by Jenny Colgan
‘And you know that for certain, do you? You’re totally sure?’
Posy shrugged.
A memory crossed her mind. Her and Matt, in a cinema somewhere. Watching a movie where the hero was leaving his safe girlfriend to kiss the beautiful rebel. Matt had exhaled strongly. Posy glanced at him.
‘What?’ she’d whispered.
‘Well, look,’ he’d said. ‘He’s just going to get himself into stupid trouble for no reason. What a total waste of time. If he wants to bang that one, he really ought to tell the other one.’
Posy had smiled inside, suddenly feeling very safe. She slipped her hand into his.
‘Hey,’ he’d said. ‘Forget it.’
‘What?’
‘You’re going for my popcorn.’
‘I am not . . . just a bit.’
‘No!’
‘Give me some!’
‘I said before do you want popcorn and you said no!’
‘Which meant, I will share your popcorn.’
‘Which means, No. It’s not good for you anyway.’
‘GIVE ME SOME!’
The person sitting two rows in front of them turned round, giving them a stern look.
‘Now ssh,’ Matt had said, cramming her mouth with popcorn. She had chewed happily and nuzzled into him in the dark, feeling safe and protected and happy, the film washing right over them.
Back in the bright bar, a very drunk man lurched up to her and Leah.
‘G’day, ladies, fancy a go? Just one careful owner . . . No, actually, she was a bitch, my ex-wife. Still. Buy you a drink?’
‘GAVIN?’ said Posy in horror, coming back to earth with a bump. What was she thinking, letting Matt slip through her fingers? What on earth was going on in her head?
‘Oh God, Leah, I have to leave.’
‘Don’t go!’ said Gavin. ‘Uh, I’m your boss!’
‘No, Gavin, it’s not that.’
‘I am your boss though.’
‘Shut up! No, Leah. I’ve just realised.’
‘What?’
‘I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM!’
‘You really do?’
‘I really do.’ Posy’s eyes were shining and her face was sure.
‘You know,’ said Leah, smiling. ‘That’s kind of the reaction we were looking for when you got engaged.’
‘Just one drink,’ slurred Gavin. But Posy was gone.
She ran out of the bar as fast as she could manage, pulling her phone from her bag. She tried Matt. No answer. Again. Nothing. The flat. It rang out. Oh, why wasn’t she a more suspicious character? After all, it’s not like anyone would blame him.
Maybe he was working late. Yes, that would be it. Working late with some over-stressed executive desperate to look younger than he was and keep his job. She’d go to the gym, it wasn’t far from here. See him working out with someone and set her mind at rest.
The panic, though, gripped her as she walked through the darkening March streets. Not Matt. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t do this to her. He wouldn’t. He was her man, her boy, her Matt.
And, she realised suddenly, racing across the Euston Road as a taxi beeped at her, she knew. It started to rain. She couldn’t stop, because she knew. Suddenly, in the rain, haring up the Euston Road through all the traffic, pushing past people trying to get home, trying to catch trains at the station and all of them, it seemed, going the opposite way to her, she knew. As she pounded the pavement - she hadn’t had this much exercise, she realised, in months, maybe she should do some more of Matt’s workouts - she knew, she just knew, suddenly, that she loved him. Why, though, had it taken so long? Why couldn’t she find it in the countryside, among other people, other men? Because she was looking in the wrong places.
Matt’s gym was on the north side of the Euston Road, on the ground floor of a glass skyscraper, set up so that passers-by could peer in and see people jogging or generally preening. It had never made the least bit of sense to Posy - why would people want to run on the spot next door to Regent’s Park, one of the loveliest places on earth? And, given that they did, how did they then want everyone walking past them to see them bouncing up and down with a sweaty crotch?
But this was Matt’s world. And she had never really taken it seriously. And perhaps it was time to.
The gym glowed blue with fancy lighting. Posy realised as she drew closer that she wasn’t a member, had never even bothered to take up the free family pass Matt had offered. Had she really been so disinterested in his life? Bitterly ashamed, she caught sight, in the car park, of Pepe. The car had already been fixed, its scratches removed. Matt had just quietly gone and sorted it out. He hadn’t made a song and dance about it, hadn’t made a fuss. Just because he wasn’t a drama queen, like Adam, or liked to be mysterious, like Almaric, didn’t mean he wasn’t loving; just because he treated her well didn’t mean he was weak.
Well, she was going to show him. She was going to throw herself at his feet. Apologise over and over again; beg for a second chance. He had loved her enough once, hadn’t he? He had to give her another chance. He had to. And she would be the most faithful, loving, listening, caring girlfriend in the history of the world. This break had to be over. It had to be. She couldn’t live without him any more.
Staring through the heavy, blue-tinged glass, sure enough, she could see him. There he was now, helping out a blonde girl on some thigh exerciser thing . . . he must be bending down to make sure she was doing it right. He must just be checking on her breathing, that must be why his face was so close to hers. And she was beckoning him closer, pulling down the side of her leotard . . .
Matt backed away, but he was laughing. He held up his hands. He was clearly saying, ‘Not here.’ Not here, that was all. And the beautiful blonde was laughing, too. She was gorgeous. Irresistible. They looked so happy.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
Posy slumped down with her back against the glass, and, very slowly, let herself slide all the way down to the dirty grimy rain-sodden Euston Road.
Chapter Twenty-six
Posy Fairweather relationship status: Single.
Pepe the sports car flew past Posy sitting on the pavement, without noticing her huddled there. Posy caught a glimpse of a head of long, artifically yellow hair tossed back in laughter. It was Matt and the blonde. Together. Happy. Laughing. In love. He was funny, Matt. Not enough people gave him credit for this. He was brilliant. Nobody paid enough attention to that when they were teasing him about being a P.E. teacher. Oh, crap.
Where could she go? Now she’d found out her suspicions were right - she could probably have come here any night since they’d broken up and seen exactly the same thing - then there was nothing else to do except go home and think. But what next? Hadn’t she learned anything?
Of course she didn’t sleep. She was waiting, constantly, to hear Matt’s key in the lock. Would he make excuses? Pretend he’d been out with the boys? Or start a fight? Which?
But it didn’t matter in the end, because he didn’t come home at all.
Dragging herself into work the next morning felt hideously cruel and torturous. If Mums got maternity leave, Posy thought ruefully, the terminally single ought to get heartbreak leave. It was just as painful, and you didn’t even get presents.
Only twenty minutes late, with an extra shot of caffeine in her coffee, Posy could barely stand up in the lift. Margie glanced up, sniffing, and went to make a mark in her book. Posy gave her a look that said, ‘Don’t you dare.’ Gradually and carefully, Margie put the pen down.
‘How are you feeling?’ Posy asked kindly. Margie looked like she’d hardly slept.
‘You look absolutely terrible too,’ said Margie. ‘Have you slept a wink?’
‘Wotcha?’ a voice interrupted.
At first Posy didn’t recognise him. Her chubby, genial Aussie boss Gavin was standing there. His suit, which had some stains down it, was hanging off him. She squinted up at him.
‘How are you doing?’
&nb
sp; ‘Yeah, not so good, not so good . . . I’m out of the house now.’
Posy noticed he was wearing odd socks. ‘So, where are you living?’
Gavin shrugged. ‘Uh, over in Earl’s Court. With a few chums, you know. Single life again. It’s a full laugh, mate.’
‘Is it?’ said Posy. Gavin’s shoulders slumped.
‘I’m sleeping on the sofa. I’m sleeping on the bloody sofa, Posy. I’m forty-two years old, I’ve got two kids and I’m sleeping on a sofa. That smells of spew.’
‘Oh Gavin,’ said Posy. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Aw, she-et, it was nice to meet your friend the other night. She seems sweet.’
‘Cool. Listen, I think I might know a small flat for sale, if you’re interested.’
Posy sleepwalked through the day. Gavin had agreed to come and look at the flat on the weekend so that, she supposed, could be that sorted. Then she could start looking around for something to start her life over again. Or what was left of her life. Or Gavin’s.
Before she got to the front door, she sensed Matt was there. Swallowing hard, she put her key in the lock.
Matt was standing in the kitchen, looking nervous. Posy stared at him, her heart brimming over. Neither of them spoke.
‘So how was she?’ said Posy finally.
‘How was he?’ said Matt furiously. ‘Because, of course, when we accuse each other, it’s always true.’
Posy shrugged, heading not for the kettle as she normally did, but for the fridge. She poured herself a large glass of wine and tossed it down her throat.
‘OK,’ she said, ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘It’s six o’clock,’ said Matt.
Posy turned to face him. ‘I’m surprised you’re not tired, too.’
Matt bit his lip. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, nothing! Of course you’re allowed to go out and have fun, don’t mind me.’
‘A friend wants to work with me on developing the business, that’s all.’
‘Sure it is,’ said Posy scornfully. She’d seen that blonde’s face. Matt wasn’t stupid. ‘That’s why it’s perfectly fine. It’s your life. You have to do whatever you want.’
Matt looked down. ‘But Posy, it’s you who keeps fannying off with all those blokes—’
‘So that makes it all right for you to do it, too. It’s fine. I understand.’
‘But I didn’t!’
‘That’s right. You slept in the gym.’
‘Posy,’ he started, ‘maybe she does want to chat me up a bit. But she’s got lots of ideas—’
Posy cut him off. She couldn’t bear to hear it, not after she’d seen the evidence. ‘I’ve got someone to come and look at the flat at the weekend. I think it would be a good fit, he wants somewhere small.’
‘Well, that’s handy.’ Matt had gone puce with anger.
‘And he wants to move, like, really really fast.’
He would move in with the tall blonde bird, she expected. They always did. Plus his gym was so bloody hoity-toity, she’d probably have tons of money and he’d be a kept man and become personal trainer to the stars and release his own fitness video and become a millionaire and they’d have incredibly gorgeous blonde kids and be in OK! and live happily ever after. He wouldn’t want to stay in Elephant and Castle, that was for sure.
‘So that’s it?’ he said. ‘That’s it?’
Posy was so numb and choked. Her ideas from the night before, of begging him to take her back, of throwing herself on his mercy . . . how could she have been so stupid?
Later, she lay in the big bed and missed him more than ever, missed the shape of him, the smell. But she couldn’t. He was someone else’s now. And, like with everything else, she had only herself to blame. She sobbed quietly into her pillow, so as not to wake him.
Posy fell asleep eventually and woke late morning, the sun already high in the sky. It was Saturday morning. No sound of Matt - he had probably gone to her house, she reflected miserably. They would have leggy blonde highly aerobicised sex with lots of screaming and wailing and then they would go to some glamorous outdoor cafe and drink lattes and have scintillating conversations . . . She was probably a huge sports fan and knew all about teams and how long games take and things. And she would toss back her long blonde hair with her taut arms without a hint of wobble, and . . .
This was useless. This wasn’t helping her at all. She had to get up. Posy threw back the covers and opened her curtains. It was a gorgeous day outside. It was Saturday. She had absolutely nothing planned; Leah had mentioned a fashion party that she could get her into, but the idea of being surrounded by dozens of nine-foot Eastern European teenagers while she reflected on her lost love just didn’t appeal.
Apart from that, the day was a gaping hole. Everywhere couples would be sitting outside, going to art galleries, shopping, having lunch, enjoying one another. She and Matt used to like wandering up to the South Bank. He would browse the music shop in the Royal Festival Hall for obscure bands and orchestrations, she would rummage through the second-hand books outside. They would go and eat and have an ice cream and . . . what would they talk about? She couldn’t even remember. She just remembered that it was easy-going and completely relaxed, and she didn’t have to pretend to be impressive, like she did with Adam, or exciting, like with Almaric, or attentive, like with Chris. It was just a flow, an easy, likeable time spent with your best friend. Who happened to be really fit.
Posy let out a loud groan. Oh God. How could she have cocked this up so badly? She had thought it would work; a real voyage of discovery into herself, which would allow her to know herself better and be able to come back to Matt a real and rounded person, so they could step into the future together. Not hurling herself off the abyss.
There was one thing left to try, she realised, boiling up the kettle for instant coffee. Just one thing . . . Obviously nothing could be changed with Matt now, she’d accepted that. But to help her move forwards . . . Well, it wasn’t like she had anything else on today.
The train took for ever to limp its way out to Manningtree, the small Essex town where Ray and Marian lived. Posy had been driven there before by Ray, long ago, but couldn’t remember the way and hopped in a cab. She knew she should have called before just turning up - as far as she knew, they could all be on holiday in New Zealand or something - but she couldn’t face it; knew if she tried to talk on the telephone, her voice would stick in her throat and she would stumble to get the words out and probably cry. Best to just turn up. Although that hadn’t worked so well the last time she’d tried it, she thought, remembering ruefully Almaric’s wedding. Had that only been a week ago?
She smiled to herself. How could she have carried a torch for him for so long? He was just a bloke, after all. A bit of a daft one, if his new wife was anything to go by. No, that wasn’t fair. He was terribly handsome and sexy and sweet. But she could appreciate that without wanting to throw herself on his funeral pyre any more, so it had to be a good thing.
Ray’s house was just as she remembered it, having spent so many sullen hours there in the past; a scrupulously tidy semi-detached in a cul-de-sac, with a crazy paving drive and a wishing well in the front garden. Her mother had always been preposterously snotty about the very concept of a cul-de-sac. Posy looked around at the children playing on the bicycles in the sunshine and thought it might not be the worst place she could imagine to grow up.
Taking a deep breath, she rang the little doorbell, which chimed perkily. Glancing around, Posy could hear garden sprinklers and kids laughing. Not the police sirens and helicopters you heard round her mother’s house.
‘Yes?’ said a woman’s voice impatiently. She had half her bright yellow hair smoothed out carefully and half in a frizz; she was obviously at it with the GHDs and the effect was so odd that Posy couldn’t speak for a moment or two.
‘Posy?’ said the woman. ‘Posy, is that you? What’s up, love, is anything the matter?’
Posy had never really got t
o know Marian. She had dismissed her - like her mother had, she realised now, God, was she really so like her? - as a brassy, sharky husband-stealing hussy with no education. But looking into her face, it seemed kind, and, at the moment, concerned.
‘What is it? Tell me, quickly,’ said Marian. ‘Before my hair gets totally ruined.’
‘No, no, everything’s fine,’ said Posy hastily. Then, seeing Marian’s face, she said, ‘Well. Apart from . . . some stuff.’
‘Come in, come in.’
Marian ushered her over the threshold and into the immaculate sitting room. The chairs looked like they’d just had the plastic taken off them. The ornaments - all of horses and frogs for some reason - had a highly polished sheen. The carpet had deep Hoover lines grooved into it. The whole place smelled of perfumed air freshener, and slightly singed hair.
Marian guided her towards the cream leather sofa and glanced down at her shoes on the cream carpet. Posy slipped off her Converse automatically and lined them up in the hallway. Marian flashed her a grateful look.
‘I’ll just get my GHDs,’ she said. ‘Won’t be a sec. Can’t live without ’em.’
Posy sat with her hands clenched together in case she accidentally got fingerprints on something. This was, hands down, the cleanest place she’d ever been. She listened out, but it didn’t sound like there was anyone else in the house. On the other hand, it was quite possible that Marian took the topic of noise as seriously as she took that of dust, and sought to eradicate it at all times.
After ten minutes Marian reappeared with her hair perfectly straight, like great layers of straw on a face too old for it. She was also carrying a tray with freshly brewed coffee and some freshly baked biscuits. Posy eyed the biscuits.
‘Did you just make those? On the off-chance?’
Marian laughed. ‘Oh no, the boys like them when they get back from the footie. Don’t want to deny my little Jasie.’