How Do I Tell You?

Chapter 3

THREE

brIGHTON

The Hen

Mandy Burgess waved frantically at Vic from the train window as it pulled into Clapham Junction station. Once Vic and her wheelie case were successfully bundled on, they sat opposite each other, grinning.

‘You look lovely,’ Vic said. Mandy’s long, black velvet coat accentuated her voluptuous curves. Vic reached forward and touched her friend’s tonged blonde locks. ‘And did you curl this yourself? Impressive.’

‘I did indeed. And lovely maybe, but I’m so bloody fat. Every time I think I really must try and diet before the wedding, I seem to cram more in my mouth because of the nerves. The dress has had to be taken OUT two inches already. You should have seen the seamstress’s face at the wedding shop. She was like, “Well, this is rare – very rare indeed.”’

Vic grinned. ‘Stupid cow.’

‘Yes, that she was. Thank goodness my Steve loves me just the way I am.’

Vic giggled. ‘We all love you just the way you are. And imagine if you were too skinny – how disproportionate would those tremendous breasts look on you?’

‘Yes, I’d probably keep losing my balance and falling on my face, and that really isn’t a good look, is it?’ They laughed aloud.

‘Saying that, I’d rather your curves than my washboard look.’

‘Oh, Vic. You can wear anything and look good in it. And you have the hair of a Greek goddess.’

‘We women are never happy, are we?’ Vic sniffed. ‘I have the metabolism of a marathon runner so can eat more or less what I want, but these bits of bone sticking out, around my shoulders… they just look…’

Mandy gave her friend a stern look.

‘OK… I’m shutting up now. Saying that, I do wonder if when I get older and it all slows down, I’ll become short and fat like a little piglet.’

‘I thought you were shutting up,’ Mandy replied dryly, and they both laughed. The frosty-looking man on the row of seats next to them got up and moved down to the next carriage. Trying not to laugh again, the two women raised their eyebrows at each other.

Mandy grinned. ‘I’m so excited. A night away with my besties – what’s not to like! Orla is running late, so is meeting us at the hotel. There’s a story to her tardiness, apparently.’

‘Of course there is.’ Vic had a flashback to the day she had met the feisty Irishwoman who had arranged a hospitality event for some of Glovers’ customers when she had first joined the company. ‘Ending with the words, “He was quite the ride,” no doubt.’ Grinning, Vic pulled two miniature bottles of Chardonnay and some plastic glasses from her bag. ‘Let’s start as we mean to go on, shall we?’

Mandy waited for the train to pull out of the station, then carefully filled her glass. ‘The best news is that my future mother-in-law and sister-in-law have bad colds, so they’re not coming. Well, that’s what they said, anyway.’

‘What about your mum?’

‘Sore point. Church has taken over – again! Said it’s not worth her coming for one night as she’s got to be there on Sunday as she forgot it’s her turn to do the flowers. So, it’s just me, you and Orla. I really couldn’t face inviting anyone from work.’

Vic laughed. ‘Sing Hosannah!’

‘Don’t, I’m already coming out in hives, as Mother’s only gone and put me up for the “Silent Night” solo at the annual carol service.’ Mandy put her hand to her forehead in mock horror. ‘I might get my Steve to extend the honeymoon, so we miss the whole shebang.’

‘Don’t remind me about Christmas.’ Vic sighed. ‘I’m dreading this year, to be honest. Mum’s on one at the moment. It sounds like Albie’s gambling is out of control and I won’t even have Nate to pacify me, as he’s off up to the Lakes to spend it with his dad and brother.’

‘Oh, Vic. I’m sorry.’

‘Nothing to be sorry about. The facts are that my dear mother is an alcoholic and won’t get any help, and my brother is bleeding her dry. Nothing’s changed. Or maybe I have?’

Mandy tutted. ‘Poor Kath. And what do you mean, you’ve changed?’

‘It’s just you getting married all of a sudden has made me look at myself and what I want out of life.’

‘Oh, Vic. It’s hardly sudden, is it? I’ve been with Steve for ten years, so we’re practically married anyway.’

‘I know, but…’

‘Is everything OK with you and Nate?’

Vic bit her lip. ‘We’re just ticking along as usual, but I suddenly feel like I do want to do so much more with my life. It’s a weird dichotomy because I reckon I could take my art further, but I also think I want kids – but I don’t know if that’s because society makes me think I should have kids. And if I don’t have them, would I feel I’ve missed out on something? Or maybe I want them just because I don’t want to be alone when I’m old.’

‘Wow, that’s cheery – and a lot to take in.’ Mandy raised her eyebrows.

‘I’m just trying to keep it real.’ Vic shrugged. ‘But it’s a fact, our bodies have a best-before date when it comes to babies. I’m thirty-five, Mand, and stupidly assumed that things would work out on their own, that life would work out without any prompting, but it doesn’t, and it hasn’t yet… And I’m at a bit of a crossroads, if I’m honest.’

‘Hmm. I’ve been feeling similarly,’ Mandy acknowledged. ‘Kids has always been our next step and I want them to have the same surname, hence the big day.’

Vic laughed. ‘Who says romance is dead, eh?’

‘Joking aside, mate, have you spoken to Nate about how you’re feeling?’

Vic groaned. ‘His idea of the perfect life would be not working and living in a tent, foraging in the middle of the Outer Hebrides. Don’t get me wrong, I do love him, and I do love the freeness of him.’ She giggled. ‘Remember when we first met and he convinced me that wild camping in the Lake District would be amazing? I was too scared to go outside the tent in the middle of the night to wee, so I had to crouch over a bucket in the corner of the tiniest tent on earth.’

Mandy laughed. ‘Yes, and the walk you did on the South-West Coast Path where he had to literally drag you up the steep bits by the waistband of your jeans as you’re so scared of heights.’

‘I did do some amazing paintings on those holidays, though, and I really did try to follow his passions at the start.’ Vic sighed deeply. ‘Aww, bless Nate. I’m being so spiky with him lately. He’s done nothing wrong apart from being him. And… well… we haven’t had sex for ages either.’

‘Oh. Does he still want it?’ Mandy looked concerned.

‘Yes. It’s me who doesn’t. He wants it all the time, which makes me feel worse. He’s been really understanding. I don’t know what’s wrong. Is it the beginning of the end?’ Victoria groaned. ‘He’s all I’ve known for so long, Mand, but…’ She put her hand to her head. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with me.’

‘Well. If you can sort it between you, that will involve communication, Vic…’

Vic screwed up her face. ‘I know. I know.’

‘Well, then, it could be a positive. If you do decide to go down the kids route, maybe he can be the house husband. He doesn’t like working… and you’re so talented, Vic, and your earning power could be huge if you went for it, so you could work from a tent in the middle of a field. Have the best of all worlds. The successful career and kids running around with bare feet being home-schooled. Then everyone would be happy. But you just need to communicate that to him. Men aren’t mind-readers, mate. They need to be spoon-fed.’

Vic stuck out her bottom lip and touched her friend’s knee. ‘You’re right there. Although I think you’re just being nice about my art.’

‘I’m not – you really are talented. Ray knows that, too – that’s why he’s looked after you so well for so many years.’

‘I know. Ten years in one job – that’s unheard of these days. But you’re right, Ray is a great boss and with Nate being so flaky with his work, I need that stability.’

‘I understand that,’ Mandy added. ‘But what do you mean about taking your art further? Can you not do that as well as work at Glovers?’

Vic sighed. ‘I guess I want to promote it to a wider audience. Take more time to do my own pieces and sell them privately. My dream is a gallery of my own, but that costs and I need a guaranteed income to pay for life and all its trappings, and well… I’m not sure I’m even good enough. And I’m definitely not brave enough to take that step.’

‘That Mrs Imposter Syndrome is a right bitch, isn’t she?’ Mandy tutted. ‘I just wish I had an ounce of your ambition.’

‘It’s clearly not combined with drive, though, is it?’ Vic drained her drink.

The train pulled into another station and an elderly couple took the seats adjacent to them. Mandy cleared her throat. ‘A happy marriage, kids and a little part-time job has always been the extent of my future wants and needs. And the only reason I chose to be a teacher wasn’t for the love of it – it was for the steadiness of it all and knowing my exact holiday dates. But as soon as I have a kid, that’s it, I’m out of there. It’s far harder than I ever bargained for.’

‘And being a mum won’t be?’ Vic raised her eyebrows. ‘Steve knows of this cunning plan, does he?’

‘I’m off the pill already, so hopefully he will do soon.’ Mandy grinned and took another sip of wine. ‘And as for you, darling, there will be a solution. There always is. Just after my dad died, Mum said to me that life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans. Remember, they had a luxury cruise around the world all booked and paid for – but Dad’s heart had other ideas.’

Vic reached out and squeezed her best friend’s hand. ‘Yes, that was so tragic. He’d be so proud of you, you know?’

‘Thanks, hun.’ Mandy sniffed back a tear.

‘Anyway, this weekend is not about me, my lovely lady. It is about Miss Mandy Burgess, soon to be Mrs Mandy Taylor.’ Vic reached into her bag and pulled out two bright pink straws and handed her friend one. ‘Ooh, look! Plastic willies!’ she exclaimed, causing the old couple nearby to laugh. ‘Where did they come from? Suck on this, lady, and let’s be as tacky as hell. ’

Mandy raised her glass in the air. ‘And what goes on in Brighton, stays in Brighton. OK?’

‘Sorry, sorry, I know, I’ll be late for my own fecking funeral, so I will.’ Orla O’Malley’s loud Dublin accent reverberated around the Brighton hotel lobby as she sped across to where Vic and Mandy were tucking into cocktails and thick chips, her unruly black curls flying everywhere. Her long, red faux-fur coat was done up on the wrong buttons, allowing a glimpse of one of her perfectly pert fake boobs, housed in a black lacy bra.

Vic immediately handed her eccentric half-Irish, half-Nigerian friend the cocktail menu as Orla continued. ‘I dripped the whole yolk from a bacon and egg butty all down my posh new top. Went to the disgusting train bog, tried to rub it with a paper towel, got blue fluff all down it, so took it off, threw it in the bin, and put my coat back on. So I need to go shopping in The Lanes before we go out tonight. Where are we going, anyway?’

‘And breathe… and sit down,’ Mandy replied calmly.

‘After you’ve put your tit away, that is,’ Vic added.

Orla dealt with her stray boob, completely unabashed. ‘So, what are we doing, Vic?’

‘Umm. OK, so a cocktail and light lunch here, and as it’s sunny, maybe head to the pier? Or a bit of retail therapy, now madam here needs a new top, get ready, then dinner and a nightclub of everyone’s choosing. There’s a twenty-four-hour café on the front so we can stuff our faces into the early hours with unnecessary carbs and hate ourselves for the rest of the week.’

‘So, in short, you haven’t planned anything specific, have you?’ Orla chipped in, then summoning the waiter with a wink, swiftly ordered a Sex on the Beach .

‘And what exactly have you brought to the party, Miss Shag O’Malley?’ Mandy drained her glass and let out a little burp.

Orla assumed a posh British accent. ‘I’ll have you know, dear friends, that I am the fucking party.’

‘Well, at least we have plastic willies to start,’ Vic laughed, handing Orla one. ‘And our dear little hen – or should I say, this old bantam here – said she didn’t want to dress up or have a fuss made of her.’

‘Jesus, Vic, we all love a fuss.’ Orla went to undo her coat then, remembering she only had a bra on underneath, stopped herself.

‘It’s all good, Vic.’ Mandy slurped her cocktail through a straw. ‘Let’s just go with the flow, ladies. We haven’t all been together for what seems like ages.’ She looked at Orla. ‘And where were you last night, anyway, you dirty harlot?’

Orla grinned. ‘I woke up next to the most delicious-looking creature in East Finchley. On the bed, there was a book of Byron’s poetry and one of those weird cats with no hair staring back at me. Scared the fecking life out of me. The cat, not the man. Anyway, I was so rattled that I remembered neither being serenaded nor shagged, so for fear of getting scratched – or worse – by the hairless beast – again, the cat, not the man – he did have a full old nest of chest hair – I just upped and left.’

An already tipsy Vic descended into fits of laughter, but Mandy was serious. ‘Does it not bother or worry you that you constantly wake up with strangers?’

‘He wasn’t a stranger, I chatted to him for a while in the bar the night before. I know his name – well, his first name, anyway – and it was fun at the time, I think.’

Mandy shook her head. ‘It may be a bit dull sometimes, but it makes me realise how happy I am that I just have Steve to wake up to. At least I know where I am.’

‘What’s happening here? Do I smell judgement?’ Orla gave the young waiter a big grin as he placed the colourful cocktail down in front of her.

‘No,’ Vic replied bluntly. ‘Just jealousy.’

The rhythmic pulse of heavy bass echoed through the still night as Victoria stepped out of the buzzing nightclub onto the Brighton beachfront. With a sense of liberation, she inhaled deeply, letting the cold, salty air fill her lungs. A lethal combination of cocktails and too much wine had left her feeling heady.

She plonked herself down on a bench overlooking the sea, and decided to call Nate.

‘Hello.’ The shrill voice of a woman answered his mobile. Loud music blared out in the background.

‘Erm, can I speak to Nate, please?’ Vic’s drunk mind wasn’t even sure why she had called him in the first place now.

‘Sure, who wants him?’ The woman was shouting.

Vic felt her heart beating faster. ‘It’s Vic… his girlfriend.’

‘Oh, I thought he was a single Pringle.’ Vic moved her ear as the woman shouted. ‘Nate! It’s your girlfriend !’

‘Hey, it’s me.’ Vic tried to keep upbeat.

‘Sharpie! You having fun, baby girl?’ Nate sounded off his face.

‘Who was that?’

‘Just a girl I work with. We all decided to go back to hers after shift. Shit… my battery is about to d?—’

Vic glared at the screen. She was so used to Nate either being at work or home chilling when not at the restaurant, that the fact that he was out partying and had allowed a woman to pick up his phone had completely thrown her. Who was she? And where was this house they were all at? And was it ‘all’ of them or just him and her? And he clearly hadn’t conveyed to whoever had just picked up his phone that he had a girlfriend. Also, how dare he moan about always working and not getting any weekend downtime. It sounded just like how they used to party, together. Hedonistically, without a care in the world. Maybe they were just stuck in a rut of boring monotony now. She tried to call him back, but his battery had clearly gone. ‘Fuck you, Nate Carlisle,’ Vic drunkenly uttered under her breath.

‘Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness. Mind if I join you?’ a man’s voice asked, a hint of hesitation in his voice. Vic peered up at him blurrily. He was late thirties, she guessed, with cropped blond hair. His straight nose housed a single diamond stud.

Victoria gestured to the empty space beside her. ‘You’ll catch hypothermia out here.’ He took off his jacket, put it over her shoulders, then reached for a pocket and pulled out a cigarette. ‘I’m Danny, by the way.’

Vic hiccupped. ‘I’m drunk, by the way.’

‘What a pretty name. Is that Gaelic? Or maybe Celtic?’

Vic giggled. ‘Victoria Sharpe.’

‘How very posh.’ Danny smirked.

Vic laughed. ‘Hardly.’ She held out her hand to him and assumed a plum-in-the-mouth accent. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, kind sir, and thanks for the very trendy jacket.’

‘See, you are posh.’ He punched her arm playfully.

‘I do come from Windsor and because everyone thinks you have to be loaded to live there, I quite often randomly get asked if I ride horses.’

‘Hmm. That is random. Let me guess, you’re down here on a hen weekend?’

‘Yes, and I love my mates dearly, but I’ve hit a wall and rather than jump about raving, I either want to sit here and cry like a baby or go back to the uncomfortable single bed in my hotel room and sleep like one.’

‘Choices, choices.’ Danny lit the ready-rolled cigarette. ‘If I told you that my partner had just told me they’ve been seeing someone else for three months and wondered if I’d consider an open relationship in order not to lose me, would that make you feel any better?’

‘Shit, I’m sorry, Danny. That sucks.’ Realising that her new companion’s cigarette was full of far more than tobacco, she took it from his hands. ‘Can I?’

Vic inhaled the fragrant smoke deeply and when she had stopped coughing, announced to the air, ‘God! Why can’t things be easy?’

‘Hell, lady. I’m the one who’s heartbroken.’

‘Yes, you are. Sorry, how selfish of me.’ Vic hiccupped again. ‘So, you’re not considering it, then? The open bit, I mean.’

‘No way. The trust has been broken already.’

Victoria turned to look at him. The distant thump of the nightclub’s music gave their conversation a rhythmic backdrop that was almost hypnotic. The copious drinks she had consumed turned her inhibition switch to green. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re a very handsome man, Danny, and your partner is a fool.’

Danny’s forehead wrinkled. ‘Didn’t someone once say, never kiss a fool or let a fool kiss you?’

‘Whoever that someone was, well, they were pretty smart.’ Vic furrowed her brow. ‘And who said anything about kissing?’ Putting her tongue inside her cheek, she started to laugh.

‘Nobody.’ Danny blew a plume of smoke into the sky. ‘But, if it’s time for unadulterated complimenting, you’re not so shabby yourself, Victoria Sharpe. Great dress, and love these shoes.’ He lifted Vic’s bare leg to take a closer look at her strappy heels, and began throwing exaggerated kisses up her thigh, making her screech with laughter. ‘Jesus! I’ve heard quieter seagulls.’ He took another toke of the sweet-smelling tobacco. ‘But now we’re both honorary members of the Brighton Beach Mutual Appreciation Society, why don’t you tell me why it is you want to cry like a baby? ’

Suddenly, Vic heard a shout of ‘Sharpie!’ from the front of the nightclub and saw Mandy waving at her. ‘You all right, mate?’

‘Yes, fine,’ Vic called back. ‘I’ll be in in a minute. Just nabbing a fag off a handsome stranger.’

‘OK. See you in a bit.’ Mandy disappeared back inside.

‘Good mate you’ve got there.’

‘The best.’ Vic took another, much smaller drag of the joint, then blurted, ‘My mum’s an alcoholic. I feel I’m not following my passion, and I don’t even know if I want to have kids but if I don’t decide soon it will be too late. I’ve just found out my boyfriend is at another woman’s house, and for the first time ever in our relationship, I’m not sure if I trust him or not.’

‘Wow, right. Just the few things, then. Doesn’t trump me being cheated on, though.’ Danny took another long, slow drag and held it down for a few seconds.

‘You clearly didn’t major in empathy, did you?’ Vic put on an expression of fake disdain. ‘What do you do, anyway?’

Danny blew a plume of smoke skywards. ‘I have a gallery in The Lanes.’

Vic gasped. ‘Shut the fuck up! No way. That’s so cool. I’m a graphic designer, but my passion is illustrating, and I do the odd watercolour. Do you paint yourself?’

‘Yeah, mainly abstract, but I make most of my money from exhibiting and selling other local artists’ work,’ Danny replied proudly.

Vic’s face lit up. ‘Isn’t it just the best feeling when that urge to paint takes over and you find yourself creating something from way down inside you? I love it. I forget everything else that’s happening around me.’

‘Yes, I hear you totally’ – Danny nodded – ‘and when I’ve finished, I sometimes look back at what I’ve done and can’t believe it was me that it came out of.’

Vic opened her eyes and mouth wide. ‘Exactly! Exactly that!’ She felt exhilarated at just the thought of it. ‘It’s great that you support other artists, too. I’d really love to come and have a nosy at your place. Are you open tomorrow?’

‘We only open Tuesday to Saturday in the winter. Here.’ He retrieved his wallet and handed her a card.

‘Danny Miller Arts,’ Vic read aloud. ‘That’s so cool. You really are living my dream.’

‘Then you must come down and show me your work. If you’re any good, I’ll exhibit it for you.’

‘Any good? You cheeky…’ It was her turn to punch him gently on the arm and they laughed together. Vic felt a sudden appreciation of the immediate connection between them. As they continued to pass the joint back and forth, their conversation meandered seamlessly through a myriad of topics, from childhood memories to dreams of the future. To relationships, and heartbreak and then to…

‘So,’ Danny said, his words slightly slurred, ‘what’s the most adventurous thing you’ve ever done sexually, then?’

Vic grinned. ‘Well, there was this one time on a beach…’ She leapt up. ‘Come on!’ She lifted his coat from her shoulders and threw it at him, then put her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’m high as a kite and hot as a… what can I be as hot as?’ she giggled.

‘You’re just hot as fuck,’ Danny laughed and hoisted her up on his back. He piggybacked a screaming Vic over the stony beach. When he threatened to throw her in the ocean, she kicked off her shoes and squealed as the icy water hit her toes. He went to steady her as she wobbled and then, without warning, he leant in, and their lips met in a short but tender kiss.

When they broke apart, he looked stricken. ‘I’m sorry, Vic. It kind of just…’

Victoria looked right into his eyes. ‘I’m not.’ She grabbed him back towards her and found his lips again. Their eyes remained open, fixated on each other with a fierce hunger for whatever lay ahead. A drunk and stoned collision of bodies driven by lust; an exploration of physical desires unencumbered by the weight of emotional entanglements.

A lone seagull screeched above.

Rudely awoken by her bladder, Vic began to recollect the goings on of the night before and groaned softly. She was thankful the en-suite light was on so that she could easily gather her clothes from the floor of Danny’s stylish apartment and hastily dress in there. Not knowing what one-night-stand etiquette was these days, she was just searching in her bag for a pen to leave a note for him when he stirred.

‘Hey.’ He smiled.

‘Hey.’ Vic smiled tentatively back.

‘Doing a runner, were you? I don’t blame you. I have terrible morning breath.’

‘It’s just…’ Vic sighed.

‘It’s OK,’ Danny replied sleepily. ‘I really do hope you work everything out, and I mean that.’

‘You too,’ Vic whispered, a whole gamut of emotions swirling through her.

‘And do pop to my gallery if you ever find yourself in Brighton again.’

Vic picked up her bag. ‘I’m not sure, I…’

‘Only regret the things you don’t do in this life, Vic. Be kind to yourself, eh?’

Blowing him a kiss, Vic made her way down the stairs that she couldn’t even remember climbing just hours before. Thankfully it was early and, hoping the streets would be empty, she stepped out onto the street. Mortified to be greeted not only by a chilly breeze, which sent her thin silver dress whooshing up over her thighs, but also the beeping and cheering from two builders in the cab of a white van, she did a deep curtsy and stuck two fingers up at them.

Vic suddenly felt desperate for the toilet. This walk of shame, right along the front of Brighton’s promenade, was going to be not only cold but long. With a pounding head and feeling sicker by the minute for having cheated on Nate – and with the lesser worry that the girls might have forgotten to get her jacket from the nightclub cloakroom – she began to strut as fast as her strappy heels would allow her.

Taking in the pier and the grey, angry-looking sea, she thought not only what a magnificent painting it would make, but also that her familiar memories of Brighton and its landmarks would now most definitely bear a different weight. Namely, getting off her face and having the most amazing sex with a handsome artist called Danny Miller.

She was approaching the road that led down to their hotel when the sound of laughter and excitable chatter reached her ears. She was about to put her head down and march on past when she noticed that there, sitting outside the twenty-four-hour café, wearing their thick winter coats and being kept warm by the outdoor heaters, were Orla and Mandy, stuffing their faces with full English breakfasts.

‘Well, well. Looks like someone had quite the night. Don’t tell me you got the ride, too?’ Orla teased, her grin widening. ‘Here.’ She handed Vic her coat, which Vic put on hurriedly. ‘After you messaged us, we luckily remembered to get this for you, ’cos clearly that was the last thing on your mind when you went off with young blondie there.’

‘I guess that’s who you’ve been with?’ Mandy said, almost apologetically. ‘He was cute, I’ll give you that.’

Vic could feel the group on the table next to theirs pricking up their ears and felt herself flush with embarrassment. Mandy pulled out a chair and put her hand on top of her friend’s as she sat herself back down. Vic took a huge glug of Orla’s orange juice, let out an exaggerated breath and shook her head.

‘I’m so sorry for leaving you on your hen night, Mand. ’

‘Don’t be silly. The two of us ended up dancing on the beach like silly buggers and then coming here, where the action was still happening.’ Mandy hiccupped. ‘But when either of you two decide to get married, please make sure it’s not in the autumn or winter, because if it is, we are flying to the Caribbean for the hen weekend.’

‘I’m never getting married, but I’ve had the best craic,’ Orla said. ‘Without a fecking man in sight, as well – see, I can do it!’ she laughed. ‘Anyways, tell us everything, Sharpie, and it better be good.’ Orla looked at her phone. ‘Your message said, and I quote: “I’m off my face and talking art with a real cutey. See you later.” So, come on, tell us. Did Vic get some dick?’

Vic grimaced. ‘I feel so bloody guilty, but before I go into the sordid detail, I really must pee!’

As Vic let herself into the flat that night, the relief she felt when she could hear Nate snoring was immense. Getting into bed as quietly as she could, she pulled the covers up to her neck and turned over to face the wall. From what she could remember, she’d had great fun with Danny. He had seemed like a decent and genuine guy, and he was as hot as they come. But that wasn’t the issue here, for it was guilt that was now lying heavy on her heart. Because, for all his faults, Nate Carlisle was a good man, and she had been unfaithful to him.

And it wasn’t that she didn’t like him or despised him in any way. Quite the opposite. He had done nothing wrong and when they were getting on, they did have great fun together. She had always considered herself to be loyal and honest and had never cheated on anyone before. She thought back to Joti’s comment. So, what, really, was the matter?

With feelings of self-loathing and confusion, Victoria Sharpe fell into a fretful slumber.