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‘Have you decided what you’re going to do?’
‘No. I think a lot of it will depend on how he is. Whatever happens, we can’t just brush this under the carpet and carry on. Things will have to change.’
‘Okay, as long as you’re sure you’re ready.’
‘I’m not, but I don’t think staying here longer will make me any more ready, so I might as well go and lance the boil. Thank you, though, it was a lovely idea.’
‘Have you checked your phone yet?’
‘No.’
‘You probably should.’
I feel nauseous as I head upstairs to collect the phone from the bedside table in my room, and it’s nothing to do with the hangover. Although we’ve talked a lot about James this weekend, I’ve been able to keep my distance from it all, almost as if it happened to someone else. The prospect of turning my phone on and seeing the messages is going to bring it all back into sharp focus. I pick it up gingerly, as if it’s going to bite me, and carry it downstairs to Di.
‘Are you going to actually turn it on, or are you trying to communicate with it by telepathy?’ she asks, after I’ve been sitting staring at it for nearly five minutes.
‘Shut up. I am going to turn it on, I just need to psych myself up first.’
‘Would it be easier if we did it the same way as before?’ she asks, holding out her hand.
‘Please,’ I reply and hand it over. She powers it up and, after a minute or so, the pings begin.
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘He’s obviously realised you’re not going to answer as he’s stopped calling. It’s mainly texts now. Do you want me to read them out?’
‘No. I’ll look at them later.’
‘Okay, here you go.’ She hands it back.
* * *
After a delicious lunch which thankfully takes the edge off my headache, we set off for the station. Having talked incessantly for most of the weekend, we’ve now lapsed into a comfortable silence. Di is watching me, and I can feel her trying to send me positive energy for the journey and confrontation ahead. When we get to Paddington, she envelops me in a massive hug that seems to go on for ever.
‘Ring me,’ she says into my hair. ‘Whatever happens, ring me and let me know how you are.’
‘Don’t worry about me, I’m a big girl,’ I try to reassure her. ‘This is going to be horrible, I know, but I’ll find a way through it.’
‘Just ring me. I love you, and I will worry about you constantly until I hear. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ I sigh.
When we eventually break apart and she heads back towards the Tube station, I realise that I still have half an hour before my train departs, so I head for the nearest coffee shop, hoping that a cappuccino and a pastry will finish the job and kill the last vestiges of my headache. As I’m giving my order to the barista, I hear a very familiar voice coming from one of the nearby tables.
‘For fuck’s sake Emily, how did this happen?’
I glance in the direction of the voice and I’m right. It’s my old boss, Annabel McManus, and she doesn’t look happy.
‘I don’t care that it’s a Sunday,’ she continues. ‘This can’t wait. You need to find someone else, now! Put down that useless boyfriend of yours and sort it out. Call me as soon as it’s done.’
My curiosity gets the better of me, and I take my coffee and pastry over to her table.
‘Is this seat free?’ I ask.
‘There are God knows how many empty tables in here, so why don’t you leave me alone, piss off, and sit at one of them?’ she begins, before glancing up and exclaiming, ‘Sophie! What are you doing here? Are you back in London? Please, sit down.’
I smile at her and take the seat opposite her. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Is everything okay?’
She sighs dramatically. ‘No, it bloody isn’t. The caterers that Emily booked for a corporate party tomorrow night have pulled out at the last minute, and she’s whining that I’m expecting her to work on a Sunday to fix it. It’s her mess, though, she needs to sort it out.’
