Page 17 of The Work Husband

‘It’s just so weird.’ I took a shaky breath and tried to make the words come out steadily. ‘He says there’s nothing for me to worry about. But also, he says he’s going to be seeing her more – she’s moving to London in like a week or so – and he won’t tell me why. He won’t tell me anything.’

Jamie frowned. ‘Babe, that is so not cool.’

‘I know. But what can I do?’

‘Remember what I said? You need the nuclear option. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Show him how it feels.’

I cast my mind back to the pep talk he’d given me last week. Then, it had made me feel much better knowing that, hypothetically, there was something I could do by way of damage limitation. Now, though, I couldn’t imagine feeling better ever again.

‘Remind me of the details again?’ I asked. Right now, the nuclear option felt like the only option.

Jamie rolled his eyes. ‘Honestly. I give you great advice and you don’t even listen.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I said, make him jealous. Rattle his cage. Let him think there’s someone you’re seeing too. Remind him he’s not the only fish in the sea.’

Fish didn’t have cages, except maybe farmed salmon. But that felt like a minor obstacle compared to the major ones.

‘I can’t do that. It would be… mean.’

‘And what he’s doing to you is just fine? Okay then, let him crack on and see this Ava whenever he wants. You do you.’

This was hard to argue with. What Sam was doing wasn’t the behaviour of a loving partner – it was kind of mean. Perhaps Jamie was right and I needed to fight fire with fire.

‘Besides,’ I said, ‘I can’t just invent an Ava. He knows almost all my exes are overseas and I’m not in touch with them – not that any of them were serious anyway. Not like him and Ava.’

‘Who said it has to be an ex?’ Jamie’s even, white teeth flashed in a grin that was almost scarily evil.

‘What, you’re saying I should pretend I’m looking for someone new?’

‘Not someone new. Someone existing.’

‘What are you…?’ I looked at him, wide-eyed, so startled I’d forgotten I had been about to cry.

‘I know just the man for the job,’ Jamie said smugly. ‘Me.’

NINE

I was still goggling at Jamie, wondering whether I’d heard him right, when his phone rang.

The call gave me a chance to take in what he’d just said. He’d suggested that I could respond – retaliate even – to what was happening between Sam and Ava by giving Sam a taste of his own medicine, letting him experience first-hand what I was going through. And that the person I should make Sam jealous of was Jamie himself.

The idea was outrageous. It was cruel. It was unconscionable. But at the same time, I wouldn’t actually be doing anything wrong, just giving Sam the impression that he had something to worry about, even though he didn’t. Not at all. And he never would.

Still, it was crazy. There was no way I’d ever go through with it… but then why did just knowing that it was an option, that there was something I could do about my situation rather than just passively accepting it, make me feel so much better, almost empowered?

I didn’t get the chance to think about it for long. Jamie’s call triggered a flurry of activity – a Premiership footballer needed a stag weekend in Prague organising, and not just any weekend but the weekend starting the day after tomorrow.

Even Jamie was rattled, although he brightened considerably when it emerged that he’d be required to go along to babysit the footballer and his eleven closest mates. He enlisted my help, and we leaped into action booking flights, restaurants, hotel rooms and – via a call that Jamie conducted on his mobile outside while having a vape, returning ten minutes later looking slightly shame-faced – other forms of entertainment.

He was so busy the next day that I realised we wouldn’t have a chance to chat again until Tuesday, so I banished all thoughts of his plan from my mind.

My weekend with Sam – our first together since he went to visit Ava – passed uneventfully. We visited Molly, Ben and Arthur. We went round to Sam’s brother’s place for a barbecue. We held hands on the bus on the way home.

But we didn’t have sex, and on Sunday morning I found myself unable to ask, ‘What shall we do?’

Sam didn’t mention Ava, and as far as I could tell didn’t exchange messages with her either. But I could feel her presence hovering over me the entire time, like a petite red-haired poltergeist in our flat. It felt almost like a relief to lock the door behind me and set off for work on Monday morning.