Chapter 3
THREE
Claudia
Thousands of miles away in California, Claudia drove her fists into a punching bag.
Her thoughts worked in rhythm with her punches.
I—hate—you—John.
She pivoted and punched again.
I—hate—myself—for—trusting—you.
“Relax your shoulders.” Michelle, her trainer, was frowning. “Watch your form.”
Claudia stopped punching. Her hair was sticking to her forehead and her neck, and her heart was hammering against her rib cage.
“Drink,” Michelle advised. “And take a breather.”
Claudia tugged off her gloves, reached into her bag for her water and saw that she had two missed calls on her phone.
Erica.
She drank deeply and then dropped the bottle back in her bag.
What would she have done without Erica the past couple of months?
Most people knew Erica as a successful businesswoman with a reputation for plain speaking and ruthless focus.
They didn’t know Erica the friend. They didn’t see her kindness and her loyalty.
She checked on Claudia all the time. The weekend John had packed his things and moved out, leaving her in a state of shock, Erica had canceled her appointments and flown to California to be with Claudia.
Claudia was a mess, but Erica had insisted on staying with her.
In a crisis, there was no one better than Erica.
She’d forced Claudia to take a shower and get dressed, she’d made her soup—a loving gesture, which Claudia had returned by eating the soup and managing to keep it down—Erica was a terrible cook.
She’d helped box up the rest of John’s things and then she’d had them shipped to him to ensure he had no reason to come back.
Claudia still remembered her words—you shouldn’t let rats into your apartment; it’s bad for your health.
She’d had the locks changed, just to be sure.
Most importantly, she’d turned off her phone and listened to Claudia.
She’d listened for hours while Claudia had sobbed and ranted and tried to figure out how a relationship that had lasted ten years could suddenly end without warning.
She hadn’t glanced at the time, or told Claudia to pull herself together, or seemed impatient to be somewhere else; she was just there.
And even when Erica had flown home and back to her busy schedule, she’d stayed in touch. If you need me, call, and if it’s urgent tell my assistant and he’ll get me out of whichever meeting I’m in.
Claudia hadn’t had to call Erica’s assistant—she could just imagine the embarrassment associated with that—but in her worst moments she’d been comforted by the knowledge that Erica was there if she needed her.
Knowing that had been enough. Anna was there for her, too, but Anna had her family to care for and Claudia didn’t want to bother her.
Erica had no actual blood relatives. Her friends were her family.
And on the whole, Claudia had been doing okay, until last week when she’d lost her job. Which just went to prove that whenever you thought life couldn’t get worse, it got worse.
Merry Christmas, Claudia.
Michelle raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to work out?”
“I want to work out.” She pulled the gloves back on. “Particularly as I won’t be able to afford you after this session. Punching is the best therapy.”
Michelle gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re my favorite client. I’ll give you a reduced rate.”
“No, you won’t. You have a business to run.”
“We could call it my Christmas gift to you.”
Claudia managed a smile. “We won’t be calling it anything because I won’t let you give yourself away for free.”
What did she want for Christmas?
She wanted life to stop throwing bricks at her. She wanted to wake up in the morning and be excited about the day ahead. Was that too much to ask?
Losing her job had been a horrible end to a horrible year. A year of rejection. A year of losing what was familiar to her. A year of people telling her she wasn’t good enough.
And she knew that it happened to millions every day. Relationships ended. People lost their jobs, particularly right now when so many businesses were struggling with the rising cost of living and closing their doors, but that didn’t make her feel better.
People told her she’d bounce back, and perhaps in her twenties she might have done that—would she? She wasn’t sure—but she was only a few months away from her fortieth birthday and she felt more broken than bouncy.
Forty.
At forty you were supposed to be settled. You were supposed to have life all figured out. Erica had a great career. Anna had the perfect family. They’d each made their choices and had done well.
What did she have? Nothing. She had nothing at all to show for the past twenty years apart from excellent knife skills and an almost permanent headache from working in a full-service, high-volume restaurant.
Oh, and she had short hair because John had told her once that he much preferred women with short hair. She’d had long hair at the time.
After thanking Michelle for the final time, she picked up her bag and headed to the shower room, her mood low. Yet another ending. Another change that wasn’t her choice.
Enough! She had to pull herself together.
It wasn’t even as if she’d loved her job that much.
The executive chef had been a bully. Most of the time you could have cut through the tension with a very sharp knife.
All the kitchen staff had been paralyzed with terror half the time, and Claudia had been no exception.
If filleting the boss hadn’t been a crime, she would definitely have considered it as an option.
She’d stood her ground, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t unpleasant.
But although in no way was it her dream job, it would have been nice to leave on her own terms. It had been a year of endings, all of them forced on her.
The changing room was empty and she stripped off, showered and pulled on clean clothes. Then she pushed her way through the revolving doors of the gym and into the Californian sunshine.
The day stretched ahead of her, barren and unstructured.
She resisted the urge to call Erica back and off-load on her. She’d done more than enough of that. It was time to fix herself. But how?
The lack of routine was unsettling. Usually, she was far too busy to think about her life, but now she had all the time in the world and she was thinking far too much.
Over the past few days she’d thought herself to the point of exhaustion.
She didn’t know what she wanted or where she was going in life, and shouldn’t she know that by now?
She used to love everything about cooking.
The excitement of working with the best ingredients, the creative buzz that came from preparing something delicious.
Cooking relaxed her. The sizzle of garlic in hot oil, the scent of fresh herbs, the sense of satisfaction that came from hearing a diner say that the meal she’d prepared was the best thing they’d ever eaten.
But working in a stressful kitchen had killed her love of cooking, and that felt like a loss every bit as big and shocking as the ending of her relationship.
Cooking was everything to her, or it had been.
But now she no longer felt even a flicker of excitement when she contemplated experimenting with ingredients and flavors.
She couldn’t be bothered to make anything more complicated than scrambled eggs and toast. She felt numb and tired.
So now what?
She walked the five blocks to the small apartment she’d rented with John and tried not to snarl as she opened the door.
They’d chosen the place together and being here made her think of him, even though she didn’t want to think of him.
Simmering with emotion that ranged from anger to misery, she made herself strong coffee and switched on her laptop.
Mug in hand, she started to search for jobs. Maybe she didn’t love cooking right now, but she needed to pay the bills and this was the only thing she was qualified to do.
A leading hotel was advertising for a sous-chef so she clicked on the link and checked what qualifications they were looking for.
Two-plus years in a five-star property.
So far so good.
You’re passionate about food.
She used to be passionate. Did that count?
You’re flexible, able to work weekends, nights, holidays and early mornings, and you’re able to energize the team.
No way.
Claudia flipped her laptop shut.
The thought of throwing herself into another busy, impersonal, stressful kitchen exhausted her. There was no way she’d be able to energize a team. She couldn’t even energize herself.
And she just didn’t want to work those stupid, inhuman hours anymore.
She had to build herself a new life, and how was she going to do that if she was working all the time? When was she supposed to have a social life?
She’d left everything behind to follow John to California two years earlier when he’d had a big promotion, and since the day he’d walked out on the life they’d built together, she’d been horribly lonely.
She didn’t know anyone here, and she hadn’t had time to meet anyone.
Her life had revolved around work and him.
If she was living on the east coast, it would be different.
It would be easier to see her friends. She missed her friends.
When she’d lived in Boston she would occasionally meet up with Erica if she was in town for business, or visit Anna for a weekend.
Here in LA she’d been too busy working to make new friends.
But now she was no longer working.
She reached for her phone and hesitated. She needed to call Erica back. She needed to tell her that as well as losing John, she’d lost her job, but she couldn’t bring herself to make the call. Erica had done so much already. She didn’t need to hear more of Claudia’s woes.
She sat slumped in her chair. She hated herself for it, but she was envious of Erica. She’d made such a success of her life. So had Anna.