Page 34 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

And how had I been caught in the middle of it and not spotted the signs?

And where the hell was I going to live once all this played out? Rosie and Damien would soon become a family of three. Would they stay in the flat we shared? It was Rosie’s family flat after all. And I certainly didn’t want to share with them.

The baby would need my bedroom, for a start!

‘Look.’ I cleared my throat, aware that my friend was still hanging on the end of the phone waiting for me to speak. I made my voice falsely cheerful. ‘I think I’m going to go away this weekend. Leave you two lovebirds alone to sort yourselves out without me hanging around. Ha ha haaaa . . .’

There was a silence from the end of the phone, then a miserable little: ‘Okay.’

‘Right! And now we’ve established all of that, I need to get back to work,’ I continued.

‘I understand.’ Rosie’s voice was still sad. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out like this.’

I relented a little, but just a little. I was still mad to learn that my friend was pregnant by my other friend. ‘Better you telling me than me finding out in the magazine.’

‘Yes.’ There was a brief pause. I’d say it was a pregnant pause, but that’s a little inappropriate given the circumstances. ‘I’ll let you go now,’ continued Rosie. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For not completely losing your shit with me.’

‘It’s okay.’ I choked back a sob. This conversation had possibly been harder for Rosie than it was for me, yet I was the one who wanted to remove myself from the situation as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to see either of them that weekend — and maybe even for longer than that.

So remove myself from the situation I did.

As soon as I hung up on Rosie, without thinking about it too much, I rang the Spatchcock, and spoke to Sam. As luck would have it, he had a room available that weekend. In fact, it was available from tonight, Friday.

I hurried back to the flat after my shift, got myself packed, and before I knew it, I was on the train to Padcock — without, thank God, bumping into the lovebirds. No — the nesting lovebirds.

And, with my mind still reeling, that was the point when I texted Jay: I got on the train.

Eventually, the train pulled into Padcock station, and I got my case down from the luggage rack. I stood waiting until the train stopped, and the doors slid open.

The first thing I saw was Jay, standing on the platform, looking confused and worried, and bobbing around as if he was searching for someone.

When his eyes alighted on me, a spark of warmth and friendship and something else twinkled in them.

Me. I realized he had been searching the platform for me, and it made my bottom lip wobble slightly.

‘Matilda!’ Jay hurried over, hand outstretched for my case. ‘I was looking for you. Come on. Give me that case, and let’s get to the village. I’m parked just outside.’

‘Jay,’ I said. ‘I got off the train.’ Then I burst into tears.

Chapter Twelve

Jay, of course, looked absolutely horrified.

He stood, stricken, looking at me, then moved towards me to give me a hug, which set me off again. I couldn’t remember a time when Jay had hugged me properly before, apart from the odd quick, friendly “hello” sort of hug, but this felt nice. His arms were strong and they fit all the way around me. His chest was warm through his t-shirt, but soon it was damp as well, and quite possibly a bit snotty from my tears.

‘I’m sorry, Jay. I’ve had an awful afternoon. I just needed to get away.’

Jay wrinkled his face. ‘Me too. I had a look in Darling! after we talked on the phone. I saw Damien.’

I nodded dumbly. I’d made myself even more miserable by chucking the magazine into my bag and reading it on the train. Damien was on six pages, and on one of them, a double-page one where he was glowering at the camera like a young Alain Delon crossed with a young, long-haired Antonio Banderas, he’d waxed lyrical about the love of his life — a certain Rosie Rivers — and the “rosy” future they were planning. He did look good in the photos though, and if I hadn’t known him personally I’d be taken in.

Irritatingly, the title of the interview was ‘Damien’s future is Ros(ie)y’. Ha bloody ha. I had changed it to “Dami(a)en’s” future using a biro out of my bag, which had made me feel better for all of thirty seconds. Journalists really needed to learn to spell peoples’ names correctly.

‘I’m pleased you did read it,’ I told Jay. ‘She begged me not to tell you.’