Chapter 3
Despite what I told Rich, I’m not sure where I’m staying tonight. My parents are the logical option, because not only do they have a spare room, they have my old room. But the idea of having to explain everything is too overwhelming. Tonight, I need a drama-free haven.
I try calling my brother Yannis. He’s three years older and easily the sibling I’m closest to. But he’s a chef who works nights in a West End restaurant, and all I get is a message telling me his voicemail is full.
My sisters are a less appealing prospect. Antigone, who’s four years younger and known to everyone as Tig, is drama central, like Mum. There’s a reason Yan and I call her Tactless Tig. Penelope, the youngest at nineteen, still lives at home so that rules her out.
That leaves Vandi, my best friend since secondary school. I might not see her as often as I should, but we WhatsApp each other constantly, and I know she’ll be there for me any time of day or night.
The cab ride to her Acton flat takes an impressively short twenty-five minutes, and I text her on the way to let her know I’m coming and why.
Vandi swings open the door before I’m halfway up her garden path.
‘Oh my God, Nella!’ She pulls me into a fierce hug. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’ve been better.’
‘The kettle’s boiled, and there’s dry white in the fridge and gin in the freezer.’
‘If I drink, I’ll throw up.’
‘Tea it is.’
I follow her into the hallway, shutting the door behind me.
‘Is Oliver here?’ I whisper.
‘He’s at his girlfriend’s.’
That’s something, I guess – not having to worry about her flatmate overhearing.
She goes to the kitchen and I sink onto the sofa.
I’m vibrating, like I’m not fully grounded. A tremor in my hand reminds me I haven’t eaten since lunch.
Like a mind-reader, Vandi arrives with a packet of Rich Tea and two mugs of Tetley.
I take a biscuit and demolish it in two bites. Then I tell her the whole story.
We’re half a packet down by the time I’ve finished.
‘And she was a receptionist at the clinic?’ Vandi asks.
‘Yeah. Lucy.’
‘Is she the pretty one?’
I appreciate her attempting a joke. She knows they’re all hired for their looks.
‘How do you feel?’ she asks.
‘Exhausted. Sad. Scared. But I also know there’s a blanket of shock numbing me. It will feel ten times worse when that lifts.’
‘Tanqueray will take care of that.’
‘Don’t tempt me. Oh, I forgot to add: humiliated and stupid.’
‘Stupid how? To trust him? To not see it coming? That’s all on him, missus.’
‘Stupid to have linked my whole life to his. We live together in a flat he owns, work together in a clinic he helped set up, even my social circle is mainly his friends.’
‘But that’s the deal when you’re in a committed relationship. What else could you have done? Been half-in, half-out just in case?’
‘The flat’s in his name. He pays the mortgage, and I pay the bills. I should have realised I’d end up with nothing if something like this happened.’
‘It made sense to move into a place he already owned. There’d be no point renting. And anyway, he couldn’t sell it and buy something new with you. Wasn’t his godfather also on the deed?’
‘Oh shit,’ I say, as a new anxiety hits me. ‘The clinic. Does everyone know? Have they been laughing about me behind my back?’
‘You would have noticed something. Workplaces can be very indiscreet.’
‘Charles said something today …’
The thought makes me pause. His whole spiel about Rich being tense. Did he know? Was he trying to tell me?
‘How the hell did I miss this, Vands? It’s my fucking job to know this stuff.’
She comes over to hug me. ‘You’re not a robot. You’re a normal person dealing with the same crap as everyone else.’
I nod because I appreciate she’s trying, but it’s cold comfort.
‘Sleep will help,’ she offers.
‘No offence to you or your lumpy sofa, but I can’t imagine getting any sleep tonight.’
‘You could sleep in The Doll’s bed if you like. He never locks the door when he’s not here.’
The Doll is our nickname for her flatmate Oliver who she has a little crush on. She once called him The Delicious Oliver Llewellyn and the nickname stuck.
For a split second my spirits lift. It’s nice to be reminded of pockets of my life, like my friendship with Vandi and our inside jokes, that Rich hasn’t tainted. She’s my friend unconditionally.
‘I’ll be fine on the sofa, because let’s face it, I could check into the Mandarin Oriental tonight, and I still wouldn’t get much shut-eye.’
She stifles a yawn – not the first one – and I know I have to send her to bed.
‘Okay, busy career woman with her own recruitment agency, you need to turn in.’
She’s already laid out a duvet and pillow for me, so I shoo her away and start finding my sleep things in the jumble of my suitcase.
Just as I’m settled under the duvet, my phone lights up with a notification.
Mum’s sent a text.
Enjoy your romantic break.
She follows it with three emojis: a heart, a rose and – irony of ironies – a diamond ring.
I bury my face in my pillow and scream.