Page 28 of The Work Husband

‘Don’t worry. I’m all good.’

Naked apart from my pants, I went through to the bathroom and cleaned my teeth, enjoying the cool of the tiles under my bare feet, then pulled on a T-shirt. I fed Milton, then made coffee and drank it perched at the kitchen counter, thinking while simultaneously trying not to think.

It’ll be okay. It’s just one day. Remember when it was every day.

You could ask Sam to come with you. That would be easier.

I promised, last time. I said I wouldn’t make him come again.

And then the worst thought.

If he’s with you, at least he can’t be with Ava…

But Sam had given me no indication that he was planning to see Ava that day. ‘I might go for a swim,’ he’d said, when I’d reminded him the previous day what tomorrow was. The awkwardness of our date and his encounter with Jamie had persisted throughout Saturday, unacknowledged by either of us other than through silences that were tense rather than restful.

We’d had sex on Friday night for what felt like the first time in ages, which should have reassured me that my plan with Jamie was doing its work, but instead of feeling like a reconnection, it had felt… combative, almost.

As if we were challenging each other.

You still like me, don’t you? My hands had silently asked as I eased them down beneath his boxer shorts.

Are you sure you want this? had been unspoken in the brief pause before he slid inside me.

And when I’d opened my eyes at the point when I’d realised I wasn’t going to orgasm, hoping that he would soon, I’d seen him looking down at me, his eyes full of doubt.

We stopped after that.

‘It’s too hot,’ I said.

‘I’ve had too much to drink,’ he apologised.

Maybe Jamie’s plan was working, but I hadn’t meant it to work like that.

Next to me on the kitchen counter was the parcel I’d carefully wrapped the day before. A bunch of peonies stood in a jug of water, still in their cellophane wrapping. The card was in its sealed envelope, the pink sparkly letters spelling out Mum just visible through the white paper.

I should probably write Mum on the envelope as well, I thought. It might make all the difference. It might be the one thing that transformed my gift from acceptable to welcome. But I didn’t hold out much hope of that, so I didn’t bother.

By eleven, I was ready to leave. I’d ironed my dress and straightened my hair. I’d put on a carefully judged amount of make-up and painted my toenails.

I’d said goodbye to Sam, who was sitting in his swimming trunks looking a mixture of guilty and relieved.

And by half past twelve, exactly on time, I was knocking on the door of the Bayswater flat where I’d spent those hellish few months four years ago.

I could have sworn I smelled my mother’s perfume before the door opened, but that was surely my imagination. Her personality might have the ability to cut through two inches of solid wood, but surely not her scent. In any event, I smelled it as soon as the door opened, a waft of Chanel No. 5, closely followed by the fragrance of roast chicken. Nice smells – at least they would have been anywhere else, on anyone else.

Let me take you out to lunch, I’d said. It’s your birthday, after all.

But she’d flatly refused, preferring to have me on her own turf.

I handed over the gift, flowers and card, and kissed her on the cheek. Up close, I could smell her foundation as well as her perfume and see a tiny bruise at the corner of her eye that must have been caused by her latest Botox jab. She was wearing a coral shift dress that showed off her yoga-toned arms, just the right side of skinny. Her hair was its usual smooth, highlighted bob. The slim gold hoops she’d had made from her old wedding ring hung from her earlobes.

There’d been an engagement ring too, once, but I couldn’t remember ever seeing it on her finger.

‘Gigi.’ She held my shoulders, keeping me at arm’s length once I’d kissed her. ‘Let me look at you.’

Any time anyone else tried to shorten my name, I set them straight sharpish.

‘You’re looking well, darling,’ she went on, which I knew was code for You’ve put on weight.