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We parted company on Sunday evening, and I bounded into my own bedroom, eyeing the contents, ready to chuck away what I no longer viewed as essential to my life. The next two days, I spent my time working or packing, while Stefan continued to catch up with his missed lessons.
The orchestra practice on Wednesday continued the vein of covert eye contact and smiles, and I stole into his car at the end of the rehearsal.
“I’ve arranged for a friend to come drive your stuff over,” he announced on the way back to my house.
“Oh, good. How kind of them. Who?” I rubbed my hands up and down my trousers.
“Magda.”
I tensed, bent my fingers into talons and tried hard not to scratch my legs. “Magda?”
“Look, don’t get all antsy about this. She drives a Range Rover, Discovery, whatever. Heaps of space and she’s willing to help out.”
“Willing,” I repeated. “And in return—?”
“Callie!” he snapped. “She’s a friend, okay? I’m not turning my back on people because of your sensibilities about my previous relationships.”
I fumed inside, burning to tell him no way was she coming near him, or me. “Just to help shift stuff?” I snarled.
“Yes. I thought you two were…cordial to each other? According to Magda, you ended your little meeting on good terms.”
“I ended our meeting in a state of anxiety about us. You, in particular, and your sexual habits. I didn’t care to think about her.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“Fine. I understand. Let’s keep it civil, shall we?” He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel.
I didn’t invite him in and he didn’t ask to stay. In the morning, when I explained to Talia about my moving arrangements on Friday, she listened to me gripe about Magda’s role.
“Callie, how many exes would help out their lovers without expecting anything in return? Best he doesn’t make enemies. You don’t want her skulking in the background. She’ll be like…a bedsore—unpleasant and hard to get rid of.”
I laughed at her analogy and realized I was being childish. I sent a text to Stefan apologizing for my outburst.
No, I should have discussed it with you first before arranging. I will ask you next time.
The reply filled me with hope. He could change, see my perspective.
* * * *
Early Friday evening, a glossy black Range Rover pulled up outside my house next to Stefan’s BMW. Magda emerged from the driver’s seat wearing two-inch heels, a pencil-thin skirt and a silk blouse. She tottered on the curbside, handbag in hand, and attempted a smile in my direction. An infectious greeting, and I found my own lips responded in kind.
She helped carry a few lightweight items, but it was Stefan and I who did the legwork, trotting back and forth between the car and house with bags, boxes and bin liners stuffed with bedding. She arranged them neatly in the boot of her vehicle and on the passenger seats. She and Stefan hardly exchanged a word, other than his display of gratitude, which I duly repeated to her. Then, on one return trip, I glanced over my shoulder at them as they loaded the car.
She winked at him, and he grinned. My heart thumped. She said something and he replied. I stomped into the house to pick up the last few things.
Saying goodbye to Talia proved tough. She was moving out the next day, ready to hand over the keys to the new tenants. We hugged, exchanged a few words of kindness, and I trudged outside.
Stefan waited by his car, Magda in hers, their little exchange finished. She intended to follow us to his house.
The unloading repeated much of the features of loading. Magda contributed a token gesture in her heels and glamorous gear, while I charged in and out of the house, making sure I didn’t leave her alone with Stefan for one second. We dumped the bags and boxes in the middle of the living space, cluttering it up quickly. With the last box deposited, I panted, with my hands on hips, and Magda hovered, swinging her handbag.
Stefan stepped u
p to her and gave his thanks, on behalf of us both. Magda, with the height afforded by her heels, pecked Stefan on his cheek. He turned pink, bowing his head.
“Take care of yourself, my young Dom,” she murmured before clicking her heels in the direction of the car. “Good luck, you two,” she shouted over her shoulder as she opened the driver’s door. “Oh, Callie, do come to the salon. Discount rate for styling, pedicures, anything you fancy.”
I waved, smiling, happy to see her go.
Back in the house, surrounded by my piles of possessions, I wondered where it would all go. Stefan pounced. He threw himself at me, kissed my lips frantically and stuffed a hand up my T-shirt. If I’d had any fears about where his loyalties lay, he dispelled them briskly. Magda might have looked the glamorous part, but it was me Stefan wanted.
