Page 58 of The Work Husband

Sam stood up, and Ava did too.

‘Georgia,’ he said again. ‘What are you doing here?’

I could have asked him the same question – I could certainly have asked it of Ava. But there didn’t seem to be much point.

‘I came back early to work from home,’ I said. ‘Home. As in the place where I live. That’s what I’m doing here.’

Sam reached out and gave Ava what I guessed was meant to be a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She’d stopped crying, but she was mopping her eyes with a piece of kitchen roll, and her chest was hitching and heaving like she was struggling to breathe.

Sam stepped forward into the gap between Ava and me, like he was trying to hide her from me.

‘I’m sorry, Georgia,’ he said gently. ‘I’m sorry you came home and saw this. But it’s not what it looks like.’

‘Not what it looks like?’ My voice was shrill. ‘Oh, right. Because what it looks like is you in our flat on our sofa with your ex when you thought I’d be at work.’

‘It’s my fault.’ Ava’s voice came from behind Sam, small and frightened and hoarse from crying. ‘I needed to see Sam. He said he was home, working, so I came round. I checked you weren’t here because I didn’t want to upset you.’

‘You didn’t want to upset me?’ I almost shouted. ‘Thanks. That was nice of you. Because I haven’t been upset at all these past few months when my boyfriend’s been off seeing you, texting you at all hours, spending the night at your place, coming home with sexy love letters from you in his pocket. Keep up the good work, Ava.’

So much for keeping my powder dry and not mentioning Ava’s note to Sam until I was sure what I was going to do about it. But it was a bit late for that now – and anyway, the letter seemed like flimsy evidence compared to that of my own eyes. Eyes that were smarting with furious, burning tears.

‘Sam,’ Ava gasped, ‘have you already told her?’

‘No.’ He sounded like the words were too heavy to get out. ‘I promised I wouldn’t.’

‘Thank you.’ I could barely hear Ava’s whisper.

He’d made a promise to her that was more important than my feelings? Than me? Than us? The pain of knowing that was almost worse than the pain of seeing them together.

Then she moved past Sam, picking up her bag from the coffee table – a grey felt tote, I noticed, the purple backpack presumably long since fallen apart – and paused next to me.

‘I’ll go now,’ she said. ‘Georgia, I’m so sorry about all this. I know how you must be feeling. But please don’t blame Sam – none of this is his fault. It really isn’t.’

She extended a hand as if she might have been about to touch me, but must have seen my face and changed her mind.

‘I’ll call you,’ Sam said.

Ava nodded and headed past me to the door. Before it closed behind her, I heard her start crying again.

‘So,’ Sam said. ‘I guess we need to talk.’

All the outrage left me in an instant, replaced only by fear. This was it. The moment I’d dreaded. There was no running away, no pretending any more.

This was finally happening.

TWENTY-NINE

Sam looked at me, and I looked back at him. The silence between us felt heavy and thick, like something I could put my hand into. Or rather like something I wouldn’t want to put my hand into.

‘Shall we sit down?’ he said at last.

‘Okay.’ I put my laptop down on the kitchen worktop and poured us each a glass of water from the tap, and we sat on the stools there, not on the sofa where he and Ava had been.

The silence stretched between us again.

Then he said, ‘So…’

Just at the same time, I said, ‘Sam…’