Page 122 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

It was five forty-three when she reached Gillespie Accountants Limited.

She stood beside the revolving glass door and waited. Unless he’d changed – doubtful, as he was a creature of habit – he’d be out any minute.

Was she really going to do this? she wondered. Doorstep Si like this?

But what other way was there, if he wouldn’t reply to her texts?

And after all, he had ambushed her, hadn’t he, when she was leaving the office? So it seemed only fair that she played him at his own game.

The doors began to turn. With her back to the wall, she peered down at the ground, at the feet stepping outside. Loake shoes. Black ones this time. But unmistakably Si’s.

‘Hi, Si,’ she said as he emerged into the late evening sunshine. ‘Have you changed your mobile number? Only you haven’t been responding to my texts.’

He was reluctant, of course. Said he had somewhere else to be. That he had a mountain of paperwork to plough through that evening. That his wife would be worried.

‘Will she?’ said Jo. ‘Only I heard she’d left you?’

Si scowled. ‘What do you want, Jo?’

‘I want to talk. One drink. After all, when you tipped up in Manchester, I went for a drink with you. Play fair. You owe me that much.’

The trendy bar beside the river Mersey wasn’t quite the place she’d have chosen for a showdown with Si, but it was the closest place.

Choose your battles, she thought, remembering one of Gemma’s articles. It wasn’t worth arguing about where she did this. The important thing was that she did it.

She opted for a sparkling mineral water. A Pinot Grigio would have been nice, to take the edge of her nerves, but Gemma and Kate had both counselled her to keep a clear head.

‘You’ll need to have your wits about you,’ Gemma had said. ‘You know what he’s like.’

‘What do you want, Jo?’ said Si again.

She took a deep breath, had a sip of the water and paused.

She could do this.

How had they agreed she would start?

‘I want to talk about our marriage,’ she said. She was surprised at how confident she sounded. Strong, even. ‘And how it was for me. How you treated me.’

Si rolled his eyes. ‘I suppose you’ve been talking to Sarah?’

‘I had a letter from Sarah, yes.’ Jo focused on keeping her tone calm, but firm. She was determined not to shout. Not to bully. Not to stoop to his level, in other words. Just to be clear and state her truth. ‘But I haven’t spoken to her. I wanted to speak to you first.’

He stood up. ‘I suppose you’re going to side with her. Trot off to the police. Your mind is already made up, isn’t it, so there’s not much point in us having this conversation.’

‘Sit down, Si,’ she said, surprising both him and herself at how forcefully her words came out. ‘I said, sit down. I spent years obeying your orders. For once, you can do something I ask.’

He didn’t sit down. ‘Obeying my orders? Don’t be ridiculous, Jo. I never gave you orders.’

She could feel the indignation bubbling up inside her, but took a deep breath and said calmly, ‘You told me what to wear. What to eat. Told the hairdresser what hairstyle to give me.’

‘That was for you, Jo. All for you. Didn’t you want to look your best?’ He sounded cold, but then his tone changed, his face softened. ‘You look lovely this evening, by the way.’

Jo couldn’t help but glance down at her outfit. Her usual jeans and shirt. The kind of stuff she wore to the office every day of the week.

No, it was a line, she thought. He was trying to manipulate her. Again. But she’d wised up to his antics now. ‘None of that was for me, Si. You wanted to change me. To dominate every little aspect of my life. You controlled what I spent. How I looked. Told me what to do. Stopped me seeing my friends.’

He sat down again and leaned across the table towards her, derision written all over his face. ‘Friends? You mean, your old colleagues? Were they real friends, Jo? I mean, how many of them have you heard from since?’