Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Zara
W hen Eloise opens her front door, Arthur cradled on one hip, it’s all I can do not to burst into tears. But I don’t want to be that friend so I try to smile, even though I know my mouth is doing some sort of funny shaking thing that makes it difficult. She sees through me immediately.
“Oh my God, Zara, what’s happened?”
I follow her along the tiled hallway to her bright modern kitchen, taking a seat at the scrubbed pine table. Eloise puts Arthur in his little bouncy chair, then switches on the kettle. She shoots me a wary glance. I still haven’t spoken, because I’m trying really hard not to cry.
“Is this a tea or wine situation? If it’s the latter I can’t join you, because of the boobs, but just say the word.”
“Tea,” I manage to say. “Tea is fine.”
She makes the tea, still shooting me glances.
I’m so ashamed. Such a mess, sitting at her table twisting my hands together, my breath hitching in my chest. I no longer feel like vomiting, so that’s progress, I guess.
But it hits me again as I sit in Eloise’s house, so full of love and family and all the things I long for, how lonely I am.
How lonely I’ve been for a while. I’m twenty-eight years old.
A century ago, I’d have been on the shelf.
Maybe that’s the best place for me, at the back of a dusty cupboard where I can’t bother anyone anymore.
I blink as Eloise puts my tea down in front of me, plus a plate of chocolate biscuits. She gives one of the biscuits to Arthur, then sits opposite me, cradling her mug in her hands.
“Zara, you’re frightening me. Tell me what’s going on.”
It’s as though a dam breaks. And it all pours out of me.
Dean and his stupid girlfriend and their stupid open relationship and the lies and the non-proposal and how lonely I am and some sort of slightly unhinged rambling about, if I am on the shelf, what kind of shelf it is.
Eloise, bless her, just lets me talk, refilling my tea, bringing me a box of tissues, topping up the biscuits and tending to Arthur.
Finally, I’m done. I feel ravaged and hollow, as though I’ve lost some internal organs in the telling. Eloise stares at me for a moment.
“You’re really done with Dean? For good?”
“What? Yes.” Not what I expected, but okay. I wipe my eyes, bracing myself. Eloise has a knack for cutting to the heart of things.
“Thank Christ. Because oh my God, that man was a total ass. Nowhere near good enough for you!” Her voice gets higher, her cheeks reddening. She’s angry, I realise, but not with me. “How dare he treat you like that? You know Anwar can’t stand him?”
“He can’t?” Eloise’s husband, Anwar, is one of the most easy-going people I know. He likes everyone.
“Oh, God no! He thought he was so pompous.” She shakes her head. “With that accent? And always banging on about Oxford. It’s like Anwar says, how do you know someone went to Oxford? They tell you, that’s how.”
I giggle, despite myself. Eloise is funny when she gets going.
“And now this ? An open relationship? Is he high?”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
Eloise’s gaze narrows. “Did you really love him? Because honestly, Zara, if Anwar pulled a stunt like that on me, I would be dead for ever. Like, how are you even here?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if you love him?”
I shake my head, then wince. My hangover headache is returning, plus my nose is all blocked from crying.
“Oh God, let me get you some medicine. I take it you called in sick today?” Eloise gets up, opens a cupboard and pulls out a box of paracetamol.
“I didn’t call in sick. Myles sent me home.”
“He did?” Eloise sits down again, handing me the pills and a glass of water before picking up her own mug.
“Hm.” I swallow the pills. “He did. I went in because I had to tell him I could go to Morocco with him next week, but I guess I looked so rough he sent me home.”
Eloise chokes on a mouthful of tea. “I’m sorry, what?” she splutters. “You’re going where?”
“Oh God. I haven’t even told you. It’s been a mad week.
You know about Katya, of course, and her gift.
” I’d messaged El about it, both of us laughing.
“Well, it turns out that Myles has been buying flowers for my desk each week. And then he’s asked me to come on this trip with him.
So I guess, maybe, he doesn’t hate me.” I mutter the last bit.
“I would say not.” Eloise raises her eyebrows. “He never asked me to go on any trips with him.”
“It’s all kind of last minute. Scott broke his ankle, so he’s taking me instead, I guess to make sure things run smoothly.”
“To Morocco.”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m not sure what I’ll be doing a lot of the time and… what?”
Eloise’s eyes have widened. “This, Zara, is a gift. A gift from the rebound gods.”
“The who?”
“You need to go to Morocco, and have a holiday fling. A getting-over-Dean shag. Or two.”
“What? You’re mad.”
“I’m absolutely sane and you know it. I’m also serious. Get back in the saddle. How long has it been, anyway, since that weasel last visited you?”
“Oh my God. Are you suggesting I shag… Myles?” Why my core seems to tighten at the thought is some sort of weird reaction, obviously. It’s just that he’s literally the hottest guy I know. He’s also entirely off-limits for many reasons.
“No! Noooo. That would be a bad idea.”
“You think?”
Eloise is giggling now. “An utterly terrible idea. But you’re going to be in Morocco. Lots of hot men there, and you’re not going to be working 24/7. All I’m saying is, go with an open mind. And legs.”
“Eloise!” At my squeal little Arthur jumps, then his lip drops and he starts to wail. “Oh no, I’m so sorry.”
“No, shush.” Eloise waves her hand at me, going to pick Arthur up. He snuggles into her like a koala, turning an accusatory stare at me. “He’s just tired. I’ll go and put him down for a nap and then you and I can work out your game plan.”
“I’m supposed to be heartbroken, not shagging new men,” I call after her, as she heads towards the stairs. I sip my tea, staring out the window onto Eloise’s neat little garden. I am heartbroken. Aren’t I?
When I came here I was convinced I was, but talking to Eloise, being in her lovely sunny home, has made me consider things.
Did I ever imagine this life with Dean? Having the same thing Anwar and Eloise have, the family life, the future?
I don’t know if I did. The whole relationship between us seemed to be built on longing for him to be in London, a return to the heady days of our initial romance.
Turns out he was in London all along, just not with me.
I was completely infatuated when I met him, swept off my feet, but can a relationship be maintained, let alone built upon, by a few texts and the occasional dirty weekend?
I’m hurt by what Dean did to me, and utterly humiliated– I cringe again at how I actually believed he was ready to propose– but is my heart actually broken? Or is it simply grazed?
I poke at the pain carefully, as though it’s a sore tooth. It’s definitely there. But underneath it is something else. Something that feels a bit like… relief.
No more waiting. No more wondering, longing for him to be with me. No more checking my phone, hoping he might reply to my messages. I’m free, now, to pursue whatever I want. I can still go and live by the sea. Or I can stay in London working at Ocean’s Curl. I have options.
Whether or not I take Eloise’s advice, Morocco will be good for me. I giggle, even though I’m still a bit teary. Maybe that is what I need. Mindless sex with someone hot. Shag that man right out of my hair.
I do need to stay professional, though.
It’s a work trip, after all.