She follows it with three emojis: a heart, a rose and – irony of ironies – a diamond ring.
I bury my face in my pillow and scream.
Chapter 4
Vandi’s living room curtains are sheer, and the July sunshine blazing through the window wakes me at six.
Out of habit, I reach for my phone, although I’m not sure what I expect to see. Is there anything Rich could say to make things better? Or at least give me hope we can salvage our relationship?
I was drugged.
I had temporary amnesia.
This has all been a practical joke for a new reality TV show about how two therapists deal with infidelity.
Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing like that. Instead, there are three texts from Rich pleading with me to come home and talk.
How many times have I told patients this?
Talk everything through. Make sure you understand what your partner really thinks.
My dissertation was about grief and infidelity, and I often heard from interview subjects that, after the initial shock fades, therecanbe a way to rebuild the lost trust. But it takes time, and there’s no painless short-cut.
I can’t imagine how talking will solve this. How can it? He can’t undo what he did. He threw away five years with me for five minutes of meaningless sex.
My phone vibrates. If that’s another begging text from Rich, I’m going to block him. He’s not offering an olive branch; he wants reassurance that I can forgive him. Everything he’s doing is to mitigate his own discomfort.
But it’s not from Rich; it’s from Mum. What is it with parents? The older they get, the less sleep they need.
Your sister’s got exciting news!!!
She signs off with four winky faces and a ghost emoji which I assume is a typo. I haven’t got the energy to try to decipher it.
I put my phone on airplane mode in case she rings and get up to find coffee.
It’s noon when I arrive at my parents’ house in Ealing.
I’m standing on their porch trying to summon the energy to face them, when raised voices carry from the back garden. Great – they’ve got company. The loudest voice is Tig’s, and my heart sinks.
I’d assumed Mum’s text was about Pen, but it’s probably Tig who has news. Maybe she’s been promoted at her accountancy firm, or learnt how to make a good sourdough starter. It couldn’t possibly be the sort of news that involves a white dress … could it? Would that explain the ghost emoji? She’s been dating Theo, a Nice Greek Boy™ who’s a GP, for barely six months.
For a second, I think about bolting, but then a face presses up to the frosted glass and the next thing I know, Tig swings open the door.
‘Nella!’ she screams.
I brace myself for an interrogation about why I’m not on my romantic getaway. Turns out, I needn’t have worried.
‘LOOK!’
She thrusts out her left hand, and there on her third finger is a diamond ring.
I get a flashback to last night.
I swallow hard.
‘Wow,’ is all I can say, but she doesn’t seem to need much more from me.
She jumps up and down, her eyes sparkling. ‘Can you believe it? I’m getting married!’
