After the Fall by Kylie Ladd Page A

examine the ring, mostly in boring meetings for want of something better to do, it regarded me dully, through a film of neglect.
    I work with artifacts, with relics. I know in my heart that there’s little that stays shiny forever, even with effort. Tarnish and rust are inevitable with age, and it’s unrealistic to expect otherwise. But I did; I couldn’t help it. And all of a sudden it seemed that nothing gleamed as brightly as it used to. I still loved Cary, but seven years had left a film on that too. I went for hours without thinking about him, no longer experienced the pit-of-the-stomach anticipation of going to bed together. Sex was comforting, successful, even passionate. But it wasn’t new, didn’t sweep across me in great waves of silver and gold light the way those fireworks had done years ago on Cup Day. How could it? I hated myself for being so shallow even as I mourned the loss. I’d insisted on that ring, picked it out and paid for it myself. Maybe it wasn’t so shiny anymore, but underneath I knew it was still the same. Didn’t I?

CARY
•
    I didn’t want to go to the trivia night. Three weeks after the wedding I was still feeling fragile, and had no desire to attend another hospital function, surrounded by many of the same faces that had witnessed Luke and Kate’s clinch. Steve had started avoiding me at work, as if I’d want to cry on his shoulder or discuss the situation. The thought couldn’t have been further from my mind. For more than a fortnight we circled around each other, barely speaking, until the upcoming event forced him to talk to me.
    “You’re still coming on Saturday, aren’t you?” he asked nervously.
    “I suppose so,” I replied, not looking up from the DNA sequence I was examining. Each department had been allocated a table at the trivia night, which was one of the biggest fund-raising events of the year. Although our own department—genetics—consisted of only two full-time staff, we were still expected to field a team of twelve paying participants. At the time we’d agreed to split the duty, and I’d rashly promised that Kate would invite a single girlfriend to partner Steve.
    “Both of you, I mean,” he persisted. “Will Kate be there too?” Whether he was worried about me or about missing out on a date I couldn’t tell, though I suspected the latter.
    “Of course she will. Why wouldn’t she be?” I answered angrily. Did he think I might have left Kate, or vice versa, that one kiss could undo seven years of loving?
    “No reason,” Steve almost stammered. “I’ll look forward to seeing her. She’s good value at these things.”
    I looked up at him closely, but there was no malice in the words. Kate was usually good value in such a situation: funny, bright, enthusiastic. The last few weeks, though, she had been subdued, quieter than usual. She hadn’t gone out as much, and called every day just to chat. I guess it was her way of apologizing, of reassuring me, and I appreciated it.
    “Don’t worry; she’s arranged a friend for you,” I said to Steve, relenting.
    “Oh, I’d forgotten about that. What’s she like?” he asked, the rapidity of the second sentence belying the truth of the first.
    “Okay.” I shrugged, not wanting to get his hopes up. The only one of her unattached friends Kate had been able to talk into coming was Joan, who was apparently attending on the proviso that there might be some single doctors present. Sarah and Rick would also be there, with the six that I’d promised rounded out by an old friend of mine from university.
    “Well, thanks for that,” Steve said, looking pleased. “Should be a good night.”
    I wasn’t quite so confident, though not because I was worried about Kate. We had an understanding: no drinking, no talking to Luke. He and Cressida would be at a different table anyhow, hopefully miles away on the other side of the room. Besides, I really didn’t think she would be so cruel or so stupid as to do