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I take a step back and try to force some air into my lungs. “But why? Why’s he gone? Why didn’t he tell me?” My voice wobbles on the last bit. I’m five words away from tears.
“He wanted to,” Jonathan says. “He wanted to call you, but he couldn’t. He had to get up there right away, it was important.” He shifts awkwardly, kicking the paving slab with the front of his polished shoe. “I can’t really tell you any more than that.”
“You can’t or you won’t?” A feeling of anger starts to build from the bottom of my stomach, joining the fear that’s already resident in my chest. The cocktail makes me jittery, almost punchy.
“Amy.” A look of pity washes over his face. “I can’t…” He reaches out for me and I back away, putting my hands up in front of me.
“Don’t,” I say in a low voice. “Don’t touch me. Just tell me where he is.”
“In Edinburgh.”
“At his apartment?”
Jonathan nods.
“Then I’ll go there.”
Jonathan grabs me by the top of my arms, his fingers digging into my skin. “Amy, he doesn’t want you there.”
28
Ellie pours the last of the wine into my glass, shaking the bottle until the final drops fall into the pool of red. She and Lara have been force-feeding me Merlot all night, t
elling me that for the next few hours I’m going to forget about the shit storm that’s my life.
Of course, it doesn’t work. Nothing does. All that happens is the wine makes the tears flow a little freer, and my wails a little louder. It also loosens my tongue, until I’m regaling them with the entire, sordid history of my relationship with Callum.
Girl sleeps with her boss and then he disappears, leaving her to mop up the mess he’s left behind. While I’m due to meet with the Conduct Committee tomorrow, he’s starting a new job in the Edinburgh office, far away from the knowing leers and sly looks I’ll be getting.
It always ends up this way. The man gets off scot-free while the girl is the scapegoat. Where’s the justice in that?
“You don’t know what happened,” Lara says gently, after another of my alcohol-fuelled tirades. “You need to talk to him, find out what’s going on.”
“Of course I bloody do,” I snap. “But the bastard isn’t answering his phone.”
“There could be a good explanation for that,” she says, “give him a chance.”
Ellie coughs into her wine glass. “Yeah, a good explanation like he’s saving his own arse.”
Lara snaps. “That’s not helping.”
I put my glass on the coffee table, being careful not to smear the wooden surface. “He isn’t answering and hasn’t tried to contact me. I need to face the fact that he just isn’t into me.” Though I try to smile, the tears are pouring down my cheeks. “I’m on my own, as usual.”
Lara hugs me, rubbing my back as I bury my face into her shoulder. She’s warm and comforting, but it’s a poor substitute for what I really want.
I’m in the wrong arms. It should be Callum consoling me. We should be discussing the situation, making plans, moaning about our terrible luck. Instead I’m confused, lonely and starting to resent the way he’s making me feel. There’s no excuse for this lack of communication.
I want to hate him, but I can’t, and that thought alone makes me want to throw something against the wall.
“You should probably try to get some sleep,” Lara suggests, still holding me tight. “You need to be at the meeting tomorrow, plus you have a bit of alcohol to burn off.”
The prospect of a hangover doesn’t even phase me. I couldn’t care less if I walk into the meeting tomorrow with vomit spewing from my lips and mascara dripping from my red eyes, because he’s not going to be there. Is there really any point in bothering at all?
It would be easier to hide in my bed and pretend I haven’t messed everything up. My job, my degree, and most definitely my relationship. In a few short months I’ve gone from a woman who wanted to make something of herself, to someone proving that you can take the girl out of the East End, but you can't take the East End out of the girl.
I’m a walking cliché. I thought I was better than this, I believed Callum was better than this, but all that’s happened is I’ve slept with my boss and been burned.
Stupid, stupid, Amy.
