Chapter 4
Vandi’s living room curtains are sheer, and the July sunshine blazing through the window wakes me at six.
Out of habit, I reach for my phone, although I’m not sure what I expect to see. Is there anything Rich could say to make things better? Or at least give me hope we can salvage our relationship?
I was drugged.
I had temporary amnesia.
This has all been a practical joke for a new reality TV show about how two therapists deal with infidelity.
Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing like that. Instead, there are three texts from Rich pleading with me to come home and talk.
How many times have I told patients this?
Talk everything through. Make sure you understand what your partner really thinks.
My dissertation was about grief and infidelity, and I often heard from interview subjects that, after the initial shock fades, there can be a way to rebuild the lost trust. But it takes time, and there’s no painless short-cut.
I can’t imagine how talking will solve this. How can it? He can’t undo what he did. He threw away five years with me for five minutes of meaningless sex.
My phone vibrates. If that’s another begging text from Rich, I’m going to block him. He’s not offering an olive branch; he wants reassurance that I can forgive him. Everything he’s doing is to mitigate his own discomfort.
But it’s not from Rich; it’s from Mum. What is it with parents? The older they get, the less sleep they need.
Your sister’s got exciting news!!!
She signs off with four winky faces and a ghost emoji which I assume is a typo. I haven’t got the energy to try to decipher it.
I put my phone on airplane mode in case she rings and get up to find coffee.
It’s noon when I arrive at my parents’ house in Ealing.
I’m standing on their porch trying to summon the energy to face them, when raised voices carry from the back garden. Great – they’ve got company. The loudest voice is Tig’s, and my heart sinks.
I’d assumed Mum’s text was about Pen, but it’s probably Tig who has news.
Maybe she’s been promoted at her accountancy firm, or learnt how to make a good sourdough starter.
It couldn’t possibly be the sort of news that involves a white dress …
could it? Would that explain the ghost emoji?
She’s been dating Theo, a Nice Greek Boy? who’s a GP, for barely six months.
For a second, I think about bolting, but then a face presses up to the frosted glass and the next thing I know, Tig swings open the door.
‘Nella!’ she screams.
I brace myself for an interrogation about why I’m not on my romantic getaway. Turns out, I needn’t have worried.
‘LOOK!’
She thrusts out her left hand, and there on her third finger is a diamond ring.
I get a flashback to last night.
I swallow hard.
‘Wow,’ is all I can say, but she doesn’t seem to need much more from me.
She jumps up and down, her eyes sparkling. ‘Can you believe it? I’m getting married!’
I try to feign excitement. ‘That’s great news,’ I offer, while thinking, kill me now.
Alarmingly, tears spring to my eyes. Tig’s not particularly observant at the best of times, never mind when she’s wrapped up in her very own fairy tale, but against all odds, she notices my glumness. Or rather, she notices my suitcase.
‘Er, what’s that? Have you finally walked out on that loser?’ She’s so sure she can’t be right that she audibly gasps when I don’t answer. ‘What the fuck, Nell?’ She spins round. ‘MUUUUUM! We need you here!’
I hustle over the threshold, dragging my Samsonite behind me.
‘Can we not do this in front of the whole street?’ I mutter, just as Mum appears in the hallway.
‘What’s happening?’ she asks, frowning. ‘Are you okay, Marinella mou?’
‘She split up with Rich,’ Tig blurts out.
‘God help us,’ Mum whispers, doing her cross. ‘Is Tig serious?’
I nod. ‘Can I stay here for a while?’
‘Of course, darling. You look like you haven’t slept in a week. What happened?’
‘He’s shagging a patient, I bet,’ says Tig, a little too happily. ‘I always thought he was overly friendly with everyone. You’ve got to watch that type.’
Her complete lack of empathy makes me snap. ‘For once in your bloody life, Tig, can you think before you speak?’
I hadn’t meant to shout. Or swear. An awkward hush descends. All I can hear is the carriage clock on the console table that hasn’t kept the right time since 2003.
Standing behind Mum in the hallway are Theo, Pen, Dad, Auntie Toulla and Granny Maria.
This is all I need.
The only one who didn’t catch my outburst is the cat. Then I notice Zorba’s black ears sticking out of the banister halfway up the stairs. He chirrups as if to say, ‘Please continue.’
‘You need a drink,’ says Mum. ‘Vasili, get the brandy.’
Dad duly traipses off to the kitchen.
‘And make sure it’s the Metaxa Five Star,’ she adds. ‘This is no time for the cheap stuff.’
From such a stellar start, things go from bad to worse. Tig’s insisting that I don’t need that loser in my life and that she’ll find me a better boyfriend in no time. Pen nods along. She always agrees with everything Tig says, hoping for a bit more attention from her.
The only person who exhibits any discretion is Theo, the one person I’m not related to. He mumbles something about needing a valet carwash and disappears.
After forty-five minutes, I’m starting to regret turning down Mum’s offer of a stiff drink.
The thought of alcohol makes me want to puke, but at least I’d get a few minutes to myself in the bathroom.
Although, knowing Mum, she’d be in there too making sure I didn’t splash vomit on her ballerina loo-roll cover.
‘D’you think he’s done it before?’ ponders Tig, as if she’s addressing her book group and wants to know what everyone thinks about the love triangle between two Wrens and a Bletchley Park code-breaker.
I’m going to strangle her. I’ve been home for less than an hour and reverted to teenage me, trying to shut up my bratty little sister.
It’s time to bail. ‘If it’s all the same with you guys, I need to lie down.’
‘Yes, of course,’ says Mum. ‘The bags under your eyes have got bigger since you arrived.’
And with that ringing endorsement of my boyfriend-retaining attractiveness, I head upstairs.