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‘Emily’s running events now?’ I ask, slightly incredulously. Emily was the office junior when I left, and she wasn’t a huge success at that.
‘Desperate times, all right? Good events planners don’t just grow on trees, and at least she knows a little bit about it. You don’t need a job, do you?’
‘Sorry. I’m only here for the weekend, I’m just about to get my train back home.’
‘Bugger. I could really do with you,’ she sighs.
‘What’s the event?’
‘The customer has just signed a big new client in Italy, so they’re doing an Italian-themed evening to celebrate. Emily booked Cucina Italia to do the catering, but now they say they have a clash and they can’t do it. One day before, would you believe it?’
The ups and downs of my old life prove to be a powerful distraction, and I can’t help feeling drawn in.
‘Cucina Italia are useless, why on earth did she choose them? Mondays are generally pretty quiet. Do you want me to see if I can get Giovanni to do it if he’s available?’
She looks at me like she’s drowning and I’m the lifeguard. ‘Would you?’
‘Of course,’ I say, switching into professional mode. I feel useful suddenly, and it’s a powerful sensation. ‘Tell me the venue and the number of people.’
Ten minutes later, I’ve secured Giovanni and Annabel is practically crying with relief. I hear the announcement that my train is starting to board and make my way towards the platform. My brief feeling of euphoria pops like a balloon as I take my seat.
Fixing my marriage is going to be much harder than sorting out Annabel’s catering woes, and I still have no idea what I’m going to do.
6
I’m unpleasantly surprised to find James waiting for me at the station instead of Dave. He’s standing on the platform, holding an enormous bouquet of flowers. I was hoping to enjoy a little more peace before dealing with him, but he’s obviously had other ideas. I did listen to the voicemails and read the texts on the train. He started off mortified, went on through stumbling apologies, one of which was obviously after quite a few drinks, before getting frustrated and ultimately sounding resigned. I’m no closer to deciding how I want to play this, and him forcing my hand by meeting me at the station irritates me.
‘Nice flowers. Who are they for?’ I ask sarcastically, as I push past him towards the exit.
‘Sophie, please,’ he replies, hurrying after me. ‘Look, I know I’ve screwed up, okay? Can we not just talk about all of this?’
‘We’ll talk when I’m ready. Where’s Dave?’
‘I called him and told him I wanted to meet you. He wasn’t very pleased about it and wouldn’t tell me what train you were booked on until I agreed to pay him for the lost fare. He really is a miserable bugger.’
‘He’s always been fine with me. Perhaps he just doesn’t like you. He’s a pretty good judge of character,’ I observe, as I pull open the passenger door of the farm truck and shove my bag inside. James is hurrying round to the driver’s side, still awkwardly clutching the bouquet. I’m sure we look like something out of a sitcom to the casual observer, but there’s nothing funny about the way I’m feeling. This is the first time I’ve seen him face to face since… well, it wasn’t his face I saw last time, I suppose. I’m both shocked and energised by the murderous rage I feel towards him. As he manoeuvres the flowers into the back seat, breaking a couple of the stems in the process, I wonder what it would feel like to stab him, over and over again. I think I’d quite enjoy it. He obviously picks up on my mood, because he wisely says nothing as he fastens his seatbelt and starts the engine.
As the journey progresses and I watch all the familiar landmarks drift past the windows, my fury begins to dissipate. By the time we reach the end of the farm track, I’m just feeling exhausted and desperately sad. Although Di has been amazing, I realise that I’ve been carrying some tension for the whole weekend, wondering how I’d feel when I saw James again, and what I was going to say. Now that I’ve seen him, it’s like an invisible tight rubber band around my chest has snapped, and I just want to get into bed and sleep for ever. Two late nights with far too much to drink probably haven’t helped.
The dogs are delighted to see me, wriggling with excitement as their tails wag madly, and I set down my bag and take time to make a fuss of them. After all, it’s not their fault that their master is the man he is.
‘Would you like me to take your bag up for you?’ James asks, solicitously. He’s still holding the flowers, which look considerably the worse for wear after their journey in the back of the truck.
‘No. I can manage,’ I tell him.
‘What about these?’ He points at the bouquet.
‘I don’t know. Shove them up your arse? Give them to Becky? Look, I’m exhausted. I’m going to go upstairs, have a bath, and probably go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.’
‘Can’t we talk now? I’ve been in such a state all weekend, wanting to tell you how sorry I am but not being able to get hold of you. I don’t think I can wait any more.’
‘YOU’VE been in a state?’ I roar, catching us both by surprise. ‘Did you bother to spend even five minutes wondering how I’VE been feeling, you selfish prick?’ The rage is back with a vengeance, and I’m suddenly energised again. ‘FINE!’ I continue. ‘You want to talk, let’s talk. Let’s start with you telling me how many times you’ve fucked Becky.’
He looks like I’ve slapped him. It’s fair to say that I’m not normally one for swearing, but this is hardly a normal conversation and I need the catharsis. The dogs have obviously picked up on the mood and are watching us warily.
‘It was just the once, I…’
‘Bullshit! How many times?’
