Over You (33 page)

Josie made herself a pot of coffee and took it out into the garden. The sun was shining and she sat on the wooden bench at the back of the patio to catch the early morning rays. The garden was reviving now: she could smell the fresh, perfumed scent from her lilies, the sweet peas were clambering up everything they could reach and the cornflowers were starting to unfold their jewel-bright heads. The cat from next door came and sat with her companionably, a throaty purr rumbling as Josie stroked its warm fur.

She sipped her coffee. Another birthday. If she could have foreseen this day a whole year ago, she would have been horrified at the way her life had fallen apart. But slowly, slowly, she was rebuilding it.

It was six weeks now since he’d walked out on her. Six whole weeks. She had stopped crying every night. She had stopped cleaning everything in sight. She still felt frightened by what lay ahead in the future – the thought of spending the rest of her life on her own was too terrifying to contemplate – but she was taking it gently. One day at a time. And so far, today was going well.

The postman knocked at the front door just then, and she jerked out of her thoughts and went to get her mail – a parcel, and a pile of cards. She sat at the kitchen table with it all, back door still wide open, and tackled the parcel first. It was from her mum, and contained . . . Oh, thanks, Mum. A book called
The Single Parent’s Handbook
, and a recipe box.

Josie wasn’t sure if she felt more like laughing or crying. You couldn’t make it up. Not with her mother.

Pete had sent a card, and Josie held her breath as she opened it. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted him to have written inside. A tender message, offering her babysitting and apologies? Or would he have been so cruel as to have signed it from Sabine too?

Neither.
To Josie, Happy birthday from Pete
.

Very bland. Very safe. Not even risking a
Love from
.

She sighed. Oh, whatever. At least he’d remembered. She was surprised he’d managed that much. Things had been strained between them after Toby’s hospital rush and Pete’s resulting crapness. Since then, he had been civil to Josie, and she was managing to be the same back. But all the hopes she’d cherished of him realizing his mistake and returning to her were dying, little by little, every day. It was over, it was over, it was over. She couldn’t let herself even dream otherwise.

She opened the envelope with Nell’s handwriting on next, for some light relief. Nell had sent a funny card with a few condoms inside and a scribbled message –
Make sure you get through these by Christmas, Slapper’s Orders.

Yeah, right, Josie thought, rolling her eyes. What was Nell like? Christmas in five years’ time, maybe.

The next envelope was addressed in Lisa’s sloping handwriting. Lisa had always been good with birthdays, never missed one. Organized, that was what she was, noting everything in her beautiful leather-bound diaries, always in control. But what on earth had given her the idea that Josie might want a card from
her
?

Josie picked it up, then hesitated. She was quite tempted to stuff the thick, cream envelope straight into the dustbin. She felt detached from Lisa now, removed, as if Lisa was someone from a former life. She’d done the angry time, hating Lisa and calling her every name under the sun, but things had moved on now, and the sting had been taken out of the wound. Weary resignation, as Annette might have said.

She got up to pour herself another coffee, but her eyes kept flicking back to the card, lying there on the table. Should she open it? Or would it be more sensible to ignore Lisa full-stop, cut her right out of the picture? What could Lisa possibly have to say that would make things all right again?

Josie leaned against the worktop, stirring her coffee so hard it slopped over the side of the mug. She busied herself wiping the surface clean, wiping the bottom of the mug and washing up the teaspoon.

Then she sat down and took a deep breath. And opened the card.

It was a classy one, of course. No naff cartoons in lurid colours for Lisa. No jokes about getting old and wrinkly, or drinking too much. It was an abstract Liberty print, all blues and greens, woven in an elegant design. Josie rolled her eyes. Very Lisa. Pete would have taken one look at it and said, ‘What’s with the wallpaper?’ It was amazing to think that he and Lisa had ever got it together when . . .

Anyway. She wasn’t going to think about that. Not today.

She opened the card. It felt thick and expensive between her fingers.

Dear Josie
, she read.
Thinking about you on your birthday. I hope it’s a happy one. I know you must still be angry with me—

Damn right she was!

but I’d love to be able to explain, if you’d give me the chance. If our friendship has ever meant anything to you—

Cheap shot, Lise. Cheap.

then please call me, so we can talk.

Your friend, Lisa

‘Your friend’? Your
friend
? Yeah, right! What planet was Lisa on?

Josie’s fingers tightened on the card, seized by the urge to crumple it up. She put it face-down on the table instead. She’s trying her best, a voice reasoned in her head.

‘Should have tried harder not to shag my husband then, shouldn’t she?’ Josie said out loud.

She picked up the last envelope, recognizing her brother’s handwriting. The card inside had a picture of a pissed-looking woman with a fag hanging out of her mouth, brandishing a full glass of wine. Subtle, Stu was not.

Happy birthday Josie!
he’d written inside.
Love Stu and Mel. PS Party at the flat this Saturday – can you come? Spare bed if you fancy a weekend away. x

Josie could feel the excuses brimming inside her, was already composing them in her head –
Sorry, would love to,
but too short notice, impossible to get a babysitter, cant leave the boys . . .

Then she stared around the kitchen, empty as it was of the boys’ chatter and laughing. Her whole life, her whole world, had been lived out in the confines of these walls lately, it seemed. Maybe . . . maybe she should say yes to Stu’s invitation. Just this once. Maybe she should get out there, dress up for a party, have an evening of fun away from the boring safety of her own house.

Should she?

Well, why not? Why shouldn’t she have a night off for once? The boys were well. Stu’s flat was only an hour or so away. And it had been a long, long time since she’d been to a party.

She munched through a biscuit. Sod it. She deserved a treat. She’d think of herself for a change, just like Pete had done for so long. And it
was
her birthday today. Surely Pete couldn’t say no to her on her birthday?

She went and dialled his work number before she could change her mind. Already, she felt giddy at her daring. What would she wear to a party? What would she
talk
about? Could she really do this?

‘Pete, hi, it’s me. Josie,’ she added when he answered.

‘Oh, hi,’ he said, sounding apprehensive. She hadn’t called him at work for some time. It was safer to leave messages on his mobile, she’d found. That way she didn’t have to actually speak to him. ‘Um . . . Happy birthday.’

‘Thanks,’ she said. She took a deep breath. Go for it. ‘Are you doing anything this Saturday? I was wondering if you could babysit. Have the boys overnight.’

‘Well, I . . .’

‘It’s just that I haven’t been out for quite a while. And Stu’s asked me over for the weekend.’ Probably best not to mention the party, she decided. ‘So – what do you say?’ She bit her lip as she waited for his reply, so hard she drew blood. It tasted hot and salty in her mouth, and she licked it away, heart thumping. ‘Pete?’

‘Um . . .’ He sounded like she’d caught him off guard. She could almost hear his mind whirring down the phone line.

‘I’ll ask Barbara, if you’re busy,’ she said while he thought. Ha – stroke of genius, Josie.

‘No need for that,’ Pete said quickly. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’ll have them Saturday night. Why not?’

Josie grinned, feeling exultant. It had been so easy, after all.

‘Great,’ she said. ‘So, shall we say you pick them up at about two? And I’ll be back by . . . Well, midday on Sunday, I guess.’ She was light-headed at the thought. Practically a whole day away. Wow. Should she really be doing this? Should she really trust him with them for all that time?

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Two o’clock, Saturday. I’ll be there.’

They would be fine. He was their dad, they needed to spend time with him. And she wouldn’t be far away, after all. She could hurry back really fast if anything went wrong.

‘Thanks,’ she said, clicking the phone off. ‘I think,’ she added.

There were five of them going out that night – herself, Emma, Laura, Harriet and Sophie. The usual gang, in other words. On impulse, Josie phoned Annette and asked if she’d like to join them.

‘I know it’s a last-minute thing, but it was only sprung on me this morning and I just wondered . . . You would? Really? Brilliant. See you later!’

Later that evening, she got the boys in bed early and poured herself a glass of wine to slurp as she had a quick bath. She hovered in front of her wardrobe before picking out a scoop-necked turquoise top and some white, wide-legged trousers. The top was a good match for the jewellery from Emma, and she could pin up her hair to show off the necklace around her throat. She pulled on the trousers, her favourite summer going-out ones, which she hadn’t worn since last year. She did up the button, and gasped. God, they were so baggy on her now! The fabric swung loosely around her thighs like a couple of flour sacks, and she could nip in the waistline by a good inch.

Christ. So there was a silver lining to your marriage falling apart, after all! She looked so thin!

Josie let go of the waistband, and the trousers dropped straight down to her hips. Right. Maybe she wouldn’t wear those after all. She’d only get drunk and flash bum cleavage at the whole restaurant, stumbling drunkenly to the loo or something. She pulled on a floaty skirt instead that was gathered by elastic at the top, and couldn’t help turning on her side to look at herself in the mirror. Wow. She really
had
lost weight. She ran a hand over her tummy. Where had it all gone?

She turned and leaned closer to the mirror, gazing at her face. Definitely some cheekbones there. She had cheekbones again! Her spots were all but gone now, too. Dandruff – yep, that had been blitzed. Bags under her eyes . . . well, one thing at a time, eh. She still wasn’t sleeping brilliantly, but she did have a good concealer in her armoury.

She sorted through her make-up box, looking for the foundation. It had been ages since she’d got dolled up for a night out. In fact, it had been weeks since she’d had a night out full-stop. The last time had been when Nell was staying and they’d had that disastrous venture to the pub. The less said about that the better.

Tonight, as birthday girl, she would make an effort. And she had a bit of time before the babysitter was due to arrive, so hey, trowel it on. Why not?

‘And then he snored all night, like a pissed-up warthog! All night long, I’m not exaggerating! I’m telling you, sometimes I wonder if I married a bloke or some kind of throwback. It’s like living with an animal half the time!’

Everyone was laughing at Harriet and her eye-rolling account of her husband’s misdemeanours. Then they all seemed to have a contribution.

‘Matthew’s just as bad, he farts like a wildebeest in his sleep,’ Laura complained. ‘The whole bed shakes, it’s disgusting.’ She fanned a hand in front of her face. ‘There’s no mystery left in our relationship, I’m telling you. And I
so
wish there was – especially on the farting front.’

‘What gets me with Jake is the way he’s completely monosyllabic when the football’s on,’ Sophie moaned. ‘Grunts at me like a . . . rhinoceros, as if he’s lost all powers of speech.’ She tipped back her glass of wine and giggled. ‘We should set up some kind of zoo. Between us, we’ve got a right assortment of beasts.’

Josie met Annette’s eyes briefly, then looked down at her food. Suddenly she’d lost her appetite. Up until then she’d been having a brilliant time. The babysitter arriving, the cab speeding her and her friends into town, clinking glasses as the first bottle of wine arrived at the table, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ over the second bottle . . . Now they were on to their fourth or fifth bottle and the confessions were flowing. But why did everyone keep talking about their
husbands
? Had they forgotten that she and Annette were sitting at the table, husbandless?

Annette seemed unbowed by it, and put down her fork. ‘The worst thing about Gary was the fact that he left
stuff
everywhere,’ she said conversationally. ‘Smelly socks. Pants. Shirt from work. He’d just take it off and drop it, wherever he happened to be standing. Didn’t seem to understand the concept of a laundry bin. Didn’t seem to have grasped that you could actually put dirty clothes in the washing machine!’ She swigged her wine, eyes glittering. ‘Whenever I’ve gone back to a bloke’s place since then, I’ve totally checked out the mess factor. And if there’s any stuff lying around, any mess, then I’m out of there, “Nice to meet you, bye!”’ She grinned. ‘Well, after the shag, of course.’