“But—”
“It happens, Fliss.” He pauses. “And it doesn’t help to stir it up again and again. You need to move on. Get a life. Go on a date without mentioning your ex-husband’s underpants.”
“What are you talking about?” I say evasively.
“It was a date. A date.” I can hear Barnaby’s frustration bursting through the phone. “You were supposed to flirt with Nathan. Not open up your laptop and read out your entire divorce dossier.”
“I didn’t read out the entire thing!” I finger my memory stick defensively. “We were just talking, and I happened to mention it, and he seemed interested—”
“He wasn’t interested! He was being polite. Apparently you ranted for five solid minutes about Daniel’s underwear.”
“That’s a total exaggeration,” I retort hotly.
But my face has flamed. Maybe it was five minutes. I’d had a bit to drink by that stage. And there’s a lot to say about Daniel’s underwear, none of it good.
“Do you remember our first appointment, Fliss?” Barnaby continues relentlessly. “You said whatever you did, you wouldn’t end up bitter.”
I gasp at his use of the B-word. “I’m not. I’m … angry. Regretful.” I search my mind for further acceptable emotions. “I’m rueful. Sad. Philosophical.”
“The word Nathan used was ‘bitter.’ ”
“I’m not bitter!” I almost yell at him. “I think I would know if I was bitter or not!”
There’s silence at the other end. I’m breathing fast. My hands feel sweaty around the steering wheel. I’m flashing back to my date with Nathan. I thought I was talking about Daniel in an amusing, detached, ironic way. Nathan never said a word to indicate he wasn’t having a good time. Is that what everyone’s been doing? Humoring me?
“OK,” I say at last. “Well, now I know. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Anytime.” Barnaby’s cheerful voice resounds through the car. “Before you say it, I am your friend. And I do love you lots. But this is what you need. Tough love, Fliss. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He rings off, and I signal left, chewing my bottom lip and glaring darkly at the road. It’s all very well. It’s all very well.
When I get to work, I can see my in-box is full, but I sit at my desk, staring blindly at my computer. Barnaby’s words have stung me more than I want to admit to myself. I’m turning into a bitter, twisted hag. I’m going to end up a gnarled old crone in a black hood who scowls at the world and battles her way along the street, hitting people with her stick and refusing to smile at the neighborhood children, who run away, terrified.
Worst-case scenario.
After a bit, I reach for the phone and call Lottie’s office number. Maybe we can buoy each other up.
The girl who answers is Dolly, Lottie’s junior.
“Oh, hi, Dolly,” I say. “Is Lottie about?”
“She’s out. Shopping. Don’t know when she’ll be back.”
Shopping? I blink at the phone in surprise. I know Lottie sometimes gets frustrated with her job, but to go out shopping and blatantly tell your junior is really not the way to go in this economic climate.
“Any idea when she’ll be back?”
“Dunno. She’s buying stuff for her honeymoon.”
I stiffen. Did I hear that right? Honeymoon? As in … honeymoon?
“Did you just say …” I swallow. “Dolly, is Lottie getting married?”
“Didn’t you know?”
“I’ve been away! This is … I’ve been …” I can hardly speak. “Oh my God! Please say I rang and congratulations!”
I put down the phone and beam elatedly around the empty office. My gloomy mood has vanished. I want to dance. Lottie’s engaged! It goes to show, some things in the world do go right in the end.
But, how?
How, how, how, how, how?
What happened? Did she fly out to San Francisco after all? Or did he fly back? Or did they call each other? What? I text her:
You’re engaged????????
I’m expecting radio silence again, but a moment later she replies.
Yes!!!! Was waiting to tell u all about it!
OMG! What happened???
All very fast. Still can’t believe it. He came back into my life out of nowhere, asked me in a restaurant, had no idea he would, absolute whirlwind!!!!
I have to talk to her. I call her mobile number, but it’s engaged. Damn. I’ll get myself a coffee, then try again. As I head to our in-house Costa outlet, I can’t stop beaming. In fact, I’m so happy I really want to cry, but editors at Pincher International don’t cry at work, so I’ll settle for hugging myself.
Richard is perfect. He’s everything I could ever have wanted for Lottie. Which sounds motherly—but, then, I do feel motherly toward her. Always have. Our own parents both kind of gave up on the job, what with the divorce and the alcohol and the affairs with loaded businessmen and South African beauty queens.… Put it this way: we were left alone a lot. Lottie is five years younger than me, and, well before our mother died, she started turning to me when things went wrong.
And as mother figure/sister/possible chief bridesmaid (?), I could not be more thrilled that Richard’s joining our strange little family unit. For a start, he’s good-looking but not to-die-for. This is important, I think. You want your sister to land a sex god in her own eyes, but you don’t want to be lusting after him yourself. I mean, how would I feel if Lottie brought Johnny Depp home?
I try to examine my thoughts honestly, in the privacy of my own head. Yes, I would be unable to stay sisterly. I would probably try to steal him. I would feel like all bets were off.
But Richard isn’t Johnny Depp. He’s handsome, don’t get me wrong, but not overly handsome. Not gay handsome, which that awful Jamie was, always preening and competing over carbs. Richard’s a man. To my eye, he sometimes looks like a younger Pierce Brosnan and sometimes like a younger Gordon Brown. (Although I think I’m the only one who can see the Gordon Brown thing. I mentioned the resemblance to Lottie once, and she got quite offended.)
I know he’s good at his job. (Obviously, when he first started dating Lottie I asked around all my City contacts for the lowdown on him.) I also know he can have a short fuse and once bawled out his team so hugely, he had to take them all out to lunch to apologize. But he’s also good-natured. The first time I ever saw him, he was holding an armchair, which Lottie wanted moved in her flat. She was wandering round the sitting room, saying, “There … no, there! Ooh, what about there?” And he just held that big heavy chair patiently while she dithered around, and I caught his eye and he grinned and I knew. This is the right guy for Lottie.
I want to jump up and down, I’m so happy. After all the shit of my divorce, we needed something good to come our way. So, how did it happen? What did he say? I want to know everything. As I head back to my desk, I impatiently dial her number again—and this time she answers.
“Hi, Fliss?”
“Lottie!” I erupt with excitement. “Congratulations! Amazing news! I can’t believe it!”
“I know! I know!” She sounds even more euphoric than I was expecting. Richard must have swept her off her feet.
“So … when?” I sit down at my desk and sip my coffee.
“Two weeks ago. It still hasn’t really sunk in!”
“Details!”
“Well, he just contacted me out of the blue.” Lottie gives an exhilarated laugh. “I couldn’t believe it. I thought I’d never see him again. Let alone this!”