‘What are you going to do when it’s their weekend with the kids? Play piggy-in-the-middle?’
‘Bella’s going to take Tolly to London on the train, so Andrew and Caz don’t need to come down to Brighton till the kitchen’s finished. The three of us can stay here as long as we need to.’
I can feel judgement coming off her in waves. I understand how it looks from the outside, but it’s not like that. This is just a practical solution to a logistical problem, that’s all.
‘So how long is this going to go on for?’ Min asks, as we go back downstairs. ‘You’ve already been here a week, and your kitchen still looked like a war zone when I stopped to pick up your post.’
‘It looks worse than it is. The builder said he’d been done in a week or two.’
‘Builder time?’ Her expression softens. ‘Look, I get it. If it were Luke, I’d want to pick the scab, too. You can’t bear to see their life together, and you can’t bear not to see it either. But it isn’t doing you any good, Lou. Why rip open old wounds? You need to be putting more distance between you, not less.’
She’s right: I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Andrew since the night of the storm. I thought I’d put this constant ache for him behind me, but after last Saturday, I feel as if I’ve gone right back to square one.
Min knows me too well. ‘This isn’t about the money, is it?’ she says presciently. ‘You can afford to stay at a B&B for a few weeks. What’s really going on?’
I can’t quite meet her eye.
‘Oh, my God,’ Min exclaims. ‘You slept with him!’
‘No! It was just a kiss,’ I say quickly. ‘We got caught up in the moment, that’s all. Too much nostalgia and red wine. It won’t happen again,’ I add, more to myself than Min. ‘You can’t tell anyone. Swear to me, Min. You can’t breathe a word, not even to Mum. Especially not to Mum.’
‘Jesus, Lou. What were you thinking?’
I don’t have an answer for her. I’ve replayed that kiss a thousand times in the last few days, analysing it from every conceivable angle. I’m almost certain Andrew started it, but I was the one who put my hand on his shirtfront and told him to stay. Maybe I opened the door. Perhaps he thought I wanted to be kissed. Something happened between us that night, we both felt it. Not that we talked about it afterwards, of course. We both pretended it hadn’t even happened.
I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t take a tiny bit of guilty pleasure in turning the tables on the woman who stole my husband. But it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would. Andrew’s built a life and a family with Caz now; breaking them up would make me no better than she is. I’ve spent the last four years trying to get over Andrew. I can’t put myself through the misery and torture of those months when he vacillated back and forth between us again.
After Min leaves, I sit at the kitchen table and stare into space for a long time, mulling over what she’s said. There were any number of options I could’ve taken instead of moving into Andrew and Caz’s house. We could’ve squeezed into my parents’; I could have braved the builder’s dust, and stayed at the house and ordered takeaways for a few weeks. But I knew coming here would upset Caz, and drive a wedge between them.
I suddenly feel thoroughly ashamed of myself. I’ve been behaving like a spiteful teenager. I’m not that person anymore. I don’t do that kind of thing. I’ve changed since Roger Lewison. I’m a mother now, a respected journalist. A university professor. As soon as the kitchen’s halfway liveable, I need to move out of here.
Shoving back my chair, I push the thought of Roger from my mind and sift through the pile of post Min has left propped up on the counter. I spot an official-looking letter from Sussex University, and put down the rest of the envelopes to open it. They don’t usually send out new contracts this early, and I wonder if they’ve changed my course schedule.
I unfold the letter and quickly scan it, and then I read it again, more slowly this time, with mounting fury. I know exactly who’s behind this.
Well, if she thinks this will scare me off, she’s soon going to find out it’s had exactly the opposite effect. Two can play this game.
Maybe I haven’t changed that much after all.
Chapter 16
Caz
You’d think it’d be the thought of my husband in another woman’s bed that keeps me up at night, but it’s the idea of Louise in my home that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I imagine her pawing through my clothes, opening drawers and cupboards, spitting at my photograph as she noses through my things. Andy thinks I’m ridiculous, of course. ‘She’d never do that,’ he said indignantly, when I objected to the arrangement, as if I was twisted for even thinking it.
I’ve put up with a lot over the years, God knows, but he’s crossed the line this time. Inviting Louise into our home, for God’s sake! Angie’s right: any other woman would have thrown him onto the street.
An email pings into my mailbox, startling me out of my bitter contemplation. I open it, then exclaim in frustration. ‘AJ! Get the creatives on the Vine account down here!’
AJ swings round in his chair. ‘What’s the problem?’
I tilt my computer screen towards him. ‘Take a look.’
‘Seems OK to me,’ AJ says.
‘Take a closer look.’
He scoots over and peers over my shoulder, then looks at me, confused. ‘You said you wanted diverse. Mantiba is really cool right now, everyone’s using him. Her. You know what I mean. Gender fluidity is—’
‘I’m not worried about the model, AJ,’ I say tightly. ‘Take a look at what they’re wearing.’
‘You don’t like pyjamas? Vine want their kicks to look relaxed, like you could wear them all day—’
‘Blue-and-white-striped pyjamas,’ I interrupt. ‘Remind you of anything?’
‘Not really,’ AJ says.
‘Well, maybe we might get away with it, though I think it’s a little close for comfort, if it wasn’t for the star-shaped yellow Vine logo on the top left pocket.’
The penny drops.
‘Oh, my God!’ AJ exclaims.
‘There you go,’ I say, turning the monitor back to face me.
‘That looks just like—’
‘I don’t think Holocaust chic is a thing,’ I say, ‘but let’s not put it to the test, shall we? Go and put a rocket up the joint creative arse and get them to fucking sort it out, would you? Before we end up crucified in the Daily Mail.’
To my dismay, AJ’s eyes fill with tears. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I’ve let you down. This is all my fault—’
‘Shit, AJ. This isn’t on you.’ I crouch down by his desk and put my arm around him, feeling awful for making him cry. ‘Come on. We caught it in time. It’ll be fine. There’s no need to panic.’
‘Wayne and I split up,’ he says suddenly. ‘It’s OK. It’d been on the cards for a while.’
I’m a crap friend. I should’ve picked up on this sooner. AJ’s always been a bit fragile. He was brutally beaten up by some homophobic thugs in his second year at art school, and dropped out of college for a year. The worst of it was, his boyfriend at the time was still in the closet, and actually joined in the attack. AJ’s found it hard to trust anyone since then, and it took him a long time to risk his heart again. ‘Oh, AJ,’ I say softly. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought you two would really go the distance.’