Authors: Clare Lydon
More nodding.
“But I’m assuming not in the biblical sense?”
Kate exhaled before replying. “I don’t think so. I mean, I believe her when she tells me that.
I think
. But the thing is, they went out for a few years, and they split up over a year ago. So just when exactly are they thinking of going their separate ways?”
Jess looked thoughtful. “I can see what you mean about crisis. I mean, you
like
this girl.”
Kate nodded sadly. “I do. I
really
do. But now I’m thinking, is she really available? Does she still have feelings for Tanya and she can’t make up her mind?” Kate shuddered. “And, more importantly, can I really be going out with someone who went out with someone like that in the first place?”
Jess patted Kate’s arm. “Don’t think like that. Everyone’s allowed to fall for the wrong person at least once in their life. Whether they then stay living with them forever — well, that’s another story. But maybe they just had trouble selling — it happens.”
“I know all that, but it still puts a spanner in the works.” Kate sighed. “I’m just not all that comfortable going out with someone who’s going home to their ex every night. I know they’re not
together
anymore, but it still feels weird. Why didn’t she just tell me?”
Jess shrugged. “I don’t know, that’s something you should ask her. And if she thinks this is going somewhere, she’ll try to make the change.”
“I know.” Kate sighed again. “But it feels wrong. And I think I’d feel this way if it were anyone, but the fact it’s Tanya makes it doubly worse. I’m just glad I didn’t drink way too much tequila and sleep with her that night.” Kate shook her head just thinking about it.
“Never a truer word spoken,” Jess smiled. “But if you want my professional opinion—”
“—You’re a professional now?” Kate had her elbow on the table and was leaning her cheek on her balled fist.
“Certainly am — I listen to people’s problems all day long in the café, don’t I? And in my professional opinion, this crisis is very sort-outable.” Jess paused, wagging a finger at Kate. “If you’d slept with Tanya, it might not be, but you didn’t, so pat yourself on the back for not being a slut.”
“Well done me. But that’s easy for you to say.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah,” Kate said. “Because even if I can get over the fact she went out with Tanya and is still living with her, why didn’t she just tell me? We had conversations about our lives — family, what we do, where we live. Just drop it in, then it’s not a big deal. But the fact she didn’t
makes
it a big deal. So now I think, can I really trust her? Look at my last relationship — Caroline cheated on me.” Kate pushed her plate to one side and slumped forward, head in hands.
In response, Jess tapped her on the head and pointed at Kate’s slice of carrot cake. “Are you going to eat that, by the way?”
Kate sat up. “I’m having a crisis and you’re trying to take the food off my plate?”
“I just thought you might not feel like it in your heartbroken state.”
Kate pushed the plate towards Jess.
“I stand by what I said, though.” Jess took a bite of the cake. “This is sort-outable.
Really
. Meg is not Caroline — Caroline was just not in the same place as you. Caroline cheating on you was not your fault.” Jess leaned over and took Kate’s hand in hers. “Meg is not cheating on you.” Jess paused for added emphasis. “She’s not. She just has a housing situation, that’s all.”
Kate’s eyes clouded over with sadness. “Then why does it feel like she is?”
There was a beat as neither of them spoke. Beside them at the end of their long table, two men in chequered shirts and big hair sat down with an iPad and started discussing gigabytes and RAM. Jess and Kate gave them the once over, then tuned them out.
“Anyway, you will sort this out, I know you will.” Jess paused, chewing at her fingernails. “And I know this might not be the
exact
right time to tell you this, but I have some news.”
“Oh?” Kate sat up straight.
“Yeah,” Jess said. “Thing is, Lucy and I have been talking and… Well, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m moving in with her. And so moving out from you.” Jess bit her lip as she waited for Kate’s reaction.
Kate smiled ruefully. “Wow. I’m breaking up and you’re moving in. Congratulations.”
Jess winced. “I know it’s not brilliant timing, but I thought I should let you know.” She scratched the top of her head. “Even though I’m sad. I’ve loved living with you — I’m really gonna miss you.”
“Sounds like we’re never going to see each other again.”
“Ha!” Jess said. “You don’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Good.” Kate fiddled with her teaspoon, eyes down. At the counter, someone smashed some crockery and the café cheered as one, like they were all back in school.
“But drinks soon to celebrate the end of a beautiful living arrangement?” Jess asked, turning her head from the commotion.
Kate nodded. “Absolutely. And I am really pleased for you. Despite everything going on with me. It’s a big step.”
“It is. I’ll miss my zone one postcode, though.”
Kate held up her now empty coffee cup. “Here’s to you, then — new beginnings.”
Jess tapped Kate’s cup with her own. “New beginnings. And to you sorting this mess out.”
Kate raised both eyebrows up, and then down again. “We’ll see.”
29
The following Monday and Meg was in the shop, chin resting on her palm, staring into space. Her mum had called to say she wasn’t feeling very well this morning, so Meg had dispatched Jamie round to check up on her. If everything else in her life seemed to be stalling, at least Meg could rely on her family. Jamie had just texted to say Mum seemed fine, and he’d left her with some lunch and fresh magazines.
She’d relayed the bad news about Kate to Jamie over the weekend, but he’d been stoic about it. Jamie’s view was she’d come round, and if she didn’t, it was never meant to be. As far as Jamie was concerned, if Kate couldn’t get over this small bump in the road, how was she ever going to navigate anything else?
Meg hoped it was that easy, but it’d been five days now and no contact — the text messages had dried up, the impromptu calls into the shop were no more. And now, Meg was staring at the door, willing Kate to walk through it — or at the very least collapse in front of it.
Instead, the bell rang and in walked Mr Davis.
“Hello,” Meg said. “Everything okay? It’s not Saturday already, is it?”
He shook his head, but the spring was gone from his step. “It’s not. Just want some flowers for Sheila. My wife.”
No wise cracks. No jokes. Meg walked around the desk and stood next to him, both staring at a bucket full of yellow roses.
“For any particular occasion?” Meg asked.
Mr Davis shook his head and smoothed down the lapel on his suit jacket. “She’s not feeling great, so just to tell her I love her. That’s all.” He turned to face Meg. “Women need to be shown, don’t they? I tell her all the time, but sometimes I feel she doesn’t take it in. So I thought, flowers midweek would do the trick. Flowers always make her smile. She loves flowers.”
Meg smiled. “Flowers normally make
most
people’s days — something that says love.” Meg rested a hand on her hip. “I know you always get a seasonal bouquet every week, but is there something your wife likes?”
Mr Davis turned and walked to the other side of the shop. “Irises.” He stood in front of a bucket. “She loves irises. Always has.”
Meg nodded and walked over to collect a bunch of irises: purple, pink and pale yellow. She tied them with paper and a bow and gave Mr Davis a card to write to accompany them.
“Are you okay today?”
Meg was at the till about to register his purchase.
She looked up and blinked. “I’m fine,” she lied.
Mr Davis pursed his lips. “You don’t seem it. Perhaps you need some flowers. Has anyone sent you any recently?” He put a hand on the counter and studied Meg.
Meg stopped, finger poised over the till, then she shook her head. “People are scared to send flowers to florists — they think it’s a waste of time.” She took Mr Davis’s offered cash and rang up the sale.
“And what do you think?”
Meg eyed him, before handing over his change and giving him his flowers.
“I think that flowers are never a waste of time.”
“That’s what I thought.” He beamed at her. “See you Saturday — I’ll have a new film star for you by then.”
Meg watched Mr Davis leave and looked around her shop. Flowers. It was true nobody ever sent Meg flowers, but she was used to that. But it was also true that all women liked flowers — she’d never met one yet who didn’t melt a little on receipt.
It had to be worth a try in her own life, didn’t it?
30
Vicky was sat on Kate’s leather sofa, moving one way, then the other. She frowned. “I think you might need a new one.”
“Life? Relationship? Or sofa?”
Vicky shot her a look. “God, you can be dramatic. I hardly think a woman chasing you and sending you flowers seven days in a row is something to be downhearted about. It’s not even like she cheated on you. She was just economical with the truth. Give her a break.” Vicky paused. “And I meant your sofa — bit saggy now, isn’t it?”
“That’s why I’ve got all the cushions.” Kate picked up one from her armchair opposite and chucked it as her sister’s head.
“Hey! Don’t throw missiles at the messenger.” Vicky studied her fingernails, then looked back up at Kate. “So have you decided to forgive Meg?”
Kate rolled her neck. “Some days yes, other days no.”
“One bunch of flowers would do me.”
“Yes, but you’re not dating a florist.”
“True.” Vicky shifted again. “But it wasn’t the crime of the century and you do like her — surely that’s worth considering. Are you miserable without her?”
Kate nodded slowly.
“Do you miss her?”
Another nod.
Vicky sighed. “Then stop being such a wombat and go round there.”
“That’s what Jess said.”
“And it’s not often I say to take Jess’s advice, but in this case, I’ll agree with her.”
That made Kate chuckle. “Maybe tomorrow when I cycle over to see Mum.”
Vicky cleared her throat and sat forward. “And in the spirit of forgiveness and moving forward, I’m having a birthday party next week and you’re invited — with Meg of course, I have faith in love even if you don’t.” Vicky paused and lowered her voice like she was telling Kate some MI6-style secrets. “And I’ve also invited Mum and Lawrence.”
Kate’s eyes widened and she clicked her tongue twice. “Mum and Lawrence too? Why are you whispering?”
“I’m not whispering.” Vicky crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.
“Not now. Now you’re sulking,” Kate said. “So he’s not the pariah you first thought?”
Vicky exhaled. “Laugh all you like, but I was just looking out for Mum’s safety. But yes, maybe I was a bit harsh on him. This is me holding out an olive branch to Mum, so they better be able to make it.”
“I’m sure Lawrence could think of nowhere else he’d rather be.”
31
Friday night and Meg was so over this week. Her mum hadn’t been feeling well again, so Meg had been stretched to her limit, although Jamie and Anya had been brilliant. On top of that, she’d had no word from Kate even though she’d now sent her a bunch of flowers for seven days straight. If the shoe was on the other foot, seven bunches of flowers would make Meg react. But clearly, Kate took a different shoe size.
Still, at least Meg had a Friday night dinner planned with Jamie and Greg — she could be waited on hand and foot, with gay men at her beck and call. Jamie lived in Crouch End, which was now a well-heeled area of north London. It had also undergone a significant amount of gentrification, judging by the cool bars and restaurants Meg spotted on every corner. And inside every single one, Meg looked for Kate. Kate sitting in the window, Kate standing at a bar, Kate browsing in a boutique. She just needed to see her and explain. Perhaps she should go round to her house — she knew where she lived after all.
But then again, Kate had ignored the flowers, so perhaps that was a sign.
A sign to stay away.
Meg walked on up the main road towards her brother’s flat, passing two craft beer pubs and an artisan bakery. A few minutes later, Meg pressed Jamie’s bell. She was greeted by his boyfriend, Greg.
“You’ve shaved your beard off.” Meg stepped through the door and reached up to Greg’s chin. Greg had a thick head of wiry, tightly sprung hair and his physique was so buff, it would instantly pass an army inspection. His skin was fake-tanned to the colour of mahogany and he looked at least five years younger without his beard.