look you in the eye, and says he’s sorry, but he’s decided to move in with someone a decade younger, it would hardly be normal behaviour to say, ‘Hang fire a sec, will you, while I slip into something more comfortable?’
I smoothed my hand over the knobbly surface of the floor tiles. A bathroom wasn’t the best place to hole up, from a comfort perspective, but it had one distinct advantage. A door that locked. So I didn’t have to look at his face and see his pathetic I’m so sorry but we just couldn’t help ourselves expression.
I loved those tiles. Tiny Mediterranean blue squares like the bottom of a swimming pool. They’d taken an age to lay. The rooms in this old farmhouse weren’t exactly small. But we’d both agreed it was worth the painstaking effort.
Tears stung my eyes.
He’d be picking out tiles with Emma from now on.
I thought of all the months of deception as Jamie pursued his tacky, clandestine passion and suddenly, I was furious again. I wanted to stick my head round the door and yell at him that bloody Emma was welcome to him. And could he please leave his key on the way out? I might even hurl his stupid top-of-the-range tablet at him as he went. The one I’d spent ages choosing then wrapping up in a big cellophane bow with little red hearts on it.
Take that, cheating gadget man!
But of course I wouldn’t. I’d keep it all in because in my top ten of Things I Loathe, confrontation was a clear winner (though currently jostling for the top spot with Jamie Evans, monster deceiver).
I thought of my friend, Anna. She wouldn’t hold back for fear of unpleasantness and shouting. I shuddered to imagine what she would say to Jamie when she knew he’d been cheating on me for the past ten months; with a woman who, at twenty-two, had a full decade on me and whose biological clock could tick for another twenty years before the warranty ran out.
Jess, my other best friend, would be deeply shocked but instead of railing at Jamie, she would gather me close and let me sob.
Suddenly I longed for Jess.
‘Izzy? Are you OK in there?’
I froze, like an animal sensing the next few seconds could mean life or death.
‘Open up, Izz. We need to talk.’
I stared mutinously at the door handle. If he thought I was going to—
‘Come on, Izz, stop being so melodramatic. Oh, for God’s sake, we can’t do this through a locked door.’
My mouth twisted with scorn. He’d been shagging Emma for the best part of a year. Now they were planning a new life together. Exactly how was talking going to help?
‘Izzy, I’m so, so sorry. What else can I say? If you want me to go, I will. Do you want me to go?’
I pulled a ‘duh!’ face at the door.
‘Isobel! Talk to me!’ He blew out his breath, frustrated. ‘Look, we’ve had a good innings, you and me. Five years. But in the long run you’ll see this was for the best. Christ, you’ll probably thank me.’
A good innings? Trust him to default to his deathly dull cricket in a crisis.
I remembered the champagne chilling in the fridge. I’d smiled at the check-out girl as she removed the security collar on the bottle, all the while complaining that her boyfriend could never be relied on to remember special occasions. My smile was a little smug, because my boyfriend always did.
‘Right, I’m going,’ he announced, and the ice in his tone felt like a slap in the face. ‘You do realise you’ll have to sell the house.’
I swallowed hard. ‘No way,’ I called out, my voice catching a little.
This was my house! We weren’t married. Or even engaged. Aunt Midge would turn in her grave if she knew he and Emma were planning to lay some kind of claim to Farthing Cottage.
‘Well, you’ll have to pay the mortgage on your own then, won’t you?’
‘Fine!’ I yelled.
‘Come on, Izzy. You won’t need a house this big once I’m gone.’
I reached for some toilet tissue and blew my nose very softly. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll – sell things.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You heard me. I’ll sell things.’
‘What things?’
I hesitated, curling my hands into fists.
‘Vegetables.’
There was a short silence, broken only by the occasional drip of a bath tap.
‘Vegetables?’
I could picture his disbelief.
‘Yes, vegetables. From my garden,’ I shouted, pride in my achievement poking through the desolation.
‘Izzy, don’t be so fucking ridiculous.’
My heart sank at his scorn. But of course he was right. Selling vegetables wasn’t going to pay the mortgage. I needed to get a proper job.
‘So how does Emma earn a living?’ I called out, panic making my voice sound shrill.
‘Sorry?’
‘I expect she’s something incredibly important in the City.’
‘She’s a receptionist, if you must know. But what’s that got to do with anything? Look, for Christ’s sake open up.’ He pumped the bathroom handle to let me know he meant business.
I stared at the door. It was clear he’d made up his mind and now only wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to do anything silly. Like drowning myself. Or making a suicidal appointment with my hairdresser.
Sighing, I kicked off the sandals and got to my feet. ‘OK, I’ll come out.’
Maybe it was time to do the grown-up thing …
‘Well, thank Christ for that,’ came the response. ‘Talk about melodramatic. You’d try the bloody patience of a saint sometimes.’
But then again, maybe I’ll just stay here …
‘I’m having a soak first,’ I called out defiantly. ‘I might be a while.’
I turned on the taps and undressed slowly while the bath filled and the hammering on the door intensified. Lowering myself into the water, I felt fragile and bruised, as if I’d been in a punch-up.
A resounding thud reverberated through the bath as Jamie kicked the door in frustration.
‘Suit
