Simone agreed. ‘I’m sure it won’t.’ Her words sounded firm and confident to her ears, so she wondered why she felt the panic rising again as she once more fought down the overwhelming urge to cry.
Jazzy, Petra and Rory lived round the corner from the post office. Living so close to the main road was the only way they could afford to live in Winchmore Hill, but it did bring certain benefits; such as actually having the post delivered before they set off for work.
‘Letter,’ Petra said, handing Jazzy the plain white envelope without looking at him. She was holding a slice of dry toast between her front teeth as she tried to tie her hair back. Jazzy grabbed the letter from her with one hand as he used the other to try and prevent Rory from wiping his slobbery face all over Jazzy’s good work trousers.
‘Thanks. I’ll open it on my way, I’ve got to go if I want a seat on the bus. Come here, big guy,’ he said to Rory, picking the baby up and kissing him on the top of his head, the only visible part of him that was clean and dry. ‘Love you lots, have a good day at nursery. Bye darling.’ He kissed Petra’s cheek, and she nodded at him in good-natured acknowledgement.
‘Let me know about Mack, won’t you?’ she said through the dry toast.
‘Sure.’
Jazzy forgot about the letter until he was nearly at work, so preoccupied was he with thinking about Mack. When he had texted Simone last thing the previous night: ‘Anything?’ the reply had come simply: ‘Not yet.’ The hope embodied in those three letters ‘yet’ was what made him angry; angry at what Mack might be doing, angrier still at the thought that Mack might be in the process of proving Petra right.
Petra had warned Jazzy all along about allowing things to go so far with Mack and Simone.
‘You know what’s going to happen,’ she had said. ‘He’ll do what he always does, he’ll get bored, he’ll ditch her and where will that leave you? Whose side are you going to take then?’ They both knew whose side he would take – his loyalties lay with Simone and always would – but it was left unsaid.
‘No,’ Jazzy had protested, ‘I really don’t think he will, not this time. I think he really likes her.’
‘Of course he bloody likes her. She’s beautiful, she’s cool, she’s got awesome hair – and then she also goes and has the cheek to be a really nice person. Of course he likes her. But Mack likes a lot of people, if you know what I mean.’
Jazzy had smiled. It made him happy that Petra liked Simone. ‘Yes but you’re forgetting, Simone’s so low maintenance that she barely classes as a girlfriend at all. If anything, Mack’ll be the needy one and Simone’ll get bored and ditch him.’
Petra had rolled her eyes. ‘Have you ever known a woman get bored of Mack before he got bored of her?’ The question did not require an answer. ‘Just…’ Petra had thrown her hands up, ‘if they’re going to get together, then fine. I just don’t think you should encourage it. Because when it all goes wrong, it’s you she’s going to blame for it.’
And now it was looking as though it was going wrong, and Jazzy wondered if Simone would blame him for it. Jazzy would be surprised – shocked, even – if Mack had gone AWOL from everything, from London, from the business, from Jazzy, just to get rid of Simone. But, loath as he was to admit it, it was not entirely unthinkable. He and Mack had met ten years ago when they were teaching English in a high school in rural Japan, the only westerners in a fifty-mile radius, apart from a tall, outdoorsy Canadian girl who worked in the elementary school next door. She had fallen for Mack, swiftly and entirely, and he had seemed pretty smitten with her too, but when Mack went back to England among promises of undying devotion and vows to keep in touch, he had deliberately given the girl an email address and mobile number that bore no relation to his real ones. That Canadian girl had not deserved it any more than Simone would. And Petra was right; if Mack was taking a massive shit all over Simone’s feelings, then it was, at least partly, Jazzy’s fault.
He thought back to the conversation he had had with Simone in his local pub to try and persuade her to give Mack a chance on a second date.
‘He really likes you. He told me. Honestly.’ This was true.
Simone had looked unconvinced. ‘Yes, he likes me so much that he’s waited a month before getting in touch again.’
‘He’s been away a lot with work. He didn’t want to arrange something he might have to cancel at the last minute.’ This was only partly true. Mack had been away for three out of the preceding four weeks, but it was only when he had returned to London a few days ago that he had mentioned Simone.
‘I keep thinking about her,’ he had confided. ‘If I ask her out again, do you think she’ll say yes?’
‘I guarantee it,’ Jazzy had told him with a wink.
And he had been determined to do so. Simone’s misgivings did not seem that serious to him, certainly nothing that could not be talked round.
‘Why are you so keen for me to go out with him again?’ she had asked.
He had shrugged. ‘I think you’d be good together. You’re both quite similar if you ask me, even though it might not look like it at first glance. Free spirits, if you will.’
Simone had raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Right, OK. But I have to say that in my experience “free spirit” is a phrase people use to describe someone they think will probably sleep with them without asking too many questions first.’
‘You know what I mean. Not needy or desperate or looking for someone to spend every minute of every day with. That’s what you’re both like. I just – I can see you two together. Plus,’ he had leaned forward, ‘he assures me he’s hung like a farmyard animal.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Simone had said, downing the rest of her drink, and he knew then that he had won her round. And neither of them had said what they both knew; that the real reason he was so keen to set her up with Mack was that he just wanted to see her happy, like he was with Petra. That he wanted her to have someone, like he did.
The bus was nearly at his stop before Jazzy remembered the letter. It had barely occurred to him that it could contain anything interesting, let alone anything personal. Letters never did any more.
Even after he opened the envelope, it took him a few moments to recognise the handwriting, so rarely had he seen Mack handwrite anything. But it was unmistakably from him. The words he used, the confident, stylised penmanship, could not have come from anyone else.
Dear J
I know you’ll be wondering where I am by now, and I’m sorry.
This is the most ridiculous letter I’ve ever written. (And I know, a letter? A fucking letter? Hey, Mack, 1993 called, they want their method of communication back! But the point is, you can’t hack into a letter. And I know that sounds mental, but it’s true, and that’s important).
The thing is, and I swear, I swear on Rory’s life I’m not making this up, I’ve had to go away for a very good reason. I really, really wish I could
