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Two fat raindrops land on the credit card slip as Chris hands it to the waiter. We glance upwards just as the sun abruptly disappears behind a large bank of ominous grey clouds.
‘Wimbledon week,’ Chris sighs. ‘Better get moving. The heavens are going to open any minute.’
Even as she says the words, a smattering of raindrops bounce off the esplanade, and then, in seconds, it really starts to come down. We give each other a quick hug, and Chris leaps into her Uber and I race down the street to my car, holding my straw bag over my head as an umbrella. It’s as effective as it sounds, and by the time I leap into the front seat, I’m drenched.
I put my ruined bag on the passenger seat and shake out the wet folds of my dress, wincing as I catch sight of myself in the rear-view mirror. My mascara has run, and my hair is plastered unflatteringly against my skull. Not that it matters; there will be no one to see me when I get home except Bagpuss.
The rest of the weekend stretches yawningly in front of me, a void of hours I will struggle to fill. This is something else no one ever tells you about divorce: the sheer loneliness. Before I had children, I relished my own company, and often spent an entire weekend happily alone, reading a good book or researching a story. But I have adjusted the contours of my life to fit Bella and Tolly, and now their absence is a physical ache.
I join the Saturday afternoon traffic on the way into town. Bella texted to ask me to drop off her laptop at her father’s house this morning; Taylor is coming over to work on a school project, and she’d left her computer at home.
Even on the fastest speed, my windscreen wipersstruggle to keep up with the teeming rain, and I peer up at the lowering clouds as I pause at an intersection, chewing my lip anxiously. My kitchen roof started leaking last winter, and although my brother did a temporary patch job to see me through until I could afford to get it fixed properly, a downpour like this is seriously going to put it to the test. I should have had it repaired in the spring, but all the estimates ran into several thousand pounds. Money I simply don’t have.
Finally, there’s a gap in the traffic. I lift my foot off the brake, and with depressing predictability, the engine cuts out. With a sigh, I turn off the ignition and try again. Nothing.
A car beeps behind me, and I put on my hazards, trying again to turn the engine over. Absolutely nothing happens. I’m blocking traffic; I’ll have to call a garage out. God knows how much that’s going to cost.
The SUV behind me sits on its horn again, and I fling open my car door and leap furiously into the pelting rain. ‘Look, I’ve broken down!’ I yell. ‘Go round me, can’t you!’
The driver of the SUV gets out of his car, too. ‘Need a hand?’
‘Andrew!’
He waves at the traffic to go past us and opens the bonnet. ‘Let me see if I can get it going again.’
But even Andrew’s magic touch fails to revive it this time. He closes the bonnet, wiping the rain from his eyes. ‘I want you to steer it over there,’ he says, pointing to a shallow forecourt to the side of the road. ‘I’ll push.’
Fortunately, the Honda is light. It doesn’t take much effort to push it out of the way of the flow of traffic.
‘Thank you,’ I say, as I get out and lock the car. ‘I’ll have to see if I can get someone to come out and tow it. Let me give you Bella’s computer, before I forget. You couldn’t drop me at the bus stop, could you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re soaking wet. Come back to mine and get dried off.’
I hesitate. I’ve dropped the children off at Andrew and Caz’s house in Brighton many times, but never been inside, and nor do I want to. But I’m soaked to the bone, and I can’t think of a reasonable excuse not to take Andrew up on his offer.
‘Come on,’ Andrew urges. ‘I’ve got a mate, Tom, he runs a garage not far from here. I’ll call him and get him to tow it and see what he can do. He won’t charge you. He owes me a favour.’
‘If you’re sure,’ I say.
‘’Course I’m sure,’ Andrew says.
Chapter 12
Caz
I leave the florist with a spring in my step and an armful of Casablanca lilies, popping my umbrella open as I dart through the rain to my car. The flowers were a bit extravagant, I know, but I couldn’t resist them when I saw them on my way home from the off-licence.
It’s been a really good weekend. We took all three kids to the latest Pixar movie last night, and then out for pizza, and Bella dropped the emo act and teased her brothers like a normal teenager. She got up at a reasonable hour this morning, too, and even offered to come with me to the Saturday farmers’ market without being prompted by her father. She wasn’t particularly chatty, but then she never is. I like the fact that she only talks when she has something to say. And when the woman weighing the tomatoes casually referred to her as my daughter, Bella didn’t correct her. IknewI was getting somewhere with her. It’s just a question of being patient.
Shifting the bouquet to my left arm, I unlock my Audi, and settle the flowers carefully into the well ofthe passenger seat. Andy should be back with the fish and chips by the time I get home, and I’m looking forward to a family night in, though I slightly wish Bella hadn’t asked Taylor over. The girl’s really got a crush on Andy, though I seem to be the only person who can see it.
‘I’m home!’ I sing out, as I let myself into the kitchen. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘In here,’ Andy calls from the sitting room.
I put the lilies in the sink, and root around beneath it for a vase. ‘Did they have any haddock left, or did you get cod?’
He doesn’t reply, and I wander into the sitting room, the vase in my hand. Sitting on my sofa, next to my husband, and making herself thoroughly at home, is Louise.
