carried on about what a waste of time, and why wasn’t she paying more attention, and he’d probably miss the kick off now. They drove in silence the rest of the way back, and he stormed inside soon as he parked the car.
Abigail was in the kitchen when Rosie finally walked in, Craig already on the couch and ignoring her. “How was it?” Abi asked.
Rosie forced a smile. “We’re engaged,” she said.
“Oh Rosie, that’s fantastic!” she said, hugging her. “But what about…”
“Just an argument. Its nothing, it’s silly.”
Abi wanted to know all about it. The sisters sat at the kitchen table, Abi eating her dinner and Rosie tried to make it sound more romantic than it was, while Craig shouted at the TV from the other room.
Rosie organised an engagement BBQ at their place, because it would be cheaper – they had to think about buying a place now, she told him – and she figured she’d drink less. She was already planning to lose weight for the wedding. Craig left her too it. His only suggestion was that they get stretch Hummers, but she said a definite “no” to that one, and was surprised when he didn’t make a fuss about it.
Abigail helped Rosie on the day of the BBQ, the sisters preparing food and talking like they hadn’t in years. Abigail had found a job, as an au pair for this rich couple on the north shore, and would be moving out soon.
“I’ll miss you, you know,” Rosie said. “It’s been fun, like old times.”
“Yeah, but you know what they say, three’s company. Besides, it’ll give you and Craig the chance to try out that little book I gave you.”
Rosie blushed, concentrating on chopping some onions.
Abigail laughed and gave her a nudge. “Seriously, check out page 45, it’s a real eye-opener. Maybe save that one for your wedding night,” she said, winking.
Rosie’s friends started arriving and she kept busy mixing cocktails and heating up the food. The boys gathered outside and the girls mostly stayed in, talking wedding plans and dresses, and the ones with kids made jokes about what Rosie could look forward to. Rosie laughed it off – she was godmother to a couple of children, and spent lots of her weekends minding them. The kids liked her, she enjoyed taking them out to things like Disney on Ice, and was looking forward to some of her own.
Rosie carried a tray of samosas out to the back patio, cleared a space among the other food. She could hear Craig talking loudly to his friends.
“We should go to that place,” he said, “and get a dance, and you could flash your badge and tell the chick that if she doesn’t do what we want, we’ll close the place down. How cool would that be?”
He was talking to Shane, an old schoolfriend of Rosie’s who had recently given up a job at the bank to join the police force. She thought he would make an excellent policeman, tall and strong like they used to be, with a serious face that would light up with a smile and he’d understand your troubles.
“Craig, don’t go getting Shane in trouble,” she said. “The way you’d carry on, he’d be more likely to have to arrest you.”
Shane smiled at her, took the opportunity to get up and ask Craig if he wanted another, shaking his empty beer bottle. He walked inside with Rosie.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s looking forward to his buck’s night.”
“Sounds like it,” he said. “I can already see how that one’s going to end.” He gave Rosie a gently nudge in the ribs, and was about to say more when he saw her sister. Abigail walked over to them, moving her hips to the music. Rosie watched Shane watch her.
“One of those mine?” she asked, taking a beer from Shane’s hand.
Rosie left them to talk. She took some more food around, and noticed she was getting hungry herself, and a little lightheaded from the couple of cocktails she had allowed herself. When she returned to the kitchen, Craig was in there, dancing closely with Abi. Shane came over to say goodbye. He kissed her on the cheek, congratulating her. As Shane squeezed past the dancers, Abigail smiled and gave him a helpless shrug. Then she pushed Craig off; it took a couple of goes before he left her alone. He tried his luck with some of Rosie’s friends milling around. They too tried to laugh him off without making a big deal of it, but with each attempt he got more pushy.
Rosie took herself out the back with another platter of food.
After her friends had left, Rosie went to bed. Craig was still out the back with some of his mates, the music too loud, their voices harsh and swallowing up the night. The cops had come round once, for a friendly word, but Rosie wouldn’t be surprised if they returned. Eventually she fell asleep. She didn’t notice when the music stopped, but she woke when Craig stumbled into their room and fell into bed. He was quickly snoring, a leaden lump beside her. It took her a while before she drifted off again.
With first light she was up. She went downstairs to a house full of bottles and half-eaten food. She didn’t spend any time thinking about it; she started cleaning. Half an hour later Abi came down in her pyjamas, stood there a moment watching, then started helping. They didn’t say anything.
Rosie went outside to clear the patio. There were beer bottles and paper plates all around, even in the little garden she’d started. She stood there, looking up as the sky turned a lighter shade of grey.
She heard the screen door slide open and shut as Abi came out. “So. Where do you think you’ll go for your honeymoon?”
“We haven’t decided yet,” Rosie said. “Know anywhere good?”
“I’ve heard Fiji’s nice,” she said. “But honestly? You might be better going there by yourself.”
Rosie looked closely at her, trying to work out how she meant it. Abi gave her a wink. Rosie smiled, and the sisters watched the sky grow lighter, and lighter still.