‘And do you feel like you’ve had so much of what you regard as good luck that you won’t deserve more good luck – relationship good luck – until you’ve earnt it more?’
I’m still staring. ‘Kind of,’ I say.
‘Have youfoughtfor Freya or have you just given up?’
Wow. He’s right. I did give up very easily. Maybe all of this is what went wrong with my ex-wife too. Although to be fair thatwasa lucky escape.
‘Yeah, you’ve paid your dues,’ he says. ‘And, also, we all get dealt different cards, you know? And it is what it is. Talk to Freya.’
‘I can’t talk to her. She aired me.’ Ididn’tfight for her, but I don’t know whether I have it in me right now.
‘Hmmm,’ Max says.
‘You know what.’ I undo my seatbelt. ‘Let’s get some fresh air. And I’ll use this as a learning experience. I’ll talk to you for a start, and if and when I start another relationship—’ right now I really can’t imagine that but you never know; a long time down the line maybe ‘—I’ll open up more with her too.’
Yeah. Maybe I didn’t talk to Freya enough. But I feel like that ship has sailed. I can’tbegher to talk to me, and apparently she doesn’t want to.
I get out of the car. ‘Let’s grab that fresh air.’
23
FREYA
My phone rings with an unknown number as I’m staring at it, wondering whether yet another game of Candy Crush (I’m on an embarrassingly high level now) might kick-start some creative juices. I’ve beenreallystruggling to get to my planned word count each day this week. I’m too… well, downright miserable.
I miss Jake. I love Jake. No, I lovedJake. But, also, I kind of still love him. But I’m hurt. And I think the trust is gone. I was proved right. Happy-ever-afters are not for me. Iammy parents’ child.
My phone’s still ringing.
‘Hello?’ I’m not exactly disturbing my work if I answer it.
‘Hi. This is Max, Jake’s brother.’
‘Oh my goodness.’ My heart’s pounding all of a sudden. ‘Is he okay?’
‘Yes, sorry, yes, everything’s fine. Except… It kind of isn’t. Could we meet?’
‘I…’
‘Great. Could you come to my house? Hard for me to go out by myself. I’m disabled following an accident.’
‘Erm.’ Should I be going to the houses of strange men whosaythey’re Jake’s brother but might not be? He does sound similar to him, I suppose.
‘This afternoon?’ he persists.
‘Why?’ I have the common sense to ask.
‘I’m worried about Jake,’ he says.
Two hours later, I’m ringing the doorbell of a double-fronted Victorian house in Barnes and hoping I haven’t been really stupid.
The door’s opened by a man in a wheelchair, who is nearly as good-looking as Jake and bears quite a strong similarity to him. Actually, he’s probably better-looking – he’s incredibly classically handsome – but I’m just kind of – if I’m honest – still hung up on Jake and can’t really imagine anyone else coming close.
‘Hey, Freya.’ Max puts his hand out and I shake it. ‘I obviously recognise you fromWake Up Britain.’
We go into a large, farmhouse-style kitchen, painted a lovely shade of green, and Max makes me a coffee, wheeling his chair adeptly around the room.
We don’t talk as he’s doing it, and after a long time – a good minute or two – I find myself saying, ‘Beautiful weather today.’
