Amy began, ‘here goes. I’ve been seeing a man for about a year now.’
‘You’re a dark horse,’ Debbie breathed.
‘But it’s not like that at all!’ Amy protested. ‘He’s just a friend!’
‘I take it you didn’t tell Justin?’ Jesminder asked gently.
Amy shook her head.
‘Why not? Does he know him?’
‘His name is Sergei Mishkov, he’s maybe forty-four, he used to be a dancer, and he was one of my mother’s best friends. I think I may have even mentioned him a while back …’
‘Ah,’ said Jesminder and Debbie simultaneously.
‘Now he’s a choreographer – he’s very famous in the ballet world, lives in the States, mainly, but he tours a lot, and often visits the UK. He’s wonderful.’
‘Fit?’ Debbie asked playfully. Jesminder dug her in the ribs.
Amy ignored her. ‘He got in touch a year ago, about a year after Mum died – they’d been dancing partners for a while, though Mum was quite a bit older than him – and I invited him round for dinner.’
‘As you would,’ affirmed Jesminder. ‘Quite right too.’
‘Well, I thought so, but Justin didn’t take to him at all, which upset me at the time.’
‘Pig,’ Debbie spat. ‘Sorry. That slipped out.’
‘Well, Justin said he didn’t like the way Sergei looked at me, and he said he felt excluded from the conversation all evening, like Sergei and I had made some sort of connection, so …’ Amy tailed off, and shrugged.
‘Did you like him?’ Jesminder asked, her sandwich halfway to her mouth.
‘Oh, yes, I really enjoy his company, he’s so different, so grown-up and charming, but he’s funny too,’ Amy said fervently. Maybe Justin’s jealousy was understandable after all.
‘Anyhow, after Sergei left, Justin and I had this huge row. I was mad at him for behaving so stroppily in front of my friend, and he accused me of flirting with him the whole night.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that possessive streak of Justin’s,’ Debbie mused.
‘It’s not possessive, as such,’ Amy said defensively, groping for the right words. ‘He’s, well, he is afraid of being cheated on, though. I must have told you that his last girlfriend, Natasha, cheated on him with his best friend?’
‘You did,’ Jesminder affirmed quietly. ‘So it’s not surprising he’s wary.’
‘Hmm.’ Debbie wasn’t convinced.
‘Anyway, not long after that Sergei rang up and asked me to go to the ballet with him.’
‘And you didn’t tell Justin?’ Jesminder guessed.
Amy nodded. ‘It seemed easier. Justin’s not interested in ballet. Oh, he’d go with me if I begged him, but there was something really, really nice about going with Sergei. He’s so passionate about it, and he’s such lovely company, and he knew my mother …’
‘Was it only once?’ Jesminder pressed.
‘No. That’s the trouble. Last week was the fourth time. I’m afraid I used you as an alibi, Jes. I’m sorry.’
Understanding spread over Jesminder’s face. ‘Aha, that would explain why Justin rang me up last week to find out how my evening had gone.’
‘I told him I was going to the pub with you,’ Amy mumbled, touching Jesminder’s arm. ‘I’m really, really sorry for involving you. What a mess! No wonder he’s changing the locks.’
‘Outstanding. He was checking up on you,’ Debbie growled.
‘He had good reason, don’t you think?’ Amy replied.
‘So you do fancy this Sergei, then?’ said Debbie.
‘No! I don’t! It’s just … well … he’s a link to my mother – to both of my parents, really – and we have the same things in common, and he’s charming, and interesting, and fun …’
‘Can I have him, then, if you don’t want him?’ Debbie teased. ‘I’m coming over a bit Anna Karenina all of a sudden …’
‘Have you tried calling Justin today?’ diverted Jesminder, rolling her eyes in Debbie’s direction.
Amy nodded her head, and tears began to well up for the umpteenth time. ‘He won’t answer his mobile. I’ve tried about twenty times.’
‘Did he really sell all of your shoes?’ Jesminder asked, unwrapping a chocolate chip muffin and cutting it neatly into four. Without asking, Debbie helped herself to a quarter.
‘He did. At least, I think he did. He says he did, and there’s no sign of them, and I really loved them, and he knew that and … do you know what?’
‘What?’ came in chocolatey chorus.
‘I don’t think he could have done anything more hurtful if he’d planned it for a thousand years. Mum’s ballet slippers … they were the only pair of her shoes that I had.’
‘We’ll need to get them back,’ said Jesminder.
‘Some people keep diaries or photographs to remind them of special times …’ A tear ran down Amy’s cheek and plopped onto the paper plate in front of her.
‘Too right we will,’ agreed Debbie, thrusting her paper napkin under Amy’s nose.
‘Most people my age can talk about old times with their parents, but I can’t …’ Amy wasn’t really aware of the other two any more as she sank deeper into moroseness.
‘And I think I know how we can do it.’ Jesminder was smiling conspiratorially at Debbie.
‘I can tell you ten, twenty stories about each pair …’
‘I’m all ears,’ smirked Debbie.
‘… where I was, what I did, who was there – it’s mad, I know, but … sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said,’ Jesminder repeated patiently, ‘that I know how to get the shoes back.’
‘How?’
‘Go and retrieve them from the buyers, of course.’
‘Road trip!’ Debbie yelled, to the alarm of the old lady at the table in front of them who dropped her umbrella on the floor, triggering the automatic opening mechanism so that the brolly exploded into a fan of pink and white roses with a loud pop.
‘Yeah, right. How will we even
