The smell of coffee wafting through the air jerked me awake. Blinking my eyes open, I saw Brad wearing a smug grin as he stood over me with a plate of toast in one hand and a coffee in the other.
‘For me?’ I rasped gratefully, forcing myself to sit up.
‘I don’t know anyone else that might need an extra strong Americano and carbs this morning,’ he chuckled, handing me the cup and setting the toast down beside me. ‘Good night last night?’
I took a gulp of the strong liquid as Brad perched on the bed next to me and desperately tried to recall the events of last night. I remembered meeting Cara in the pub after speed dating as planned. It had not gone well and I’d needed to get a gin and tonic into her immediately as she told me story after story of hopeless, chauvinistic, desperate and even old men, clearly past the age restriction. I felt so guilty I’d made her give speed dating a try, I ended up pouring as much gin down my throat as Cara’s, so it was no surprise that the curry had been forgotten in place of a liquid dinner instead.
‘Not bad.’ I smiled, my head banging like a drum. Turning to look at Brad, I felt a stab of regret as I realised that he was off for three nights. I had wanted to spend some quality time with him last night after a couple of hours with Cara. Shaking my long red hair behind my shoulders I looked at Brad and gave him what I thought was my sexiest come-to-bed look.
‘Do you have something in your eye?’ he asked frowning.
‘No!’ I exclaimed, before trying to be seductive again. ‘I just thought we could say goodbye properly.’
Brad looked at me warily. ‘Sorry sweetheart, it’s just gone half six and you need to be in the office in half an hour to open up. I’ve got a train to catch.’
With an evil glint in his eye, Brad ripped the duvet from over me.
‘Hey!’ I shrieked. ‘There was no need for that.’
‘There was every need for that.’ Brad smirked. ‘Come on! I’ll go and make another coffee.’
As Brad stalked off to the kitchen, I stood up and groaned.
Stepping into the large rain shower, the hot water that sprang enthusiastically from the state-of-the-art jets Brad had installed was like a balm to my poor, aching body. Like everything else in our flat – well, technically Brad’s flat – the shower was beautifully designed, expensive and top of the range.
The two-bed he owned, just outside the city centre, had been fully renovated and designed by Brad. As well as the modern bathroom with twin basins and under-floor heating, our bedroom boasted a walk-in closet for each of us, while the kitchen looked like something that belonged in an episode of Star Trek. As for the electrics, I always felt you needed a degree in computer science just to turn the lights on, as everything was controlled by iPad. Much as I appreciated the gadgetry of it all, my parents’ home in nearby Bristol was much simpler, with light switches and TV remote controls you operated yourself rather than with some computer that could seemingly read your mind.
As the hot water cascaded over my body I couldn’t help thinking about my parents. Usually it was too painful, and so I always pushed them out of my mind, but since my discussion with Brad yesterday I hadn’t been able to forget about them so easily.
We had always been such a close family. With there just being the three of us, Mum, Dad and I had formed a tight little unit over the years. I knew I was spoilt rotten – nothing was ever too much trouble for my parents when it came to me – but I always appreciated the love and devotion they showed me.
I always told them everything, along with Cara, never feeling the need to keep secrets from my parents like some of my friends. My mum and dad knew when I’d tried cigarettes and alcohol for the first time and when I’d skived off school because I hated maths. They didn’t bat an eyelid at any of it and, instead of having a go at me, would always talk to me about any problems I was having.
Everyone at school thought they were amazing and wished they were their parents. I had to admit they were cool. Dad had been a hippy growing up in San Francisco, with his mum and dad taking him to Woodstock when he was a baby. Mum was an activist at Greenham Common. Although they both became solicitors, running a practice together in Bristol, that hippy spirit never left them. As a kid, I had fond memories of them taking me to marches against the Poll Tax or the Iraq War in London and so I learned early on what it meant to be responsible not just for yourself but other people too. That’s why it was such a shock when Mum and Dad took against Brad so quickly. They had always taught me to be tolerant of everyone, and naturally I assumed that they would take Brad in to their hearts just like I had.
Yet, if I was honest with myself, I think I did suspect there was every chance Mum and Dad might not completely accept Brad into the fold. Mum’s sister Sandra had been a bit of a wild child and had married a divorcee twenty-five years her senior when she was only twenty-one. Despite Sandra telling everyone Jerry was the one, Jerry clearly had other ideas. After developing a worrying gambling habit, not to mention an eye for the ladies – something Sandra refused to believe – Jerry finally did what we all expected and four years later he took up with a younger model named Tina. Not only did he set up home with Tina straight away, but he left Sandra with a load of his gambling debts to pay off. To add insult to injury, he sold the house from under Sandra, meaning Mum and Dad had to bail her out. I’d lost count of the times Mum told me to be careful with my assets and to be careful who I trusted, but I still thought that she would take the time to get to know Brad before deciding they wanted nothing to do with him. Yet the moment I introduced them, Dad went puce and Mum shook her head in disbelief. Pulling me aside in the kitchen she asked me if I’d learned nothing from Sandra’s situation, insisting that Brad would do just the same to me as Jerry had done to Sandra. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Brad was a world away from Jerry. For a start he didn’t gamble – well only occasionally in the casinos and that was for business – and he had never so much as looked at another woman.
But Mum and Dad weren’t convinced. Mum said that the fact Brad had given up on one marriage was a worry, never mind the fact he was closer to their age than mine. She was sorry but she couldn’t go through an emotional mess like this one again. It had been hard enough being there for Sandra, she said, when Jerry constantly broke her heart and she reckoned it would kill her to see her own daughter go through the same thing. There had been a pause then as she and Dad looked at each other before Mum said, in a rather shaky voice, that I had to choose: Brad or them. In that moment I felt a rage like no other. I stared at them, anger pulsing through me that they were putting me in this position. I had never given them a reason to doubt my decision-making in the past – they ought to support me now. Furiously I refused to choose and said that if that meant they cut me out of their lives, that was up to them, but I wasn’t being held hostage like this. They said they couldn’t support my decision to be with him and although they would always be there for me if I needed anything, it would be best if we didn’t speak while Brad was in my life.
I had left the house that day in tears, unable to believe what had happened. Brad had been a huge comfort, insisting that they would come around eventually. I hoped he was right, but the one thing I never told him was how much I missed Mum and Dad. They weren’t just parents, they were friends. I missed talking to them about my day or the silly things that made up the rich fabric of our family life: like the way Dad would do a bad Tommy Cooper impression round the dinner table or the way Mum began nearly every sentence with, ‘In the Guardian this morning…’
Most of all I just missed having them on my team and as much as I told myself I was fine with their decision, I knew Brad was right. I didn’t want to get married without them there, and would do anything to fix it.
Turning the water off, I swaddled myself in a large fluffy towel as Brad shouted through the door.
‘Hurry up, babe, you’ll never make it at this rate.’
‘All right, all right,’ I grumbled, snatching the door open and stalking past him in my towel. ‘I don’t know why you need me to open up so early anyway. It’s not like anybody ever starts at that time.’
‘I start at that time,’ Brad said firmly. ‘And I, as your boss, have asked you, so that’s the end of it.’
I rolled my eyes as he sat on the bed and watched me get dressed in the navy-blue suit he had laid out for me. Quickly running a brush through my hair, I spritzed on some perfume and reached for my bag.
‘See, I’m ten minutes early,’ I said gleefully, shoving my watch under his nose.
Brad gave me a wry smile. ‘Makes a change!’
‘Cheek!’ I chuckled, swatting him playfully with a pillow, before kissing him softly on the lips. ‘What time will I see you on Friday?’
‘I don’t know, sweetheart,’ he replied, kissing my nose. ‘I’ll text you. Now go!’
‘Okay, I’m gone!’ I stepped out into the hallway. ‘Have a good time.’
There was no reply as I slammed the front door shut and walked out into the cool air. Pulling my wool coat tightly around me, I began my walk down the hill noticing the mid-March grey skies. It looked like it was about to throw it down at any minute and I quickened my pace, eager to get to work before I got drenched.
Thankfully, we lived just close enough to the centre that you could walk, and this morning I had a feeling I could use the fresh air. Taking a deep breath to try and fight off the feelings of nausea, I wondered if Cara felt as badly as I did this morning. She was a cabin crew manager and I knew she had a long flight to Florida to prepare for. Reaching into my bag for my phone to text her, I frantically scrambled through my belongings, pulling out tampons, hand cream, nail varnish, tissues, keys and my purse – but no phone. A creeping sense of dread surged through me as I realised that in my hurry to get to work on time I’d left my phone on my bedside table charging.
I let out a frustrated squeal, resisting the urge to unleash a full-on toddler tantrum before turning to walk back home. By the time I reached the flat twenty minutes later, I was out of puff and looked like a drowned cat with my bedraggled hair plastered to my head. There was nothing for it, I thought, fishing the keys out of my bag and quickly unlocking the door, I’d have to get a cab to drop me off at work.
Standing in the hallway, I quickly shucked off my rain sodden coat and wandered through to the living room. Hearing the sound of Brad’s gravelly laugh, my heart sank when I realised he hadn’t left for London yet. I had hoped I might miss him and save myself the embarrassment of him knowing I’d be late after all.
‘Sweetheart, are you here?’ I called, wandering from room to room.
But there was no reply. I frowned. Perhaps the hangover was worse than I thought if I was imagining noises.
‘Brad?’ I called again but there was nothing.
Instead I carried on walking towards the bedroom. As I rested my hand on the door handle, something made me hesitate.
I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, whether it was a smell or a feeling, but something told me that beyond that door lay danger.
Cocking my head, I listened for a sound to confirm my instincts, but there was none. I rolled my eyes, frustrated with myself. I was too old to be this hungover on a work day, and if I was imagining things then clearly the weekday drinking had to stop.
I pushed open the door and immediately felt like I was falling. I realised with sudden clarity my instincts had been right. There in my bed, the bed I had been sleeping in less than an hour ago, was Brad with another woman.
A wave of sickness crashed over me as I stood rooted to the spot. Then, from nowhere, I felt a rage burn through me. I opened my mouth cleared my throat causing the two of them to spring apart as if they had been burned. Turning to see me in the doorway, Brad’s face drained and his eyes widened in shock. It was clear he had been so carried away by the moment he hadn’t heard my dulcet tones.
‘Erin, I’m sorry,’ Brad said, his voice barely a whisper.
But my gaze swept past him, towards the woman now sitting upright in the place where I usually slept. Sheets clasped to her chest and her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, she was clearly stunned as she desperately tried to think of something to say.
‘It seems I didn’t have to worry about your hangover after all,’ I remarked in an oddly calm voice. ‘You look like you’re doing just fine to me, Cara.’
My former best friend went as red as my hair, while Brad said nothing, merely glancing from me and then back to Cara in alarm.
I wanted to flee but it was as though my legs had other ideas. No matter how much I willed them, they refused to budge. The scene was like a train wreck and I was unable to tear my eyes away from the devastation. I opened my own mouth again, prepared to shout and scream at the betrayal of the two people who up until five minutes ago had been my world. But the moment I did, I caught the smell of sex hanging heavily in the air, and suddenly the only thing I wanted to do was throw up. So I did, all over Brad’s expensive beige wool carpet that we had picked out together. For a brief second I stared at the floor, filled with disgust at what I had done. Then with what dignity I could muster, I squared my shoulders and stalked out of the bedroom, my mind whirring.
Forgetting my phone, or the change of clothes I had promised myself, I bolted back down the hallway, unsure what to do or say, but just knowing I had to get the hell out of there immediately. Reaching the front door, I shoved my feet into a pair of trainers and picked up my rain-sodden coat from the floor. I had just managed to get one arm in when Brad appeared. I looked up and was mildly grateful he at least had had the good grace to put on boxer shorts.
‘Erin I’m sorry,’ he began, only for me to hold my hand up to stop him.
‘Don’t,’ I said, with a boldness I didn’t feel.
He took a step towards me and reached for my hand. Immediately I shrank back as if I had been scorched. ‘No! You do not get to speak to me, you do not get to touch me.’
Angrily I shoved my other arm into my coat. I was so tense I felt as though my arms and legs could break in two. I had to get out of here, I had to breathe but before I did I had to know the truth.
‘Has it been going on long?’ I whispered, hating myself for asking the question.
A mixture of remorse, guilt and anxiety crossed his features. ‘A month.’
My hands flew to my mouth as I realised this wasn’t some one-off. This was a relationship.
‘Do you love her?’ My voice sounded small and scared.
A flicker of regret passed across his face as he gave a brief nod. ‘I’m sorry.’
His words hit me like a punch to the stomach. I felt floored, so brutal was the truth. Somehow I found the strength to open the door, and without looking back I fled from the flat. I ran and ran and didn’t stop until I reached the bottom of the hill, where I ducked behind a tree and threw up again.
When I was finished, I sank onto a nearby bench and took a deep breath. I wanted to wallow, I wanted to cry, I wanted to beat my fists against a wall and scream why me? But I refused to do any of that. In that moment I made a silent promise to myself. That although my heart was broken, I would not let the fact my best friend and my fiancé had fallen in love define me.