Katie had taken to walking Stanley early in the morning past the bus stop where Owen waited for his bus to the hospital in Lincoln. If he was surprised to see her he didn’t let it show but, then, he didn’t let much of anything show, grunting a ‘Hello’ in response to her chirpy ‘Hi’, and then moving off in the direction of the bus as quickly as he could. It was infuriating. Part of her felt he should consider himself lucky to have someone like her paying him so much attention, while another part wanted to get him by the shoulders, shake him and scream, ‘What’s wrong with me?’ in his face.
It annoyed her that she cared. The man was a loser, everyone knew that. She knew she was suffering the textbook reaction to being rebuffed. It was a cliché but it was irritatingly true that the minute someone started acting as if they weren’t interested in you any more was the moment you started to think you might just fancy them, after all. Someone who ordinarily you would bat away without a second thought suddenly took on an aura of desirability. When she looked at him objectively she still didn’t think he was good-looking, but the fact that he’d looked after her, that he hadn’t taken advantage of her vulnerability had somehow rendered him attractive. He was a good man – he needed a bit of work to transform him from a slightly unhinged charity case into someone presentable admittedly – and good men were rare, as she had discovered. If she was ever going to even think about getting into another relationship she wouldn’t make the mistake of going for the handsome, successful one. She would set her sights on someone who would be kind and caring. Someone who, she hoped, would treat her as well as she would treat him. And that someone, she suspected, might be Owen.
This morning, though, she had been distracted from her mission by the sight of a very familiar-looking man running red-faced across the fields near the edge of the village. Momentarily it had stopped her in her tracks. James was back. She couldn’t believe he had the front to return. And so soon. She dug into her pocket for her mobile but then realized that six twenty in the morning was a bit early to be calling Stephanie.
She hadn’t heard from her for a while, actually. In fact, the only times she had spoken to her since the big night were when she had made the effort to make the call herself. She knew Stephanie thought she had overstepped the mark a bit but James had deserved it after everything he had done. And, besides, it had made her feel better. She had always believed in karma. If she hadn’t intervened something else would have happened to him anyway: a broken leg or a misplaced winning lottery ticket, maybe a pile-up on the A1. He should be grateful to her. He might be dead if she hadn’t made sure he’d got his comeuppance in other ways.
James was far enough away and looked lost enough in his own thoughts not to notice her, for which she was grateful: she had nothing to say to him. Stanley was straining at his lead, his nose going, struggling to confirm from a field’s distance away that this was indeed his former master jogging past. Katie, afraid he would bark or slip his collar and go hurtling off, tail wagging, unaware of the inappropriateness of his excitement, pulled him in the other direction and set off for home. She would have to go without stalking Owen for one morning. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe it would make him wonder where she was.
The morning routine in Belsize Avenue now often included Michael making his gluten-free toast with organic marmalade in the kitchen as Stephanie tried to wrangle Finn into his school uniform. He stayed over on three or four nights a week and, although he had still not quite worked out how to communicate with a seven-year-old boy, he and Finn were getting used to being around each other. She knew Michael would have preferred it if they went out more and Stephanie knew she was using Finn as an excuse, but she had basically seen as many jazz combos and underground art installations as she could stomach. She wasn’t sure she could live through another conversation about French cinema with Michael’s friends without giving into the urge to say, ‘Did anyone see Ratatouille?’ Now that’s what I call a real film.’ She thought about talking to him about it, suggesting maybe they could go out for a drink, just the two of them, or to see a blockbuster, but it was hard to tell someone that you didn’t like their friends or share their interests, especially when that someone was your boyfriend. She had a feeling that Michael would be a bit offended rather than finding it funny. So, for now, avoidance, not honesty, was the best policy.
On the nights they stayed in they cooked big meals together and listened to music – luckily, Stephanie thought, she didn’t have any jazz on her iPod so they found common ground with Norah Jones and Seth Lake-man – and cuddled up on the sofa, talking. Unlike James, Michael was always interested in the details of her day, and even more unlike her ex-husband-to-be, he understood her job and didn’t think it was trivial. They rarely ran out of stuff to talk about. Michael was passionate about so many things, and they usually stayed up far too late, which meant that she could never drag herself out of bed early enough to avoid having to do everything in a mad panic.
The last time they had gone out, three nights ago, they had been to Fifteen with Natasha and Martin, Stephanie having finally decided that it was time for her boyfriend and her best friend to get properly acquainted. Michael had been nervous, still not quite over the embarrassment of Natasha walking in on them in the office. Stephanie had told her to be on her best behaviour, but clearly Natasha had had a glass of wine before she left the house: ‘Nice to see you with your clothes on,’ she said, as Michael shook her hand.
Stephanie couldn’t help but laugh but, when she looked at Michael he hadn’t even cracked a smile. ‘Oh, come on, Michael,’ she’d said. ‘I think we’re allowed to laugh about it now.’
‘I’d rather just forget about it, to be honest,’ he’d replied, not in an irritated way, Michael was never anything other than reasonable and polite, but in a way that said, ‘Please can we change the subject?’ And so Stephanie had bailed him out by starting a conversation about something else.
The evening had gone well, though, she thought – even though they had had some pretty intense conversations about the state of the world and Michael had used a couple of obscure film references at one point, which had left Natasha and Martin looking like two rabbits caught in the headlights, not knowing what to say. Once Stephanie had jumped in, saying, ‘Isn’t that the one with Juliette Binoche?’ and Michael had looked at her as if she had said, ‘Isn’t Michael Winner the greatest director ever?’ and said, ‘No, that was Chocolat and it wasn’t even a French film it was just set in France. There’s a big difference,’ all of which she knew already: she had just taken a bullet for her friends.
But all in all they had seemed to get on. Natasha was always utterly transparent when she disliked somebody so the fact that she was smiling at Michael as she spoke to him was definitely a good sign. Michael had said afterwards that Stephanie’s friends were ‘very good company’ and that Martin was ‘knowledgeable’ and ‘considered’, and wasn’t it great that he slogged away in an inner-city state school for next to no money? All of which he made sound like a big compliment.
‘Phew,’ she had said. ‘It’s really important to me that you like my friends.’
‘Well, I do,’ he’d said, putting both arms round her in a gesture she loved, which made her feel safe and secure. ‘I had a really good time.’
She had seen James several times since the day he had been there waiting for her and Michael to come home. He liked to drop round and see Finn whenever she would allow him to and, because he still seemed to be on his best behaviour, she was tending to say yes most times he asked. She would leave them to it – she still had no desire to spend any more time with him than was necessary – and the sound of Finn laughing hysterically at some stupid shared joke or other would confirm that she had done the right thing in letting James come by. Since that first time she had always made sure he had left by the time Michael was due to arrive. Not because she was worried about how James would be any more but because it was, frankly, a bit … weird to be making polite conversation with both your husband and your new partner at the same time.
Her phone rang as she was stepping out of the shower and she thought about ignoring it, but when she looked at the caller ID and saw it was Katie her curiosity took over. They hadn’t spoken for a couple of weeks. Stephanie had been meaning to call to ask how Katie was coping on her own but she could never quite get up the enthusiasm. Katie had left her a couple of messages, sounding very positive, but still keen to talk about James and what a shit he was, and was there anything else they could do to get their own back? Stephanie had tried to tell her weeks ago that she thought they should move on, get on with sorting out how their lives would be in the future, but she wasn’t sure Katie had taken it in. Now, presented with a ringing phone and Katie’s name flashing up, she didn’t feel she could just reject the call, so she decided to keep it short and, hopefully, light.
‘Katie, hi.’
Katie launched straight in. ‘Guess what? I just saw James.’ She paused as if waiting for Stephanie to react in amazement.
Stephanie, who had a fair idea why James was in Lower Shippingham, didn’t. ‘At the surgery?’ Stephanie said. ‘He mentioned he was going up to sort it out so he could sell it.’
Katie gasped. ‘You knew and you didn’t warn me? I nearly had a heart-attack when I saw him.’
‘I didn’t think, sorry. He’s only there for two days and I knew he’d go out of his way not to bump into you. Or anyone else, for that matter.’
‘How much is he selling it for?’ Katie asked. She had been thinking for a while, she told Stephanie, about swapping her cottage for somewhere she could live that would also accommodate her ever-expanding business. Find somewhere with a couple of treatment rooms and maybe take someone on part-time to deal with her less-important clients. Get a much overdue foothold on the property ladder.
‘No idea,’ Stephanie said. ‘He wants a quick sale, I think. He’s nearly out of money.’ As soon as she’d said it she regretted it. It was too personal, too tangible a weapon to give to someone who would have no hesitation in using it. ‘What I mean is, it’s all tied up in the house and I have no intention of moving.’
‘Quite right too.’ And then, changing the subject, Katie said kindly, ‘How are you coping?’
‘Oh, fine, you know,’ Stephanie said, giving nothing away. ‘Surprisingly well, actually. I’m over him completely.’
‘God, me too,’ Katie said. ‘But it must be harder for you. You’ve got Finn, after all.’
‘Finn’s fine,’ Stephanie said. ‘We’re both fine.’