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Gaynor moved to interrupt, but Jess put her hand on her arm. ‘No, this is important,’ she said softly, gesturing to Hannah to continue. ‘Let her finish.’
‘I can only be myself, and that’s not always . . . conventional, I guess. But if you’re all willing to have my back, I’d love to come.’
Jess, Gaynor and Trish all looked at each other and nodded, their faces breaking into huge grins. ‘It’s a deal,’ said Jess, holding out her hand for Hannah to shake.
Hannah waited by the taxi rank across the road from the bar, in a warm and fuzzy state that denoted slightly drunk but not plastered. She’d had a fun night, but now she was ready for her bed. She’d bought some cute holiday pyjamas, so maybe she’d give them a whirl.
‘Hannah?’ said a male voice. She turned to see Graham coming out of the tiny Italian restaurant where they used to go on date nights, before date nights became three times a year, and then birthdays only. He was wearing old jeans and a green check shirt she’d bought him for his thirtieth birthday, a black bomber jacket slung over his arm. The colour of the shirt still matched his eyes, but it had fitted better a couple of years ago. Now the buttons strained over his broad chest.
‘Oh, hi.’ Hannah forced a smile, refusing to let a chance encounter with Graham spoil her happy mood. It was a small town, and they couldn’t avoid each other for ever.
‘What are you doing here?’ His eyes widened as he took in her new look.
‘I’m waiting for a taxi,’ she said, pointing out the obvious. ‘I’ve just been out with some friends.’
‘What friends? Why are you all dressed up?’ His eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Have you been on a date?’
‘No, Graham.’ Hannah bridled at the disbelief and surprise in his voice. ‘And even if I had, it wouldn’t be any of your business.’
Now it was Graham’s turn to bristle with annoyance. ‘You’re still my wife.’
‘On paper, maybe,’ said Hannah mildly. ‘In reality . . . not so much.’ Three Pornstar Martinis had made her a bit sassy, apparently, or maybe that was the new clothes.
‘You’ve had your hair done,’ he said, his tone now slightly accusatory. ‘And you’re wearing make-up.’
Hannah resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead giving him a curious smile which she knew would infuriate him more. ‘Why are you telling me things I already know? What are you doing here, anyway?’
‘Oh, I . . .’ Graham muttered, his voice trailing off as a woman in her mid-twenties appeared from the restaurant and walked towards them, wearing a pale pink dress that fitted closely to the gentle swell of her belly. She wrestled an arm into a denim jacket, shifting her handbag from one shoulder to the other so she could get the other arm in.
‘Sorry,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Some woman was in the loo chatting on her phone, I had to bang on the door.’ She noticed Hannah for the first time, then looked from her to Graham, then back again.
‘Hi, you must be Lucy.’
Lucy looked at Hannah blankly.
‘I’m Hannah.’
Graham cleared his throat and smoothed his hand over his hair, looking like he wished the pavement would open up and swallow him whole.
‘Oh, wow,’ said Lucy, looking frantically at Graham for support and finding him looking the other way, his hands now buried in his pockets. ‘I’m . . . you’re . . . it’s nice to meet you.’
‘You too,’ said Hannah as a taxi pulled into the rank. ‘Have a great evening.’
She opened the rear door and climbed in, but not before she heard Lucy hiss, ‘You said I was much prettier than her, but she’s gorgeous. Why would you lie?’ Graham’s evening was about to go rapidly downhill.
Hannah wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and took deep breaths. There was nothing she could do about Graham; he’d made his choices, and now he was going to have to live with the consequences. But for Hannah, it felt like the rest of her life was laid out in front of her for the taking, and it was terrifying and exciting in equal measure.
She wound down the window and let the fresh April air blow on her face, mussing her hair and making her eyes water.I don’t care, she thought.First game, second set. Players are ready.
PART TWO
Match Point
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two Weeks Later
‘Fucking hell, this is definitely my happy place.’ Gaynor was stretched out and face down on a sun lounger with a Marian Keyes paperback dangling in her hand. ‘No husband and no kids for a whole week.’ She was wearing a yellow bikini that showed off her tan, which had been applied hastily from a bottle if the brown streaks on the back of her thighs were anything to go by.
