hairdresser; her chestnut hair glossy and well cut, her eyes glinting at Vita who looked up from her book, a little confused.
‘Am I?’ She wracked her memory but could only conjure an image of all the empty boxes for June on the calendar on the back of the kitchen door at Pear Tree Cottage.
‘You are coming to a party,’ Michelle said again, this time in a fairy-godmother tone as if telling Vita, You shall go to the ball. ‘It’s on Saturday. You remember Mel and Des? It’s their party – they’re having it at the George and Dragon. They said to invite you. They said they haven’t seen you for ages. They said for me to tell you that there are a couple of other single women going.’
Vita was just about to dwell on this fact being an anathema to someone who’d so liked being half of a couple when Michelle told her to hurry up, grab her bag and put the Back After Lunch sign up in the shop door.
‘My treat,’ said Michelle, linking arms with Vita and heading off towards the brasserie.
‘Two for One,’ Vita read the offer emblazoned over the lunchtime menu. ‘Cheapskate!’
‘Shut up and eat,’ said Michelle. ‘You look like you’ve lost half a stone since I saw you last – and that’s not a compliment.’ She pushed the bread basket towards Vita and poured a little olive oil into a saucer. ‘It’s quiet in here, isn’t it? The weather’s glorious, there’s no World Cup or Olympics – where is everyone?’
‘I ask myself the same question,’ Vita said. ‘The shop’s been dead today.’
‘Mind you,’ said Michelle, ‘I saw some strapping young bloke with a big package coming out of your shop.’
‘You ought to rephrase that,’ said Vita and Michelle laughed before noticing that Vita was miles away, staring into the middle distance and pulling little pinches of bread off the slice.
‘Earth to Vita?’
Vita gave Michelle an unconvincing smile before masticating excessively over a small crust. Michelle tipped her head to one side and dunked her foccaccia thoughtfully in the oil. She never needed to say anything for Vita to feel she could offload; no invitation required, no subtle extraction of information necessary.
‘Having a bit of a wobble?’ Michelle simply said.
Vita stopped chewing. ‘A bit,’ she nodded. ‘Been feeling a little thrown off balance this last week.’ She shrugged. ‘Stupid, really.’
‘What does it boil down to?’ Michelle asked, shooing away the waiter with a two minutes, please gesture.
Vita took a moment. Then she placed her hands palms down on the table as if laying her proverbial cards out. ‘I wasn’t doing too badly recently,’ she said at length. ‘The weird thing is, while I have no regrets – I do still hurt. I do. I’m sorry. I know it frustrates you. I know you all hate him. But I find myself at thirty-three on my own, alone, when all I wanted was to be part of a pair.’
‘Tim was the rotten part of the pair,’ Michelle said carefully. ‘And if I was Candy I’d be able to think of some pithy allusion to the plentiful pears on your ridiculously big tree.’
Vita looked at Michelle and shrugged. ‘We were together six years. We lived together for almost five.’
‘I know,’ said Michelle. ‘But you wouldn’t want to go back.’
‘No,’ Vita said quietly. She paused. ‘You’ll be mad at me for saying this – and I know it’s probably irrational – but last week, finding out he’s still with this bloody Suzie woman, it’s knocked me sideways. I’ve been feeling – Christ! – insecure. It now feels like it diminishes what we ever had, as if he left me – for her.’ She gave Michelle an embarrassed smile.
Michelle wanted very much to call her crazy but she resisted. ‘You don’t want to be her and you don’t want what she has.’
Vita shrugged. ‘It’s. Just. Hard. It’s tough knowing there’s a woman placing her head in the crook of his shoulder where mine used to fit so nicely; that he’s spooning up to her at night. There they are, watching telly, side by side, while here’s me who can’t see the point of watching TV any more – how can you watch The Apprentice without someone with whom to marvel at the atrociousness of the contestants?’ Vita paused. ‘Then there’s the sex. And Sundays. And the domesticity of a shopping list. And something as stupid and enjoyable as compiling future rentals on Lovefilm dot com.’
Michelle nodded as she thought of her husband and the domesticity and the closeness and the lists on Lovefilm dot com. The safety and the pleasure.
‘I’ve been doing a lot of what-if thinking,’ Vita confessed as if it was a crime.
‘Let me guess,’ Michelle interrupted. ‘What if he’s changed! What if he’s turned over a new leaf! What if you gave him one more second chance – which would, over the years, probably amount to, let’s see, his third second chance? What if love means never having to say you’re sorry!’
‘What if I hadn’t been driven to check his messages and I hadn’t found “Sxxx” all over them like a rash – would it have run its course? Would we still be together? What if we’d set the date for the wedding – would he have been less tempted?’
Michelle looked at her levelly. ‘What if there’s a fantastic new breed of leopard that can miraculously change its spots! What if it’s all your fault – what if it’s you who made a stupid mistake in leaving him!’ It was as ridiculous as it was challenging.
Vita stared down at her uneaten goat’s cheese tartlet. ‘What if she’s the new me?’ she shrugged. ‘A new version, with improved features and a lifetime guarantee?’
‘What if it’s not about you,’ Michelle countered, ‘and it’s not even about her. Just him.’ Her tone softened. ‘Look, lady – you wanted what was wholesome but you were doomed, V, from the start – not from any failing on your part, but due to inadequacies on his. Please don’t fret about floozy Suzie. If Candy was here, she’d be banging on about her Laws of Karma – for the person who behaves badly, worse things await them. For those who behave well, rewards will be reaped. You’re entitled to something good now. I just can’t tell you when. Probably not this Saturday night at Mel and Des’s party – but you never know.’
Vita smiled and took a forkful of tart. ‘For all his faults, I did love him, you know.’
‘I do know,’ Michelle said, ‘and you’ll take all that love forward with you.’
‘Closure doesn’t come with one slam of the door,’ Vita told her. ‘Moving on isn’t a continuous forward momentum. It’s a process and this last week, it’s been a bit demoralizing for me to realize I’m not as near the end of it as I thought.’
‘It’s a journey, V – and you’re well on your way. Don’t dwell on all the crap that made you so sad – let’s welcome summer and all things new. Go home tonight and sort out what you’ll wear on Saturday – or borrow something of mine – and start gearing yourself up to enjoy yourself. It’s party time. It’s summertime. Look around you – everything is bursting with colour and warmth and vitality. The evenings are long. The days are gorgeous. Lie out in your deckchair on the patch of grass which that flipping tree doesn’t cast into shade
