Over You (34 page)

Josie spluttered with laughter at Annette’s honesty, but her friends didn’t. Laura gave a polite titter and Emma smiled, but the other two sipped their drinks and looked down at the tablecloth.

‘When did you say you split up with him?’ Sophie asked, spearing the last cherry tomato from the mixed salad.

‘About a year ago,’ Annette replied. She eyed Sophie steadily as she bit into it.

‘Sorry to hear that,’ Sophie said, dabbing tomato juice off her chin. ‘Must be hard.’

‘Oh, don’t be sorry,’ Annette told her. ‘And it’s fine. In fact, it’s good now, just me and my son. I wish I’d ditched Gary earlier, when I first had an inkling that he was being unfaithful to me.’

‘Really? You guessed?’ Harriet leaned forward, her long dark hair dangling over her tortelloni.

‘I had a feeling, you know,’ Annette said. Her lips twitched as if she was about to say something else, but she picked up her glass instead and drank her last mouthful ‘Shall we order another bottle?’

‘Of course! Is that one dead already?’ Laura exclaimed.

Emma nudged Josie as the others started waving to the waiter. ‘You all right? You’ve gone very quiet.’

Josie gave an apologetic smile. ‘I’m fine. Bit tired, that’s all.’ She didn’t really want to join in the conversation, that was the problem. She didn’t want one of the girls to turn to her next and say brightly,
So, how about
you
? Did
you guess Pete was shagging around too?

She swirled the last few drops of wine around in her glass. She was glad she’d come out: it had been kind of Emma to organize it all. But she couldn’t help feeling that she didn’t fit into the old gang the way she once had. She’d been squeezed out of the Happily Marrieds and relegated to the Dumped and Dealing With Its. And while the six of them could have talked about their children all night – that much they still had in common – she didn’t want to. She talked about them enough in the daytime.

The waiter came over with another bottle of wine and uncorked it with a flourish. Laura poured it out between them and raised her glass, smiling across the table at Josie. ‘Cheers, darlin’, happy birthday,’ she said, shiny-faced, hair spilling loose from her French plait.

‘Cheers,’ everyone chorused.

‘Thanks,’ Josie mumbled. All of a sudden, she was longing to go home. She’d had enough of feeling special, thanks all the same. She just wanted to be like everyone else again now. Was that so much to ask?

It was a relief to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. And then she cried and cried and cried.

She cried because it was her birthday and she had nobody to cuddle up to, arms and legs comfortably tangled together.

She cried because she was alienated from her friends; however nice they’d been about the separation, she was still set apart, different. Not one of them any more.

She cried because her boys were going to grow up without a father figure in the house, making them laugh, teaching them to ride their bikes and catch tennis balls, taking them to the football . . . all the things that
her
dad had done for her and Stu.

She cried because she couldn’t imagine feeling truly happy ever again. Not properly. She would always feel broken, for the rest of her life.

She cried because Pete didn’t love her any more, and she was washed-up at thirty-six, and no one would ever fancy her again, or want to have sex with her.

She cried because she didn’t want to have sex with anyone else anyway.

She cried because she was completely trashed and she was going to feel like shit in the morning.

And then she fell asleep.

The memory of her despair came back to her on Saturday as she waited on the platform for the train. Now that she was here though, weekend bag at her feet, return ticket to London stuffed in her pocket, her goodbyes with the boys still ringing in her ears, she felt much better again, thank goodness.

Pete had been surprisingly pleasant when he’d picked the boys up earlier. He’d reached forward impulsively and given her a hug as she’d said goodbye. Josie had stood stiffly in his arms, not knowing what to say, her brain fogged by the scent of him. It felt natural, to have his arms around her, yet wrong too. And the way Sam was looking at them, with that light of hope in his eyes . . .

She had pulled free then, conscious of her son’s gaze. No mixed messages, right? Keep it simple.

Pete had stepped back, looking awkward. ‘Sorry,’ he’d said. It’s just . . . You look really nice. And I miss you. Sorry, though. Overstepped the line, and . . .’

‘No, no, it’s OK,’ she’d replied, startled. Had he really just said that? ‘I . . . I miss you too,’ she found herself saying in a low voice.

‘Dad, Dad, where are we going? Where are you taking us?’ Toby had shouted out, tugging at Pete’s arm, and the moment had gone. But still . . . He had said it. They had both said it. ‘I miss you.’

What had got into him? What did he
mean?

She leaned back in her seat once she’d boarded the train. Here she went again, off to London, same journey, different person. Christ, she was altered beyond recognition, Josie thought – inside and out.

She could almost see a mirror image of herself sitting on the next seat, how she’d been back then – gazing excitedly out of the window, pink coat on, looking forward to seeing Nell and Lisa, missing the boys but really pleased to be away on her own too . . .

She’d had no idea what had been about to hit her. Not the faintest. And imagine if she, her self now, had been able to tap the not-knowing Josie on the shoulder and say,
Hey, guess what? Make the most of this weekend, because it’s all going to change, you know. It’s all about to go totally pear-shaped, darlin’!

She wouldn’t have believed it, would she? The not-knowing Josie. She’d have wrinkled up her nose and said,
As if!

And yet today, with Pete . . . ‘I miss you’, he’d said. It kept playing in her head, on a loop. She hadn’t expected him to miss her. Surely he wasn’t . . . Surely he wasn’t regretting what he’d done?

Was he?

She realized she was sitting forward in her seat, fists clenched, a tense expression on her face. What would she say if he
did
change his mind now, six weeks on? Could she forgive him and welcome him home?

She stared, unseeing, out of the window as the train rattled through a station. The platform blurred in front of her gaze as she tried to make sense of her feelings. At the bottom of everything there was still a deep, unshakeable sadness that he’d gone. And if he wanted to come back . . .

She shut her eyes. Don’t torture yourself. Don’t even think about it. So he said he missed her. Big deal. It didn’t mean anything. He was probably only being slick. Once a charmer, always a charmer. She shouldn’t trust a single thing he said to her again, not now she knew what a liar and cheat he had been.

‘A leopard doesn’t change his spots,’ her mum always pronounced, in that annoyingly sage way of hers. And while it was slightly galling to admit to agreeing with her mum about anything, Josie did on this occasion. Pete had cheated once – well, twice, actually, with Lisa as well – so he was sure to do it again. No. She was well rid of him. She would forget him and move on.

Her mind drifted back to the birthday card from Lisa. Imagine, again, that same self of hers going up to London those few weeks ago, being told,
Oh yeah, and by the way, Lisa’s been stabbing you in the back too.

She twisted her fingers in her lap as she thought about it. She could hardly believe Lisa had betrayed her like that, even now. And she still didn’t really know why, or how it had happened in the first place.

What was it Lisa had written in her card?

I’d love to be able to explain, if you d give me the chance. If our friendship has ever meant anything to you then please call me, so we can talk. Your friend, Lisa

Josie gazed out of the window. They were rattling through the outskirts of London now, tower blocks looming on the skyline. It was unfair of Lisa to word it like that – ‘if our friendship has ever meant anything to you, indeed. Of course it had meant something! For years, the friendship Josie had had with Lisa and Nell had been everything, her whole world. And she’d believed the entire time that Lisa felt the same way too. So for Lisa to then turn around and do what she’d done was just so devastating of her. So unforgivable. How could Lisa even
think
of signing off that way?

I’d love to be able to explain, if you d give me the chance.

Should she? Could she even bear to see her?

She glanced down at her watch. Two-thirty. She was earlier than she’d told Stu. And the party wasn’t due to start until the evening anyway.

Impulsively she fished her mobile out of her bag and punched in Stu’s number.

‘Hiya,’ she said when he answered. ‘Listen, I’m going to be a bit later than I said, is that all right?’

Josie walked along the road, heart knocking inside her ribcage. Her hand was sweaty as she heaved her bag along, her mouth dry. What was she going to say? And what would
Lisa
say in reply?

Her car was there. The baby-blue Honda, parked neatly outside the tall, elegant house. Of course, that didn’t mean anything in London, though. Lisa might well have gone out on the bus somewhere today, caught the tube into town . . . She probably wouldn’t be in at all. And if she wasn’t, then so be it. Fate, and all that.

I’m giving you your chance, Lisa, Josie thought with a shiver, as she walked up to the front door. For one day only. Here I come, ready or not.

Her fingers closed around the black iron loop of the door knocker and she hesitated. Still time to walk away. Still time to change her mind and go off to Stu’s. She didn’t have to do this . . .

She gripped the knocker and banged it against the door. Then she stood frozen on the step, waiting. Silence. She gave it a few seconds . . . tick, tick, tick . . . but there was no noise from inside the house, no movement through the frosted glass. She breathed out in relief. Nobody in.

She was glad, actually. She’d tried, hadn’t she? Nobody could say she hadn’t tried. And now she could walk away, conscience clear . . .

There was a shift of light through the glass panels in the door. A pale, ghostly figure loomed up through the hallway, closer, closer. And now Josie could hear the latch turning on the other side of the door.

Oh God. Lisa was in. She was actually in. She was . . .

‘Josie!’

. . . She was surprised. In fact, Josie registered dimly, Lisa was clutching at the door jamb, she was so surprised.

Josie cleared her throat. ‘Hello,’ she said. Her heart was really hammering now. Lisa was standing there like a startled animal, eyes wide, colour draining from her face. She had bare feet and no make-up, and wore a sweet little cotton sundress, and a pair of sunglasses pushed up on her head.

‘I was just passing,’ Josie said, ‘and I thought . . .’ Her voice petered out. She felt too nervous to speak now. All the brave words of confrontation she’d planned on the train, all the poise and calm she’d hoped for – they had vanished. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. Come on. You’re here now. Might as well do this. ‘Can I come in?’

Lisa nodded dumbly, then seemed to recover herself. ‘Of course,’ she said, stepping back and pulling the door open. ‘I was in the garden, I . . . Were you knocking for long? Only I just came in to—’

‘No,’ Josie said, cutting into her rambling. ‘I only knocked once. I just got here.’

Lisa glanced down at Josie’s weekend bag but said nothing, merely stood there while Josie walked past her into the hallway. It felt cool and quiet inside. Josie’s hands were shaking, and she had to clench them both around the leather handles of the bag to still them. Don’t let her see that you’re nervous. Don’t give her the edge.

‘Come in,’ Lisa said, leading her along the hallway. ‘How come you’re in London, anyway? And where are the boys?’ She gave Josie a sickly smile over her shoulder as they walked through into the kitchen. ‘You look amazing, by the way. So slim! Have you lost weight?’

‘Mmm,’ Josie replied non-committally. She put her bag down and folded her arms across her chest. She was finding it quite hard to believe that she was actually here, in Lisa’s kitchen. The last time she’d been here, she’d been standing on the cold stone tiles in her pyjamas waving a photo of Pete –
that
photo! – and asking why it had been under Lisa’s bed. And Lisa had said . . .

Yeah, yeah, all right. Forget that now. Back to the present.

‘Stu’s having a party,’ Josie said. She was trying her hardest to modulate her
voice
so that her words came out even and normal-sounding. ‘The boys are with Pete.’

There. She’d said it. She’d dropped his name into the conversation.

Lisa lowered her gaze. Good. Quite right, too. Josie could feel her pulse rushing as she stared hard at Lisa’s bent head. She could almost hear a ponderous David Attenborough narrative as a voiceover to the scene.

And the attacking female eyes the second female. The second female displays clear signs of submission, so the attacking female . . .