going to start today?’
‘Why not?’
‘OK, I’ll get Gary to drive you home.’ Jayne looked at her. ‘You know, maybe you were right, maybe you should come and work for me. In some ways we’re a lot alike. I remember so clearly being you.’ She smiled. ‘And I like you, and it feels right—like fate, you showing up. Over the years I’ve always done best when I’ve followed my hunches. So how about it?’
Jane looked at her. ‘How about what?’
Jayne drained her glass. ‘Borrow my life for a while, see how it feels. All you would have to do is be Jayne Mills—simple. I run a dot com business from here—just me and my money and my bright ideas, and we already know you have a lot of those. You could just move in—be Jayne Mills.’
‘And what about you?’
‘Well, I could go and try being someone else for a change, find the old me and see how she’s getting on—explore some of my might-have-beens.’
Jane had smiled, guessing it was the wine that was talking. ‘Thanks, but I think I’d better be getting home.’
‘I’m serious. The offer’s open. Let me give you my number in case you change your mind. Have you got a pen?’
Jane nodded and pulled a biro and notepad out of her handbag.
‘And while you’re at it, give me yours,’ said Jayne. ‘Who knows when I might need someone to open my post.’
Jane smiled. ‘Thanks for lunch.’
‘At least think about it,’ said Jayne, writing down her phone number.
Around fifteen minutes later Jane opened her front door and eased off her shoes.
She closed her eyes, wriggling her toes on the cool wooden floor, very aware of how drunk she felt. She groaned. Drinking during the day really wasn’t a good idea. Although this wasn’t just any day. This was the day she had lost her job, and it was—er…Jane tried very hard to count it up on her fingers but couldn’t quite work how many hours it was since Lucy had come into her office looking all anxious and conspiratorial.
‘Jane, I wonder if we could have a quiet word? I really don’t know where to start but…’
It occurred to Jane now that amongst other things Lucy was probably casing the joint, sussing out her office, working out where her stuff could go, her collection of bears, her plants, her framed picture of Mummy and Daddy. Lucy had probably got one of Steve on her desk by now.
‘It’s about Steve. God, this is so hard. The thing is, Jane, everyone in the office knows what sort of guy Steve Burney is—he’s notorious—and I thought someone ought to say something to you before you get in any deeper, tell you exactly what’s going on. I heard you mention to Lizzie about going on holiday with him, making plans for the future. There really are some things you need to know. He’s not the kind of guy who is playing for keeps, Jane. What I’m saying is that you’re making a fool of yourself. Steve Burney is a serial philander—he’s a dog—and I should know. We’ve been seeing each other for months.’
Jane shuddered as the words thumped home into her heart like arrows into a target. There had to be some way to pull the plug on the replay button in her head.
She opened her eyes. In her absence one of the cats had been sick on the kitchen floor, and on the sitting-room rugs, and on the stairs—on every other tread, to be more precise. Surely all that couldn’t have come out of one cat? Or even two. God, what on earth had they been eating? The smell threaded its way across the hallway.
Unsteadily, with strange volcanic things going on in her stomach, Jane went off to find a bucket, sponge, disinfectant, bags and kitchen roll. Halfway through her dealing with patch one the phone rang.
Jane, still drunk, giddy, nauseous and on her hands and knees dealing with a puddle of cat vomit, stared miserably at the hall table. The machine would get the call, and besides, realistically, what could she possibly say if anyone asked how she was? The machine began to record.
‘Hi, Janey, it’s Mum here. So, how are you?’ said an instantly recognisable voice.
Jane groaned.
‘I know you are at work, darling, but I can’t find your mobile number so I thought I’d just give you a ring and leave a quick message. I was wondering if I could come over and stay for a few days. It seems like ages since I’ve seen you for any length of time so I thought I’d come and stay, see what you’ve done to the house, see how you’re getting on, hear all your news, hear about work, meet Steve—he sounds just perfect. You see, I knew a fresh start was a good idea. And I can tell you all about Simon—my new man. Have I mentioned Simon? I’m sure I must have. God, he is wonderful. Anyway, do you know what Tantric sex is?’
Jane groaned again, this time with more feeling.
No sooner had the machine finished recording than the phone rang again. Maybe her mother had forgotten something. She had to be told and it struck Jane that maybe drunk was probably the only way to do it. Jane scrambled to her feet and snatched up the receiver.
‘Hello? Look, this is really not a good time.’
‘No, I know,’ said a familiar voice.
‘Jayne?’
‘Yes. I just rang to see if you were OK.’
‘The job offer, were you serious?’
‘Absolutely Why? Have you changed your mind?’
Jane looked at the light flashing like a single red eye on the answer machine. ‘Yes, I think I have.’
The following morning Jane was woken by the sound of the phone ringing. And ringing, and ringing and then ringing some more. Had she switched her answer machine off? And if so why? For some reason Jane couldn’t quite remember.
Being woken by the phone is a horrible way to be dragged out of sleep. And her head ached. The phone rang again, more insistently this time. Jane groaned and then, rolling over, fumbled the receiver off the hook, struggling to remember the dream that she had had. It was very vivid. Something to do with Steve Burney, and then she had lost her job, and got horribly drunk and her mother said she was coming to stay—and so Jane had opened another bottle of red, and then she froze, while the voice at the far end of the line whispered, ‘Hello? Hello? Are you there?’
Not that Jane was listening. Oh, bugger. Realisation and total recall hit her like a bucket of cold water. It wasn’t a dream at all. All those things were for real. Bugger, bugger, bugger.
‘Hello?’ hissed the voice again. ‘Is that you?’
Jane glared at the phone and then tried to focus on the bedside clock. Had people got no consideration? Jesus, it was only—only—eleven. Eleven? Sweet Jesus, how the hell had that happened? Jane sat bolt upright and instantly regretted it as her brain ricocheted off the inside of her skull like
