Page 13 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

She put a hand to her head and laughed; a nervous, self-conscious sound. ‘Two, please.’

‘With sugar?’

‘Jesus, that would be… I mean, it would be just perfect. But honestly, Mrs–’

‘Patti, please. You’ve slept with my husband; there are no formalities between us now.’

‘Why aren’t you shouting at me?’ she asked. Her brow creased. I wondered how many wrinkled foreheads in this city my husband had been responsible for over the years.

‘I’m not a shouter.’ I smiled. ‘Tea or coffee?’

She hesitated before she answered. ‘Tea, please, and thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ I stood and went back to what I was doing. It was hardly my first time making breakfast for a woman David had lured home. It wouldn’t be the last either, at a guess. So it wasn’t at all like a strange thing for me to be doing. I could see why Sally-Ann might struggle with the concept, though…

‘Do you need any help?’ she asked in that same nervous tone.

‘Not at all, not at all.’ I pulled cups and saucers together; the best for guests. ‘You’re only meant to be keeping me company. Tell me, Sally-Ann, what do you do for a living? Anything interesting?’

‘I’m a rep at a travel agent’s.’

‘Hmm, and what’s that like?’

* * *

I was just unlocking the front door of the shop when my phone screeched in my pocket. It didn’t take a genius to work out who it would be, so I let it ring. The same ringtone howled again another three times, though, while I turned on the lights for the main floor and the cabinets, then started up the till. I was firmly parked on the stool behind my counter with my latest read – Patricia Highsmith’s Carol, for the millionth time – when my conscience finally got the better of me and I decided to call back.

‘Well, that was a right bloody mess you left me with this morning, Patti,’ David answered in place of a hello. I was glad he couldn’t see my smirk. ‘What on earth were you thinking?’

‘I startled the poor girl. She needed breakfast for the shock.’

‘She didn’t need anything for the shock!’ His voice rose a decibel and my smirk deepened to a grin. ‘I thought we talked about it.’

‘Yes, David,’ I agreed blindly.

‘I woo them, I bring them home, and then in the morning…’

‘I introduce myself as your wife and ask them to leave,’ I finished his masterplan.

‘Could I get the second half of that again, please?’

‘I ask them to– honestly, this is ridiculous.’

‘What’s ridiculous is pancakes. Pancakes that I wasn’t party to, incidentally–’

‘Did you want pancakes with me and Sally-Ann?’

‘And a woman that I have to explain myself to, the instant I bloody wake up’ – he carried on like I hadn’t spoken – ‘and, to add insult to injury. Do you want to know what’s insult to injury, Patti? Shall I tell you?’

I could sense what was coming but I encouraged him all the same.

‘The veritable mountain of washing up you’ve lumbered me with! Honestly, Patricia, sometimes I… I wonder to God why I married you at all if this is what I can expect.’

It had all come out in such a rush that I was sure I could hear him panting down the phone when he was finished. I gave the poor sod a minute to catch his breath, and rethink any parts of the argument that he might like to take back. Experience had taught me that with enough time left to think, David would eventually say–

‘That’s unfair of me. I’m sorry. No, I take that back. You’re an excellent wife.’

I giggled. ‘Thank you, that means–’

‘Just please stop making them breakfast?’

‘I’ll try, David, really, I will. You have my word.’