I wake next morning with a hangover the size of Manhattan.
Blundering into the bathroom, I drink two glasses of water with some painkillers then slink back to bed. Luckily, it’s Sunday today. So no deliveries to make.
Lying there, I start to recall scenes from the night before. Anna upset with Peter. Jess rushing off into the night. Jamie turning up at the door and me telling him to fuck off.
And the thing I’d like to wipe from my head completely. Dan telling me he’s getting back with Monique.
My stomach shifts and I bolt from the bed into the bathroom, hanging over the sink, only just making it in time.
Shivering, I wash my face then crawl back under the covers, remembering the conversation I’d had with Dan when everyone else had gone home.
We sat in the living room, him in an armchair, me stretched out on the sofa.
He’d said it was important I understood his reasons. So I listened, even though I knew it would make no difference to my situation. I was in love with Dan but he was getting back with Monique. Nothing he could tell me would change the facts or alleviate my devastation.
But I let him talk.
‘For a long time, Monique and I were happy,’ he began, his eyes appearing almost black in the subtle lamp light. ‘Then we had Zak and everything changed. She loves that kid to bits and I know she tried really hard to be the best mum she could. But some women just aren’t naturally maternal. I could see that she was struggling.
‘And I could also see how it was eating her up inside, giving up her career to look after this little scrap who depended on her so completely. She had this huge guilt. She felt she’d failed as a mother but there was nothing she could do to make it better. In the end, when he was three, we decided she should go back to work and I’d look after Zak.
‘But it was a huge wrench for Zak.’ He swallowed, the pain from that time etched across his face. ‘The poor little guy couldn’t understand why she wasn’t there the way she used to be. The nature of her work meant she was forever on the move and it made sense for her to live in London. I tried to fill her place as best I could.’
There was a lump in my throat.
‘You’re a great dad,’ I whispered.
He attempted a smile. ‘I do my best but it never seems to be quite enough.’
‘So what happened? When Monique left?’
‘She’d visit at the weekend, spend a few precious hours with Zak, then depart on the Sunday night, leaving me to cope with a bewildered kid who thought it was his fault that his mum didn’t want to stay with him.’
‘And now she wants to come back so you can be a proper family again?’
He nods. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted for Zak. She thinks she can make it work this time. Says she’s got the wanderlust out of her system. She’s going to find a job locally and be there for Zak. Make up for all the lost time.’
‘And do you still…?’ I swallowed hard, the words stuck in my throat. ‘Love her?’
He looked directly at me then and his eyes were so bleak, I wanted to leap off the sofa and throw my arms around him. Tell him that everything was going to be fine.
But I forced myself to stay where I was and wait for his answer.
‘I did – love her,’ he said at last, forcing out the words. ‘We loved each other. We were young. We thought our feelings would last forever. But everything took its toll. And then you…’ His voice cracked and he looked down, his jaw rigid.
I desperately wished I could read his mind. Know precisely what he was feeling. But of course I couldn’t.
We stayed like that for a long time. Dan staring down at his hands. And me watching him. Seeing the grey pallor of his skin and the way the muscle kept twitching in his jawline.
At last he looked up.
‘It’s all about Zak,’ he said flatly. ‘He needs a proper family. A mum and a dad. He’s been let down enough already. And Monique is convinced she can make it work.’
He shrugged. ‘I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try. For my son’s sake.’
He got to his feet, gave me one last searching look as if he was trying to memorise every inch of my face, and slowly walked out.
When I arrive at Jess’s house later, I’m expecting tears, lots of agonising and an excess of woolly scarf on the knitting needles.
But the Jess who opens the door is strangely calm.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask, as she ushers me in.
She waits till we’re in the living room, closes the door then clutches my arm. ‘Something amazing happened, Izzy. It all started when I burnt the toast.’
She says this with the kind of beatific awe normally reserved for religious epiphanies such as the Virgin Mary appearing in Joe Bloggs’ cappuccino froth.
I stare at the high colour in her cheeks.
Is she drunk?
She flops into a chair with an ecstatic sigh. ‘It was Fate. One simple act and everything changes.’
I perch on the sofa. ‘Jess, you’ll have to explain. Is this something to do with Luke?’
She beams at me. ‘I love him. I’ve been fighting it for ages but when he turned up this morning with the key, I knew it had to be Fate. I finally realised it was all meant to be and I should stop trying to pretend otherwise out of a feeling of guilt over Wesley.’
‘So you’re together again? You and Luke?’
She nods.
I feel tears springing up, she looks so happy.
We stare soppily at each other. I try hard not to think about Dan but fail miserably.
‘Hang on. What key?’
It turns out that when Jess ran from the party, Luke picked up her jacket and took it away with him. When she got home, Jess couldn’t find her door key so had to wake a neighbour who kept a spare.
‘So this morning, I was gazing out of the kitchen window thinking of Luke and I forgot about the toast. Of course I burned it and that meant I had to open the window to let the smoke out. And when I nipped out to the car in my nightwear to look for my keys, the open window in the kitchen caused the front door to slam shut. So there I am with bare feet, dressed in skimpies and I can’t get into the house.’
She laughs at the memory. ‘Guess what happened next.’
‘You climbed in through the open window?’
This side-tracks her for a second. ‘Gosh. Do you know, I never even thought of that.’
‘That’s love for you,’ I point out, trying to smile and swallowing hard on the wretched, heavy feeling in my chest. ‘It scrambles your brains.’
And breaks your heart into a million pieces.
Jess sighs. ‘As I was standing there wondering what to do, Luke arrived. With my jacket.’
I force a smile. ‘And your keys were in your jacket pocket.’
‘Yes!’ Her eyes open wide. ‘How did you know?’
‘If it was Fate, they had to be there.’
Jess nods eagerly. ‘They did, didn’t they?’
I’m so delighted for her and Luke.
But honestly, if she beams any wider, she’ll qualify for a curly orange wig and long, flappy shoes.
And talking of clowns, there can’t be a bigger one than me.
There I was, finally facing up to the fact that I’d fallen in love with Dan; so full of joy when he actually came to my party; seeing Jamie and realising I’d probably never, throughout our five years together, loved him even a fraction of the way I loved Dan; closing the door on Jamie and feeling light-headed with happiness, ready to grab life with both hands.
And then rushing back to Dan in the kitchen, only to have him shatter all my lovely illusions in a handful of words.
Monique and I have decided to give it another go.
‘Are you all right?’ Jess is peering at me worriedly.
I shrug off her concern. ‘Just a hangover.’ I’m not up to telling her about Dan and Monique. Not today.
I say goodbye and get in the van.
Dan’s van.
Everything seems to remind me of him. I should probably give the van back but I can’t afford to buy a new one. I stare for a moment at the steering wheel, running my hands around it.
Then I realise Jess is watching me, wondering what I’m doing, so I give her a bright smile, start the engine and drive away.
I feel so tired. I just want to lie down and sleep for a year.
I arrive back at Farthing Cottage with no memory of actually getting there. It’s possible I drove at twice the speed limit and squished several hedgehogs along the way. I was so immersed in thought, I can’t even remember.
I park the car and automatically go straight to check my messages.
There’s only one.
It’s Jamie, telling me to phone him back. He has something important to tell me.
Oh great, so he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer, then.
I wipe the message and decide to wipe Jamie from my mind as well.
Anna comes over later and we sit in the kitchen, finishing off the remnants of drink from the night before. I confess all about being in love with Dan and how he’s going back to Monique.
We slump at the table, as deflated as the party balloons I blew up excitedly, only a few days ago.
She’s quite tearful over Peter, which is not like her at all. I think she’s got it bad.
Honestly, there’s a pair of us.
We’ve just moved on to the dregs of the port from last Christmas, and I’m describing Dan’s finer points (I’ve been rambling for half an hour and I’m still nowhere near finished) when my mobile goes.
‘Why haven’t you phoned me?’ a voice demands.
I heave a sigh and cross my eyes at Anna. ‘Jamie, I haven’t changed my mind. I’ve absolutely no intention of getting back with you.’
Anna snorts loudly, swallows some port the wrong way and starts coughing.
‘Who’s that?’ demands Jamie. ‘Who’s there with you? Is it a man?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Are you seeing someone? You must be seeing someone.’
I frown. The implication being that if I’m refusing to go back with him, there must be someone else in the picture. It couldn’t be anything to do with the fact that he turned out to be a first class knob head.
‘I’m going now, Jamie.’
‘I want my money.’
‘Your money?’
‘Yes. My money. If you don’t want to give us another go, that’s fine. But I paid the mortgage on Farthing Cottage for three years and I want it back.’
My heart gives a sickening thump.
What’s he talking about?
Three years of mortgage payments? But that must amount to thousands of pounds. He has to be joking.
‘Jamie … I haven’t got that kind of money,’ I say incredulously.
I’ve barely got enough to keep a roof over my head!
‘That’s rubbish. I saw you in the paper handing over that charity cheque after the fayre so business must be good. I’m only asking for what’s rightfully mine.’
I stare into space.
My head is spinning and it’s not just from the mix of vodka and port in my system.
Can he do this? Has he got legal rights?
‘Look, I’m a reasonable man,’ he’s saying. ‘I’ll give you a month to come up with a plan for repayment that’s acceptable to both parties.’
I swallow hard. His legal speak would suggest he’s already been talking to a solicitor. ‘I can probably afford a fiver a week. Would that be “acceptable”?’
‘This isn’t a joke, Izzy.’
‘I’m not laughing.’
‘I said you should sell the house, but did you listen? A month, Izzy. Then you’ll be hearing from my solicitor.’
He rings off.